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angryschnauzer · 3 years

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Blackwater Lake - Chapter 2

Summary: There’s a little town high in the mountains where everyone has a secret, and every family has something that makes them unique. In Blackwater Lake those that are outcast by nature come together.

Characters/Pairing: Vampire!Walter Marshall x Female Reader

Warnings (for this chapter); Talk of PTSD, Reader is ex police, Possible home invasion, NSFW sexy times, protected sex.

Previous Parts: Werewolf!Sy: Moonlight on the Sand Castle Under The Stars. Werewolf!Sy, Vampire!Walter: Chapter 1

This will be a series of stand alone stories/2 parters, which will revolve around the residents of the town, with some recurring characters. The ‘reader’ for each story will be a ‘new’ reader, so its not the same woman being with all the male characters.

I do not run a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post something new.

Chapter 2

Walter had managed to recover from the shock of seeing his best friend and his wife being able to make their eyes glow, and as unbelievable as it sounded, had accepted their explanations of how they’d been turned into Werewolves. Much like his own knowledge of Vampirism before he had been turned himself, he quickly understood that what the media made these quirks of nature to be and what they actually were had been greatly exaggerated.

Sy had stayed up into the early hours of the morning with him, sharing the better part of a bottle of bourbon as he’d described how it affected their family, and how his wife only turned when her period coincided with a full moon, and how they dealt with childcare during the times that they would turn.

Walter woke with a start, the soft mountain light pouring in the windows and for a moment he was confused, not recognising his surroundings until he remembered spending the rest of the night on Sy’s couch. His mouth felt like something had crawled inside and died, and he swore in that moment not to share hard liquor with someone that could howl at the moon. Finding some painkillers high in a kitchen cabinet he crushed two between his teeth before drinking straight from the tap. Standing tall he moved his neck, trying to get the kinks and knots out of his muscles when a pair of fluffy slippered feet appeared in the doorway. Looking up Walter poorly suppressed a laugh as he saw Sy wearing a pair of sheepskin moccasins and what was obviously his wife’s robe;

“Reginald, you look stunning” Walter muttered as he watched his friend shuffle into the kitchen

Sy held up his finger and waggled it, wincing at the sunlight pouring in the window;

“Don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t call me that, the only people that call me that are the preacher or my Ma, and unless you’re planning on marrying me or making me biscuits...”

Walter laughed, leaning against the counter as Sy filled the coffee pot as if he was on autopilot, before reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out a baby bottle with the previous day’s expressing date on. Setting the bottle to warm in a bowl of water he handed Walter a tin of coffee;

“Fill that up, i’m gonna go get Luna”

A few minutes later he reappeared holding his little girl in his arms, wrapped in a soft blanket covered in moons and stars. Grabbing the bottle before settling at the kitchen table, he popped the lid off and shook the bottle, before lifting it and shaking a few drops onto his tongue, laughing when he saw Walters eyes go a little wide;

“Better straight from the source but Mama is sleepin’ so its me in Mama’s robe” he explained with a grin on his face. Walter placed a mug of steaming black coffee in front of Sy; “Thanks man… hey, in the fridge there’s a pint of pigs blood from Walkers Meats… ya’know, if you need it”

“Why have you got pigs blood?”

“The missus was gonna make some Scottish thing, some sorta sausage, but if you need it, we can always get another… in fact she’s gonna be too tired to use it before it spoils, what with the full moon and all...”

Sy turned his attention to his tiny daughter feeding in his arms, giving Walter the sense of privacy to do what he needed to do. As Luna finished her bottle Sy held her to his shoulder, rubbing her back until she let out a burp he would have been proud of himself, only looking up when he heard Walter also let out a low belch;

“You need me to rub your back too Walt?”

“Fuck off Sy” the vampire said lightheartedly, a sense of relief in his mind now that the guy that had become one of his best friends knew his secret.

Pulling the last crate of bottles off the back of the pickup you thanked the guy from the craft brewery and waved him off, taking a deep breath before slowly climbing the fire escape at the back of the bar that led into the storeroom. It had been a long shift already, starting at 10am you’d opened up and started the ovens, restocked the bar as the cleaners had come through and cleaned the place top to bottom. Your boss was always decent to his staff, paying a good wage and having the cleaning crew come in during the closed daytime hours rather than in the early hours of the morning.

Working around them as they did their job, you restocked the caddy’s on the tables with silverware, napkins, and condiments, before returning to the bar and checking on the ice machine.

“Hey we’re all done now” one of the cleaners said as you looked up.

“That’s great, thanks. You guys always make this place look good”

Chatting with them you walked them through the storeroom - something your boss always insisted on that any non bar staff had to be escorted through - before one reached for the wooden rail on the fire escape. Something made you stop talking and before you could stop yourself, one hand was pushing one of the guys back into the storeroom, the other was grabbing the shirt that was already standing outside. Just as you did the rail slipped away, as if in slow motion, the three of you looking in fear as the heavy wood crashed twenty feet below onto the empty kegs that were stored beneath.

Speechless you stood there, fingers still curled around the shirt of one, hand splayed across the chest of the other;

“Fuck” you whispered quietly, not to anyone in particular.

“You could say that…”

Having made sure both cleaning guys were ok, if a little shaken up, you made them leave by the front door then considered your options. Dialling the boss you weren’t surprised to hear it ring out before going to voicemail. He had strict downtime rules, and was more than likely out on his ranch land taking care of his horses. Knowing he trusted you to make the right judgement, you scrolled through your numbers and dialled Marshall’s Property Maintenance;

“Marshall’s, what can i do for you?”

“Hi, i’m calling from Big G’s Sports Bar? We’ve just had the handrail fall off our fire escape. Wondering if you’ve got space to fix it this afternoon?”

There was a pause before you heard a long exhale of breath;

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in twenty minutes”

“Thanks Walter”

Hanging up you smiled. You’d worked with Walter when you’d been on the police force, you’d been a patrol cop that would assist with crime scene control and you’d been first on the scene for countless horrific acts of violence. One final call had given you PTSD so bad you’d resigned, finding a home in the small town of Blackwater Lake and a steady job at Big G’s Sports Bar. Your boss was the big quiet type, liked to spend more time out on his ranch with his horse, having enough trust in you to run the day to day operations of the bar as his assistant manager.

It had been well past 9pm when Walter finished the repairs. Your boss had come in and helped him out when he’d got your text, leaving you in charge of the first few hours of opening. When the two men reappeared through the storeroom you smiled at them, getting ready for the evening handover before grabbing your coat and clocking off.

A few minutes later as you hopped off the last step of the fire escape onto the dandelion scattered gravel - your boss liked to let them grow - you smiled at Walter as he was loading his tools into his truck;

“Hey, thanks for today. Really saved our bacon… without the fire escape we wouldn’t be up to code so couldn’t have opened”

“S’ok. Glad you called” Walter admitted; “It’s been a while…”

Scuffing the gravel with your boot you swallowed the lump that was in your throat;

“How have you been? Since… ya know…”

“Alive. Wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t of been for you and your partner”

“We did what was needed… not every day you see va…” you stopped yourself, you still hadn’t completely come to terms with what you’d seen; “V...vagrants doing that… I’m just glad we got there in time…”

There was a moment of awkward silence before Walter rounded the truck and stood in front of you;

“Do you need a ride home? Your boss mentioned that you walk to work and you stayed late where he was helping me get this fixed”

“Thanks, that’d be nice”

Over the next few nights Walter would appear at the bar early evening, usually under the pretense of checking the work on the fire escape or dropping off the bill to the office, and you quickly clocked that he would always be leaving just as your shift was ending to conveniently give you a ride home. Not that you minded, the weather had turned unseasonably cool after the warmth of the parade weekend, so the casual conversation as he drove you home in the warmth of his giant truck was a good way to end the day.

As he rolled into the parking lot behind your apartment complex you wondered if you should invite him in for a coffee, but weren’t sure if you were reading his intentions correctly. Gnawing on your lip you reached into your pocket for your keys, smiling at Walter as he pulled the truck to a stop;

“There we go, home sweet home. Have a good night”

“You too Walter”

Stepping out you smiled and gave him a little wave, knowing he waited until you had gotten into your building.

Watching you go Walter cursed himself. When Rachel had left he’d been in the dumps even more than usual, but over the last few days he’d taken a shine to you. He was pretty sure you had clued onto the fact that he had always turned up around the time of your shift finishing, but when he’d found out from Geralt that your car had died and you couldn’t afford to repair it, he didn’t like the thought of you walking home alone. Sure Blackwater Lake was a sleepy little town, but keeping in mind what lurked in the woods - both natural and supernatural - he felt better knowing you’d gotten home. He had been sure you were going to invite him in for coffee tonight, but he’d gotten butterflies in his stomach and had blurted out a farewell before you’d had the chance.

Looking up at your apartment he let out a sigh.

Then… then something caught his eye. You hadn’t been in the building long enough for the shadow to be you, knowing you stopped to grab your mail each time you entered the building. Killing the engine he reached to the glove compartment for his gun - he still had a concealed carry permit - and raced to the building.

Juggling your mail and your purse, you held the letters in your mouth as you searched for the right key on your set when suddenly the sound of thundering footsteps made you spin around, your jaw dropping when you saw Walter appear from the staircase and running to your side. His hand was on your arm and he was pulling you to the side of your door before holding you to his chest;

“There’s someone in your apartment”

“What? No, i locked everything before i left… and there’s no sign of any damage to the door…”

Letting you go he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled for the sheriff, but as you listened in you could hear the volunteer dispatcher explain that both the Sheriff and the two deputies were out on the highway dealing with an 18 wheeler logging truck that had spun off on a bend. Walter cursed under his breath and hung up;

“Do you still carry?”

“No… not since…”

“Ok. Unlock the door and stay behind me”

The next minute seemed to last both seconds and hours, following Walter through your apartment until he silently pushed the bedroom door open with his gun;

“Freeze!”

The shape in the darkness didn’t move, and when you peered over Walters extended arm and you realised what he was looking at, you let out a sigh and flipped the lightswitch, the ‘threat’ suddenly illuminated and Walters shoulders dropping;

“Oh…”

Your spare uniform shirt was hanging on the frame to the window where you’d hung it earlier in the day so the sunshine would dry it. You let out a deep breath and laughed, resting your forehead against Walters shoulder;

“It’s just my uniform…” you hadn’t realised your voice was shaking until Walter turned and wrapped his arms around you

“I’m sorry i scared you”

Burying your face in the warmth of his sweater, your voice was muffled as you spoke;

“Its ok. I’d rather you have seen the mess in my apartment and saved me from an intruder than the alternative…” you smiled weakly at him, and it was then that the tension in the room was like static before a storm. Like the first lightning strike, when Walters lips touched yours it was as if electricity coursed through your veins, the kiss hungry and needy, contact between two touch starved people needing that connection. Your fingers curled in threads of his knitwear, pulling yourself closer as his arms wrapped around you and his hands splayed out over your ass, squeezing handfuls of flesh so he could pull you flush against his body. The kiss deepend and his tongue sought entrance between your lips which you eagerly granted. He tasted of coffee and peanut butter chocolate, and when he pulled away you were both gasping for breath.

“So, vampires do need oxygen then?”

“How do you…? How are you not scared?”

“Because i was there when it happened. And I've seen you hundreds of times since. I’ve seen you in the mirror, I've seen you outside in the sunshine, i’ve literally served you garlic bread…” you paused; “And i didn’t need to invite you in. Whatever myths are linked to your condition, i know the Walter behind them, i know the quiet and controlled Walter that assesses a situation and ensures everyone is safe…” you paused; “Because I know i’m safe with you”

Walter opened his mouth to speak, but the lump in his throat caught the words. Closing his eyes he rested his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath as you gently held his face in your palms, your thumbs softly caressing the skin of his cheeks where his beard ended. You pressed your lips to his, and this kiss was different, this kiss was full of passion, of acceptance and the growing need that was blooming.

Clothes were scattered as fingers and lips found each new patch of exposed skin, running your fingernails down his massive chest as you both fell to the bed, your fingers curling in the coarse hair that covered his chest before clutching at his belt as his teeth sharply ran over the line of your collarbone and you let out a gasp;

“More…”

“I… I’m not going to bite you…”

“I don’t want you to, but my neck is super sensitive, it's like my biggest turn on…”

At that moment Walter could feel the change, his eyes paling and his fangs growing more prominent as you watched from below him, but what he wasn’t expected was the groans that escaped your throat and the way your body shook;

“Did you just…?” he cocked an eyebrow, he already knew you’d just cum, but he wanted you to admit it.

“Yes, fuck yes, now i need more…”

With a growl he ducked his head down and peppered sharp kisses over your neck, hands working on each others jeans before you were able to kick them off. Your hands ducked into Walters pants and you grasped at his hard length, hot in your palm through his underwear;

“Oh fuck, you’re big…”

“Don’t worry, i’ll go slow… do you… do you have protection?”

“In the drawer”

He reluctantly pulled himself off the bed, and you propped yourself up on your elbows as he searched out the condoms, pulling the box out and swinging something else from his fingertips;

“These aren’t regulation edition”

The pink fluffy handcuffs had been a present a long time ago, and had somehow moved apartments with you;

“Next time…” you reached and grabbed them from him, tossing them aside before grabbing the box and a small foil packet, ripping it open with your teeth as Walter quickly shed himself of his boots and jeans, his dark boxers discarded as you reached for him and smoothed the latex over his fat dick.

He smoothed his hands down your legs, before tugging you down the bed and flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up until your ass was in the air. The rough brush of his beard against your soft inner thighs was quickly soothed by his tongue swiping a firm lick through your soaked folds. He took hold of your hips and you felt him move into position, the firm nudge at your entrance before with a low groan he speared you with the slow stretch of his girth.

“You feel so fucking good… so tight…”

Your fingers curled into the bedsheets and your jaw hung open, the sheer pleasure that was coursing through your veins felt like an elixir as Walter hammered into your tight velvet channel. The carnal slap of flesh on flesh resonating around the room, only joined by the breathless pants escaping your lips and the grunts Walter would let slip as he sought pleasure in your body with his own. He splayed his fingers over your back, running the palm of his hand up your spine until he was able to cup your neck and pull you up, flush with his heated body. His sharp teeth scraped over your neck, his beard rough against the etched skin;

“Look in the mirror. See how amazing you look”

Focusing your attention on the dresser mirror that stood in the corner, you watched as Walter continued to slowly rock his hips, fucking you slow and hard from behind. But it was his eyes that drew your attention, icy pools of white with deep obsidian pupils piercing the tundra, and the flash of danger from his sharp teeth at your neck, just catching on the skin as he spoke;

“You’re so fucking beautiful, dunno what i did to deserve you… will you cum for me?” he slid his hand down your stomach and in the patch of curls at the apex of your thighs, seeking out the sensitive pearl of your clit and rubbing the pad of his finger over it in firm circles; “Will you cum for me?” he repeated, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

“Yes… Walter, please…”

“What do you need…”

“My neck, please…”

Walter knew he couldn’t bite you, there were so many unknowns he’d never explored, but he closed his eyes and focused his energies on bringing you to completion. Thrusting his hips in time to the movement of his hand, whilst sucking a hickey onto your neck, knowing his teeth were rubbing against the skin but not breaking it. The triple stimuli sent you over the edge, your head rolling back onto his shoulder and your mouth open in a silent scream as you came so hard you saw stars, shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body as your walls gripped Walter tight, before with one final thrust you heard him growl as he came hard.

He held you for the longest time, your heart racing in your chest as echoes of your orgasm ricocheted through your body. As Walter started to soften you felt him hold the condom at the base of his shaft as he pulled out gently;

“Err… bathroom?”

“Just through there” you nodded to the door off of the bedroom as you fell to the bed, laying back with a smile on your face.

A few moments later he reappeared with a warm washcloth, first soothing your neck before tenderly attending to the mess between your thighs. After putting it back in the bathroom he appeared at the side of the bed, reaching for his jeans when you caught his wrist and pulled him onto the bed;

“You don’t need to go”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstay my welcome…”

“Look, unless you’re going to turn into a bat or something, you’re fine… we can talk, order some takeout…”

Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, you snuggled to his chest as he smiled sleepily;

“That sounds good. Can i take you out on a proper date at some point?”

“That’d be nice. Though our options are slim in this town, its only Sue’s Coffee Shop or Big-G’s Bar… unless you want to get a take-out pizza and sit outside on the kerb”

“I’ll cook, come to my place? What are you doing Friday night?”

“I’m off, but…”

“But?”

You felt your cheeks flushing with heat;

“I’m due on by the end of the week…”

“Oh. OH…” You looked up at Walter and saw a flush over his cheeks and his blue eyes glinting with excitement and a smirk on his lips.

“Oh… you’re into that?”

“You’re… not? Because i just want to say, i would happily give oral to my girl on her period even pre-vamp status…now its just…”

“A snack?”

He let out a low belly laugh;

“Yeah, you could say that”

Curling up to Walter’s chest you felt a sense of calm you hadn’t experienced for a very long time, the conversation flowing easily and long into the night, before you both fell asleep in each other's arms.

#walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall smut #Vampire!Walter #henry cavill

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myfeetkeepdancing · 4 years

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Saint and Sinner | Arvin Russell x Male!Reader

Summary: This continues where the movie ends. You pick up Arvin as you are on your way to Cincinnati. But he’s awfully quiet, haunted by his past. Not the ideal companion for a long journey, but you make most of it.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut

Words: 7814

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The orange glow of his cigarette illuminated the features underneath the cap for a brief moment. The cindering bud scattered across the tarmac as it parted with an almost spent cigarette. A puff of smoke blew from his lips. Carried away by the wind, into the forest beside him. Another car drove past him. A visible sigh racked his frame as he dragged his feet back into action. You spot the man from miles away. His appearance became more apparent the closer you got.

His intentions didn't change; you see his hand signal coming into view again. With his cigarette almost burned up, you leave your foot off the gas, and you let the car roll to a standstill a few yards after him. His jeans were dirty, torn, and worn long last past its intended lifetime. Just like the loose shirt hanging around his frame, the collar broad and wide. Blown by the wind. Spots of grime, sweat, and soil soaked in. A few locks of brown hair protruded from beneath his cap. Worn and colors fading. His expression was tired, and features that were gaunt like. Roadworkers were common in the area. And he sure looked the part.

"Hey there, where you be headin'?" You ask as he walks up to your window.

"I… haven't figured that out yet." He said in a beaten-down tone. "I was thinking somewhere north."

"I'm heading towards Cincinnati. You can travel along that way."

You could see him pondering, looking back down the road the way you came. If something was keeping him here. Reminding him of something. Before looking back at you. "I've been meaning to get up there."

"Well, hop on in." Leaning over to unlock the door. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Thank you...." Taking the last pull of his cigarette before tossing the smoldering remains on the floor. Closing the door behind him. "I didn't think anybody was gonna pick me up." Cradling the knapsack in his lap. And sharing a glance at you, forcing a small smile. Tightening his arms around his bag. His voice is dark and heavy. Carrying a sense of grim. "I'm Arvin."

"Rough day?"

"Hmmhm." He confirmed, avoiding any further eye contact. "Yeah…" Mumbling under his voice. Locked in a cold stare, reserved and absent.

There wasn't much to talk about. He sat there beside you, staring into the distance. You put the car into gear and steer back onto the road—a two-way road dissecting the large looming forest. Tall pine trees scattered up and beyond the horizon. As far as the eye can see. In the distance, a single-car drove ahead of you. A loaded truck passed by, and that was it. And as you pick up speed, a cool breeze of air began circulating through the open rolled windows. Following into the bending road, you spot the lay of the land ahead of you. A long stretch of road, rolling over the hills and valleys of the countryside. The branched off dirt roads dotted here and there all connected to a long stretch of road—a single lane connecting the smaller settlements to the cities. The road was uneven like most of them. The journey was going to be long. With the nob on the radio, you turn the volume down, the local radio broadcasting nothing noteworthy other then news and music replayed over and over again. Trying your best to keep your eyes on the road, you can't help but notice the boy's head bobbing. He must be the same age as you. Maybe a bit younger. His features were young, yet his expression was grave. He'd been through something. The way his eye pierced through the windshield. Roughed up by the countryside.

"You can sleep if you want, I'll wake you up once we hit town."

He just shook his head, fighting to stay awake. Arvin didn't want to fall asleep beside a stranger. Things were keeping him awake. His head heavy with sleep, burdened by his thoughts and deeds, bobbing on his neck. Swaying to the bounces and rockings of the car. His mind occupied elsewhere. Taking him back to times that were.

You weren't entirely sure if he was awake or not. He breathed somewhat heavily, and his head jerked back once in a while. "You… joining me?" You ask, motioning to the diner opposite the car. You hear a few grumbles, the sleepyhead still fighting to stay awake. His eyes small and narrow. With your coat hanging on your lap, ready to go, you give him some more time. He had been dozing off for little moments during the ride. But something was keeping him away, he'd jerk back into life, awake again and again. As if his nightmares were pushing him from his sleep. You slip open the pack of cigarettes and offer him one before taking one yourself. Something he didn't decline.

"I'll wait." He grumbled, voice hoarse and dry. "I'm not hungry."

"Hmm…" You watch him with interest, slowly awakening himself from the small naps. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, you notice the long brown locks of hair as he readjusted his cap, racking his fingers through as he coughed a little. Both still seated in the car, you quietly offer him a light. He leans over to you, catching the flame with his cigarette. "Something troubling you?" The question got out before you knew it.

The small flame of the lighter gave his appearance a somber look. He looked at you briefly through his lashes before seating back up. "It's nothin', just a… busy day." Pulling a big one from his cigarette. You remain seated like that for a while. Smoking a cigarette in peace and quiet. The parking lot at the dinner was almost empty, two cars and a lorry. From the car, you both watch the few customers dine and the young server walking up and down the diner. The sun was setting on the horizon, darkness slowly creeping into the surrounding woods.

"Here." Tossing the pack of cigarettes his way. "Just make sure no one gets into the car." You say and step outside, putting on your coat as the cold breeze crept upon you. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Don't worry about me." Sinking back into the chair. Taking another cigarette between his lips as he watches you enter the diner. Drawing a long pull and releasing a plume of smoke together with a long sorrowful sigh. Arvin was all alone in this world. Sitting in a strangers car, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't help but feel pity for himself. More and more questions began flooding his mind. Where should he go? What should he do? Would they be looking for him? And most importantly, did he do right? He rolled up the windows more to block out the cold wind blowing in. Arvin was alone once again. He wanted to. It's what he choose. Trust was hard to come by. Especially after all that had happened. He couldn't trust anyone. He sank deeper into his seat. His gaze stuck in nothing but mindless thoughts.

"Shit!" Arvin cursed, jumping in his seat. His instinct kicked in, holding a charged fist at whoever tried to get to him. But as he looked better, he could see a familiar face beside the car.

"Sorry, didn't mean to." You apologize while opening his door. "But I was wondering if you brought your jacket? Didn't see it on you, and you know, since you won't join me, you better get dressed. Gets pretty cold outside."

"Have my denim jacket with me." He said. Looking a bit puzzled by your concerns. "I'll be fine."

"Here." Slipping off your coat and handing it to him. "That denim jacket won't keep you warm. You sure you're not coming with me?"

He shrugged it off without even looking at you. You also let if go, and continue inwards. Like a typical diner, seating benches row after row. There was space for no more than fifteen to twenty people. At the end of the path cutting across the diner sat a jukebox. A nifty apparatus that was popping up everywhere. Even in small places like this. Behind the small bar with stools in flashy red and white accents all over stood the young server. She gave you a kind smile. Through a small gap in the wall, you could see the kitchen. The smell of bacon and fries welcome you—a sure pleasant one since you were in need of a good meal after such a long drive. A few seating away from the door sat an older couple, behind them, the lorry driver—just a quiet evening in the diner. You take a seat further up, close to the window to keep an eye on your car. And most importantly, your passenger. At first, he sat in the car, smoking one after the other, before finally dressing himself in your coat. Cold must be creeping into the metal.

In your mind, you couldn't understand nor figure out why he'd stay outside. He stretched his legs outside the car several times but regretted it moments later. The weather is getting a grip on him soon enough. Surprisingly enough, sleep didn't bother him anymore. Dinner alone didn't take long. The meal was good, a nice piece of tender meat with fries and a coke—a real classic. When you dine alone, you tend to finish quickly. Some small talk with the server might drag it out. But not tonight.

During your meal, you browse through the local paper. Read in upon the local and national news. Check the adverts and job offers. Ponder about work, family, and other matters. But somehow, your thoughts keep getting pulled away—more than once. And when you look up from your meal, your eyes automatically divert to your car. Catching his eye. The distance wasn't that far. But the contact was there. And feel caught nonetheless. He wasn't staring at you. But you keep catching each other's gaze—more than once. Your meal was interesting, but outside was something more worth your attention.

The red neon lights illuminated the entranceway and part of the parking lot. You were flooded by it once you stepped outside. In the small cluster of buildings on this side of the road, this one stood out the most. A local watering hole further up was the only other noteworthy building. The rest was wrapped in darkness. Two lamp posts illuminated the main street. Furthermore, no light. Just quiet and darkness. All in all, the small place was a sad display; most buildings were dilapidated, poorly maintained, and without much charm. Life went one elsewhere, but here, somehow, time seemed to stand still. A chill ran up your spine to tell you it was time for another stretch on the road.

The windows were rolled up all the way, except the one on his side—a small opening near the top, big enough to rid excess ash from his cigarette. You take a seat behind the wheel again, placing the paper bag beside him. A look of surprise shoots across his face; the smell must have caught on. "It's for you." You say while starting the car. The headlights illuminate the parking, and it's silent metal habitants.

"You didn't have to." Coughing his smoker's breath away, peaking into the bag. "But 't smells good."

"Dig in, my friend." Pushing the bag further towards him. "Can't imagine you're not hungry." A thin, forced smile softened his otherwise tired and lackluster expression. "It'll do you good."

"Thank you." He says while looking up at you. You feel the words carry their message across. The way he looks at you, straight into your eyes. "That's... real kind of you." Taking the contents from the bag. He carefully begins to unfold the wrap from the steaming hot burger on his lap. A sip from the cold milkshake seems to make him whole again. So did the first bite into the burger, leaning back as he slowly lets the flavors overwhelm him. "That's real good." He nods. "Yeah..."

"Good to hear…" Giving him a smile as you bring the car into action. The road ahead was dark and still so many miles to make. "Still got plenty of miles to go."

With the headlights of your car being the only source of light in the vicinity, driving became a tiresome experience. Staring ahead of you. No proper focal point. Just the road, two beams of light, and a pitch-black horizon. The sound coming from the radio was nothing special, pretty much the same as the jukebox from earlier. Your back began to feel sore and worn, annoying you. Small talk had been minimal. Arvin wasn't much of a talker. Not a storyteller. He kept his answers short. Therefore the whole chatter didn't have any deep subjects. Just plain chit chat about work and life. The work he did. The news. Yet, not mentioning his family. He avoided it. For a reason, you guess.

"What's there for you in Cincinnati?" He asked. For once, you were taken aback by his interest. Managing to speak a whole sentence. You chuckle to yourself lightly. Arvin noticed but didn't react.

"Home." You said, giving him a smile as he looks at you. "Been on a family visit for a couple of days."

"Hmmm…" He shifts his gaze from you back to the road. "Parents?"

"Yeah, I... used to live there. Farm life wasn't for me." You said. "Have you figured out where you're going?"

"Not yet." He sighed, sinking back further down in his seat. "Thank you for the coat. Glad the heater is back on again." Warming his hands in front of the vent. "It's cold."

"The least I can do."

The drive from the diner to the motel was a mere four-hour drive. Again in full darkness, only with a few more cars here and there. You knew the route for a certain bit. Arvin didn't pay attention to the road numbers when you tried to recall the last one. Arvin just raised his shoulder questionably. He didn't know. And it wasn't his fault, but you were trying to involve him in the process nonetheless. At least try to make the best of your company. When you stopped, he did join you looking on the map. Decked out onto the hood of the car, finding your way across the spiderweb of roads. He did look. But didn't say much. Smoking a cigarette, nothing more. In the last miles fifty or so miles, you made a stop to refuel, bought another pack of cigarettes, some small snacks, and went on for the final stretch. Arvin was said very little. Like before.

"Alright... so." You said, waiting for Arvin to catch up. "I've booked a room for the night here, perh-"

"I better go." He nodded, with a notion of defeat in posture. Adjusting his cap over his long curls again. With his gaze to the floor, he throws the knapsack over his shoulder.

"That's not what I meant." You chuckle out laughter, scratching yourself behind your ear. His eyes widen as he looks up, you see the grip on the strap tighten. "It's not that late." You say. "How about a beer? I know a bar further up. On me."

His pursed lips and a downcast glance told you enough. One hand on the strap of his bag, he tucked the other away in his pocket. A sigh followed that was louder than even he expected. The shadow created underneath his cap by the lamppost was enough to be unable to read in expression. Or see his eyes.

From what you have seen from this man, this Arvin. The words he spoke were few. Very few. But the eyes didn't. Once you looked into those eyes, they didn't deceive. They tell you more than his words could make out. He removed the last cigarette from the package you gave him. "Got a light?" He asked with a heavy voice. From your pocket, you flip open your lighter. Before giving you one more look. "Thank you (Y/N)." And with that, he starts walking away from you.

"Arvin." His steps slowed down before glancing back in your direction. Not at you. "Take good care of yourself."

He simply nodded, blew the smoke from his lips, and walked away. You try to shake it off and continue to check-in. The small room was furnished like any other. A small room centered around the bed, a tiny bathroom in the back, a wardrobe to one side, a chair to the other. Colors were near the same throughout the rooms. This was simple, dark, and drab greens. An old model of a television stood on a wooden counter near the wall. You seat yourself into the chair and tune into the first channel of only six. There wasn't much time that went by as sleep began to creep in. Eyelids heavy with sleep. Thoughts turned to none. Gazing mindlessly at the black and white images dancing on the screen.

You veer up in your seat, completely awake—two knocks on your door, loud and powerful, resonated through the room. You didn't have a bad conscience, as some would suggest. But this was far from expected. With your eyes wide open, heart beating in your chest, you approach the little spyhole in the door. Focusing one eye on…

"Arvin?" You pull open the door with a more than a surprised look. "How' d-... W-...?"

He'd clearly been beaten up by the weather. His breath fanned out before him like a small cloud, the cold from outside, riding up against you. Bringing your senses back to life again. It must have been more than an hour since you last saw him. Outside was cold, like before, windy and above all dark as the night could be. He reeled from the cold. Shaking to his very core. "Can I come back on that offer?"

"Of course." Taking a step back and holding the door open to him. "C'mon in."

"Thank you." He said, rubbing his hands together feverishly. "Tis damn cold outside." Standing uncomfortably in the room. Rocking on his heels, trying to warm himself up.

"It is…" Closing the door behind him, you don't know what to expect. But a sense of relief did surface for a brief moment. Something about him made your heart flutter. "So... what happened?"

Arvin didn't look pleased with himself. Sighing deeply, forcing his gaze to the floor if he was about to confess something. "Nothin' happened. That's the problem. I..." He shook his head, as if conflicted by his train of thought. Embarrassed to admit something.

"I'm just curious, Arvin. No more."

"I... didn't know where else to go..." He confessed, shoulders sinking, head hanging low.

"It's ok." Feeling pity for the man. What you didn't know was that Arvin had been standing there, in the darkness, for a long time. He'd walked the streets alone. Trains weren't there. Money he didn't have. Nor any family. Lost in his thoughts. Alone and cold. Without anything but a knapsack filled with old belongings. What was he going to do? He was a lost cause either way.

What he needed was hope. A light at the end of the tunnel. So he returned, standing in the distance, shivering from the cold in some alleyway. Catching the last glimpse of you as you unloaded your suitcase. Arvin had wondered for how long he should stay there. Was ten minutes long enough? Half an hour, maybe? He troubled himself with all sorts of thoughts, as he observed the small window which a little bit of light shone through.

"You mind if I...?" Pointing at the glass and bottle of liquor beside the chair—another reason for you why sleep began to set in earlier than usual.

"No, not at all." He handed you the glass with your remaining bit, downing it in one go. "It helps me sleep from time to time." Releasing a small hiss as is burned down your throat. Watching Arvin putting his lips to the bottle. Downing a few good swigs. "Might help you as well."

"Hmmm... I sure could use it." He looked at you with dreary eyes. "Sure could use it..." Wiping the drool from his lips with the back of his hand. His whole body was still shaking and shuddering on his legs. The glass trembling in his hand. You could see the pale white skin of his fingers gripping the glass. They were whiter than his grime stained shirt.

"So, what's your plan?" You ask, taking a comfortable position leaning against the wall.

Arvin had thought about the question beforehand. If he was going to escape the former life, he needed to go far away. Somewhere where he couldn't be found easily. The city was a good start. "Could I… travel with you… to Cincinnati?" He asked with a slight hint of hesitation in his voice. "If you don't I…"

"No problem." You said, cutting him off. He might not have been the perfect companion from the start. But you have to start somewhere. Not everyone earns their trust as quickly. "If all goes well, we'll hit Cincinnati tomorrow around noon. You can figure out what to do next on our way down there."

"I appreciate that." He smiled thinly. "Thank you, mister."

"Alright, alright." You nod and head for your suitcase. "And it's (Y/N). No more mister." You warn him with a raised finger and a smile. "I think we might be of the same age."

"Twenty-two."

"See." Confirming your suspicions. From there, you sort some clothing out. A clean white shirt, pair of jeans, and a sweater. You walk over to the door and take your coat from the hanger. "Go take a bath, freshen up. And those are yours." Pointing to the fresh pair of clothes on the foot end of the bed. You slip on your coat and pull a cigarette from the pack in your pocket. "I know what you're thinking. I'll wait outside."

Arvin looked at you with suspicious eyes, as if you had a whole different intention. He stared at you while you unlocked the door and took the keys. "Are you gonna call the cops?" His entire body stiffened as he asked the question. Terrified of the answer.

"What?" You chuckle into laughter. "No. What makes you think that?"

"Then why are you doing this?!" He shot back. "Why do all of this?! Why give me clothes?"

"You came back for a reason, Arvin." You didn't need to think about it long. One of two things was possible. Either good or bad. And soon you would find out which. “I'm just trying to help. But feel free to leave..." Taking a step aside, holding the door open for him. Letting the cold wind wash in. "You may have trust issues. But I don't." Revealing your wallet from your back pocket. "I know exactly what's in here." Tossing it on the bedsheets. "If you change your mind, or have a suspicion..." Nudging towards the wallet. "Have a go, might survive a couple days on it. Figure things out."

"I won't." He said resolutely. Taking a stance.

"I know." You nodded. "But I'm trying to make a point here. I'm not bad, either. And I know you're a good lad."

He stared at you with troubled eyes. "You don't know that." Shaking his head, his jaw locked, and lips pursed thin. "I have done things." His voice was dark, and spoke with a sense of guilt. "I have sinned." He spoke it like some warning.

"We all have." You preached wisely. "And you don't need faith to do it."

"What did you just say?!"

"You have no faith, Arvin. At least, not anymore. You either lost it or… something happened." The tension was thick. The way he looked at you. A sight that made you shudder. If he might turn hostile at any moment. Yet the more you look into his eyes. The more lost you feel yourself. Something was amiss with him. "You don't thank the Lord for your food. Nor mention him in every third sentence like those folk down in the countryside." Arvin's nostrils flared as he listened and let the words sink in. "I've seen it without my own family. Everyone there puts their trust in faith. But it only gives false hope."

"You don't know." Averting his gaze. "I'm not like one of them."

"That's my point."

"What about all this?" Throwing hands at the clothes. "Won't they miss these at home?"

"My wallet would be worse." You shake your head while suppressing laughter. "There's also a lock on the door in the bathroom. If you don't trust me, that is." Taking the cigarette in between your lips. "Which is up to you." And step outside. The howling wind welcoming you as you struggle to catch the flame. Turning your back to the wind, facing Arvin again. "Also, I live alone. They… don't give a damn for giving away a pair of clothes." Shooting him a smile. "I'll be back in thirty." Closing the door behind you.

Forty minutes had passed when you returned. With caution, you unlocked the door, careful not to scare or walk into him. Not to your surprise, Arvin appeared in a better-suited attire than earlier. Standing beside the bed with his denim jacket on. His hair freshly combed, and the dirt and stains removed from his face and neck. In his hand, he held a cigarette, the other tucked into this pocket. He looked so much better. Cleaner, fresher and more man than before. You both locked eyes on each other. Still not sure whether the tension had cleared from earlier.

But the cold had done enough on you, your nose was running, and the wind had found every little inch of exposed skin. Freezing you to your very bone. "Good God…." Cursing something more while sniffing your nose. "I'm freezing." And close the door behind you. Warming your hands together while looking at Arvin. "You look much better." Reaching for the bottle for a swig. "Hope it did you good." Sneezing your nose after in your handkerchief.

An adorable smile cracked his features as he flipped away the half-smoked cigarette onto the street. Chuckling to himself as he closed the door, stepping into the room. His smile brightened the room. "It did." He said with a terribly precious smile. "Thank you (Y/N)."

"You're welcome." Planting yourself on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleepers from your eyes. The room had warmed up adequately since you turned up the radiators before you left for a cigarette outside. The warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. Feeling your ears glow like never before.

"I was about to come look for ya."

"Oh..." Releasing a long stretched yawn. "Well, I'm here." You rub your face wrecked with sleep.

"This is yours." Handing back your wallet.

"Thank you. What'd you do with it?"

"Nothing. Like you said."

"I knew you would." Flashing him a smile. In that short moment of eye contact, you notice a small shimmer in his eyes. It was brief. Something had happened.

"Thank you (Y/N). And my apologies."

"I'm just glad you're still here."

"I owe you that beer." He said, nudging towards the door. "Should we?"

"We'll figure that out later. I'm feeling tired." You knew full well Arvin had changed for the occasion. You detected a hint of disappointment in his reaction—the snort of air through his nose. But sleep had set in. With the cold crept into your bones, you longed for the warm sheets of a bed. Not a cold, stale beer in some backwater bar. "I've been to the reception… and uh... there's another room available. But…-"

"I don't want you to go through that much trouble for me." He raised his voice.

"I only wanted to say, I just... don't have that kind of money to spare right now. And-"

"I don't expect you to. You've already done enough." He smiled thankfully, but unexpected. "It's my own fault. I'll sleep in the car, or on the flo-..."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." You cut him short. "Is that the alcohol talkin'?"

"There's only one bed for the two of us." He said, his thin smile more of a joking kind than anything else. "It has the space, but…"

"As long as you don't elbow me. I'm fine with it." You yawn out loud, stretching your limbs. "I just need some rest. I'll take this side-" Patting the cushion beside you. "-you the other."

"Fine." He snorted and sat on the other side. "Fine…" With the switch on your side of the bed, you dim most of the lights. Turning up the heat slightly on the thermostat, you make sure neither one gets cold in case someone pulls the cover from one another. The sheets were big enough, but just in case. You thought about sleeping in the chair, or the car. But neither of those were good options. As far as you know, a cheaper motel was miles ahead. Not that you had the money to spend on another room. But…

"G'night." Arvin mumbled while pulling his socks off. You glance back as his comment pulled you from your thoughts. A shudder of some sort short up through your spine. Followed by a growing glow of warmth. Boiling your insides slowly. Churning your stomach. In that instance, that moment you glanced back, Arvin sat at the edge of the bed. Just like you, but without a shirt. His broad shoulder and masculine back did something to you, you couldn't describe. The air stocked in your throat. Your eyes meet, sudden and short, as he turned his head slightly, his gaze locking into yours momentarily as he glanced back over his shoulder. The brown locks of hair dangling in front of him.

"Goodnight." Stripping yourself of the remaining pieces of clothing. Feeling the motion of Arvin shifting on the mattress, slipping himself under the covers. You turn the lights off with the switch beside your bed. Letting your eyes adjust to the darkness, and slide under the covers on the opposite side. Arvin lay on his back, gaze to the ceiling. And join him in doing so. Leaving a small space in-between. Like a neutral zone. It was mutually agreed without exchanging a single word about it. One arm propped under your cushion, the other resting on your stomach. Yet your heart hammered in your chest. You were glowing, cheeks burning. Not from the alcohol. Not from the cold. You were far more awake than you ever have been that day. Eyes wide open. Swallowing the lump down your throat. You just keep your gaze to the ceiling, but you wanted to… to look beside you.

"At what time do you want to leave tomorrow morning?" He said quietly, feeling his gaze shift towards you. Every bit of movement on the mattress made your heart pump harder. Laying on your back, the bed wasn't small. You made yourself small, close to the edge, a bit of cover draped over you. Yet he felt so close by. The sound of him breathing alone made you…

"I… I... d-don't know… We'll see…" You clear your throat, keeping your eyes in afront. "We'll see." The everlasting silence returning again. The night turned dark and quiet. No cars driving past. No birds singing. No music from across the street. There was nothing, just silence. You don't know how long you've been laying there, staring at the ceiling. The tension building up. Listening to his breathing. You can't help it; you're too focused on it. Only the howling wind outside, the rustling of branches outside, brought a change of sound—every lick of lips, movement of his tongue in his mouth. You could hear it.

"(Y/N)?" He asked, rolling his head on the cushion, meeting your gaze for a second as you looked over. The cushions touched each other, that wasn't the problem. They were big enough, but the space between the two of you. That wasn't. The touch of arms was enough for you to jump a little.

"Yes… I'm awake." You sighed and continue to spit out a lie blatantly. "It's the weather. I always have trouble falling asleep when it's windy." You glance at him. "And you?"

"I don't know..." He said, bringing the conversation to a dead stop. You swing yourself onto the edge of the bed and lift yourself onto your legs. Making your way to the bathroom and lower yourself on the throne. Relieving yourself of the necessary. Before rounding the corner of the room, you halted for a moment. Standing there, several meters away from the bed. Even in the dark, you could see Arvin lying on his back. The outlines of his body, masculine shapes draped under the covers. You wish he didn't see you standing there. But you could feel his eyes shifting towards your direction. You shuffle back towards the bed and crawl back under. A sigh escaped you, trying to focus your mind on something else. The rustling leaves of the trees outside. The ticking radiator. The rumbling clouds. Time crept by slowly. Your eyelids felt heavy, yet sleep didn't seem to set in. "I can feel the sheets… shaking. You ok?"

"Oh, yeah...I' m-... I'm fine." You said with a sigh. Scratching the back of your head. "It's cold." Tugging the sheets in and around you. "That's all."

Everything beneath you moved and swayed. You expect he must have rolled onto his side, perhaps facing your way. The thought alone made you… warm. His breathing again remaining the only sound you could focus on. Added to that, the increasing warmth radiating from his side of the bed. You could still feel your toes being cold, hands numb, and ears glowing. Yet the heat was creeping into you. As if the radiator had crept under the covers. Was it Arvin…? Was he closer? The thought alone was tantalizing. Sending the hairs rising on your harm. You notice your breath becoming irregular, shuddering even.

"I should-...You tried to say, turning towards him by rolling onto your back. But you let out a small gasp in a semi terrified, panicking state. It all went so fast. You bumped up against him. Body against body. Warm and inviting. Yet in your reflex, you try to roll back on your side.

But his hand… His hand held in your place, resting on your hip. "You're freezing..." He breathed heavily, fanning along the skin of your neck. Shivers rushed across your spine as his hand lowered. Feeling your cold body with his hands. Shaking lightly as he touched upon your frame. Trailing up and down with his fingers. Your senses were in complete overdrive. Every point of contact was intensified by your mind. Slow and careful. You were numbed on the spot. Feeling your shoulder resting against his chest. Strong and masculine, like you glimpsed upon earlier.

"Y-Yes… Ar-... Arvin…" The words came out stuttering. You couldn't help it. Your hands shook, and your body was heating up quicker than ever before. "M-Maybe I… I should g-g-get a b...b-ath."

"You could have..." He said as his breath fanned against your neck. Sending shivers down your spine. The mattress moved again, Arvin began closing the distance between the two of you. If you had a chance to stop him now, it was right here. His hand moved from side to your stomach, his arm wrapping around your waist. Behind you, you feel the heat literally rising. His entire body came in contact with yours. Torso flat against your back, legs cupped by his. "But there's a reason you didn't..." He whispered into your ear. "It's the same why I came back." Before you had a chance to react, let alone sigh of relief. His lips followed, nose trailing along the back of your neck. You could feel the sloppy kiss burning on the skin of your neck. “Isn’t it, (Y/N)”?

It made everything different. All this strange tension that had circulated for the past hours had manifested in this one kiss. It burned barriers, tore down walls, and fulfilled your wildest thoughts. You let out a groaning moan as your body stiffened as he moved closer onto you. Sliding his hand further across your stomach, pulling you in closer. Feeling the warmth and curves of his body, pressed against you.

You try to regain your senses, not resisting his hold on you, but instead, turn towards him. And he let you, his hand that pulled you in, now slid along your frame, fingers roaming from your stomach to your back. Finally coming even with him. Even in the dark, this up close, you see the stunning outlines of his features. The dimples on his cheeks and freckles dotting his skin. Leaning into his lips, the kiss was everything you wanted. Soft and warm, but a particular ferocity to it. A gasp escaped your lips as you parted, cupping the back of his head with your hand. "Say it…(Y/N)" He said with a slightly shaking voice. The very mention of your name, in that harsh tone, made you shudder in excitement. "-tell me I'm right..." Pulling your lips back onto his. Arvin was the moving force in this; he could play you like anything else. And you would let him. "Say it… (Y/N)...You wanted this to happen..."

He still continued to advance on you. "I've been through enough…" His one hand touched on your inner thigh. Moving up every so slowly. "I've seen so much darkness." He said, pressing a kiss to your chest. Looking up at you as you groaned. "I don't want to anymore." Pushing himself further onto you. Shifting his weight towards you. And you let it happen, rolling onto your back. His lips take the skin of your shoulder for granted. Leaving behind hickeys. "I want it to change." He muttered in between the kisses, moving further along with the lines of your body, from the shoulder to your collarbone and chest. Forcing the wind from your lungs as his body followed along, resting on top of you.

"Shit, A...A-Arvin." You freeze on the spot, feeling his member pressed against you. Long rigid and firm, poking wantingly into you. The nerves in your system get the better of you. "I...I...I... can… help…and…a-and... I want to..." Every word took an effort to speak as he grinded against you slowly. Searching for friction, taking every ounce of concentration to utter a word. "But… B-But there a-are... other w-w-ways?!"

"No... The way you look at me." At the same time, his hand found its way to your pelvis. You had felt yourself growing in mere seconds. Blood racing your system. And now, those outlines, throbbing in your shorts, were traced by his fingers. "You make me feel like… like... I've never felt... in years." He groaned.

"Please A-Arvin... Don't mistake my kindness... f-for love. I… I-..." The touch of your cold hands on his warm, nurturing skin was everything you could ask for. His touch rocking your very being. The feeling of his naked body on yours. Your mind is almost blank. Captivated by his motions. Wanting more.

"Say it… (Y/N)..." He growled while kissing you hard. Your lips trembled upon his, shaking from pure ecstasy racing through your system. You can't help but kiss back. You wanted more. But you didn't have the courage. Thank God he did. “Tell me I’m right.”

"Y-Yes…A-Arvin…" You confirmed wholeheartedly, with a full-fledged groan of excitement. “Yes!” But were silenced in the moment again by his lips. Cradling your cheeks in his hands. Your heart fluttered, leaving you absolutely breathless. A smile grew on your face. And you could feel his growing against your lips. "Arvin... P-P-Please..."

"You either stop me if you want me to...." Hooking his finger on the band of your shorts. Adding finger by finger, until his entire hand slid in. He looked at you with small eyes, a flicker of innocence shining through. “Or you help me...” He growled. "But… what I'm about to do... I do because I want to." A smile showed on his otherwise troubled face. A smile you had never seen before. So soft, so kind. So loving. It showed a side of Arvin, you didn't expect to see. "Not because I have to… I… want to." Smacking his lips on yours. His hand palming your boner. Your breath stoked in your throat, feeling unable to respond. His fingers sliding along the pulsating flesh of your cock. Initiating the first strokes as he forced away your shorts. The covers were no longer there, and your eyes had accustomed to the darkness. The little light that the moon shone into the room was more than enough. His body resting against yours, feeling the heaving of his chest and the moving of his body. Every heartbeat, every breath he took. You felt it.

He stroked rough, with an intensity you couldn't match as your shaking hand reached for his. Even in the darkness, it stood out. The stiffness poking into your side, reminding you. His groaned breaths said enough as you brought them together. More than a handful for him. It's thrilling and highly intoxicating, invigorating, flesh against flesh. There was nothing else but his member on yours. His cockhead rubbing against yours. His shaft rock hard and wet. The veins and ridges of his, pulsating and desperate. Craving for more. A sensation you wish would never end.

The position was awkward at first. Arvin laying half on top of you. Cocks brushing in the middle. But as the heat rises, the momentum picks up. It all fell in place. With his one hand, he stroked, long and hard. The other arm, wrapped around your neck. Holding onto you.

His moans were short but charismatic. Your eyes get drawn to his every growl. Massaging your erections together in a lustful vigor. Everything was intensified. The veins on his arm showed. The muscles rippled in motion. The pressure of his worked masculine chest forcing into you. His glances helped you work together to a common goal. A shuddering touch of your fingers along his frame forced out more sounds than you could bear. Droplets of wetness shimmer in the moonlight. Holding them together in perfect pairs.

The shaking intensified, for both of you. Groaning to each other's touches. Senses rising beyond the unthinkable. As Arvin came first. His motions became sloppy, irregular, and twitching. His grip faltered as he came. His body trembled on yours, groaning as he held onto you for dear life. It's quick and messy. As you take over his grip. Struggling with the wetness and hard sensations in your hand. But it's helping you reach your high even faster. The reality of your hand holding them both together is hypnotizing. Even more when you feel him reaching his climax. He held you, with his strong arms, tight against his body. Groaning your name as all looked up at you. Locks of brown hair, tangled and messy, hanging before his eyes. His eyes widened, big and full of emotion. Gasping for air as you stroked harder. You bring your lips onto his, closing his gasping mouth. He moaned and shook through and through. The fierce kiss interrupted by his climax, he parted with a shuddering gasp as you both glanced down in between you. These boys did look at explosions.

And it sure was mesmerizing. His pulsating and jolting climax spilled over the pair. From the slit, a string of cum streamed from his cock. The first shots went airborne, splattering your pelvis and stomach. Each stroke of your hand initiates another wave. It began to cover your hand and both lengths. It's slippery, wet, and extremely satisfying to force out of someone else then yourself. Especially when he took over once again. You didn't need much more. The firm grip of his hand returned once again. He was strong. And his grip was more than satisfying. Heavenly. Regaining his breath on your chest. Focused on one thing. You suck the air into your lungs, almost if you need that to force your load out. The pressure builds up fast enough. And Arvin went for it. Stroking every last drop from you. Turning everything in a panting mess of growled, exhilarated lovemaking and passion. You both heaved for air in silence. Arvin still on top of you. In turn, stealing kisses from each other.

"I… have…" You muttered through your heavy breathing. "so... many questions..." You caught a glimpse of a smile on Arvin's face as he moved off the bed. Returning moments later with a towel. Hunched on his knees beside you, he cleaned every drop from you. With a careful finger, he inspected your areas to see if there was any left. His touch is slow and somewhat sensual. Dragging his finger over your, now, glowing skin. "Arvin?"

"Hmmm." He hummed softly, pulling the covers towards himself and began to cuddle up to you. Arvin completely naked, slowly cradling onto you. You can still feel his member rubbing into your skin. "Your warm again." He said while looking at you. His eyes had more life to it. Slowly putting an arm around your neck. Cuddling himself up on your chest. Pulling the cover along with him. Resting his head on your chest. You can't resist the temptation to twirl your fingers through those brown curls. Long and beautiful.

"What happened to you?"

He sighed and sank deep into your embrace. Folding himself around you. Embracing you. "I have sinned… and lost my faith." He said peacefully. "You were right." Pressing a small kiss to your chest. "Parts of me have died… and more. But here… today... I found a piece of me… I didn't know I lost."

You didn't expect those kinds of words from him. For a man with as few as his, this had emotion. For once you didn't have to read his eyes, or his expression to know what he meant what he said. A slight snore shook you from your thoughts as you trailed your fingers through his hair, adjusting yourself into a comfortable position. Arvin didn't move. He snored softly in your embrace. He looked peaceful. At ease. Curled up to you like that. You didn't track time, but you had a feeling, deep down inside of him, something was healing. He was sleeping, without being awoken by his nightmares. At least not yet.

Only the name remained, muttered softly from his lips.

A girl?

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: If The Bunker Had Windows Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x female reader Words: ±5250 words Description: When a Djinn case doesn’t go as planned, not everyone makes it. Dean, who is burdened by guilt, holes himself up alone in his room for days, until Y/N comes in to check on him. Will the girl who was his perfect world be able to pull him back from the darkness? Warnings: Angst/comfort. Mutual pining, some fluff. Description of canon typical violence and supernatural creatures. Mentions of injury, death and alcohol abuse. Depression, refusal to eat, grieving, crying. Satisfying ending. Author’s note: A one shot that will punch you in the feels, according to my betas @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Always grateful for you girls helping me out! And to my readers, I hope you enjoy my reading, thank you for your support.

Serenity floats through the halls of the Men of Letters headquarters, like the morning mist on an autumn day. If the bunker had windows, the sun would have shone diagonal beams through the glass, warm and welcome, but instead it’s the light from the vintage table lamps that give this home its glow.

Y/N moves down the hall towards the galley, her sock covered feet softly padding against the marble floors. Despite her stealth approach, Sam is waiting for her to appear in the doorway, his eyes already lifted from the tablet that lays flat on the mahogany table. “Morning,” he greets, continuing to swipe through news articles, in his search for a case. “Coffee’s brewing.”

She descends down the two steps and sets foot into the kitchen, the aroma of roasted beans flooding her senses. The night hasn’t been without worries and all the more without sleep, so she can use a good dose of caffeine. “Thanks,” she returns.

After pouring herself a generous amount of the dark beverage, her thoughts wander off to the other inhabitant of this oddly cosy concrete structure. Dean’s absence is obnoxiously evident, the air not filled with grumpy mutters before he had his coffee, neither with a lame joke that he found on the back of the cereal box, that only he finds funny. With a deep sigh, she turns around with her favorite mug in her hand, resting against the counter. “Has he come out of his room yet?”

Sam’s jaw flexes, the tall giant with a gentle heart glancing over. He doesn’t even have to shake his head for Y/N to know the answer. Shutting her eyes for a few seconds, she takes a sip from her hot drink, burning her tongue, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the pain she knows Dean is in.

It’s been three days since the brothers returned from a particularly tough hunt. She remembers Sam’s voice hollering through the bunker, and she instantly realized that something terrible had happened. When she found the Winchesters in the garage, Dean leaning on his sibling and barely able to stay on his feet, the air was stolen from her lungs. His skin was paler than those of the spirits she has faced and he seemed barely conscious. His eyes beheld an emptiness that faded the forest green of his irises, leaving nothing but a shallowness that reminded her of death, even though his heart was still faintly beating.

A Djinn had gotten to him, and by the time Sam found his brother, strung up to the ceiling of the monster’s den, he was barely alive. It was too late for the young college student who the hunters were hoping to save, her corpse dangling in shackles next to Dean, drained of blood and life. She was all but a grim memoir of their failure, a reminder of the fate that would have befallen the hunter, had the younger Winchester sibling not found him.

Back home, Sam and Y/N carried Dean to the infirmary and thankfully got a hold of Castiel, who came to the rescue as fast as he could. The angel might not be at full power, but he was able to pull his friend away from the reaper, who was without a doubt waiting to claim his soul like the vultures that they are.

Even though Cas glued the shattered shards back together until Dean was physically whole again, something inside him remains damaged beyond repair. The mighty hunter, who faces his enemies head on and with guns blazing, who laughs Death in the face, is defeated, and there is not much the cosmic being can do to change that. A broken body is much easier to heal than a broken mind.

Y/N puts her empty coffee mug aside and exhales, coming back to the present. “Did he eat, at least?” she wonders, a desperate hopefulness in her pitch. Again, Sam shakes his head. “He left dinner by the door without touching it. I’m sorry.” The younger Winchester doesn’t have to apologize, after all, it’s not his fault that the food was left untouched. Yet, he knows their female companion had put a lot of effort in making Dean his favorite burgers, hoping it would persuade him. “It’s okay, Sam,” she assures, forcing a smile.

While the younger Winchester brother returns his attention to his tablet, Y/N takes a moment to collect herself. She then turns to the kitchen counter and crouches down, taking a large frying pan from the lower cabinets. After lighting up the stove and carefully placing a second ceramic pot on the fire, the bunker’s second best cook opens the refrigerator and collects a carton of eggs, milk, bacon and cheese.

Sam watches her move around the galley, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing?” “I’m making Dean breakfast,” she states, matter of factly. The hunter sighs, pity evident in the soft exhale. “Y/N--” “I have to try, Sam.” She cuts him off, the tremble in her voice noticeable.

Their eyes meet when the woman glances over her shoulder, still stirring the milk and eggs in a bowl. The younger Winchester is well aware that this meal will most likely end in the trash like the others, but he understands why she feels the need to take care of his brother. It’s her way of letting Dean know that she’s not giving up on him, no matter how thick the fog grows in the mind of the tormented hunter. It’s her way of keeping busy and doing something, anything, because watching from the sidelines while someone suffers, is not in her nature. Especially not when that person is Dean, the man who she cares so much for, more than she would like to admit.

Sam’s lips press into a thin line, the corners reaching up slightly. The crow’s feet by his eyes wrinkle and become a little deeper, despite the brown hair that frames his gentle expression. She and Sam have been friends for a long time and often don’t need words anymore. With just a look, he explained that he sympathizes with her, and that he’s thankful for her efforts.

She returns his small smile and focuses on her cooking again, laying out the bacon into the hot frying pan, watching the meat as it starts to sizzle.

Twenty minutes later, Y/N walks down the hallway towards the dorms, a tray in her hands decked out with scrambled eggs, french toast and a fresh cup of coffee. Before the first room on the right, she halts, staring at the golden ‘11’ on the wooden barrier in front of her. Contemplating if she should leave the warm meal on the threshold or not, she looks down at her feet. “Dean?” she calls out, hesitant. “Is it alright if I come in?”

Her question remains unanswered, only fueling her doubt. Is he sleeping? Would she be crossing a line if she enters? Of course she wants to grant him his privacy, but he has been cooped up in there for three days now, without food, without social interaction. There have been many times when she was worried sick about the hunter who has already endured so much, and these past days only add to that count. What is the right approach here? Give him more time?

Closing himself off and pushing down the agony is his go-to coping mechanism, and although it isn’t a healthy one, she always respected the space he needed to move past the pain. She’s used to him being quiet, taking the Impala for late night drives, drinking more than usual and sleeping less. But at least he came out of his room, at least he ate. Now, everything is different.

Before she can reconsider, she balances the tray in one hand, freeing the other to reach for the brass knob. Carefully, she pushes the door ajar, allowing the light from the hallway to bleed into Dean’s room. The state in which she finds the resilient soldier, who courageously charges into battle and has won wars on strength and will alone, almost brings her to tears. He’s in his bed, curled up on the far left of the mattress, leaving the empty space next to him vacant. His back is turned towards her as he lays in a fetal position, the comforter pulled up over his shoulder. The darkness that surrounds him only seems fitting for his frail state of mind.

Y/N isn’t sure if the older Winchester brother is even awake, since he fails to respond to her presence, but she steps into the shadows nonetheless. “Dean? I brought breakfast,” she announces, softly enough that if he is sleeping, her words will not wake him.

The broken form in the bed shifts slightly. She might not realize it, but Dean has heard her, and has done every single time she has brought him something to eat. Her light footfalls passing his room, the hesitation on his doorstep, the soft knocks on the wood, the sigh when she turned away again. A part of him was glad she never came in before, yet at the same time, he was fighting the urge to call out, craving her company, her touch. Anything even remotely close to the way she was with him in his dreams, when held captive.

“I’m not hungry,” he croaks, his voice failing after not having used it for so long. “You’ve got to eat something,” she tries again. “It’s been a couple of days.”

The beaten hunter turns into his pillow, leaving the woman who intends to make him feel better by the door. A shuddering breath falls from her lips, one laced with disappointment and frustration. He should be used to letting people down by now, but it still stings. Struggling to not give in to his own longing, he opens his weary eyes and stares at the empty bottle on his nightstand, the whiskey it once beheld long gone.

Dean expects her to leave. It would do him justice, because he doesn’t deserve such kindness. But instead, he can hear her shuffle closer. She makes room on the side table, putting the remnants of his self medication down on the floor, the glass thudding softly on the stone surface, and sets down a tray. The smell of bacon fills his nose, and even though his stomach growls in response, he is sure the food would turn to ash in his mouth. Nothing can still the hunger that this perfect dream stirred up. Nothing can fill the hole in his gut that has only grown larger since Sam pulled him away from the world created by the Djinn he was supposed to kill.

He gave in to a fairy tale, even though he is well aware they are make-believe. He couldn’t leave that utopia, because for once, he just wanted to be happy. Instead of stepping up and slaying the monster at the end of the book, he was selfish, weak, and a girl died because of it.

His self-destructive chain of thought is interrupted when the bed dips down, Y/N taking up the small space on the edge of the mattress. Her delicate hand reaches for him, moving his tousled hair from his forehead, running her fingers through his light brown locks. Closing his eyes, he swallows with difficulty, biting down to keep the tears at bay. He doesn’t want her to see him in this state, to see the fucked up train wreck that he is.

“Talk to me,” she says softly, her whisper breaking the silence, but Dean shakes his head. “I can’t,” he returns, hoarse. “You should go.” She stands her ground. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tired hunter doesn’t have the energy to argue, and for a while, they just are. Dean on his side, huddled under the comforter, Y/N right next to him, one leg pulled under her, the other dangling from the edge of the bed. The motions of her gentle caressing almost lulls him to sleep, but he doesn’t allow unconsciousness to take him. The second he drifts off, he will be faced with either the same old horrific nightmares he has gotten used to, or return to the dream that will never be. Waking up from either will be too devastating for him to handle.

Wishing she could offer him any kind of solace, Y/N allows her thumb to rub his temple, cupping his handsome face gingerly. The action draws his weary eyes to meet hers for the first time this morning. The slight improvement should be a relief, yet it is anything but. The sorrow that swims in his gaze breaks her heart.

“It isn’t your fault,” she offers, her words so soft, that if the room hadn’t been draped in silence, the hunter would have missed it. Dean looks away, however, shaking his head slightly, unable to accept her comfort. “It is. I could’ve snapped out of it.”

The woman by his bedside furrows her brow, her expression soft and sympathetic. Why does he expect the impossible from himself? Why does he have to rescue everyone on this earth? No one can live up to that, not even the hero that he is. It’s a burden too heavy to bear for any being, a responsibility that sets him up to fail, because he can’t save them all. He would always beat himself up, whenever they would lose an innocent during a hunt, but this time there’s more to it. This time he can’t get up.

“A Djinn put you under. How could you have known it was a dream?” she says, trying to help him see that this blame is not his to take. “That’s the thing,” he sighs, the air that flows from his lungs substantial with regret and remorse. “I was aware it wasn’t real. I just… I didn’t wanna wake.”

Without pausing, her gentle touch traces the scruff on his cheek as she analyses his words that raise so many questions. If he knew what he was experiencing was indeed a fantasy, then why didn’t his hunter instincts kick in? Coming back from a coma as such is anything but easy. Yet just like with a vivid nightmare, once one realizes the terrors are nothing but a manifestation of their deepest fears, they can fight their way back to the surface. What could Dean have possibly seen that would keep him from coming home? “What did you dream about?” she wonders.

His focus turns in a thousand yard stare, as if he can see it all again. Every reason that made him decide to lay down his weapons when the creature captured him. Every experience that was so tentative, that he was ready to swap that reverie for reality. Every vision, every touch, every smile, every laugh. Every wish come true. It is right there, just out of reach, displayed behind the glass that encases his memories, reminding him of what will never be.

“Mom, Dad... they were alive,” Dean begins, the recollections causing his eyes to shimmer. “Your parents too. Sammy was married to Jess. She was pregnant.”

Y/N listens to the fallen hunter breathlessly, trying not to blink, because she knows it would force the tears to fall from her lashes. Slowly, it begins to dawn on her why he couldn’t find his way back.

“There were no monsters, we didn’t hunt. Sam was a lawyer, I owned an auto shop. We had family barbecues, dinner during thanksgiving. It was…” he lets out a shuddering breath, drops brewed by bittersweet reminiscence rolling down from the corner of his eye. “It was simple, peaceful, without the constant worry. No sorrow, no regret. And you, the way you were smiling… I’ve never seen you glow like that.”

He breaks away from the perfect vision, glancing at the woman who he got to call his in that dream. The woman who he lived with, in a house by a lake, with a back porch looking out over the water. The woman who he married and gave him two beautiful children. The woman who he loves, and in that perfect world he allowed to love him back.

Dean tries to swallow down the painful lump that obstructs his throat as a hint of a smile tucks at the corner of his mouth. He could tell her all that, but it wouldn’t do her any good. In fact, that illusion might break her, just like it broke him. Instead, he allows a final sentence to fall from his lips, but the emotion that has closed around his airway only allows a whisper. “We were so happy.”

Tears find their way down Y/N’s face, leaving shimmering pathways in their wake. Not a word has left her, not even the smallest sound. She doesn’t trust her voice to ease his dreadful affliction.

It makes sense now, why he couldn’t bring himself to pop that bubble. What Dean experienced, it sounds perfect. It is the definition of heaven, not just for him, but for all the people he cares about. It shouldn’t be a surprise to her that the selfless man only wants what’s best for his family, eliminating his personal desires, but it moves her nonetheless. Their happiness, her happiness, is Dean’s. It’s only then that his choice of words begins to settle in her conscience. “We?”

Confusion adds to all the emotions that pass by in her misty eyes like frames of a silent film. The hunter’s gaze meets hers again, and he’s not sure if he should be terrified or relieved when he sees that puzzlement transition into comprehension. The puckered lines between her brows even out as her mouth opens slightly, her eyes growing larger, boring into his soul. “We were together,” she realizes.

Dean doesn’t have to confirm, it wasn’t a question after all. She has figured it out already, and that conclusion now hovers between them, neither of the two knowing what to do with the revelation. “Doesn’t matter,” he eventually whispers. “It was just a dream.”

The downhearted conclusion has Y/N tilt her head to the side, watching the man who she has loved ever since she met him. The memory is one she holds dear, the wide grin he flashed after witnessing her taking down two vampires with a machete, before he and his brothers even got the chance to make the kill. She didn’t think she needed saving, but when his emerald greens took her in, she felt a warmth flair in her heart. He did in fact rescue her that day, and now it was her turn to rescue him. Y/N breathes in, because in order to do so, she needs to be brave.

Her left hand reaches for his, which is holding onto the pillow under his head. She takes it, unfolding his clenched fist, and laces their fingers together. “It doesn’t have to be,” she speaks softly.

For a few seconds Dean beholds their entwinement, astounded by the gesture. Is she doing this because she feels sorry for him? Because she’s worried that her resentment would send him further into the dark? But when he glances up at her, the look she gives him stuns the hunter. There’s no pity, nor desperation. All he sees is a softness in her beautiful eyes, a calmness that tells him that it’s alright, that she knows, and that she feels the same way.

“Y/N...” he utters, unable to let go of her hand, but not ready to close her palm in his a little tighter. “We can’t. It’s only gonna end sad and bloody.” She shrugs at that, running her thumb over his rough skin, the motion soothing them both. “Maybe,” she agrees, “but denying this, not giving in to what we feel, isn’t that worse?”

His chest rises and falls slowly, his focus now locked on their hands again, while the woman still seated on the side of his bed holds her breath. It’s almost as if he’s too scared to look at her, aware how fragile this moment is. They are at a crossroads, and depending on the direction he decides to take, this instant might remain just that, a jiff, or it might be the start of something new, yet terrifying.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Dean sighs, fresh tears glistening though his long lashes.

Swallowing with difficulty, Y/N looks down, sniveling. She can feel him slipping through her fingers like sand in an hourglass, every passing second taking the battered hunter further away. But before she loses him all together, she strengthens her hold. “I know you don’t,” she acknowledges, “but having to look back at some point, realizing we missed our shot and watched that ship sail by, that would cause me so much pain, that I--”

The whimper that falls from her lips, draws his gaze up to study her expression. She’s crying silently, her mouth firmly closed in a thin line. The woman who goes out her way to make him feel better, is breaking in front of him because of his doing, and it hurts him more than anything he has felt in the past three days. Instinctively, he frees himself from her hold, only to take her small hand in his palm, protectively wrapping his fingers around hers. The reassurance gives her just enough strength to continue her plea.

“After everything we’ve been through, the losses, the sacrifices. Hell, multiple apocalypses…” she begins, barely able to grasp how many battles they have survived. “We deserve this.”

There is not a doubt in the hunter’s mind that Y/N has earned all the happiness the universe can offer, but him? No, he hasn’t. People have died because of him, lives ruined, families torn apart. He has made too many mistakes, and no amount of good deeds could set the record straight. “Why would you wanna be with me?” he huffs, shaking his head slightly. “I’m such a fuckin’ mess...”

Y/N takes him in, the man who has never believed he was good enough for anything. There is not a monster on this planet that could hate Dean more than he hates himself. If only he could see how Sam looks up to his big brother, how proud he would have made his parents, if they had still been alive. If only he could see her, and know how much she loves him.

Taking a bold step, she begins to lower herself, leaning towards him. The action is rushed, afraid that the coward inside of her might alter the course, but once her lips meet Dean’s, she stills. She can sense him freezing against her and panic jolts through her body, the fear of rejection almost having Y/N pull back herself. But then he eases, his mouth moving with hers. The kiss is short and light. Neither of them intends to deepen the touch, the gesture adding enough depth to the situation as it is.

When she opens her eyes, his are still closed. Almost as if he was still in the Djinn’s hold, and can’t let go of the bliss that surrounds him. A small smile adorns her soft features as she waits for him to look at her, which he only does when she lovingly brushes her nose against his.

While his focus bounces over her features, taking in every perfect imperfection that makes the woman before him so unmistakably her, he mirrors her smile. No one wants to disturb this precious moment, but Dean has to let out the breath he was holding for some time. He shifts his head against the pillow, watching how Y/N pulls his hand closer, pressing her lips to the knuckles, lovingly.

“I’m a mess too,” she admits. “I’m just as scared, Dean. But, together it might just get a little more bearable. I know I’m just a fraction of that dream--” “- Y/N.” The hunter stops her then and there, pushing himself off the mattress on his elbow. He might not think of himself as worthy, but he will not stand for her effacing her own purpose. The interruption silences her instantly, her wondering eyes still glossed over with emotion, awaiting. Now it’s his time to be brave.

He doesn’t let go of her hand, nor of her gaze. He doesn’t let go of the woman he wants to spend his remaining days with, no matter how many or how few. “You are so much more than a fraction,” he expresses, heartfelt.

Having made up his mind, Dean sits up and reaches for her, the warm shade of green only hooded by closing lids when his mouth finds hers. He allows himself to graze over her soft lips, drinking in the one person who he has longed for, but never expected to be with. The sensation that erupts in his stomach once the kiss intensifies is the equivalent to a firework show, the bright colors and sparks lighting up the black skies. Euphoria overwhelms him, the same sense that flooded his conscience when the Djinn lured the hunter into that heavenly hallucination. This is a dream too, and yet it isn’t, because this, this is real.

The kiss leaves Y/N breathless, yet she is able to sense his warm hand coming up her side and sliding around her back to settle between her shoulder blades, hugging her tight without ever removing his lips from hers. Finally, they are here. After months, years of denial, they are ready to give themselves to each other. Sometimes you need to lose all that isn’t, to appreciate what is.

She has to pull every string not to cry in elation, but can’t stop the drops of emotion from rolling down. When Dean feels the wetness against his own cheeks, he reluctantly breaks the connection, cupping her face worriedly. “Hey…” he hushes. She shakes her head, dismissing his concern, and laughs through the tears. “I’m okay. I’m just - I’m so happy right now, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

A twinkle reaches her eyes, making it impossible for Dean to look away. He never thought he would be able to witness her so content, let alone have her admit it out loud. Not in this world, anyway. An image of the custom made dream forged by the Djinn pushes itself to the forefront, Y/N on the porch of their house, comfortable in his arms, absolutely beaming. When he awoke from that coma, he thought that the illusion couldn’t be further from reality, but he was wrong. “I’ve seen that smile before,” he says warmly.

Y/N grin grows even wider at that, but before she can ask what the man who she just revealed her affections to means, a rumble rises from Dean’s stomach, causing them both to drop their gaze to where the sound is coming from. Once she realizes what caused it, she giggles, and it’s the greatest harmony Dean has ever heard.

“You must be starving,” she comments while wiping her tears, hoping he will finally take in some food after having gone three days without it. “I could eat,” he admits with a chuckle. “Well, it’s a good thing I made you scrambled eggs with cheese and extra bacon then.” She straightens her back and shifts to the edge of the bed, taking the tray with both hands. “Scoot.”

Dean pushes himself up further and sits back against the headboard, his mouth watering when Y/N sets the platter over his lap. Only now does he realize how hungry he truly is. He picks up the cutlery and cuts off some toast, overloading it with egg before he has a mouthful, the delicious meal still warm on his tongue. “Take it easy, okay? Wouldn’t want you to get sick,” she says kindly, reaching for him and rubbing her thumb over his stubble. He looks up at here before taking a bite of the strip of meat, his eyes having gained some of that boyish sparkle again. Relieved by the sight, Y/N watches him, glad that she finally managed to get his spirits up.

“You want some?” Dean checks with his mouth full, pushing the plate of bacon in her direction. She frowns at that. “Since when do you share food?” “Since now, and only with you,” he admits. “Don’t tell Sam.”

They share a laugh and continue to eat in silence until the dishes are so clean, they barely need washing. The pair leave the darkness of room ‘11’, Dean heading for the showers, Y/N turning the corner towards the kitchen. With a spring in her step, the giddy woman makes her way through the hallways of the enormous building. The tray in her hands feels much lighter, and not just because of the cleared plates she’s carrying.

With a smirk on her lips, she hops down the steps into the galley, finding Sam by the fridge, who is restocking it with the groceries he just picked up. It’s not until he notices the empty dishes which she sets down on the counter, that his gaze shoots up to their female companion’s joyful eyes. “He ate?” he asks, hopeful. “He did,” Y/N smiles, dropping the plates in the sink. “He’s feeling much better, he’s freshening up now.” The younger Winchester continues to stare at her in awe, stammering something intellectual, before he pauses and blinks a couple of times. “What happened?” he can’t help but wonder, surprised by his brother’s improvement.

She remains silent for a few seconds while she runs the tap and adds dish soap to the hot water. What took place in his room is hard to explain. It required a long list of events, building up to this disclosure. It involved Dean opening up about what he went through, comfortable enough to share his grief and let it out. It included them both being fearless after being scared for so long. It comprehended two individuals, growing together, taking a leap to cross a gap that seemed impossible to overcome.

“He let the light in,” she states simply, meeting Sam with a meaningful smile.

Grateful, the tall hunter huffs in astonishment, before he closes her in a hug and presses a kiss on her hair, not needing words to tell just how appreciative he is of her presence. He assists her and takes up the task of drying the dishes, the two friends working side by side to finish the chore. They are storing away the plates, the noise of the china being stacked in the cupboards allowing Dean to wait in the doorway without being spotted just yet. He’s freshly showered, wearing his dark grey robe over comfortable clothes, leaning against the post and taking in the woman who has turned his life around.

If the bunker had windows, the sun would have shone brightly. The late morning rays would come in through the portals to the outside world, illuminating their home. The beams would have been warm and healing, burning away sadness and discomfort, like it would melt the snow on the last days of winter.

But the bunker doesn’t need windows. The bunker has her.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

#Dean Winchester oneshot #Dean x Reader #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean x Y/N #Dean Winchester #Dean oneshot #Dean Winchester x Reader #dean fanfiction #dean winchester x y/n #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural fanfiction #If The Bunker Had Windows #Kate Huntington

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yamithediaperdork · 3 years

Text

My little brothers revenge, Part 2

Alex woke up Sunday morning and rubbed his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes and hearing the heavy snoring of his asshole big brother.

'Man, can't believe I conked out so bad!' He thought, now rubbing his arm across his chin and mouth to take care of any left over drool. 'I guess I must of been more tired then I thought..Ugh.. and Justin's been stinking up the room again in his sleep.'

Alex put his fingers to his nose, glaring over at his brother who was a well know toxic hazard in his sleep and as such normally got his own tent when the family went out camping.

Tossing his blanket back Alex froze as the smell not only got worse in the room, but it became clear WHAT the source of the stink was as he looked down and the shot swelled diaper around his waist.

'No way..no.freaking.way!' Alex thought as he blushed beet red.

he quickly glanced over at Justin who was thankfully still asleep and then slowly got up onto his hand sand knees and crawled backwards to get out of his bed, trying not to squish the mess around any worse and fighting back whimpers that might of woken Justin up.

There was NO way if Justin saw him in a shitty diaper that he'd ever let Alex live it down, and he could easily picture Justin 'accidentally' bringing it up around his friends or even at school.

getting his feet on the floor Alex found himself forced to do a cowboy walk of sorts from the bulk of his filled diaper and as quietly as he could he made his way to the door and out into the hall, praying to every deity he could think of that he was the first one awake since it was only 8:34 am and mom and dad liked to sleep in on Sundays.

Fate was not on his side however as he made his way towards the bathroom and saw that the door was closed. before he could even think of turning around and waddling back to his room the door opened and out stepped mom.

She appeared to of smelled Alex before spotting him from the way her nose wrinkled, then she looked eyes on him and her mouth twitched as if she was fighting the urge to smirk.

"Did somebody have a stinky accident?" She asked, sounding amused but coming over.

"I..I didn't mean to.." Alex whimpered and looked down, all sorts of shame flooding though his body and he was fighting back tears.

Instantly she went from amused to trying to comfort him, even if she winced as she knelt down in front of him and cupping his chin.

"Alex it's ok, accidents happen. this this goes to prove that you're not feeling so well. Maybe I'll let you stay home while I go and get you some more diapers later." She said in a soothing voice.

"I..Yeah Ok mommy." Alex said, feeling very much like a big baby as she then picked him up, hands under his armpits and carried him to the bathroom.

"I think maybe it's for the best you're gonna be in diapers all day today too. you wouldn't wanna have a poopie accident in your Captain America briefs right?" She asked.

This was NOT helping Alex feel better but he just nodded his head, kicking his legs a little.

"Uh..Uh..Mommy? I-I can clean myself up." he said as she carried him into the bathroom and stood him in the tub.

"I'm sure you could, but it'll go faster with my help and I don't think you want Justin seeing you like this." She said with a warm smile.

"I-I guess you got a point." Alex whimpered.

Oh yeah, he was gonna get revenge on his brother and prove who was the big baby in the house alright. right after his mom changed his dirty diaper.

'God, what have I done to piss you off so much?' he silently asked as his mom started to open his diaper.

One humiliating clean up and shower later and Alex was in a clean diaper and downstairs at the kitchen table, having some toast and tea. Normally Sunday's were a sausage and bacon filled feast if you waited long enough for Mom to get up but she had been wary about putting too much into Alex's system and asked him to go simple. Alex wasn't happy about it, but since Mom had put the plastic bag with his stinky diaper in the trunk of the car and promised to get rid of it away from the house he decided to humor her.

He was in just one of his Spider-man diapers and a loose Iron man t-shirt and kicking his legs softly at the table when Justin came down stair's with a grossed out look on his face, spotting Alex before he saw mom.

"Geez Alexandra, did you crap yourself or something? Our room friggen reeks!" He complained and then fully walked into the Kitchen and saw their mother standing there, NOT looking happy.

"Excuse me, but I thought your father and I talked about you calling Alex that name." She said in a less then amused tone.

"Er..well..See, Alex likes the nick name! Yeahhh, He said it just didn't feel right if I wasn't teasing him." Justin lied, Looking to Alex for back up.

"Alex is that true?" Mom asked.

"Yeah, Not at all. I've told him to quit it." Alex said smirking big time.

"i see. Justin, How would you like it if I called Justine or Jessica all day?" Mom asked, smirking now.

"..I wouldn't like it very much." Justin muttered and looked down at the floor now.

"Mmmhmm..So keep that in mind next time you get the urge to brat..I can always go and get you a adorable pretty princess lunch box and put Justine on the front of it and make you take it to school. Your father isn't the only one who can get creative with punishments."

Threat made Anne turned back to the kitchen counter and started on making Justin some breakfast.

"Y-You wouldn't!" Justin whined.

"Wanna try me? I'm already going to the store in a bit for more diapers for Alex." She said and smirked. "As is, I think you can have a nice toast and tea breakfast like your little brother. He's not feeling so good so you'll be watching him today."

"Ahhh moooom, I was gonna go hang out with Grizz and Rayne today!" Justin whined."I'm Sure Alex is a big enough boy he can look after himself! Or Dad can watch him!"

"Your father is going and helping Mr.Nilson build his deck today, But if you stay here I'll lift the TV ban so you two can play video games. Co-op only, I don't wanna come back to you both all mad at each other like what happens every single time you play a versus game."

Her point made the brothers both sulked as neither really wanted to be stuck with the others company.

Justin huffed his way though breakfast. between having to have buttered toast and tea instead of a meat explosion and being stuck with Alex all day he knew this was gonna suck all the balls, at least till he recalled his evil plan from last night and brightened up.

'Wait, no mom..no dad..and just me and the pamper butt. Oh yes yes yes yes yes! this is gonna work out great!' Justin thought and got a big silly grin on his face.

"Well, Somebody's cheered up after his tea." Mom teased.

"Oh yeah, I just had to wake up some more you know? I think I can have LOTS of fun with Alex today mom, so don't worry if you wanna take a bit." Justin said then added. "I know you like to drive around and it'll be nice for you not to have dad bugging you to hurry up or listening to me and Alex fighting."

"Well that's nice of you, though Alex is on his last two clean diapers so I really should hurry back." Mom said, giving Justin a half hug.

"oh nonsense! Alex is just gonna wear the diapers, It's not like he needs them mom, Right little bro?" Justin asked and smirked.

With Justin was being happy and helpful alarm bells were going off in Alex's head but there was nothing he could really say in argument of mom coming back sooner without tipping off he'd pooped himself earlier or making it sound like he needed his day time huggies. It was a catch 22 and Justin's look told Alex he knew it.

"yeah mom, I'll be ok..I'm sure me and Justin will have lots of fun." Alex said, trying to sound cheery.

Aside from not wanting to sound like he needed his diapers, he knew if he tried to whine to go with her or have her come back fast he'd also sound like a whinny little mama's boy.

"Well ok, If you boys are sure. I'll be heading out in a bit then, why don't you two leave the dishes for me and go and play some video games. And since you're both being good little guys for mommy." Anne smirked as both boys made a face at that. "You can both have 3 cans of soda each. Just try and spread them out."

the ugh faces turned into surprised smiles as mom was usually a stickler on the boys sticking to juice or water and she was always careful to keep a count on the can's of pop in the fridge.

Finishing up their light breakfast, the boys put their dishes in the sink and washed up a little then each one grabbed a can of cola out of the fridge and got a Blanket set out over the floor, well Alex got the blanket over the floor while Justin made sure the curtains were drawn shut.

Naturally normally Justin would of loved to of had the curtains wide open to show off his BABY brother but with mom still home he had to play nice.

Sides he wanted to try and draw Alex into a sense of relaxation before springing his super genius evil plan on him.

Alex wasn't falling for it for a second but went and fired up one of their rare co-op two player games (Since Justin wasn't a fan of retro games) and the boy's started to play, pausing only to wave bye to mom as she headed out, telling them that she'd be back in a hour or so, and to make sure dad woke up soon as he'd promised to be over helping with the deck bright and early.

They played in peace for about half a hour, with only cries of booya, eat it and the like coming out of their mouths and Justin giving Alex tips and for the most part they actually got along for a change.

That being said, all good things have to end and Justin never put his plan out of his mind, so when it was time to go and wake they're dad up he volunteered to do it while Alex took a much needed potty break.

Stopping by their room to grab Alex's phone Justin made a quick little call.

"Ngggh.. Yello?" came the groggy voice of Max.

"Heyyy max. how's it going?" Justin asked, keeping his voice down.

"Ngggh..Justin? what are you doing calling me?" the sleepy boy asked.

"Well Alex is kinda been missing you, and I was trying to set up a little surprise for him but getting you to come over and hang out with him." Justin said, grinning ear to ear.

"...OK who are you and what have you done with Justin?" Max asked, sounding suspicious.

"Hey, I can be a nice guy every now and then. but if you don't wanna come over finnnne." Justin huffed, mentally cursing just how well Max knew him.

"...Give me like 20 minutes or so to wake up and get some food in me." Max sighed on his end of the line.

"Ok the front door will be unlocked so just come in." Justin said and hung up.

with operation:show my brother baby butt off underway, Justin went off to go and wake up dad.

With dad being his normal cheery morning self (read: grumpy as fuck) Alex did his best to stay out of his way while he made himself a bacon and egg sandwich then grabbed his tool box and was out the door.

"I wonder he even offered to help if he was just gonna be this grumpy?" Alex asked Justin.

"Because there's free beer involved after the deck is built and you know mom won't let him bring any booze into the house." Justin said, oddly keeping a eye on the time.

"heh, you missing mom already or something?" Alex teased.

"Oh no, Just arranged a little surprise for you." Justin said and smirked.

As he smirked Alex felt a pang of fear go though him, the old Justin was back and he went to scramble up to his feet to get get away.

"ah ah ah, come here huggie butt." Justin taunted and grabbed onto Alex, tugging him down and into Justin's lap, pressing on his tummy.

Which had the effect of making Alex let out a massive fart.

"Dude! really? what are you, part skunk?" Justin asked, shoving Alex back out of his lap.

"M-Maybe!" Alex said, his tummy gurgling now and as he went to get up he ended up hunching over, anther fart coming out of him.

"Heh, Uh-oh, is widdle Alex gonna go poopie in his diapies?" Justin asked, smirking and getting up to block the path to the bathroom.

"J-Justin Nooo! I don't wanna poop my diapers again!" Alex whimper, hunched over and making his way over, yet anther fart coming out and that one was totally a wet one.

"Wait..ANTHER poopie diaper?" Justin asked, then it clicked. "Oh my god, you shit yourself in your sleep! Ahahaha! You really ARE a baby!"

"J-Justin Please! I'm begging you! Let me use the pot-" Alex started but then there was the sound of the front door opening and Alex was cut off by Max's voice.

"Allo allo! whats going..uh..on.." Max said, walking into view and looking at Alex in shock. "Uhhh.."

"M-Max!?! what are you doing here?!? I Uh..Oh god, Max don't loook!" Alex wailed.

Max was too shocked to look away though as Alex lost the battle with his bowels and the back of his diaper ballooned out as wave as wave of mush filled it, making the spider-man designs fade away and the formally white parts of the diaper go a ugly shade of brown.

With the back of the diaper being destroyed the front didn't get off easy either as Alex's bladder apparently didn't wanna be left out and he soaked the diaper even as he sank to his knees.

Balls up fists coming to his eyes and rubbing them as he started to bawl, Alex almost but not quite drowned out Max's million dollar question.

"Uhhh..what's going on here?"

The living room was filled with Alex's stink, but it was the smell of victory to Justin as he took in the scene with a sick joy. Alex was too busy bawling like the big baby he was to try and defend himself so Justin spoke up.

"Sorry about this Max, I tried to get baby Alex to cover up his diapers but he said he wanted you to see what a big baby he is an-" Justin started, but was cut off.

"Yeah, Bullshit. What's really going on here, Alex, did Justin make you wear a diaper?" Max asked, wincing as he moved over to comfort his friend.

'damn it! was hoping he'd fall for that. ah well, can't win'em all.' Justin thought.

Alex was still full on bawling though, and was just finishing up his dump and the diaper had amazingly held up.

"Alex..Alex buddy it's ok.. everyone has accidents." Max was saying and Justin rolled his eyes at that.

'just my luck, most boys his age would of started tormenting the fuck out of a pamper packer and I get the kind and understanding one.' Justin fumed.

"He's in all day diapers today because he went to sleep without putting one of his bed wetter pants on yesterday and wet the bed." Justin sighed. "And apparently if he's to believed he woke up stinky too."

"...Alex is this true?" Max asked.

Alex hiccuped and sniffled, calming down slightly now but he nodded.

"So..you knew his diapers were gonna be on display and invited me over..dude, your a asshole." Max said and glared at Justin.

"eh, Guilty as charged. but if you care soooo much about widdle Alex then you can get him cleaned up. Otherwise I'm gonna leave him to sit and stink." Justin said and shrugged, turning to leave.

"Sheesh.. brother of the year aren't you.. Where's his diapers?" Max asked helping Alex stand up and rubbing the poor guys back.

"In our room, I'll toss out what's left of them." Justin said then walked off leaving the stinky diaper boy and his little buddy to clean up.

For the second time this morning, Alex found himself doing a dirty diaper cowboy walk and heading for the bathroom, whimpering and saying sorry to Max over and over again.

"Hey, it's OK dude.. I should of known your brother was planning something when he invited me over. But Uh, I've known about your bed wetting for awhile." Max said, giving a sheepish grin.

"N-No you didn't, I'm super careful!" Alex whimpered.

they made it to the bathroom and Max had Alex stand with his legs spread and the trash bin in the bathroom under him as he undid the tapes and let the diaper plop down into the trashcan.

"yeahhh well about that.. you remember three weeks ago when we were playing Avengers in your room? you pack of Iron man diapers was sticking out from under your bed. When you weren't looking i pushed them back under with my foot." Max admitted, even as his face wrinkled in disgust.

"I..but..Noooo!" Alex whined babyishly.

Somehow this didn't change facts though.

"Look, we'll talk about it in a bit, you go and get in the shower, I'll go and get rid of the 'treasure'" Max said.

With no real choice in the matter, Alex nodded and made his way into the shower to go and get cleaned up.

'Pretty sad my best friend is more mature about this then my own brother..and Justin..your gonna pay!' Alex swore as he started the water.

After taking the plastic bag and putting it in the trash can outside, Max came back in and after opening some windows to air out the living room he made his way upstairs.Hearing the shower still running and found a pack of diaper with only two in it out front of the bathroom door.

the door to Justin and Alex's room was closed but since it didn't have a lock Max barged in anyways, finding Justin laying on his bed and reading a comic book.

"Can i help you?" Justin asked, a smirk on his face.

"That was a really shitty thing you just did to Alex, you know that right?" Max asked, hands on his hips.

"Cute choice of words there, and yeah, I'm a asshole and proud of it." Justin said.

"Yeah, well I'm gonna tell your parents what you did when they get back." Max shot back.

"Oh, cute idea. Let's tell them how Alex went and crapped his diapers when he has potty privileges and make it so he has to wear to school tomorrow. Of course I'll get grounded for inviting you over and showing off his diapers but who's really gonna come out on the short end of the deal here?" Justin asked.

Max blinked and tried to come up for a counter to that but just huffed and pouted.

"That's what I thought. If Mom asks when she gets back, Alex invited you over. I'll keep hush about the poopie diaper if you two little dweebs keep me out of trouble, deal?" Justin asked, going back to his comic book, clearly knowing he had the upper hand.

"..God your SUCH a asshole!" Max huffed and then stormed out.

Alex got out of the shower on his own and got himself diapered, then went and got a t-shirt (Hulk this time for the little avengers obsessed nerd) and a pair of black short's on over it before retreating down to the living room with Max, whining as Max told him about the deal Justin had offered.

"I don't know..he was suppose to shut up about the wet bed yesterday too and went back on it..and uh.. where did you put the..you know.." Alex asked huffing and squirming.

"Uh, out in the trash can on the side of the house. why?" Max asked.

"Because it's gonna be stinking up the block in no time and I'll get busted again for sure!" Alex whined.

"Well uh.. It's not like we can just go and ditch it in someone else's trash can you know." Max pointed out, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hmmm.." Alex said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully then snapped his fingers. "Hey! you know that old nature trail by here? the one that's hardly used anymore?"

"..Yesssss though I don't think I like where this is going." Max said.

"We'll take the stinky diaper and shovel out there, and bury it! by the time the trails popular again in the summer, no one will be able to smell it!" Alex said, beaming at his brilliant idea.

So excited with his 'brilliant plan' was he, that Alex actually started out of the room to head for the back yard to go and get the shovel.

"Alex, one second. You mighttttt wanna change into something baggier and with longer legs on it, those short's aren't really hiding your diaper butt." Max said with a small smirk.

Looking down and then looking at himself in a mirror Alex could see Max was right and gave a sheepish smile.

"Oh..yeah.. good call!" He said and then went to his dresser to find something a little more concealing.

Justin had of course by this time headed down stairs, not wanting to deal with Alex's 'toddler whining' ad he put it, and was playing a video game and drinking one of Alex's can's of soda since he had gone though his three.

Looking over as the pair went to go and get their shoes on he raised a eyebrow.

"And where are you two dweebs heading off too?" He asked then chuckled. "Awww, Is Max taking widdle Alex to da park ta pway?"

Alex growled but before he could speak up Max cut him off.

"Actually we're just gonna go and play on the old trail, go and dig some holes and the like. I figured that way if Alex has anther accident you won't have to smell it right away."

"Pffftt good thinking! did you pack a diaper bag for him then, hence the book bag?" Justin chuckled.

of course he couldn't of known that the pack pack was for holding the stinky diaper once they got it out of the trash, though he really didn't care anyways.

Alex meanwhile was blushing big time and huffing like a pouty toddler.

"Ayup, though hopefully it'll just be a wet diaper." Max said.

"pffft, ok. just be back soonish, Mom will wanna know where you are." Justin said and went back to his game.

Once they were outside Alex gave max a semi hard punch to the arm.

"what the heck was that all about! you sounded like you were on his side!" Alex huffed and glared.

"Uh, OW! and we didn't want him to know what we're really doing did we?" Max asked and then swatted Alex's padded backside, making a whumping sound.

"...You didn't have to be so believable." Alex huffed.

"oh I'm sorry, did you want him following us? knowing him he'd of tugged your pants off once you were on the trail and tossed them in a tree!" Max shot back.

the thought of being trapped in public with his diaper exposed made Alex blush and squirm, and let out a muffled fart of fear.

"Ah.. do you need, to go back inside and sit on the potty?" Max asked.

"NO!" Alex growled, then paused, and looked thoughtful and wiggled his butt a little, making Max have to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"Yeah no, I'm good." Alex confirmed a few seconds later.

The adventure out to bury the treasure so to speak was uneventful, much as Alex had predicted the trail was dead this time of the year and the only hard part was digging into the semi solid earth, the shovel being almost too big for the either shorty to really use it so they had to take turns.

Coming back they were greeted in the driveway by Anne who was less then pleased to see Alex not only outside when she was still concerned he was sick, but that he was all dirty from playing in the dirt.

At least it worked out that she'd been home for about five minutes by that time so she'd already taken his new pack of diapers (Avengers print this time) to his room but still she gave Alex a mild scolding and sent Max home.

After that it was a day of just lazing around the house but Anne had also insisted on keeping a close eye on Alex so he hadn't been able to get enough alone time to e-mail Ben.

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paralleledmediaexperience · 3 years

Text

a part 2 to this ficlet as requested by @xanthomonus in the notes! I’ve got at least one more part conceptualized (no way you can guess what’ll happen there) though i may extend it or add more, so if anyone would like to be tagged let me know!!

Sam is insistent that they try to research ways to get Cas back. Jack has explained that Amara won’t fail- it is simply the process of extracting an Angel from the Empty that takes time, since she didn’t want to wake or anger it like… well, like what Jack had done. He could feel Amara’s sincerity in a way that he was certain Sam and Dean wouldn’t understand, let alone be comforted by. She’d been in his head, crossed with his soul in the transfer of power. He’s kind of sure that if he hadn’t missed Cas so much too, she probably would have ignored Dean’s request altogether.

But it makes Sam look less frazzled when he’s able to lose himself in the research for something, and Jack doesn’t mind sitting with him and pretending he’s not hiding chapter books behind the large tomes. He’s been working his way steadily through some books Sam had collected for him last time they had been out shopping, and while he had enjoyed the first one (a mystery about siblings called the Boxcar children even though they no longer lived in a boxcar) he’d chosen Matilda next, because she sounded nice. And he was right! Matilda was his new favorite, even more than his last favorite, which had been Where the Wild Things Are.

He doesn’t even notice when Dean walks in, because Matilda had just glued a hat to her father’s head, but he does when Sam says, “What, none for me?”

“You’re a grown man, Sammy, you can make your own food. He’s four years old with a foot injury.” Dean says, scowling at Sam. The effect is rather ruined by both Dean’s flour dusted apron and the plate in his hands, and Jack smiles when he turns back to him instead. “You both missed lunch.”

Sam grumbles, but gets up anyway, stretching. “If you didn’t make me food how could I have missed it?”

“Shut up,” Dean shoots back half-heartedly. “Here, Jack, and don’t let him steal off your plate just because he got distracted reading.”

“Thanks, Dean!” Jack says brightly, moving his secret reading setup to the table instead of his lap and pushing it away, ignoring the way Sam’s eyebrows raise when he notices his no longer hidden book. Dean sets the plate down and ignores that Sam sends him one last annoyed face before heading off to the kitchen, where Jack knows there is going to be a plate ready for Sam, or at least a serving of the macaroni and cheese sprinkled with bacon bits and breadcrumbs that Dean’s brought him. “Are you making something else?”

“Just some bread,” Dean grimaces down at the mess of flour across his front, and Jack has to contain his giggles when the movement reveals a streak of flour in Dean’s hair.

“Just some bread,” Sam echoes, swinging back through the door with his own plate of macaroni. “Dean. Do I need to remind you that we need vegetables and can’t live off of carbs and meat alone?”

“It’s macaroni, Sam, quit whining and just enjoy it,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I swear, you’re the pickiest-”

“It’s not being picky, it’s eating healthy-”

“Same difference!” Dean insists, his twitching lips betraying the irritation in his voice.

“Just one meal with something green a day, Dean, I’m begging you.”

Eyes flicking back and forth as they snipe at each other, Jack takes an appreciative bite of the macaroni. Expectedly delicious, because Dean made it and Dean didn't make bad food the way Sam sometimes did. Mostly.

“Then beg,” Dean proclaims stubbornly, eyes narrowed. Sam doesn’t respond, his own expression pinching up into very familiar exasperation.

“Actually, I’ve never had brussel sprouts before, and Claire said I should try them!” Jack interjects. He isn’t sure what a brussel sprout is beyond a vegetable, but Claire had said he’d like them and that he should bother Dean into making them.

Dean looks unimpressed though, gaze switching from Sam back to meet Jack’s eyes. “You want me to make you brussel sprouts?”

“Please?” Jack tries, unsure if Dean thinks there is something wrong with brussel sprouts or if he is still simply offended by the concept of vegetables.

The please works, Dean’s capitulation coming in the form of a displeased huff and an, “Alright, fine.” He swings back around to point at Sam accusingly. “I’m blaming you for this.”

“As long as we get something from each of the five food groups, sure,” Sam says, taking his seat again. “And no, you don’t get to use tomatoes as the catch all.”

“Fine,” Dean bites out again, clapping Jack on the shoulder as he starts to turn away.

“Thank you Dean! Love you!” Jack says, and he hears Sam’s quick inhale just as he sees Dean almost stumble and he smiles to himself.

“Love you too, kid,” Dean manages to get out, hand squeezing just a bit tighter on his shoulder. “Alright, go back to your books, I have to go to the store for brussel sprouts apparently.”

The speed at which Dean walks away couldn’t be called running away but Jack definitely thinks it qualifies as retreating, and he straightens up a bit, very proud of himself for receiving his second ‘love you’ from Dean in twice as many days. He watches Dean get out the door before turning back around in his seat.

Sam is staring at him with a blinking mixture of incredulity and open affection, the smile on his face wide, if confused. “That’s… new?”

“Yep,” Jack confirms, pulling Matilda back towards himself and abandoning the pretense of reading the book Sam had suggested he search through. Sam had already searched it himself twice. He doesn’t manage to open it, because Sam continues.

“And I don’t need to check that it’s actually Dean?” Sam teases, bewilderment clear and pride clearer. “Saying yes to vegetables AND and I love you?”

“It turns out,” A voice whipcracks out, startling them both, “That Dean Winchester is actually a big old softie at heart. Who knew?”

“Balthazar?” Sam says, and Jack almost gets bowled over by the wave of shock. Balthazar? He knew that name. He stares openly, unheeded as Balthazar talks to Sam.

“Well, except Castiel, of course, but that Profound Bond of theirs hardly makes it fair,” The angel says, stepping forward. “Yes, Sam, I’ve been hand delivered back from the dead, at the temporary cost of my Grace. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Your grace?” Jack asks, curious about how Sam had been looking at him, but unwilling to turn around and take his eyes off of the angel Cas had once killed. “What do you mean?”

“Ah,” Balthazar strides over, and before Jack can say anything he’s got him clasped by both shoulders, staring into his eyes with a curiosity so intense Jack almost steps back towards the table. “And you’re Jack, I assume? I was warned that there would be no murdering of nephilim if I returned.”

“So Amara freed you?” Sam cuts in, and Jack huffs out a small breath as Balthazar lets him go to spin back around and face him. “Did she have a reason?”

Jack doesn’t voice his own question, which feels far more important. He wants to know when Cas will be back.

“Uh, yes?” Balthazar sneers. “Most of the angels are dead, Sam, no thanks to you and your brother and my brother. I’ll admit some of us deserved it- were rather asking for it, if you ask me- but it did leave dear aunty with rather less personnel than she wants to run heaven with.”

“She’s not grabbing all the angels, is she?” Jack breathes, terrified suddenly, despite Balthazar’s assurance that Amara had apparently set him off limits.

“Not a chance. Seemed to have a list in mind, and I think I was simply the first she found. I thought perhaps…” He trails off, just for a split second before he grins again, bright and covering up anything he might have been about to show. “Well, I didn’t, actually. Rather hard to do when you’re sleeping in eternal torment.”

Jack catches Sam’s flinch, and frowns at the other man. “Are you sure you were the first?”

Balthazar ticks his head to one side, considering. “Well, I’m the first to show up here, I’ll assume by your reactions, and given that she’s bringing us back graceless, I imagine any others will also be sent here.”

Jack scowls. If so, then Cas may be further off than he hoped. But this was- conclusive proof. Amara could do it, and now they would just have to deal with powerless angels until she came back and dealt with them herself. And Cas would be home.

Sam sighs, deep and weary and cheerless. “Yeah. That would make sense. Well, we can put this away, then.” He closes the book on the table with a hefty thump and then stacks Jack’s abandoned tome on top of it. “And I suppose we should try to make sure we have rooms ready. Jack, would you-”

“I’ll call Dean and let him know,” Jack says, suddenly tired and wanting to get away from Balthazar, still staring at him hawkishly, wanting to be away from the library, where more angels could show up without warning. He wants to hide in his room or possibly Cas’ until Amara brings him back and takes all the others back to heaven or whatever she planned to do. He wishes viciously in his head that he hadn’t opened his mouth about brussel sprouts and that Dean was still here in the kitchen where Jack could escape to without feeling alone. As it is, he grabs Matilda and his plate, still half full of macaroni, ready to walk away, but he catches Balthazar’s face again.

“You’re hungry,” Jack realizes as he says it. Balthazar has a facial journey of his own to deal with that fact before he grimaces.

“Human,” he says, displeasure and embarrassment warring on his features, even as his stomach growls.

Jack doesn’t want Balthazar here, he doesn’t want Amara to try to find anyone but Cas, or at least to find Cas first, and he most definitely doesn’t want to share his food that Dean made him, or Dean and Sam’s attention in general, and he swallows all of this down and he says, “Here. If you’ve never been human before, you’ve never really tasted food, right? Dean’s always makes the best food.”

He holds out the plate and drops it into Balthazar’s hands and tries his best not to stomp out like a real child, or run out like he’s scared, but he makes it around the corner and leans against the wall, out of sight.

Except that Sam immediately pokes his head around, following him. “Jack?”

“I don’t like this,” Jack says plainly, staring up at Sam like maybe he could explain why all of the good feelings he’d been having had shriveled up in his stomach and refused to leave, even though Sam clearly didn’t think Balthazar was an actual threat to them.

“I could tell,” Sam says, almost teasing again, but he drops it immediately. “Is it okay, Jack? Because we can absolutely just send him and any others that show up to the nearest motel instead.”

“No,” He says immediately, but he pauses after, thinking. He takes a deep breath in, trying to ease the odd tightness inside his chest. “No. They can stay here until Amara gets back. I just…”

“Don’t like it,” Sam nods, as if that explains it, and Jack guesses it does. “Well, Dean won’t like it either, so you can let him know that the two of you are free to hole up wherever you’d like to get away from them, and I’ll try to deal with them myself as much as I can.”

The tightness in his chest does soften, another breath rushing out like he’d been holding it. “Thanks, Sam.”

“You know I love you too, Jack,” Sam says, earnest and open and Jack barely makes the decision to hug him but he ends up wrapped up in Sam’s arms anyhow.

“I do. I know. Love you, Sam,” Jack says, fixing his grip on Matilda as he pulls away. “Okay, I need to go call Dean, because if he leaves the store before-”

“He won’t want to turn around, yeah,” Sam laughs.

Jack can’t help the smile that bursts across his face. “Well, I can’t use it too often, or it might not work anymore, but maybe if I say please.”

#Jack Kline #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Balthazar #supernatural #my fic #creativecaviar #me remembering that time i tricked my cousin into eating brussel sprouts. ehehehehe.#also!!! what the FUCK balthazar's voice is very difficult but also very fun and rewarding to write so PLEASE tell me whether it reads okay #my in my head: ive seen four year olds become territorial when their parents have visitors this is gonna be SO funny #anyway Jack IS going to get I love you's from all his dads thank you much. we just gotta wait for Cas.#this isn't going on ao3 until i have a good name for it so if you like reading better there suggest a fic name this time so it can go up

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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Ginger Snap, Chapter 2

A/N I am breaking probably the only rule I gave myself when I started writing fanfic, which was Don’t Ever Post a WIP. But lord knows I’m not immune to peer pressure and the narcotic that is reader feedback, so here it is, the second chapter of what is now an open-ended modern AU story about Jamie the Chef and Claire the Kitchen Disaster. Still a first person Claire POV, so I apologize in advance for any stray pronouns.

For the first chapter, I recommend reading it on Ao3, since I’ve made some minor edits since I first posted it on Tumblr. See above re. not planning on posting a WIP.

Oh, and funny story. When I decided to check the location of the real Ginger Snap catering company in Edinburgh, it was squished between “FrazersOnline” and “McKenzie Flooring”. If that’s not kismet, I don’t know what is. The location I describe below, however, is based on a catering venue here in Ottawa called Urban Element, where I’ve attended a few team-building events. I have yet to set anything on fire, though.

I checked my phone for the third time, confirming I wasn’t lost.

Frank and I moved to Edinburgh over the summer, just in time for him to start his position as Associate Professor of History at the University of Edinburgh. Despite our years spent in America, neither of us cared overmuch for driving, so we chose a flat (or rather, Frank chose a flat and I concurred) not far from campus. Therefore, this was the first time I’d ventured as far afield as Leith, a maritime enclave just to the north of the capital that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be grittily working class or artistically hip.

When I finally reached the address, I had to smile. No main street pretensions or non-descript commercial frontage for Ginger Snap Catering. Before me stood a two-story red brick fire station, still emblazoned with the crest of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Services. The two massive truck bays were now enclosed by see-through doors that could be drawn back on a sunny day. Through these a warm yellow light could be seen, spilling onto the grey, damp pavement.

A petite woman with dark hair manned the small reception area, a red-haired toddler clinging to her like a marsupial. She held a phone to one ear while simultaneously pacing the polished concrete floor. I stood as unobtrusively as possible near the door, but in such an open space it was impossible not to overhear her side of the conversation.

“... they willna take ‘im back until ‘is fever goes down... aye, an hour ago when I picked him up but it hasn’t... nay, i dinna think it’s... tis jus’ terrible timing with two weddings t’morrow... Could ye? Och, I owe ye Mrs. Fitz, a million times o’er... Anytime, we’ll be here. Alright, soon.”

The speaker turned to me, the harried look of a working mother sharpening her already honed features.

“I apologize fer keeping ye waiting. What can I do fer ye t’day?”

Before I could respond, the young boy, probably no older than two, began to fuss, rubbing his flushed cheek against his mother’s shoulder.

“Och, mo ghille, Mam kens ye’re poorly. Mrs. Fitz is coming as fast as she may.”

Unable to quell my instinct to diagnose and then cure, I spoke up.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Based on his age and the way he’s holding his head, it may be an ear infection.” At the woman’s penetrating look, I hastened to explain: “I’m a doctor. Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

Permission granted, I carefully palpated the boy under the jaw and peered as best I could without an otoscope into the offending ear canal. Confident in my diagnosis, I recommended treatment with a warm compress, an over-the-counter analgesic ear drop, and children’s paracetamol to control his fever. If, after twenty-four hours the symptoms had not improved, they could consider seeing his pediatrician for antibiotics, but these were only truly necessary for a persistent infection.

“Och, ye ‘ave no idea what a relief it is tae hear ye say so, lass. He’s my first bairn, ye ken, an’ I can ne’er tell if I’m over-reacting or being negligent. Can ye say thank ye tae the nice doctor, Wee Jamie?”

My stomach jumped. “Wee Jamie? Is he related by chance to Jamie Fraser?”

“Aye, tis his nephew. I’m Jamie’s sister, Jenny. Ye ken my brother, then?”

The pieces fell into place, and my insides settled.

“We’ve spoken before,” I explained. “I’m Claire Beauchamp. You and your brother helped me with a dinner party emergency last Tuesday. I came to return your market bags, and to thank you again for coming to my aid during my hour of need.”

Jenny and I spoke for another ten minutes, sharing the superficial narratives of two strangers brought together by circumstance. She was warm and thistly by turns, and I felt a longing for the honesty of female friendship that I’d given up when we left Boston. Eventually a matronly woman arrived to collect Wee Jamie. I carefully wrote down the exact names and dosages of my prescribed remedy.

After Mrs. Fitz and Wee Jamie had left, it occurred to me that Jenny needed to get back to work. I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, even if I hadn’t thanked Jamie himself. As I began to make my goodbyes, however, Jenny interjected. “If ye’re no’ in a rush, why dinna ye join our afternoon cooking class? My brother will be demonstrating how tae make quiche. Tis the least we can do, after ye helped Wee Jamie.”

Which was how I found myself standing behind one of six cooking stations arranged across the fire station’s main area, a bright red apron covering my black slacks and saffron turtleneck. My impetuous curls were slowly breaking ranks from where I’d slicked them into a bun that morning. I worried I looked like a human Pez dispenser.

I glanced at the workstation immediately to my left. A slight woman who I guessed to be roughly my own age was engrossed in her phone, a cheeky smirk playing on her berried lips. Her strawberry blond hair was swept into an effortless chignon that made me twitch with envy. She looked up from her screen and caught me looking her way.

“Geillis Duncan,” she said, offering a well-manicured hand.

“Claire Beauchamp. Pleased to meet you.”

“Is it yer first time taking a class, Claire?” At my nod, she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: “Ye’re in for a treat.”

Before I could enquire what she meant, a murmur amongst the other students (all women, save one) was accompanied by the heavy tread of work boots on polished concrete and a familiar Scottish burr.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank ye fer joining me on this dreich Scottish day. I ken a few of ye are new, so let’s start with a brief overview of yer stations and some basic safety reminders, before we tackle the quiche.”

Today Jamie was wearing a pair of olive pants that tapered down his endless legs and a technical shirt that clung valiantly to his upper body. He looked like he’d just stepped off the nearest rock climbing pitch. I wondered if he owned anything that answered to the name of a professional wardrobe, but I couldn’t deny that he looked impressive, in an athleisure sort of way.

“See what I mean?” Geillis hissed at me as Jamie made his way to the front of the hall, speaking now about optimal burner temperatures. “That man is a dozen kinds of yes.”

I concentrated on each step of the ostensibly simple recipe. Pie crust had been the previous week’s assignment, so I had only to blind bake the prepared dough already at my workstation. Once I had the crust centered exactly in the pie pan, pierced with a fork in orderly rows and placed in the oven, I rushed to catch up with the others. I’d missed Jamie’s instructions regarding pan frying the bacon, so I increased the flame, thinking I could make up a little time. The fatty meat crackled pleasingly as I set it in the lightly greased pan. I was inordinately proud of myself.

Things went very badly, very fast. First, my eyes wouldn’t stop watering as I meticulously peeled then dissected the onion into near-transparent crescents. Tears obscured my vision and I tried to wipe them away without contaminating my hands. To my left I could make out Geillis skillfully cracking eggs into a glass bowl, her pie crust already elegantly filled with crispy morsels of bacon and caramelized onion bits.

A vague sense of having forgotten something important tickled my mind. My pie crust! Grabbing a silicone glove (I wasn’t making that mistake twice) I rushed to the wall oven and extracted the pan. Giddy with relief, I saw the dough was only a little dark around the edges.

Before I could return victorious to my station, Jamie uttered a Scottish noise of alarm from his vantage at the front of the class. We both rushed across the room to where my rashers of bacon now resembled blackened shoe laces obscured by a heavy veil of smoke. With practiced ease, Jamie lifted the entire skillet into the adjacent sink and turned on the cold water. A cloud of steam enveloped his head, highlighting his auburn curls. I bit my lip as he looked my way in amusement.

“I hope ye werena planning on serving quiche to yer faculty guests t’night, Ms. Beauchamp?”

I stood meekly next to Geillis for the remainder of the class, no longer trusted around open flame without adult supervision. She graciously allowed me to extract her quiche when it was done baking. It looked like a magazine cover. Meanwhile, my workstation looked like the scene of an industrial accident.

While we were waiting for her quiche to cook, Geillis and I got to know each other a little better. She was a Highland lass from up near Inverness. Married to a wealthy older man, her life sounded like an endless quest for diversion. Despite this, or because of it, she had a sharp-witted frankness that I appreciated. She was also a hard-core gossip.

“Wee besom,” she remarked with a nod towards a blond girl who was currently monopolizing Jamie’s attention with endless questions punctuated by manufactured giggles and flicks of her pin-straight hair. “Tha’s Laoghaire Mackenzie of the Mackenzie brewing dynasty. They’ve a live-in cook, so there’s only one reason she attends these classes, and it isna for the quiche.”

I watched Jamie laugh over something the girl said, mineral eyes alight and his perfect white teeth on display. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t here for the quiche either.

The interminable ninety minute lesson finally ended. I thanked Geillis profusely and we exchanged numbers before she rushed off for her reiki treatment. Gathering my trench coat and purse, I tried to slink away without calling any further attention to myself.

“Ms. Beauchamp!”

I cursed under my breath, then turned to face him.

“Please, call me Claire. After I nearly burned down your place of business, we should probably be on a first name basis.”

Jamie chuckled. It sounded more natural and lived-in than his earlier response to Laoghaire, but I was likely fooling myself.

“Och, wha’s a cooking demonstration wi’out a wee bit of drama. Will ye be joining us next week? We’ll be making ceviche, sae I willna need tae put the fire brigade on stand-by.”

“Bastard,” I replied to his cheeky smirk. “Alas, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a cook. It appears to be the one science I can’t master.”

“Cooking isna a science, Claire,” he explained with sincere intensity. “Tis an art. Perhaps tha’s the root of yer struggle.”

“Perhaps it is. But in that case, I may as well give up now. I haven’t an artistic bone in my body.”

His languorous perusal of said body lit a different kind of flame in my belly. Geillis was right; he really was a dozen kinds of yes.

“I canna say as I agree. Come back any time if ye’d like tae try again.”

I blushed, thoroughly discomfited by his blatant flirting. He knew about Frank. He’d fled from him onto my fire escape, for Christ’s sake! Maybe when you looked like James Fraser, every interaction with a woman was merely a chance to hone your craft. Or maybe he was truly ignorant of his effect.

“I’ll take that under advisement. Thank you again, Jamie.”

“Until the next time, Arsonist.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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daincrediblegg · 3 years

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ALPHABET HEADCANONS: JACK O’NEILL

A/N: This is it!!!! I’ve caved!!!! I need more content for this man and I’ve gotta create it myself, so enjoy these unprompted lil nuggets of fluff! And don’t forget my ask box is always open for more!!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Jack is super fuckin affectionate, but he’s more of a… show don’t tell kinda guy. He’s got a bit of a hard time necessarily talking about how he feels- usually deflects things with humor. But he shows it in other ways. In warm touches, in playful side-eyes. Unrestrained by being professional he will hug you all the fuckin time. No shortage of funny little pet names either oh my god it’s like he comes up with a new one every fuckin dAY.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Jack O’Neill is a really good best friend ok. You’ve seen how he is with the rest of SG1. The dude has so much chill (unless it’s a life-or-death situation obviously), is always inviting you to go fishing. He’s REALLY good in tough situations simply because of his sense of humor and general chill attitude. GREAT at reducing anxiety like guy is a human valium- always knows how to distract anyone before their brain goes into some sort of head-spiral about anything. Loyal as SHIT when you’re in with him he’s pretty much ride or die for you even if you don’t agree with him on everything he would still probably take a bullet for his best friends. Also the biggest hype man- whatever you’re good at he has 100% faith in you to do it right and will always shut down negative thoughts about your abilities. 10/10 on the bestie scale tbh the man is a LIFER.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He’s actually, perhaps surprisingly, a really snuggly guy when you’re in a relationship with him. He may be… a little touch-starved since the divorce, and kinda misses it, so expect an arm draped over your shoulder or around your waist whenever you’re in a room together, and to be damned near joined at the hip when you’re not in public. The man is an actual living cuddle bug and he’s so sweet jesus.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

At one point in time he’d have liked nothing more than to settle down, get a dog, just enjoy being retired, but honestly he doesn’t mind that that ideal is a little further away than he thought now that he’s in the Stargate Program. He likes what he does- as stressful as it is sometimes, but there’s never a dull moment. That’s for sure. He’s very good about cleaning and keeping things tidy generally (it’s that military training hard at work), but cooking??? Eh??? He’s passable, can make some basic stuff and ofc he loves to grill (expect very charred meat) but… just don’t ask him to cook anything too elaborate (like… this is a dude who thinks beer is a good omelette ingredient jfc do not let him near a stove for anything more elaborate than a fried egg he’s a fucking gremlin man).

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Quickly. And probably succinctly. The only time he’d really get blunt about something is if he had to end it with his partner for some reason. Just to spare himself and his partner the pain. It’s not without emotion though. Oh no. He may move on from things with relative ease- more likely than not without malice for the other person, but he’d never leave anyone without saying a proper goodbye if he’s the one who has to end it.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Probably not too quick. He’s not even sure he really wants to get married again after how everything with Sarah went down. He’d have to be pretty crazy about someone to want to try all that again, but if that happens… then maybe he won’t be thinking about it like that.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

H-… have you seen this man??? How tender he is with his partners??? It’s unbelievable that a guy like him has the capacity to be as gentle as he is but it’s breathtaking, and it’s only a glimpse of what he’s capable of. He may be a military man- but doing what he does requires much more care and dexterity than people think, and his touch only serves to show as much. This is the guy who holds your face or tugs you closer when you kiss him. This is the same guy who can diffuse bombs and wield a firearm like an extension of himself and handles you with the same amount of reverence and care if not more.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Oh he loves hugs. Loves them. May not do hugs quite as often as he might like actually. Hugs his close friends plenty and especially when they need it, but hugs you even more. He’s a really good hugger too. They’re just encompassing and strong and warm and if you’re not careful you could get addicted.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He waits on this one. For like… a long while. He probably knows it deep down long before he says it, probably won’t really admit it to himself for a long while even when he realizes that’s what he feels. But one day it probably just… slips out. Unprompted. And it’ll shock you both, but one thing’s for sure; he means it with his whole chest and nothing less.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh you have no jealousy troubles with this man. He’s an adult, and he recognizes that he’s not the center of everyone’s universe and that people can have just friendly relationships with other people of the gender they’re attracted to. He wouldn’t be in any kind of serious relationship with someone he didn’t trust them implicitly from the start. The man is truly a champ at being chill as hell. If he ever does feel it you’d probably never fuckin know it either. Guy can keep that shit close to his chest if he wants.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Warm, enveloping, grounding. The kind that make you feel like you’re sinking into something solid, that nothing could hurt you. If he’s kissing you he’s taking his time. Holding you close. Meaning it.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

ARE YOU KIDDING??? HE’S FANTASTIC AROUND KIDS!!!! EARTH KIDS?? ALIEN KIDS??? THEY ALL LOVE HIM!!! HE IS JUST DAD SHAPED!!!!!! TO EVERYONE!!!! He’s… not sure if he’d ever want to try to have another kid of his own, maybe, but he has SERIOUSLY considered adopting some alien kids in the past at MINIMUM and probably would if he wasn’t always going off-world.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

A lot of groaning, at least when he wakes up at first, probably some sleepy kisses while resisting the temptation to uh… get frisky before work. But he’ll get up, clean up, shave and do his silly little crossword (and he DELIBERATELY puts in wrong answers for funsies I know this in my heart). Most days he probably eats breakfast at the base, but on his days off he would probably take turns with you making breakfast- makes egg and bacon smiley faces when it’s his turn (and the occasional beer omelet if he’s feeling lazy). PROBABLY would pick up donuts for the weekend too.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Usually with a couple of beers, snuggling up under a nice flannel blanket and watching The Simpsons, or whatever else is on TV. Maybe some take-out from one of the usual places (I’m convinced he’s got like 5 or 6 places in town he’s a regular at that he goes to on rotation) . Probably gets a fire going if things are getting chilly up in Colorado. Just likes to settle in and maybe pass out on the couch a lil.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s a low and slow kind of guy. Both for his own emotional well-being and for his partner’s. He’s got some pretty nasty demons in his past, and they overwhelm even him sometimes. He knows that it’s important to talk about it, and while if he really loves someone he won’t mind sharing these things with them… it just takes time for him to work up the courage to face them again himself and put it all into words.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

With a partner, he’s just about as far away from easily angered as a guy can get. He’s actually very chill with the people he loves. There’s sincerely so very little that you could do that could piss him off to the point of losing his temper- and even then he’d never shout at you or anything- that’s the kind of shit he has to do and see enough at work, and he pretty explicitly never wants to cross that line with someone he’s in a romantic relationship with. And even if he is angry for some reason he’s never really angry at his partner- at least in affairs of the heart he pretty much always remembers the love he has for you comes first and foremost.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Believe it or not he actually is *very* good at remembering things about people. He may be one whole dumbass, and can’t do math, but that’s because most of his brain capacity is taken up with things about the people he cares about. Probably knows you down to your favorite food- enough to know to bring it to you to cheer you up, or suggest watching your favorite movie when you get home after a long day.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He probably remembers the moment you met the most clearly- the moment when you were suddenly in his life even though he didn’t know what you would end up meaning to him down the line.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Jack is honestly the kind of guy who would rather die himself than stand idly by and watch someone he cares about die. This man would take a staff blast and so much worse for you and that’s a guarantee. But when he’s down that means he’s a little more vulnerable. He really appreciates it when he knows someone is gunning to keep him alive too. To know that despite his bravado and despite his own hero complex someone’s just as concerned with his livelihood.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He’d put a little effort in. He’s more on the low-key side, not as big of a fan of grand gestures, and of course sometimes the job gets in the way of putting plans into motion (and he’d need a partner who’d understand that), but if that does happen he inevitably finds a way to make it up- sometimes even ahead of time if he has even a shred of warning about some kind of impending earthly peril. But when he plans something it’s usually very sweet, and far from an unfun cliché (but at least one time for valentine's day you *will* come home to rosepettals on the floor leading to the bedroom to find him in some silk boxers on the bed because of course he’s the gift). But usually things with him are… I don’t wanna say spontaneous because he does usually have at least a little bit of a game plan, but he’s all for improvisation and just loves getting swept up in doing whatever with you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

I wanna take some time to call him out thoroughly on the fuckin beer omelets thing my guy do you???? Have taste buds???? Listen. With other shit in there I might understand. Beer and cheese is a good combo. But???? JUST BEER IN YOUR EGGS AVAJSFHR!!!!!! Of all the stuff you’ve done in this whole series this is probably your greatest war crime and I’m gonna fucking invoke the 3rd amendment for it. Oh also his fridge is nasty and full of “science experiments” (which like... same) but guy I get why you always be getting take out now jesus fucking christ.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not overly. You’ve seen how this man dresses. He has his little inexplicably fashionable moments, but by *far* he’s more concerned with practicality at least where his attire and physical appearance are concerned. That being said, if you compliment him on like literally anything he will get a major confidence boost about it and will try to do it/wear it more.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

No… and yes. With all he’s seen and been through, he knows not everything is certain, not everything is meant to be and nothing is forever. But at the same time… he feels just a little better off with you around. He feels this kind of thing with everyone he’s really close with in their own unique way. He really doesn’t know where he’d be without the people he cares about who care about him back and can’t imagine a scenario in which he’d feel whole as a person without them coming into his life at the time they did. And you’re absolutely no different.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

So we know Jack has like the biggest fuckin sweet tooth. Pie, Cake, Donuts, ice cream, all of it. There’s always sweets in the house. And if you *make* some for him??? He will automatically love you forever. Also would probably be ok with you feeding him sweets. Warning tho: He’d probably do it back and get it all over your face and whoops now you’re making out covered in frosting and bits of cake and the only way to clean up is to lick it off each other’s faces oh no oh dear.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Petty, pushy people. Just doesn’t have the time. Jack can honestly vibe with just about everyone, even people who are wildly different than him, but the only thing that’s really an outright nope for him is people who are so wrapped up in petty problems they can’t see any kind of bigger picture. Or people who are just generally *too* pushy or overly dramatic about every little thing for little to no reason to the point of being just plain childish. He can handle just about everything else but that??? Nope.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Kinda sprawls out a lil in his sleep. Typically a stomach sleeper but shifts to his back sometimes (especially to cuddle). He’s always at least touching you in his sleep because no matter how much or little he just likes knowing you’re there.

#I will flood this tag at once or die trying #jack o'neill #jack o'neill x reader #stargate #sg1 #god damnit didn't show up in the tag so I'm reuploading #please let it work #stargate imagine #sg1 x reader #stargate headcanons

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redgillan · 4 years

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Under Pastel Skies - 2

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,024

Warnings: none

A/N: I’m just going to remind you that this sugar daddy fic isn’t about smut. I love smut but it’s not what I’m focusing on here.

Bucky stood under the glass awning in front of the hotel, the neon green light illuminating the path to the automatic doors. He forced his eyes closed and listened to the sound of rain hitting the glass shelter.

It was just after 6:30 in the morning and he had been standing there for over ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to enter the building. He was sweating, trembling, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. Every sound around him seemed amplified; cars honking, people talking or listening to music. It was hell.

He desperately wanted to take a cab ride back to Brooklyn and hide in his apartment. Bucky had a strict routine -get up at six, eat, shave, shower, go for a walk, etc- and he needed it to keep his mind focused and his body healthy. Though lately, his therapist had encouraged him to stray from his routine if he felt like it. And he wanted to, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

Instead he just stood here, stuck between two choices that terrified him. He could go back home and hate himself for taking the ‘easy way out’, or he could take the plunge and enter the building. He had come here on a whim, but now that he was here he felt as if he really needed to see you. He didn’t even know if you were working.

He looked over his shoulder, he could almost see the metaphorical pack of wolves waiting for him. It would be easy to give in and let them take him. He could go back to his old life, his old habits, or he could jump off that metaphorical cliff and hope for the best.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Bucky greeted the receptionist with a smile. He asked if he could have breakfast at the hotel restaurant and she agreed before leading him to the Bar Lounge.

The room was large, with row after row of square tables perfectly aligned. There were a few more private seats close to the bar and an oval buffet in the middle of the room. A woman in a dark grey suit scooped a small portion of scrambled eggs onto her plate next to two slices of toasted white bread. She raised her gaze to his and nodded in greeting.

The swing door that led to the kitchen burst open and Bucky turned his attention to the sound. You were carrying a large tank of orange juice to the buffet table, a pen tucked behind your ear and a piece of paper between your lips. There was a slight furrow between your brows as you set the tank on the table.

Your scuffed boots were gone, replaced by black ballet flats. Your pencil skirt rose up as you stretched to reach the highest part of the buffet. Bucky hastily looked away from your bare legs, not wanting to look like a total creep. Once you were done, you smoothed down your skirt and tucked your white shirt into your skirt.

Your hair was brushed away from your face and your lips were painted red, something dark and empowering, and it contrasted beautifully with your strict, uninspiring uniform, which only intended to erase any sense of individuality.

“Hi, how can I h- Hey, I know you,” you said, approaching him. “You’re Bucky.”

He bashfully looked at his shoes. “Yeah, hi.” He cleared his throat and raised his gaze to yours. “I was hoping to run into you. I, uh, I can’t stop thinking about our talk.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I was rude and brusque, and you were incredibly nice. I really feel like an ass.”

You chuckled. “It’s fine. Honestly, I was nervous, too. You should have seen me –I was a complete mess.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replied with a grin. “Though you did say that meeting me was like choosing between a pack of wolves or jumping off a cliff.”

“Gosh!” You facepalmed. “See? A complete mess!” You gestured to the table behind you. “Have you eaten yet? Sit down, it’s on me.” He opened his mouth to protest but you cut him off. “You paid for the taxi. It’s only fair.”

Amused, he shook his head and followed you to the buffet table. Everything looked and smelled delicious. He spotted several glass cereal dispensers filled with frosted flakes, Cap'n Crunch, Lucky Charms and good old Fruit Loops.

“We also have French toasts, pancakes, croissants, turnovers, omelettes, eggs, four different types of bread with margarine, butter, jam, Nutella, or marmalade,” you said without pausing for a breath, “freshly sliced fruits, a variety of yogurts, granola, oatmeal, orange juice, apple juice, Danish pastries, muffins and a great selection of teas.”

“And that’s it?” Bucky asked, his face breaking into a teasing smile. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners right before he smiled.

You pouted your lips while you thought. “Actually no, we also have scrambled eggs –which, frankly, I don’t recommend. They come in a plastic bag and we have to heat them up in the microwave. It’s a little gross. You can try the sausage and bacon though, unless you don’t eat meat.”

“And coffee?” He found your flustered reaction to his teasing absolutely adorable.

“Yes, of course,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “That’s a pretty great buffet, though I’ll stay clear of the scrambled eggs.”

You took a few steps toward the kitchen and turned back to him, a little apologetic cringe on your face. “Um, how do you take your coffee? Expresso, Americano, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, mocha, ristretto-” you paused to take a breath “-or iced coffee?”

A laugh bubbled out of him. He couldn’t help it, you were just too endearing. “Black,” he said, grinning. “I know I’m boring.”

“Oh, no! You’re not boring,” you rushed to say, then realized what he was doing. “Ugh, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“A little.” His nose scrunched up as he said it.

You went to the kitchen to make his cup of coffee and Bucky began to browse the length of the buffet table. Scooping food onto his plate with only one hand proved more challenging than he expected, and he was glad that the lounge was mostly empty.

He could feel the lady in the grey suit’s eyes on him as he moved around. He set his plate on the bar, removed the glass lid, scooped up two hefty pancakes and stacked them on his plate. They looked pretty fluffy, it wouldn’t be hard to cut them with the edge of a fork. Then he replaced the lid and moved his plate closer to the maple syrup bottle.

He glanced at the woman who hastily looked away as if she hadn’t been staring at him the whole time. Annoyed, he kept looking at her while he poured maple syrup over his pancakes. He hated when people stared at him as if he were a freak. He narrowed his eyes menacingly and grinned to himself when she started fidgeting in her seat.

“You must really love maple syrup.”

Bucky paused at the sound of your voice, his features immediately softened. He looked down at his plate and realised he had drowned his pancakes in a gooey river of maple syrup. He must have spaced out during his staring contest with the business woman.

He had a strange look in his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and anguish. Finally his eyes found yours and you smiled warmly at him, making him fight back a blink. You pried the bottle out of his rigid hand, and he let you take it.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice weak.

You weren’t sure what he was apologizing for but it wasn’t something you were going to analyse right now. “There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you. Best cup in Manhattan.”

He laughed, the crinkles were back. “You’re an angel.”

Bucky returned to his table and loaded his coffee with three teaspoons of sugar before he took a sip. He had always preferred sweet to savoury, and coffee was way too bitter for him.

There wasn’t much to do in the lounge. The television was behind him, the sound kept to a minimum. The lady in the grey suit left soon after and Bucky watched you clean her table.

You moved back and forth between the main room and the kitchen, going about your work and occasionally shooting him a smile. The food was good, not spectacular, but still better than his usual breakfast –two slices of toasted white bread with butter and a cup of coffee.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked, standing next to his table.

“Company?” he said with a hopeful look. “Please.”

You offered him a pained grimace when he gestured at the seat across from him. “I’m not allowed to sit. Sorry.”

It was hard to resist his puppy dog eyes but you needed to keep your job if you wanted to be able to afford your own place.

“Do you like working here?”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged. “I’m glad I have a job.”

“Sam mentioned you’re an artist.”

You shyly looked around you, you were the only two people in the room now. “I haven’t painted since I got this job,” you revealed. “I’m pretty sure my artist membership card has been cancelled.”

“Nope, those are for life.”

You laughed. “I hope so.”

You looked at each other before he asked, “Do you have any pictures of your work?”

You were genuinely surprised that someone wanted to see your work. Usually people offered a half-hearted ‘oh, that nice. I paint, too, occasionally” and changed the subject. You patted your pockets, searching for your phone, and groaned when you remembered that it was in your locker.

“I don’t have my phone with me but wait-” You took a napkin from the table and started writing. “This is my Instagram. I do a bit of everything, mostly landscapes and portraits.”

Bucky took the piece of paper and, before he could comment, a family of four walked into the lounge area. You apologized to him and walked over to the family, greeting them with a smile and asking them if they had a good night’s sleep.

The children looked like walking zombies until they spotted the cereal bar, and then chaos ensued. More people went down to breakfast and you didn’t have time to chat with him anymore.

He stayed a little longer, watching you help the kids pour cereal and milk into their bowls. A man who didn’t speak English very well asked you a question and you froze, trying to make him understand since you didn’t speak his language. Bucky smiled when you mimed the answer. The man laughed and gave you a thumb’s up.

There was something about you, something soft and caring, that made people at ease. Even when people started complaining that the platter of scrambled eggs was empty, you defused the situation so smoothly that they left with a smile on their face. It was the kind of person you were, kind-hearted and willing to help.

An angel.

When you looked in his direction again, Bucky was gone. You felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t said goodbye, but you had been so busy that even if he had been trying to get your attention, chances are you wouldn’t have noticed him.

Pouting exaggeratedly to yourself, you went to his table with your tray and a clean rag to collect the dirty dishes. You moved the unfolded napkin and what you saw underneath made you stop. You blinked, once, twice, three times, certain that you were hallucinating. You scooped up the bills and counted them.

$300

Your eyes were the size of saucers as you ran back to the lobby. You checked outside for Bucky but he was gone. You stood there, under the glass awning, with a bewildered look on your face, still clutching the bills.

Part 3

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years

Text

Night Shift > Andy Barber

PAIRING; Dark!Andy Barber x black!reader

WORD COUNT; 4,798

WARNINGS; NON-CON ELEMENTS, DUB-CON SEX, BOOK SPOILERS/POSSIBLE SHOW SPOILERS

► PART TWO | ► SERIES MASTERLIST

NOTE; it’s hereeeeeee! As for the spoilers, I was trying to avoid them in this, but seeing as Andy is very obviously married in the book and show, I didn’t want this to be a cheating fic (I do have some standards, lol), but I didn’t want it to be an AU either. So, if you don’t want to know what happens in the book or what could possibly happen in the show, I’d stay away from this one. Sorry guys, I did try. I wanted the effects of what Andy has been through to be the reason why this is a dark!fic and why he’s dark!... if that makes sense.

As always, if non-con/dub-con isn’t your thing, stay away. YOU are responsible for what you consume. If you’ve made it this far in my author’s note, you’ve been warned multiple times about the nature of this fic.

It’s late. There is currently one, that’s right, one person in the South Street Diner. He ordered a black coffee and has been sipping on it for the last thirty minutes as he reads a day old newspaper. It’s weird, he’s weird, but you’re getting used to the weirdness of the overnight shift. The silence and stillness of it.

It’s just you and Belle on the floor, with Steve manning the kitchen. Belle is currently washing dishes as you lean over the counter, your head buried in your psychology book. You tap your pencil mindlessly as you read, occasionally lifting your eyes to the black coffee drinker. He’s content, and so are you, so you return your attention back to your book, underlining random passages and jotting down notes.

The door chimes after a few minutes and you lift your eyes again but instantly lose your breath. You stand up straight as you link eyes with a tall, stern looking man. He blinks at you, his deep blue-green eyes devoid of any real emotion. His lips are set in a straight line, his shoulders broad. He’s oddly dressed for the two in the morning. A navy blue sport coat covers a dark button down shirt, which covers another dark undershirt. His jeans are dark and tight, his feet in an expensive pair of leather boots. His dark beard, paired with his dark hair and dark outfit completely matched the dark mood that suddenly overtakes the diner.

He looks oddly familiar to you, you can’t - or don’t want to - put your finger on it. You stare at each other for a few beats. An instant chill runs down your spine as a strange uncertainty sets in the pit of your stomach. You swallow hard and point nervously towards one of the tables after a few seconds of him just staring at you and not saying anything. He immediately moves in the direction of your finger, finally taking his eye off you to stalk towards a table.

You shut your psych book and run your hands down the front of your apron. You grab a menu and a set of silverware before stepping out from behind the long counter. You take a breath and move up to the side of the table, sliding the menu in front of him before setting the silverware next to his left wrist.

“Morning,” you say softly, “Can I start you off with a water, or a coffee or anything?”

He doesn’t look up at you. He just flips through the menu and says, “Coffee. Black.”

You nod and offer another smile, “Be right back.”

You check on the other coffee drinker, asking if he needs a refill before you slip back behind the counter to start another pot. You flip your eyes towards Belle as she emerges by your side, tapping your hip playfully.

“You need some help babe?” She asks as she plops the bucket of clean silverware on the counter.

“No, I’m okay.”

You feel her eyes on you for a few seconds, “You okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Just, that guy over there is kinda creeping me out but, it’s me, not him.”

She peers over at his table as you set the coffee pot on the brewer. You hear her gasp, before she slaps you on your shoulder and steps into you a little closer, “Do you know who that is?” She whispers.

You shift your eyes to his table before moving them back to the short blonde, “No.”

She clicks her teeth before resting her hand on her hip, “That’s Andy Barber.”

“Okay?” You shrug, not recognizing that name.

“Girl, come on. Have you been living under a rock for the past year?”

You roll your eyes, “Did you forget I was in Dallas for the last year?”

“Bitch, this was national news. His kid was indicted for first degree murder. They found some kid's body in the park, his son Jacob’s fingerprints were found on the kid’s jacket.”

“Oh shit.” You say in disbelief as your eyes widen, “I remember now. I thought he looked familiar.”

She shakes her head, pursing her lips as she glances back over at him, “Some crazy shit went down. Long story short, this pedo that lived in their neighborhood ended up killing himself and confessing to the murder in his suicide note. Barber’s kid gets off, but a few weeks after the trial ended, and get this,” she says, dropping her voice even lower, “The mom and the kid are out one day, get into a car accident, and they both die.”

You gasp, “Oh my god.”

“I know, right! So, you know my brother is a cop right? So, he says, that the belief in the department is that the mom wrecked her car on purpose, like she was trying to kill herself and the kid. There were no skid marks like she tried to stop, no other vehicles were involved, all of the witnesses say that it really weird how she just veered off the road suddenly.” She shakes her head again, her pony tail swaying back and forth as she starts to wrap up sets of silverware, “I think she knew little Jacob wasn’t as innocent as they were trying to make him seem.”

You rest your hand on your chest as your mind processes what Belle just relayed to you, “That’s awful Belle. I feel terrible for him.”

“Girl, don’t.” She says, “He hasn’t helped his case one bit. He’s been a raging asshole to everybody in this town ever since. He’s been arrested two or three times for beating the shit out of folks just for looking at him.”

You scoff, turning back towards the coffee maker as it beeps loudly. You take the pot off of the burner and grab two mugs before pouring the dark liquid, “I’m sure the people of this town haven’t been on their best behavior either. I mean shit, he lost his son and his wife, he’s just supposed to walk around like Mr. Rogers?”

She slaps you lightly with her towel as you walk past, “That bleeding heart of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.”

You smile warmly as you slide one of the cups in front of the guy with the paper and then move towards your second table. You carefully sit the mug in front of him but can’t help wringing your hands within one another.

“Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?” Your voice is softer and less confident than what you anticipated. You clear your throat and force a smile onto your face to try and regain some of your composure.

“Egg and cheese sandwiches.” He says gruffly, handing the menu back to you.

He locks eyes with you and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes are piercing - cold even, as they stare up at you. You quickly avert your glance from his and clear your throat again as an uneasiness washes through you. You tuck a wild curl behind your ear as your eyes dart around his table. He’s still staring at you though, his eyes dipping down your face and to your chest before sending them back up to yours.

You clear your throat again, “Um, you get a choice of a meat. Sausage, bacon, ham?”

You reach for the menu that he still holds in his hands and start to pull it from him. He tightens his grip on it, causing you to shoot your scared eyes back to his. Your lips part as shaky breaths force their way out of your nose and mouth. Your eyes get wide as you stare back at him, unable to blink or take them off of him. He cocks his head, his eyes drifting down your body again before the smallest hint of a smirk flashes on his lips.

He lets go of the menu suddenly and your hand snaps back towards your chest. You hiss sharply as you jump, completely unaware of just how hard you were grasping on to it.

“Bacon.” Is all he mutters before he grabs for his coffee and takes a sip.

You don’t even answer. You just turn on your heel and rush back behind the counter. You push past Belle, who gives you her I told you so eyes and relay his order to Steve.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“Shut up, Belle.”

When his sandwiches are ready, you convince Belle to take them over to him. You start wrapping up silverware sets behind the counter, purposefully trying to keep your eyes cast down, but even that doesn’t help. You still feel his eyes on you as he eats slowly. You swallow hard, trying to focus, but the unease flushes through you again.

You can’t help but glance up at him every now and again, finding his intense stare on you. He doesn’t even look away when you catch him. He just blinks slowly and raises his sandwich to his mouth, taking a bite. He leans back into the seat and chews slowly, all the while blinking back at you. You drop your eyes to the silverware in front of you and chew on the inside of your cheek. Just eat your fucking sandwiches and leave already.

Belle takes care of him for the rest of his stay. She refills his coffee and brings him a glass of water, before putting in another order of home fries for him. You do everything you can to stay busy and ignore him, and when you finally see him hand Belle some cash and stand, a sense of relief floods through every inch of your body.

You hear his heavy feet carry him past the counter and your eyes defy your mind one last time. You flip them up and watch as he pushes out of the door, the chime ringing through the small diner again. You follow him as he walks past the windows, his head down as he moves. You blink and turn your head quickly as a loud clang sounds behind you. You return your attention back to the window and gasp loudly when you find him watching you through the window.

You drop the silverware in your hand to the floor as he stares at you. He cocks his head again and lifts his hand to wiggle his fingers at you as a slow smile creeps on to his face.

“Girl,” Belle says, pushing through the door from the kitchen, “What is wrong with you?”

You keep your eyes on him as he walks off into the night. You shake your head and blink quickly, as if trying to rid him from your memory, “N-nothing. I just dropped, um, I just dropped some forks, that’s all.”

She pulls out a twenty from her apron and hands it to you, “This is from your boyfriend, by the way.”

“What?” You ask, slightly annoyed as she laughs and pushes it into your hand.

“Mr. Barber left you a tip.”

“Belle,” You sigh.

“I mean it! He told me specifically to give it to you.” She tickles your sides but you swat her hands away, “He liked you.”

“Shut the hell up.” You grumble as she continues to laugh.

The clock strikes three thirty am. You grab the plate of french fries that Steve made for you and pour yourself a Sprite before you head out the back and into the parking lot. You glance around, like you usually do, making sure there aren’t any weirdos hanging out before you push over towards your car. You set your Sprite and fries on the hood as you fumble around your jacket pocket for your keys.

You gasp suddenly as an arm wraps around your waist and a hand clasps over your mouth. You start to fight, trying to twist and turn but it’s to no avail. He pulls you with ease as you struggle against him back to his car, his feet scraping against the ground. You hear a door swing open, before you’re thrown into the back seat. You push up onto your hands and scramble towards the opposite door, slamming your back into it.

The man slides into the seat next to you and slams the door shut before the deafening sound of the locks slamming down into place rings through the car. Your chest heaves as deep, audible breaths fall from your lips and fill the otherwise silent car. You keep your eyes squarely on him as they cloud over with tears and your chin starts to tremble.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you beg softly as a hot tear slips down your cheek, “I’m not alone. There’s people in there that’ll-”

Your words come to a halt. He doesn’t move. He just sits there, his hands clasped within one another, his head down. Your breathing gets harder after a few minutes pass and nothing happens. He lifts his head and you tense immediately, pulling your legs into your chest, but he still doesn’t move. He bites the inside of his cheek as he stares out of the window.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His voice is low and deep, the words coming to you slowly. Your mouth drops open slightly as your eyes scan the side of his face. He drops his head again to look at his hands before he turns towards you. You lock eyes with an all too familiar pair. Andy Barber stares back at you, but unlike earlier, there’s something brewing in them. Sadness maybe… you aren’t sure.

“I just hate the fucking way people look at me,” he says after a few tense seconds, “You’re scared of me? I scare you?”

You blink and another tear slips down your cheek, “You just grabbed me and pulled me into your car.”

“Before this.” He rushes, “When I walked into the diner. When you took my order… You took one look at me and already had your mind made up.”

“I-”

“I heard you and that little bitch in there,” he cuts you off, “I never killed anybody, but yet, people look at me like I’m a monster. Like I’m the one that killed that boy.”

“I defended you,” you spit back roughly, your body twitching in fear, “I told her what happened to you was awful, so you didn’t hear everything you thought you did.”

He stares you, his eyes searching yours intently like he’s trying to tell if you’re telling him the truth. They bounce around your face, making several stops at your lips before he speaks again, “Then why are you afraid of me?” He asks slowly.

You glance away from him for the first time in several minutes. Your breaths are still heavy, your eyes still watery, but something inside of you starts to shift, “You’re intimidating.”

You lift your eyes back to his in time to see him smile, but it’s not a happy one or deranged. It’s kinda sad. He scoffs before he looks off out of the window again, “I never in my life had someone tell me I was intimidating, you know that? In fact, people used to tell me that I was one of the easiest people they’d ever spoken to.” He looks back at you and smiles again, “I prided myself on that. I liked that about me.” He drops his head again, “But that was before. Now I’m just some angry, intimidating asshole who raised a murderer and drove his wife to wrap her car around a tree.”

You sit in shock as he mumbles more to himself than to you. Why is he telling you this? Maybe he just needs someone to talk to? Why you, a random waitress at an all night diner? Belle was right, your bleeding heart is going to get you in serious trouble. But, as he talks, you start to feel bad for him all over again. He’s not coping well, obviously. He’s yearning for some human interaction - but also needs to realize that throwing someone in the back of your car and locking them in isn’t the best way to ask for a little attention.

You relax just a bit, not enough to be caught off guard, but enough to where your breathing starts to return to normal. You drag your eyes down his frame, taking in the defeated language written all over it. He brings his head back up and turns those eyes back towards yours to link them again. He blinks, and you blink back before you swallow hard.

“You were trying to scare me.” You say weakly, “The menu, staring at me through the window… people treat you like an asshole because you act like an asshole.”

He huffs, but a smile spreads on his lips again, “That’s why I can’t get a date then?”

A shiver runs through you and your body twitches again, “Possibly.” You enunciate slowly.

He laughs at your response. It’s a full laugh, like one he’s been holding in for a while. He drags his hands up his thigh and cuts his eyes back towards you, “I like you. Even when you’re scared, you’ve got heart.”

You stare at each other again as the seconds tick by. Then, without warning, he lunges towards you, crashing his lips to yours. He kisses you hard as he pulls your body into his, holding your arms as you try to push him away. You turn your head in protest, moaning loudly against his mouth as you try and push away but he’s so strong. He tightens his grip on your arms, holding them firmly in his grasp as he smacks on your lips.

He leans back as suddenly as he first rushed in and locks eyes with you again. They’re wide and wild - bouncing quickly between yours. His mouth hangs open as he pulls in deep breaths. His grip on your arm loosens just a touch and you rip your limb from his grasp, slapping him hard across the face.

You don’t try to run. You just sit there, your hand stinging from the contact with his face. Your eyes are just as wide, just as wild as he hisses in pain. He swears loudly as he drops open his mouth, working his jaw back and forth before he shakes his head quickly. He looks back up at you, another short, breathy laugh pushing through his lips.

He pulls you into him again and kisses you, but this time, you really don’t fight back. You moan a little as he pushes his chest into yours and thrusts his tongue into your mouth. You allow him to push you down onto the seat and let him settle between your legs. Your mind races as his hands push and pull at your body, squeezing your breasts, gripping your sides, cupping your sex through your jeans. You're shaky and scared, but yet, you’re not. Your stomach is tight, your nipples hard, your pussy now wet and achy, wanting to be touched.

Your heart thumps against your chest as he bites down on your neck. You shriek as the pain rips through you and dig your fingernails into his arm. He leans up and keeps his eyes on yours as he pops the button of your jeans. He undoes the zipper and yanks the thick material down your hips and legs until they bunch at your ankles. He pulls at the buttons of your pale yellow shirt carefully, undoing each one before it falls open, revealing your white tank top. He thrusts it up over your breasts and pulls at the cups of your bra until your breasts fall out of it.

He drops his hands to his sides and just looks you up and down, drinking you in. He spreads his fingers out over your stomach and just sort of rubs them along your skin - he hasn’t felt the warmth of a woman in a long time. He fingers dance down to your panties, tracing them with his index finger from hip to hip. He then slides his finger down your slit slowly, feeling your wetness through the silk.

He continues running his finger the length of your pussy and lifts his eyes back to yours. He pushes his hand underneath the material and drags his fingers through your folds. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth when you shiver and the smallest, daintiest moan sneaks out through your lips. He coats his fingers with your natural lubricant and then brings them to his nose, taking a deep whiff, letting your scent fill his head.

“God, you smell good.” He mutters.

His words are slurred, like he’s gotten drunk off of your smell. You watch as he rubs his cock through his jeans, pushing his hips into his hand slightly. Your breath starts to rush faster as you watch him, your cunt tightening at the sight. You reach forward and wrap your fingers around his thigh.

You watch as he pops the button to his jeans and pulls the zipper down. He slides his jeans down his hips, pulling his hard cock free. He starts stroking himself as he returns his gaze to you. He palms your right breast in his free hand, squeezing your flesh firmly as he sweeps his fingers over the head of his cock before he slides his palm back down his thick shaft. A drop of cum spills from his slit and splashes against your stomach as he hand fucks himself above you.

He moans again and releases your breast from his hand to pull at your panties. He pushes them down your thighs and leans down over you, letting the tip of his cock graze against your heat. He slips his dick through your folds and runs it the length of your clit and your opening, making you squirm underneath him.

You grab his forearms as he starts to push at your slit, his cock finally breaking into you. You gasp and hiss as his girth spreads you open. You lift your hips, twisting them slightly as you slam your eyes closed. He’s easily the biggest you’ve encountered in your short years. It hurts - but in a good way.

“Fuck,” he growls as he pulls out of you and then pushes back in, “Goddamn, baby. This is fuckin’,” his garbled words are fast and airy, not really making sense as they drop away.

You lick your lips as his hips dip into yours over and over and over again. Your wet muscles envelope him firmly, stretching and flexing with each of his thrusts, driving your octave higher and higher. He fucks you slow - like he’s savoring it- wanting to etch the feeling of your pussy into his skin so it’ll last him another year.

Each push of his hips feels better and better, little explosions erupting throughout your body. You can hear how wet you are, the squish of his flesh pushing into you filling the car. You don’t ever remember feeling like this. The fear, the anxiety - the lust - all mixing and melting together, creating a weird sexual concoction. You feel like you’re high - slightly nauseous and completely out of control, but you look forward to what comes next.

His thrusts get harder and deeper, faster as the minutes roll by. You gaze up at his eyes that have closed into slits. His mouth hangs open as quick, light puffs of air push out onto your face. He drops his head, his beard scratching your chin and lips. He smells good - clean, expensive. It grounds him for you, makes him human. It gives you a glimpse into the man he used to be.

He falls on top of you, crushing his chest to yours as he grabs onto the ends of your naturally curly hair. He pulls hard, and you grunt as pain rips through your scalp. He starts to grunt as he pushes roughly into your body, his hips starting to falter. He sucks your breast into his mouth, teasing your thick nipple with his tongue. He then moves to your chin, biting down on softly before he returns to your thick lips.

He kisses you again. He smacks on your lips, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth before he lets it smack back against your face. He continues to nibble on your lips as he fucks into you as hard as he can, mumbling dirty epithets into your mouth as he tries to get himself off.

You can feel the dull pull in your stomach and each slam of his hips into yours brings your orgasm closer and closer to the surface. You start to whine, digging your nails into his back as your legs start to shake. He fucks into once, twice, three more times and your orgasm flushes through you. Your toes curl, your breath hitches, your eyes slam shut as it rips a path through your body.

Your pussy quakes and contracts around him, pulling out a deep, long grunt from him. Within seconds, you’re full of his spunk. Long, hot ribbons spill from his slit and coat your walls as he continues to pump his hips through it. You squeeze your muscles around him as he comes, wanting every last drop, every last string of silk.

He drops his forehead to yours as his hot breath washes over your face. He focuses his breathing, pushing it purposefully out through his teeth before he drags in another deep breath. Before you can get used to his weight on top of you, he pushes up and away from you. He pulls out of you unceremoniously and falls back into the seat next to you.

Embarrassment instantly flushes through you - your body warms, your eyes start to dart around the car as you reach for your panties and jeans. You sit up and readjust your breasts into your bra before nervously pushing your tank top back down. You cast your eyes to your shaky hands as your button up your shirt and then cross your arms over your chest, sinking into yourself.

You feel like he’s mad at you or something, disgusted with you now that it’s over. You feel stupid for feeling bad for him. He is just a fucking asshole. He pushes open the door and slides out, waiting by the back of his car for you to emerge. You get out slowly, keeping your eyes away from his as you cross your arms over your chest protectively again. You jump when he slams the door shut to the black Audi and crosses behind it towards the drivers side without a word.

You take a step back as the car roars to life and the reverse lights light up the dark parking lot. Your eyes water again as he backs out of the spot and drives off, without a second glance. You stand there in shock. You stare at his car as the break lights get smaller and smaller and then finally disappear. You blink into the darkness as your mind races. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, dragging you back into the present. You pull it out, and the time flashes against your screen. Break’s over.

You drag your body back to your car, grabbing the cold french fries and watered down Sprite off of the roof. You toss the items into the garbage and push back into the small diner, swallowing hard as you make a b-line for the bathroom before anyone can notice you. You turn on the water and splash your face a few times before you wipe the droplets away. Your eyes are red and a little puffy, but it’s cold outside, you can use that and your seasonal allergies as an excuse.

You take a final deep breath before running your hand over your hair, smoothing it down. You blink back at yourself in the mirror and then turn on your heel and move back out onto the floor.

“You okay?” Belle asks.

You smile and nod, “Yeah, it’s cold as fuck outside.”

“Ugh, I know. I hate winter. I’m gonna take a quick smoke, okay? Be back in a flash.”

You just nod and smile again, grabbing a towel before walking out towards the tables and booths. Every time you start to think about what just happened, you push it away, zeroing your focus in on cleaning the table tops. You think about school. You think about getting home and taking a shower before climbing into bed. You think about the assignments you have due tomorrow. You won’t think about Andy Barber again.

You’ll never see Andy Barber again.

Until you do.

#andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x reader #reader x andy barber #reader x dark!andy barber #andy barber x black!reader #dark!andy barber x black!reader #andy barber smut #dark!fic #dark!#avintagekiss24

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themoonandotherslikeit · 4 years

Text

Breathe - Chapter Three

After the biggest meeting of her career, Y/N went for a drink and met him. Dean Winchester, the handsome bartender at The Shop, who managed to say all of the right things to soften her hard shell. Was it possible that Y/N was wrong all of this time? Had she spent the better part of 2 decades focusing on her career when there was one man in a city of 18 million that could make her feel more alive than any job ever could? Will she be able to slow down long enough to let herself fall in love with a man that was never a part of the plan? After years of holding her breath, will she finally let herself breathe again?

This story is written for my beautiful and talented friend and beta @dean-winchesters-bacon, thanks for always inspiring me and supporting my whims. Love you always.

Banner by the talented @talesmaniac89

Chapter Three

Her

Y/N woke up groggy with a pressure on the inside of her skull threatening to crack her head open and spill everything out. Her temples throbbed insistently and a wave of nausea hit her as soon as she opened her eyes. The gloomy, dark skies hid the sun from bleeding in through the open curtains, but it still felt too bright for her hangover. Everything felt slow and sluggish, like she was trying to walk under water.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and a streak of mascara darkened her skin. She rarely forgot to take off her makeup, and she knew her skin would punish her for it later. She yawned and squinted at the window. She didn’t usually leave her black out curtains up… in fact, she never opened them.

There are moments that are subtle, brief and fleeting like the first flake of snow of the season. Sometimes they go completely unnoticed and unremembered. Other moments are big, grand, powerful enough to move mountains and change a person’s life forever.

As Y/N looked around the apartment, her surroundings coming together like a puzzle that finally clicked together seamlessly, she experienced one of those astronomical, mounting moving moments.

This was not her apartment.

“The fuck…”

Quickly orienting herself, she tried to find any kind of identifying information to tell her where she ended up and who she may have gone home with. It was not like her to be so reckless.

The apartment was tidy, but, by the simple decor and smell of the sheets she was able to discern that the apartment definitely belonged to a man. She pinched the bridge of her nose to quiet an oncoming headache. She didn’t even remember a man from the night before that she could’ve gone home with. Oh how the mighty have fallen, she thought solemnly.

She glanced under the blanket that was hiding her bottom half, happy to find that she still had her dress and panties in place. She had to admit, though, that the situation was confusing. She didn’t have sex last night, that she was fairly sure of, but in that case… Why was she in a strangers apartment? It didn’t make any sense.

She slipped out of bed, finding her heels resting neatly on the floor next to the bed, placed with care.

Who would take her home and just tuck her into bed? That was something a friend did, or a boyfriend. Her stomach twisted as Sam’s face flashed in her mind. His kind hazel eyes wrinkling at the edges as he smiled at her. He would take care of her in that way without question, and that thought terrified her. She’d avoided his apartment for so long for that exact reason. She couldn’t risk him getting the wrong idea.

She picked up her shoes, not wanting to risk clicking on the hardwood floors and alerting the mystery man. As she poked her head around the room separator she was hit with the smell of cooking. Her mouth watered immediately at the savory smell of meat sizzling on the stove and something sweet that she couldn't quite place. Y/N did not cook. Her kitchen was purely aesthetic. She wouldn't even know how to turn her oven on, let alone use it, so the smells were new and warming. If the food tasted as good as it smelled, she may have a reason not to sneak out after all. Her stomach growled in agreement, and she resisted the urge to shush it.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice said, gruffly and familiar. Her eyes followed the sound of the voice and caught his green eyes from across the apartment.

The bartender! You went home with the goddamn bartender?! You’re better than this, Y/N. You aren’t twenty anymore.

“Yes. Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, her voice strained and awkward.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and his eyebrow quirked in response. “I’m almost done with breakfast. Do you have time to have a seat?”

She shifted her weight awkwardly. The mix of her own vulnerability, the smell of bacon grease, a hangover, and how undeniably attractive he was had her reeling. The answer should’ve been no immediately. She had enough problems without adding a man to the mix, but yet there she was, considering it.

“You good, Y/N?”

The sound of her name snapped her out in an instant. Her shoulders rolled back, and her grip tightened on her heels. “I’m fine. I should get going.”

“Big day?” he asked, his eyes flashing with something mischievous.

“Every day is a big day if you make it big.”

“That sounds exhausting.” He pulled a pan off the stove. “Do you ever have days where you do nothing?”

She squinted at him. This guy is kidding, right? “That doesn’t sound very productive.”

“So I guess that’s a no,” he said with a chuckle. “You should try it. No plans. Just relax and go with the flow.”

“Don’t you have to plan to have a day like that? So it’s not really without a plan.”

“You got me there.” Dean laughed, crossing his arms. “Do you always plan out your own days?”

“Yes. What kind of question is that?”

“I was just wonderin’ if you ever let anyone else plan things for you.” He shrugged.

“Absolutely not.”

He walked toward her, his height overcoming her as he approached. He wore a pair of jeans, socked feet, and a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt. His hair was messy from sleep, but his eyes were wide, awake, and engaged. “Are you afraid to lose control?”

“No.” Yes.

“Let me plan a day for you, Y/N.” His voice was silky and thick like honey, tickling her cheeks as he brushed her hair behind her ear. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, feeling taken aback from his sudden intensity. She half expected her skin to catch fire from the electricity bouncing between their chests to the beat of her racing heart.

“Dean I…”

“Hey, before you say anything hear me out,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. Her lips pressed together, giving him only a moment to make his case - which was more than she allowed most people. “I know you’ve got all the reasons in the world to say no. You don’t know me, you have no reason to trust me, but you’re a professional. I can see that, hell anyone can see it just by lookin’ at you. Y/N, you should know that there is risk in the world, and you could miss out on some of the best things in life if you don’t take it. Someone took a chance on you once, didn’t they?”

He was breathing heavily, obviously a little worked up, and the sight of his body twisted up in ragged breaths sent a chill up her spine. The risk he was talking about was not the same thing as her job, as law school, as every tough case she had ever taken. He was out of line trying to make it seem like they were even on the same plane of reality. Even though she knew all of that, she still found herself wanting the impossible, the outrageous.

“Take a risk on me, Y/N.”

She wanted a life that could move mountains. She always had. She wanted to say yes.

Dean

Later

“Hold up, hold up. You’re going on a date?”

Dean shrugged, running his fingers through his hair in the bathroom mirror, unable to keep one spot from sticking straight up. “I don’t know if it’s a date or not. I’m just gonna give her some fun. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“So it is a date.”

“Sammy, you need to relax,” Dean said, waving his younger, half brother away. Dean’s parents had divorced after he was born, and a year later Dean’s mom fell in love with Sam’s dad, and the boys had been together ever since. “My romantic life isn’t your concern.”

“Sure it is,” Sam said with a laugh, sitting on Dean’s bed. He moved the room divider when he’d entered the apartment to give himself somewhere comfortable to sit, and was currently lounging across the large mattress. “I don’t want you to die alone.”

“Nobody is dyin’.”

“We are all dying, Dean. Technically.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I don’t see your point,” Sam said with a frown, his eyebrows coming together.

“How’s mom?”

“She’d like to see you.”

Dean exhaled sharply from his nose. He didn’t see Mary nearly enough. She lived out in New Jersey and it still felt like a betrayal to his dad going out to visit her frequently. Plus, he spent most of his days in The Shop. There was always an excuse, even though none of them seemed good enough. “Miss her too.”

“You should call her.”

Dean poked his head out of the bathroom to eye his brother. “I don’t need a lecture, Sammy.”

“Hey you asked.” His brother was quiet for a beat before sitting up. “So… I got the case.”

“What?! Why didn’t you lead with that! I would’ve taken the night off to take you out to celebrate. This is huge news!”

“Wait, you’re going to work? I thought you were going on a date?”

Dean shrugged, “She said I could have her time Sunday morning. From eight to ten thirty.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You want to go out with someone that stringent?”

Dean shoulders lifted again, “Guess so.” He walked out and sat next to his brother. “But this isn’t about me. I’m really proud of you, brother. You’ve worked really hard for this.”

Sam’s cheeks reddened a bit, and he reached behind his head, scratching his neck awkwardly. “Thanks. I’ve really been trying, and I’m excited for the opportunity. I know they’re taking a chance on me and it means a lot.”

“They’re making the right choice, Sammy. You’re damn good at your job. It’s too late for me to get a replacement, but come by, and I’ll get you dinner and drinks on the house.”

“I’ll just ride with you then. We can split a cab.”

Dean grinned at his brother, squeezing his shoulder. “You got it, kid.”

He could still see little Sammy with his bright eyes staring up at him. He had all of these grand dreams that were so big. For a while he wanted to be president, and Dean believed that he could do it. Sam had the heart and the drive to do anything he put his mind to, maybe that was the draw Dean had to Y/N. She reminded him of the same fire he saw in his brother.

“What about the woman you’re talking to?”

Sam let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I dunno Dean. She might hate me.”

“She’d be stupid to hate you, kid. You’re a goddamned catch.” He slid his wallet and phone in his pocket, and offered a hand to Sammy so he could pull him up. “Fight for her. That’s all you can do.”

His little brother looked up at him knowingly and nodded, clasping their hands together. He pulled Sam up, looking up at his younger brother who towered over him by at least three inches. “I will,” Sam agreed, “I’ll fight for her.

“Good. Now let's go get you a drink.”

“Or five.”

Her

“Give me your hand.”

Y/N raised her eyebrow before offering her palm.

The fiery red head in front of her consisted of her one guilty pleasure in this world. Rowena McCloud. The self proclaimed witch was cheaper than a therapist any day of the week, and she provided tea leaves that were usually the only thing, other than two fingers of whiskey, that put Y/N to sleep after a long, stressful day.

Rowena ran her long manicured nails along the lines of Y/N’s palms. “You’ve met someone.”

Here she goes again. Why did I even come here? Y/N asked herself every time that she came to the tea shop for a visit. Why did she come? She knew the answer, but saying it out loud was too fucking pathetic for words.

She had no friends, and her relationship with her mother was strained at best. So who else was she supposed to talk to about her issues? She could always ignore them, but that was like cutting wires at random, just hoping the one she was cutting wasn’t the trip wire that would explode her entire life. Bottling up emotions caused frown lines and acne break-outs, and she was too damn old for pimples. So she’d ended up with a Scottish witch examining her love line a little too closely.

“Have not.”

“Oh come on, Y/N, you have.” Her green eyes flickered up to meet Y/N’s, her red painted lips curled into an ornery smirk. “I can tell. You’re flushed. What’s his name.”

“There is no him.”

“Fine. Then what’s her name.”

Y/N pulled her hand away and crossed her arms in annoyance. “Give me a break, Rowena.”

“I cannot, I'm afraid, but I can make you tea.”

“Fine.” She couldn’t help but smile as the woman turned away. Even twenty-plus years her senior, they still meshed well together. She looked at her as a second mother, or even better, a friend. If she knew how to have those, of course.

“Why did you come here?”

“I didn’t get the promotion.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t seem surprised,” Y/N said, a bite to her words. “I deserved it.”

“Of course you did,” Rowena said smoothly as she poured a dark, steeped liquid into the small tea cup. “But you’ll have something better.”

“If you say love I’m going to come across this table and smack you.”

The witch laughed at that, the skin crinkling around her eyes in amusement. “I was going to say sex.”

“I am having sex,” she said with a huff.

“Not sex that you enjoy.”

It was a bold statement. A bold statement that Y/N wasn’t confident that she could disagree with. She thought she enjoyed it, but she never had anything outside of other meaningless connections to compare it to. She’d never wanted more, though. Her one love was her job and that’s how it was always supposed to be. At least before her job royally fucked her. Maybe it was time she started thinking about herself, instead of the firm.

“I enjoy sleeping with him.”

“You hesitated, love. It’s mighty okay to be unsatisfied. Well, it isn’t okay, but it’s normal. You don’t have to stand for it.”

She waved Rowena off dismissively, “It’s fine.”

Rowena shook her head, her deep red curls bouncing. “Oh sweetie. It shouldn't be fine. It should be electric, hot, passionate. You aren’t living your best life if your sex is just fine.” Her green eyes flashed as she grinned. “You must’ve not slept with him yet, or you wouldn’t be so casual.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“Aren’t you? You said yes to him, after all.”

“I had to get him off my back. He was persistent. He wouldn’t take no as an answer.”

Take a risk on me, Y/N.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me.” Rowena tapped the lip of the cup with her index finger. “It’s all in the leaves.”

Y/N looked down into the cup that she hadn’t even noticed she’d been sipping. The mushed, wet leaves were at the bottom of her cup, and maybe she just had it on the mind or maybe Rowena was right and magic was in the air, but she could’ve sworn that they looked just like a heart. Lumpy, misshapen, but like one nonetheless.

Dean

Part of Dean worried that she wouldn’t show. That would be his luck. Maybe he would deserve it after being a little too intense. Take a chance on me. Who the fuck did he think he was? He didn’t normally come off that strong.

She wouldn’t let him pick her up. “What if you’re a serial killer?” Evidently he hadn’t earned her trust yet, even though he was a perfect gentleman the night before. “A woman can’t be too safe, Dean.” He liked the way she said his name. She sounded annoyed, but amused at the same time. She couldn’t quite keep up the unimpressed expression. He made it a personal goal to make her smile more than she frowned. She’d look amazing with laugh lines. Everyone should have them.

Lisa often complained about the lines on her face, and she painted makeup over them to hide the creases and curves. Dean had loved them. They told the story of her life. Laugh lines showed a long, happy life full of laughter and joy. He could never understand why she would want to hide them. It was beyond him.

He was meeting Y/N in front of the restaurant. He held two disposable cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other, leaning against the building. He watched people stroll past. They weren’t watching their surroundings, constantly staring straight forward. That was the downside to New York City, no one was interested in the now. All they cared about was the next thing. He supposed it made sense that no one stopped to smell the roses in a city made of steel and concrete. There were no flowers to smell, only exhaust.

Dean, on the other hand, believed in things that were beautiful. There was always something good to see.

In front of him, a woman bundled her baby in a ball of blue, fluffy blanket to keep him protected from the autumn chill. A man jogged with his dog, whose tongue was out, having the time of his life. A man in a suit, who kissed a woman goodbye as he stepped out of a cab. And her.

Y/N stood across the street, fumbling around her purse for something. He could see her eyebrows furrow even from that distance. She wore a pair of black pants tucked into black boots and a long burgundy sweater. A curl fell into her eye, the rest of her hair tucked into a wide-brimmed hat. She looked different than she had the day before, and he took note of everything about her to add to his mental collection right next to the way she looked first thing in the morning, how she looked when she was angry, and the way her voice sounded when she was drunk. He was excited to learn all he could about her. What was her favorite food? What was her ideal temperature? How did she like her coffee?

He wanted to know her, even with the high probability that she would hurt him. He figured that pain was something, and something had to be better than the emptiness he’d been feeling. Pain at least meant that he was still alive.

—————————————

Chapter Four

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shimmershae · 3 years

Text

Just watched the episode and I’m going to have a lot of thoughts for you, most of them probably bordering on incoherence (LOL) so this is your last chance to nope on out of this post because I’m going to go ahead and put everything else behind a cut to save the eyes that do not want to see any spoilers at all. Unlike mine, that very much wanted to see but in a lot of cases? Could not see shit, but I digress.

Shae’s stream of consciousness coming at you in 3-2-1.

First of all, can I saw how good it is to have my show back again? Like, no. I don’t quite have Season 5 levels of excitement about the new/last season, but it is definitely nice to have all these characters back.

So all these thoughts of mine. Okay. Bear with me because there be a whole lot of them, lol.

My immediate impression as the episode opened was WHOA. Such a cool shot of Daryl with one light wing, one dark wing (representing the two sides to Daryl maybe--the man of honor versus the man he was raised to be, hmm?) looking out over some dark vista of something. Seriously. It’s dark. My room is also dark at the moment and still I was squinting to see. To make out what I’m “looking” at. I really, really hope the rest of this season isn’t this hard to make out.

Is that a tank? Kinda sorta a callback to Rick’s first episode? If so, cool. If not, well. Us fans have always put way more thought into things. For real. Change my mind.

Holy intense eye contact, Batman! Daryl Dixon has literally never looked at anyone--not BethusConLeah--in quite the same smoldering way as he looks at Carol. It’s next level. I don’t know why people be fooling themselves into thinking different.

Let’s see. I can make out--besides Daryl, Maggie, and that face mask dude I already forgot the name of--Kelly, Magna, Jerry (who’s that with him?), and Carol. Sorry. My world, like Daryl’s, inevitably narrows to Carol. She’s loking fierce and fine AF per usual.

Was that Rosita I noticed rewinding to relive Daryl eye-fucking Carol?

I’m guessing this is the army base they talked about in 10C.

That Walker perking up like “I smell food--pancakes and bacon and oohhhh” has me giggling inappropriately right off the bat. WTF.

Look at all my fabulous ladies tiptoeing through that Walker minefield. And Carol spotting that gun that might be useful right away. Listen, if you don’t think her mind ain’t always ten steps ahead of everybody else’s, you’d be wrong.

So. Are these Walkers just so old and feeble not even the call of fresh meat attracts them? Because just tiptoeing through their midst without the knockoff Lady Gaga meatsuits or skin masks has never really worked before that I can remember.

I just want to see most of this season. Is that really too much to ask? Don’t X-Files and Game of Thrones us, Angela. Please and thank you very fucking much.

Okay. Is the one drop of blood thing making anybody else have 28 Days Later vibes? Kinda? Sorta? No? Just me? Okay then. Carry on.

Wait a minute, though. How they be explaining how Daryl keeeps acquiring all these new tats all the time? Hmm? It’s like they just quit giving a shit about continuity in these latter seasons.

I mean. Do Walkers sleep now? LMAO. What is this? I guess they’re constantly evolving?

There’s my baby Lydia. Love my smol bean.

Alright though. I love to see the ladies of TWD kick some ass. It’s very gratifying. Gimps would never. Thank you, Angela.

Clever, resourceful, calm and collected, quick thinking Carol to the rescue! Seriously. Her haters must be withering away inside with absolute envy.

Hey, ya’ll. Remember when Carol was still mastering her sharpshooting skills at the Prison yard and shot at Rick’s feet? Her little “sorry, sorry”? LOL. If Rick could only see her now. Wait. He already knew what so many of his stans refuse to acknowledge--Carol=ultimate survivor and true savior to the group many times over.

Maggie’s got herself a gun, too. Go my badass girls.

Of course, Carol’s got everybody’s back. Of fucking course, Daryl’s got hers even when everybody else seem frozen in some kind of awe or stupification or something. Microcosm of the whole damn show right there.

Carol’s like “here’s your knives, love of my life.”

Eh. Maybe that’s just me.

Nah. She’s totally thinking it, too.

YAS! YAS! Norman Reedus and Melissa McBride with the top billing. How very far my babies have come.

Listen. I miss all the characters we’ve lost. Absolutely. But I love the ones that are still with us, that have been with us for so very long so hard. Whether I love their stories or decisions or not.

Is that THE Alexandria sign? That sign’s been through some shit.

DOG! Daryl kneeling to embrace our Grimes babies has me all up in my feels. And how cute is Dog getting all excited and making sure he’s the first one there to welcome back, Daddy?

Hershel is literally just as puppy dog cute as Glenn ever was. Really some Grade A casting.

What did Maggie call Mr. T? Ducky? Dougie? Sometimes with Maggie? I really cannot tell. Anyway. He’s Mr. T. for me until I find out differently, probably through rewatching with close captioning, lol.

Maggie’s got more people. So. Some new redshirts to sacrifice for plot purposes. I don’t know if I should bother learning their names or not.

I seem to remember Meridian being mentioned in one of the episode synopses.

Sophia’s hair tie around Carol’s neck will never fail to be an emotional throat punch. My heart.

“They come at night and by the time you see them, you’re already dead.” Welp. Guess that means we ain’t seeing shit for at least this first third of the season, lol. Very horror-eque though.

“You’re leaving to fight ghosts.” Aaron, to Maggie. So I see Aaron’s the type to get the hell outta Dodge when the Boogeyman comes calling, hahaha. Least he was. In the old world.

Rosita’s pissed off expression at Gabe’s decision to volunteer for the so-called suicide mission gives me life.

My baby Carol is tired AF of suicide missions. You can tell. Also? Methinks she has something to prove to Daryl here. Or at least feels like she does.

Dog with his little tactical vest. I love it.

I guess I get why they had Carol and Rosita stay behind. They had to more evenly split up the badassery to make things more fair and balanced, lol.

Okay. So Negan’s definitely earned everybody’s disdain. But they’re being woefully short-sighted by not at least hearing the dude out. Isn’t he at least native to the area?

“That is God telling us to turn around.” I’m actually on Negan’s side with this one, but Gabe answering him with “I’m pretty sure he would have run that past me first” has me howling with laughter. Father Gabe has gone straight up savage in these last couple of seasons. Rosita’s influence, perhaps?

I see what Angela is doing. Trying to make Negan the voice of reason. In this particular case? It’s kind of working. I’m still ultimately on Maggie’s side with this though BECAUSE GLENN.

Imagine showing up to work and unironically dressing like a storm trooper every day. Excuse me while I LOL.

Even in the ZA, there’s bullshit paperwork.

“Pumpkin colored spacesuit.” Good one, Ezekiel.

LOL forever. I love Princess.

“Michonne. Our Michonne shut people out of Alexandria for years.” Timely reminder that choices aren’t always perfect. Neither are people.

WTF is reprocessing? Sounds ominous. LMAO at Eugene’s “Okay. We gotta go.”

What in the actual hell with all those bagged, squirming undead? Creepy AF in that subway tunnel.

Should I just go ahead and call that the Easter bunny? We’ve had some version of it pop up since Season 1.

Is it stubborn pride with Maggie or what? Why go through with something when all signs point toward the wisdom of stopping? You can argue that she’s acting similarly to Carol last season, but there’s a huge difference here folks. Carol did her damndest to Lone Wolf that shit and minimize the danger to those she loved. Maggie’s straight up enlisting those she “cares about” to carry out her mission of revenge or vengeance, what have you. Let’s see if she gets near the amount of hate for it. Personally, I don’t blame her for her feelings one bit. They are valid. But her knowingly drawing the others into the game? That’s my sticking point. That’s how she and Carol differ, even if some people refuse to see or accept it. Anyway. Hopping right on off my soapbox.

“Why don’t you get up on your little tippy toes and try?” Omigosh, I’d dying. When I tell you I about passed out with laughter, I do not exaggerate. I should hate Negan forever and I do. Really. But I adore JDM and he frequently makes me LOL. He’s made Negan entertaining if not completely redeemable since Angela took over and more layered so I say kudos.

He has a point about Maggie playing dictator. Damn you, show, for slanting the writing just that smidgen that makes Negan make sense over his victim. I guess, though, it’s better this way. Gives both characters more shades of gray.

“He’s a dick but he makes sense.” I feel like this is Angela calling us all out when we dare to harbor any lasting resentment toward Negan for what he did to Glenn.

Speaking of--Negan. You deserved Daryl’s punch to the mouth. You just went a bridge too damn far.

“Keep pushing me, Negan. Please.” Warning shots fired, Asshole. You better watch yourself around the Widow Rhee.

Have I mentioned how much I love Princess? Her shipping the Commonwealth guards is killing me, lol. I can’t wait ‘til she meets Carol and Daryl. She’s going to have their number in two seconds flat.

I like Ezekiel and Princess as a duo. I’m not saying romantically necessarily. I just like them in scenes together because they’re fun. There’s sort of a protective indulgence Ezekiel seems to telegraph whenever they’re in scenes together. Like he’s like don’t hurt this one. I don’t know. For all these words I’ve written, I can’t quite find the ones to adequately describe what I mean.

The wall of the lost gives me such Battlestar Galactica feels. What sad thoughts it inspires.

Eugene in that Commonwealth gear. Omigosh, lol. So did they just sneak up and take Princess’s little Commonwealth ship’s gear when they were sneaking off on their own to have a quickie?

Princess finding that note for Yumiko on the wall actually gave me chills. Yeah. I’m easy. Just the suggestion of someone getting reunited with lost family gets me all up in my feels. Yumiko saying “I have to stay”? I felt that.

Oh no. Dog ran off! Somebody protect my favorite fictional puppy. Of course, Daryl goes after him. He’s always been the sweet one. Merle said it.

Eh. Negan taking Maggie’s hand at the end there would have smacked too much of Negan Sue and Maggie’s biggest plot of the season would have been prematurely dealt with so I get why they did what they did. But c’mon. It’s not really that big of a cliffhanger, is it?

Okay, so Angela calls those sleeping beauty Walkers “Lurkers” and I get it. Apparently they’re a bigger deal in the comics, but I really don’t remember seeing them all that much on the actual show. Somebody jog my memory.

Of fucking course, you can actually see what’s happening in the inside the episode clips. I wish we could choose to view the episode with that lighting because some of us be blind. And this time I mean in the more literal sense. Not the figurative one.

Anyway. I’m going to stop trying to write a novel for ya’ll and move on to better things. Like maybe a nap. Maybe some early dinner. I don’t know. I’m tired AF and need a little recharge.

Before I go, though? Overall impression of the episode? I liked it. There were parts that I loved (all the ladies being badass, every second of Carol, Daryl reuniting with the Grimes babies and Dog, all things Princess, some of Negan’s one-liners about had me busting a gut, Rosita serving looks, Kelly and Lydia getting to be badass too) and parts I didn’t love (not being able to see a damn thing, Angela trying to tip the scales in Negan’s favor, not enough Carol or Aaron or Rosita, no reunion between Aunt Carol and the Grimes babies even though that picture floating around suggests it was at least shot, not being able to see a damn thing, all the Alexandria people playing follow the leader for Maggie when she’s been gone 6 years and Daryl’s right there--hell, even Father G deserves the honor over her because it’s obvious they’re not exactly on the same wavelength anymore).

I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m just glad to have our show back.

Later, lovelies.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #spoilers #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #and giggle and giggle

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royalsunshinehotel · 3 years

Text

toast. jay menha.

A/N: It was a rough day at work but I was writing this in my head the whole time...

When the light was still cold and blue outside, you felt Jay move next to you, taking your stray arm and tucking it back underneath the comforter. You can’t open your eyes, because then you’d see him and be unable to fall back to sleep.

You knew he had a drop today, and he’d be out until noon at least trying to wrap up this transaction. Maybe you were more nervous now that the two of you had finally given in to each other’s company, but he was a professional. He could handle it.

So with a short kiss to the temple, you hear his boots take him out the front door, he shuts it quietly and you hear the front door lock.

You let your heart rate even again, taking you back to sleep, if only for a moment.

It must be a few hours later, because the light’s changed, now warm and white.

Where did you both end up? France?

Who cares?

The clock next to your bed says 1pm, and you need to eat. You’re not particularly hungry, but it’s something to do.

If your eating, your focused on food, and not him.

You weren’t entirely aware of how thoroughly you’d been debauched until you took a moment to stretch out, wiggle your toes.

You want him here. You want him back on top of you.

The previous night keeps replaying, and it makes your heart start to pound. Jay had to be the worst person you knew in the sense that he had such an effect on you when he wasn’t even present.

No, that wasn’t right.

In order to be the worst person you know, you’d have to know something about him first.

The odd imbalance of information hadn’t hindered the two of you, since Jay showed who he was in how he treated you, and other people you interacted with in your travels.

That would be enough, at least for now.

Enough stewing, time to start your day. Even if it’s the afternoon.

You step into the bathroom, exhaling sharply as you see your own reflection. You’d only felt surprised by your reflection two times before and both times involved clubbing with your insane cousin.

This was a stark contrast, powerful to the point it made your hair stand on end. Your cheeks are burning, even with no one else here. It felt too much for your mind to process, so you take yourself apart bit by bit.

He’d left purple marks all over your throat. Everywhere. Up your throat, along your jawline, and even scattered across your shoulders. You run your hands over your neck lightly, trying to make sure they were real.

God. If you kept staring at yourself, you’d be here all day.

Your hair’s a mess, you don’t know where you put your hairbrush.

It is what it is, you sigh.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you reach into Jay’s duffel, pulling out an olive green shirt. What’s he gonna do, take it back?

Maybe you hope he does.

But no, you can’t go there right now. Your stomach’s growling and your getting lightheaded, you can’t get hot and bothered when your getting lightheaded, that’s just impractical!

You need food.

And you need Jay.

But you’re going to focus on food.

God dammit.

You don’t do this, you don’t let people get in your head like this. You’re smart, focused, driven. Right now your focused on forgetting him, at least until he gets back. Stewing isn’t healthy, you plan to focus on food.

The plan falls apart almost immediately.

You walk into the kitchen, hands involuntarily shaking as you look at the counter where he’d first put his hands on you.

You stand and stare at the counter like it’s going to come to life and bite you. You’ve gone insane. Jay’s driven you insane.

Eggs. You need eggs. Maybe Bacon? Did you guys even get bacon?

Did Jay even eat meat?

You check the cupboards for supplies and your heart twinges when you see everything fully put away. Jay must have brought the grocery bags in before he’d left this morning. The two of you hadn’t had time to grab them before coming in from the rainstorm last night.

You put down some plates on the small dining table. The need to talk to Jay was getting overwhelming, so all you could do at this point was eat. Was it to fill a void? Was it a distraction against the previous evening? Was it something to do anxiety about whatever he was out doing?

Yes.

You’re going to eat a ridiculous amount of food until you feel something other than cold and anxious.

You drop your runaway train of thought when the front door closes. You can’t move.

He slowly shuffles up behind you, feet quiet against the tile. You tense at the closeness, despite how close you were the night before.

Jay doesn’t get crazy, he just leans forward and rests his head on your shoulder, breathing softly and slowly.

You hum as his nose grazes against your neck.

God... Stay focused.

You had butter, toast, and jam at the table, but it seemed distant now that he was home.

Maybe he gets a little bit crazy, letting his hands link across your waist, flat against your stomach. He smiles internally over how he feels you getting warm under his hands, and, to your surprise, he lets them drift.

He doesn’t want to let go. Jay lets himself flash on how good you felt in his hands the night before.

“Need some food?” You ask building a plate for him.

You feel Jay huff into your neck.

If he didn’t let go, the eggs would get cold. You wouldn’t regret that, but Jay did say he hated to waste food.

He presses a kiss into your shoulder, before taking the plate from you, putting it down at the small, rickety dining table, and scooting the chair out so you could sit down. He joins you on the other side, silent as usual. The silence isn’t cold, it’s perfectly warm. You can feel it down to your toes.

You notice that Jay’s let his hair fall forward. He looks nice like this.

You look at him from across the table, unflinching. Your chest puffs out as you see a few purple marks across him as well. Ha.

He stares at you and you stew in your mind for a moment on what you knew about Jay. He’d repeatedly gone out of his way for you, in something as small as getting the door for you, or as big as protecting you from whatever nonsense you’d gotten yourself into that week.

You let yourself flash on how he shook underneath your hands the previous night.

This tall, beautiful tree had fallen. All because you told him how good he was.

When your done with him, he’s gonna believe you.

Across the table, Jay’s staring right back.

There’s a cobra in his chest, constricting his heart as he watches you take a bite of toast.

Jay needs to accept you’re not leaving him, and he can’t leave you.

He’ll get there eventually.

#mine mine mine #words #jay menha #dev patel #this is scraps #but It was a Bad Day and I'm Tired #enjoy #edit later #dev patel imagine #dev patel preference

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 5

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

4 Months Pregnant

“I need customized stickers that say Baby On Board for my purple Lamborghini and the other cars I drive,” The Joker growls at his own idea whilst sharing it with the person fulfilling his wacko trades: Franco Rossi, the leader of best underground supply chain in Gotham.

“When would you like them ready Mister J? After Y/N gives birth?”

“Nope! Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?...” Franco hesitantly inquiries about the sudden emergency since he can’t understand why The King of Gotham demands them so fast.

The Joker hates explaining yet certain people are obtuse thus they necessitate enlightenment.

“Y/N’s pregnant: when she gets in a car, the baby is also. Baby on board! Hello??” the father-to-be loses his temper.

Who can argue with The Joker’s logic? Nobody. It sort of makes sense anyway.

“Of course, Mister J. I’ll have them ready. If you drop by after 6pm, I’ll have your guns ready too.”

“Perfect!” the Joker hangs up among the ruckus coming from the office near the kitchen: sounds of shattered objects and yelling alert Richard aka Panda you’re at it again. He nonchalantly passes by in order to deliver the items to The Clown.

“Your drinks Mister J,” he gives one cup with Starbucks caramel latte to his boss and the other is placed on the table. Why does your boyfriend require 2 identical containers? It won’t take long to solve the mystery.

“Are the lids glued?”

Strange question but there’s a purpose in it.

“Yes sir. How is she doing?”

“She’s hormonal: breaking things makes her feel better which reminds me we have to hoard porcelain objects for her to wreck. NO glass!”

“Sure, I’ll tell the crew,” Richard leaves the kitchen while texting Frost. “Hulk needs more to smash,” he types the code name they gave you in the last weeks although The King knows about it: J’s the one that came up with it.

“Hey Pumpkin,” you are greeted as soon as you pop up from the office. “How’d it go?” he scrolls down on his phone and takes a sip of hot liquid.

“Ugghh!” a frustrated Y/N swings the yellow teddy bear The Joker stole for her on their first date, hitting his hand in the process. The drink flies near the fridge and splatters on the floor with minimal damage: only a tiny puddle instead of a disaster, that’s why the lids are glued.

Safety measure for The Queen’s unpredictability.

J grabs his reserve cup of coffee, paying attention now hence he dodges your renewed attack and keeps his coffee intact.

That’s why his drinks have the lids glued, in case you catch him off guard the second time it will result in negligible destruction.

It happened before.

“I don’t think so Princess,” The Joker strong grip on the container calms you a bit because you won’t be able to win this round. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you pout and sit in his lap.

“I bet the baby is,” the secret weapon is unleashed: J discovered such a gem by accident and it works like a charm. How can Y/N say “no” if the baby is involved? She can’t.

A plate filled with a bunch of your favorite breakfast food is placed in front of you and strangely enough you’re instantly hungry.

“Extra bacon,” he purrs. “Plus chocolate dip and honey mustard for your pickled cherries. I added peanut butter olives as a bonus.”

In your defense, you’ve been having weird cravings lately.

You place the toy on the chair nearby and start eating, ogling a Joker texting back and forth with his business partners. He chews the morsel you just offered and shivers: waffle dipped in clam juice is disgusting. Maybe he should look at the food you shove in his mouth.

“Gross,” J washes the terrible taste with coffee and gets a kiss for encouragement, yet he’s aware of the connotations. Another kiss confirms it.

Let’s put it this way: besides the hormonal episodes and food demands, The Queen has had a fresh type of craving recently - The Joker kind.

More than usually.

That’s why he has to clear it up.

“I’m flattered for being the center of attention; we gotta keep in mind that contrary to the popular belief, I don’t have unlimited stamina, Pumpkin.”

You nod in agreement and unbutton his pants, then unzip them also.

“Y/N, pay attention!” J insists since you don’t give a damn about his woes. “Think about it as a two way street: The Joker Street and I Want To Break Things Street. Are you with me so far?” he double checks.

Why is he yapping so much??! I guess you should make an effort to comprehend: he’s even doodling patterns on his phone to emphasize the speech.

“When you get hormonal, Princess, let’s try and walk on the I Want To Break Things Street instead of The Joker Street, hm? The Joker Street is sometimes closed for repairs until further announcement.”

OK, OK, this is a lecture. Something about a Joker Street, he seems upset he doesn’t have one…?... Right?...

If you were him, you would be pissed Gotham didn’t name a street in your honor when you’re so important for the town.

Another peck on his neck, then your lips go down his collar bone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” J mutters when it’s clear his shirt won’t remain on his body for too long.

“I am,” you defend yourself.

“Oh yeah? What did I say then?”

“Ummm…” you try to piece together words among estrogen taking over. “No Joker Street?...”

“Bingo, that’s it Princess! No Joker Street, correct! Choose the other street, yes?”

This time he kisses you, excited his idea was well received when in fact, both parties are referring to unrelated concepts.

“Wait,” J dodges your touch, “Richard is calling.”

Because he’s on the phone ignoring Y/N, she is ensuring a nice surprise for later; concentrating to the maximum to avoid misspelling, the following message is sent to Franco Rossi from her cell:

“Make a landmark sign that says Joker Street.”

The King’s conversation is prolonged more than anticipated until he discerns you’re not wiggling: you feel asleep, softly snoring on his shoulder and he definitely can’t afford to wake you up.

The doctors said your body is trying to cope with the pregnancy the best way it can: if you doze off at random hours it means you ran out of fuel and you should rest. After cheating death and surviving the accident, the future mother is at high risk of serious complications which is why each day could lead to unforeseen problems.

The Joker rises from the chair holding you in his arms and after a few steps he realizes it’s difficult to walk: thanks to his unbuttoned and unzipped pants, they keep sliding lower and lower. There’s no way he will make it upstairs so maybe the sofa in the living room is the best option. He almost trips thus he begins to drag his feet on the carpet, the pants at knee level now.

“I’m reduced to a piece of meat,” J grumbles, finally making it to the couch and placing Y/N on it so she can have her power nap.

*************

6:02pm

You accompanied The King to a meeting with Seraphim, the best hacker/strategist J uses: they’ve been plotting for a while concerning D.A. Kevin Winchester. The politician is becoming a huge pain in the butt for Gotham’s underworld and something must be done; either annihilation or blackmail, it truly doesn’t matter since he’s bad for business. Due to a total lack of interest in the subject, you are exploring the surroundings quite angry The Joker dragged you here.

Luckily there’s stuff to do.

Bam! you punch the fragile glass sculpture and it splinters into a million pieces on the lavish marble floor.

Seraphim jumps at the noise, immediately recognizing his beloved possession:

“That’s…,” he gulps, appalled. “That’s a Vitriol!”

Yup, the one and only Degas Vitriol, the latest sensation taking the art universe by storm.

“She’s hormonal,” J sneers. “She breaks shit!”

“That’s valued at 150,000 dollars!” the hacker breaths in much needed oxygen regarding the atrocity unfolding at his hideout.

“So??!!” your boyfriend sucks on his teeth, irritated. “Serves you right for buying that asshole’s artsy fartsy crap!”

The Joker actually has 4 Vitriol masterpieces at the mansion yet you were strictly forbidden to destroy them, alas he gave you the office for your rampages.

You continue your exploration as they talk about God knows what until you perceive an alarming detail: Seraphim is literally screaming having a gun pointed at J.

You sneak behind him then in a split second you strike the pistol out of his hand and your fist lands on his temple with such brutality it knocks him out unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N???” The Clown hisses at your erratic behavior.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing??!!!” he repeats, annoyed.

“S-saving you…,” you stutter, confused on why J is mad. “He was yelling and…mmm, had a gun,” you wince in pain because your knuckles hurt from the impact.

“The guy’s half deaf and sometimes he raises his voice without noticing, or did you forget??!! Now I have to wait until he comes to his senses and that’s a waste of my time, Y/N!!! Seraphim wasn’t threatening me, he was showing me his newest collectible!!! I suppose someone with half a brain can’t acknowledge the mess they’ve created!!!”

A lot of accusations thrown your way still… the last sentence brings tears in your eyes.

“I…” you bite your lower lip. “…I don’t have half of brain…”

“Wanna bet??” The Joker bites more instead of leveling with your logic: you though he was in danger and took action. If it was a real emergency, yes, you would have been the hero; it’s not and apparently he can’t appreciate your fast intervention in these circumstances.

“Y-you’re stupid…” you whisper, frustrated. “You don’t understand anything…”

Here it is -- the cataclysmic event of the century: someone called The Joker stupid. He’s beyond outraged with nothing better to utter besides a very childish:

“You’re stupid!”

Y/N turns around and stomps out of the house leaving a trail of destruction outside: she slaps the bottled water out of The Shark’s hand, kicks Panda’s shin and snatches Frost’s donut basically inhaling the sweet treat.

“I want to go h-home!!” you shout and enter the first vehicle you see, slamming the door so hard the window on the passenger side cracks.

“Jesus…” Jonny mumbles and being the sensible man that he is you are offered the whole box of pastries he purchased for his family. He can acquire more, but there’s no way in hell he wants to endure Y/N in the state she’s in.

Gotta keep Hulk calm somehow…

**************

3 Hours Afterwards

You sulk when The Joker strolls in the master bathroom frantically searching the cabinets.

“Did you see my shaver?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you see my shaver?”

“I…I wouldn’t know. I only have half a brain,” the surprisingly eloquent phrase queues J his woman is holding a grudge for his earlier statement. Why wouldn’t she? He was a complete jerk.

At least you didn’t catch on to the obvious: The King of Gotham doesn’t own a shaver; hair just grows on his head.

He glimpses at Y/N soaking in the bathtub with a kid’s book in her left hand and the right hand fingers sunk into a bowl filled with ice placed at the edge of the Jacuzzi. The Joker leans over and switches your book since it’s upside down.

You huff at the unwanted help and stare at the pictures expecting he’ll look for his shaver and disappear.

You’re not that fortunate today.

“Imagine my surprise when I drove the main alley and detected a sign that says The Joker Street,” he brings up the topic.

Franco Rossi was super-efficient …sadly you ordered the item before J ran his mouth at the hacker’s place, otherwise you wouldn’t care he wants a street with his name.

“You said no… no Joker Street,” you stammer. “Now you have one,” the bitter tone makes him roll his eyes: Y/N’s brain got what it could from his monologue, he should have known better than to make it complicated.

“Excellent…” The King starts rubbing your tummy, “… precisely what I was aiming for. I’m washing the baby, not you!” he underlines when you move farther from him.

You scrunch your face displeased but let him do it because it’s for the baby.

“I know what you’re doing,” Y/N gives him a cold gaze. “U-using the baby… I’m not stupid!”

Busted, The Joker thinks. The schemer in him won’t accept defeat though.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did!”

“You said it first!!!” he reckons, antagonized. “Therefore two stupid people put together gotta make up for a smart one!!’

“I… I don’t wanna make out…” you frown at his suggestion.

The Joker sighs, deciding not to correct the trajectory of your judgement; it sure sounds like an opportunity.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired and…and I h-hate you,” your heavy eyelids close.

“Both viable reasons, even if I have to admit you striking Seraphim like that got me quite worked up. He’s no small fry! I had to wait for one hour for him to recover; you got a mean punch, woman! The more I reflect on it, the hornier I get. Which reminds me, Pumpkin: guess what?... … … I’m hormonal too.”

No answer, Pumpkin’s out.

“Of course nobody gives a damn if I’m hormonal!” he complaints while grabbing you from the bathtub. You cling to him for a few moments prior to drifting back into your dreams.

“Thanks for getting me all wet,” J snarls at the cruel reality of having his favorite Prada suit ruined.

“You…you’re welcome…” his Queen replies in her sleep, somehow her mind clutching to reality amidst pure relaxation.

This is what two hormonal individuals are reduced to: one’s dozing off, the other is suffering in silence, although being the proud owner of the tiniest road in Gotham compensates for the mishap.

It’s a two way street.