.Sirenx⊹₊⟡⋆

Claire and Adrian were the spitting image of each other, so much so that when she had Claire she could’ve sworn she was about to spit out some incorrect animal facts instead of crying. Adrian adored her from the start, she wasn’t sure she would ever see Adrian love anything more than he loved and cared for her, but he took to being a dad like a fish to water. He was obsessed with her, knew what she needed before she could even blink and was always there for her. Despite all his worries and fears, Adrian was an amazing father. 

It was hard on all three of them when Adrian was away on missions, but she would never ask Adrian to sacrifice being Vigilante for them, not when he was always so well aware of how his absence was around that house. 

“No! I know the rules! Plus daddy said if I follow the rules that we could get a lizard!” Claire said, jumping up and down as she opened the mailbox, pulling out the mail and handing it to her mom as she did every day. Once she had the mail in her hands, Claire took off towards the front door and she smiled following behind her. 

“Yeah, we’ll see about the lizard, daddy might’ve said it’s okay but daddy didn’t talk to mommy about that,” she grumbled as she closed the door, Claire already running for the kitchen as she flipped through the mail. 

“Uncle Chris has an eagle though!” She complained.

“What does Uncle Chris having an eagle have anything to do with you getting a lizard?” She asked, sighing at the familiar beat of Adrian’s arguments, never really seeing the connections between two clear points. 

“Well, daddy says I’m cooler than Uncle Chris so I need a cooler pet!” She said it like it was the most obvious thing on the planet. She chuckled at her daughter's logic that very much matched her fathers.

“Alright, well we’ll see.” She said, handing Claire a pack of muffins before she started going through the mail. 

She wasn’t surprised to see the usual junk mail and bills, but one letter that was clearly handwritten caught her eye. 

It was addressed to Adrian with a return address, but no name and forwarded from his mom’s house. It had been years since they had gotten anything forwarded from there let alone something looking as intentional as a handwritten letter. She’s not even sure the last time they got a letter like that period. 

She spared Claire a look as she watched her hum as she ate her snack, doing a little dance as she enjoyed her sweet treat. Even though it was a little early she stepped out of the room and dialed Adrian’s number. 

“Hey, baby! You’re early, is everything okay? Did Claire get off the bus okay?” Adrian answered immediately and she smiled at his instant worry for them. She sat on the edge of the couch, perching where she could still see Claire, but be far away enough that the young girl wouldn’t notice. 

“Yeah, we’re both okay. Strange question for you though, are you expecting a letter?” She asked, looking at the letter in her hands. 

“I never know what’s coming in our mailbox, you know that,” he answered and she chuckled. 

“Okay good point, but there’s a letter here for you and it looks to be handwritten,” she said.

“A letter to me? Like handwritten?” He asked, sounding surprised on the phone. 

“Yeah, it’s forwarded from your mom’s. There’s a return address but no name,” she said, turning the envelope over again, but there was really no clue to who it could be from. 

“Who the fuck is sending me a letter?” He asked and she laughed. 

“No offense baby but that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she said and Adrian huffed out a laugh. “Can I open it or do you want to wait till you get back?” 

“It’s funny you think I can wait that long and that I won’t be thinking of the envelope the entire time till I get back if you don’t open it right now,” he said dead serious and she laughed. 

“Alright, alright,” she said, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder as she teared open the letter and pulled out a single handwritten page. “huh,” she said as she looked at the name, her stomach instantly turning.

“What? What is it?” 

“It’s a letter from your dad,” she said, skimming the page, “he’s inviting us to his house for the fourth of July.” 

“Who?” He asked, voice was tight and she could tell that he was starting to pace, her heart cracked a little picturing the sight of him panicking alone in a shitty room, far away from her. 

“Your dad,” she repeated as gently as possible but even over the phone she could tell how even the concept of the letter was affecting him. 

“Can you read it all to me?” He asked, sounding suddenly small over the phone and she closed her eyes, wishing either of them had had the patience to wait to do this till Adrian was home where she could comfort him. 

“‘Dear Adrian, I hope you’re doing well. I heard from your mom that you got married and you’ve had your first child! I want to wish you congratulations, that’s such a huge milestone and you should be really proud. I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to invite you and your family to come down to visit me in San Francisco for the fourth of July. We clearly have so much to catch up on! I’ve attached my number so we can figure out timing and plans! I hope to hear from you soon. Your dad, Charles Chase.’” She read in a soft voice, her eyes on Claire once she was done reading, the small girl had finished her snack and had already moved onto pulling out her homework. She listened to Adrian breathing on the other end, waiting for him to say anything. “Baby, you there?” 

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said softly. 

“You don’t have to decide what we do right now, we can talk about it-”

“We don’t need to talk about we’re not going,” he said immediately and she could feel the tension over the phone. 

“Adrian-”

“No, why the fuck would we go? Why the fuck would we subject Claire to that? I haven’t heard from him in almost 15 years and you want us to do what? Go to his house and act like nothing has happened? No, we’re not going,” Adrian said and she frowned as he clicked the phone, hanging up on her. She sighed, fidgeting with the phone and the letter as she thought of Adrian, either alone in his room or immediately putting on his Vigilante suit to stop some low level criminals, anything to just feel like this wasn’t happening to him.

God, she should’ve waited the moment she realized what the letter was and who it was from. Getting Adrian to talk about his upbringing at all was like pulling teeth, most of what she had learned was from his mom and even then she wasn’t sure what was really true. It was clear to her that his mom seemed to remember everything with rose colored glasses, especially considering how Gut behaved the one time she had met him. 

Her phone started buzzing in her hand and she was met with her favorite picture of Adrian with Claire when she was a toddler. She immediately answered. 

“Adrian-”

“I love you,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry for hanging up on you, but I’m upset and I hate this,” he breathed out and she smiled. 

“I love you too, baby. I’m sorry for upsetting you.” She said as she stood up and walked back to the kitchen, Clarie immediately honed in on the fact that she was holding the phone. Claire dropped her color pencil and started jumping up and down reaching for her phone. 

“It’s not your fault he wrote a letter,” he said, “I just fuck, that’s a lot to unpack.”

“Do you want to feel better about it?” She asked, brushing Claire’s dark curls back, ones that matched her father’s, as she looked down at her. 

“I really don’t think there’s anything you can say-” he started and she smiled as she put the phone on speaker, crouching down to Claire’s level. 

“Daddy!” Claire yelled into the phone and Adrian’s voice stopped dead in its tracks. 

“Hi, Claire Polar Bear! Are you being good for your mom?” Adrian asked, his voice immediately changed, no hint of him being upset remained. 

“I am not a polar bear!” Claire immediately said, giving a hard almost fake sounding laugh just like Adrian’s. 

“I wouldn’t know, last time I saw you I could’ve sworn you were a polar bear!” 

“Daddy!” 

“I’m sorry, princess. How was school today?” He asked and she helped Claire back into her chair, placing her phone on the counter so Claire could keep talking while she started moving around. 

“It was good, mommy said I could get a lizard,” she whispered into the phone, leaning over the counter. 

“Claire Anne Chase, you do not lie especially to your father,” she immediately said and Claire shyly looked away from her mom. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and she gave her a small smile. 

“Yeah, baby you know better. Plus, I hate to break it to you, but daddy knows mommy like the back of his hand so he knew that was a lie,” he admitted and she immediately wanted to comment on the fact that she knew Adrian and she knew even though he was putting on a brave face in this moment he was still struggling internally. 

And she had no idea how to make it okay. 

“Daddy, when are you coming home?” Claire said, snapping her out of her own spiral as Adrian chuckled. 

“I’ll get home tomorrow while you’re at school, okay? I will be home and ready to play when you’re back from school,” he said and Claire frowned, bouncing slightly. 

“Will you pick me up from the bus stop?” Claire asked and she chuckled. 

“What, you don’t want mommy to pick you up anymore?” She joked and Claire smiled slightly. 

“No! I want both mommy AND daddy to pick me up!” Claire said like to was the most obvious thing on the planet. 

“Of course, baby. We’ll both be there tomorrow.” Adrian said softly on the phone and she smiled. Moving to get to work on dinner while Claire and Adrian both chattered away, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the letter. 

She knew Adrian was not going to address it, in fact the moment he found the letter in the house he was going to get rid of it in some way. He was going to refuse to talk to her about whether it was the right thing or not. It had taken years to truly get Adrian to unpack how rough his childhood was. Between his mom losing it, Gut tormenting him, and his dad just leaving; Adrian’s happy memories were few and far between. He always played it off like it didn’t bother him but she noticed the way little comments would get to him and how he was eager to distance his new family away from his old family, keeping them in a protective bubble.  

She was sure that had a lot to do with why Adrian cared so much about Claire’s childhood from day one. Taking lots of pictures, being there for every moment, and as the years went on being at her beck and call. Convincing Adrian to start taking in field missions again after essentially being on two years of training and desk duty just out of fear of being too far away from them took months of talking and begging him to see that both of you would be okay. That he didn’t have to kill himself worrying about them all the time - that he can have his life as Vigilante and them too. 

Even then, it took time to get him back into the routine. 

However the moment she heard Adrian’s key turn in their front door a few hours before Claire should be home she could feel the tension. She was slow to move towards the front of the house, meeting a very disheveled Adrian at the front door as he dropped his heavy duffle bag. 

“Oh baby,” she murmured as she walked towards him, taking him in her arms as he grabbed her tightly. He shoved his head in the crook of her neck, breathing her in with a shaky breath. “That bad?” She asked as he nodded against her. 

She stayed silent and steady as he held onto her for dear life and she couldn’t tell if his reaction was because of the mission or because his thoughts were still scrambled from the letter from his dad.

“Are you hurt?” She asked as gently as possible and he sighed, finally prying himself just far away enough from her that she could see his eyes.

“I’m not hurt,” he said, voice scratchy and she kissed his cheek, content in the knowledge that at this point Adrian knew to always tell her if he got hurt. No more bleeding out alone in his car while he napped, hoping his body would mend. 

“We’ve got about two hours before Claire gets home, you want to take a shower and I’ll make you something to eat?” She said, holding his face between her hands as he gave her a lazy smile. 

“Shower with me?” He asked and she gave him a light glare before nodding. 

“Go put your bag away and I’ll get the shower ready,” she said, giving his cheek a pat before heading towards the bathroom. She immediately turned the shower to probably way too hot and undressed. 

“My favorite view,” he teased in a sleepy voice as he dragged himself into the bathroom, she smiled looking over her shoulder at him as she moved over to help him take off his clothes. Her fingers traced over old scars and a few new bruises that would probably be gone by time they were out of the shower. 

“I thought you weren’t hurt?” She demanded, hand ghosting over the bruise as Adrian tensed, not from pain but from being caught. 

“It’s old?” He tried and she looked at him and he immediately crumbled. “It’ll be healed before Claire gets home, it’s not a big deal.” 

“It is to me, Ade. Anytime you’re hurt is a big deal, even if it’s a paper cut, okay? I want-” she doesn’t get to finish because Adrian’s hand came to her chin and lifted her gaze up to his eyes. He had the smallest smile on his face before he leaned in for a soft and gentle kiss. 

“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth as she clicked her tongue. 

“Don’t think that gets you off the hook, mister,” she said, pulling away to check the temperature of the shower, Adrian holding her other hand as she gave him a small tug as she stepped into the warm water. 

When they picked this house Adrian had made sure that almost every room had the space to allow them to do typically separate tasks together. They had dual sinks to brush their teeth together, their kitchen was big enough that they could easily cook together (her cooking, Adrian sitting on the counter claiming to help), and that their shower could easily fit them both under the large spray of water. Even in her office, Adrian had his own chair, one that recently got a smaller matching one for Claire. 

She moved slowly as she started washing his hair, careful to untangle any knots. Adrian hummed as she scrubbed, but other than that he wasn’t his normal chatterbox self. Normally by now she would’ve heard all about the mission, all the animals he’d saw, and-

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her, tighter than normal and forcing her to stop her washing. A deep frown on her features as she wrapped her arms around him, careful to not get any conditioner on her as she kissed his neck. 

“I missed you too, baby,” she whispered. “Let me finish and then we can rest before Claire gets home.” 

“Can we order dinner tonight?” He asked, pulling back just enough so she could continue to work but his hands stayed put on his waist, rubbing circles with his thumbs. She finished washing his hair and pulled apart just enough to get to work on cleaning his body. She knew he could do this himself and normally he’d put up a fight on the fact she was taking care of him and he wasn’t doing anything, but he was so off he just went through the motions as she worked. 

“What are you in the mood for?” She asked, as she scrubbed him down. 

“Anything you and Claire want,” he said immediately and she smiled. 

“You know exactly what she’s going to ask for, so are you sure you want to do that?” She teased gently and Adrian let out a small chuckle. 

“Her obsession with Italian food should be studied.”

“Makes sense, when we first got together we were eating Fennel Fields like every other night,” she said as she moved to turn off the water. “Plus before I came around you pretty much only liked butter noodles,” she teased. 

“Okay, that’s not true. Just because that was my favorite doesn’t mean it was all I liked,” he said frowning and she smiled as she pulled on her robe and grabbed his to help him put on. “Plus now I much prefer chicken alfredo and mozzarella sticks.” 

“Yeah your palate has really matured,” she muttered with a smile. “Do you want me to put curl cream in your hair and diffuse it?” She asked and Adrian shook his head no. 

“Let’s go nap,” he said and she led them back to the bed, where Adrian immediately collapsed face down. She laughed and joined him, curling into his side with one hand and leg thrown over him and her face pressed against his shoulder. Almost like his own personal weighted blanket. She felt Adrian sigh underneath her as she played with his damp hair. 

“Was the mission that rough?” she asked gently and Adrian took a minute, the air around them wasn’t necessarily tense but she wouldn’t call it comfortable either. She continued playing with his hair, her concern rising the longer it took her normally blabbermouth husband to talk. 

“No, it was fine,” he finally answered. 

“Are you okay?” she tried, playfully tugging his hair so he would turn his head just enough to make him look at her. He’s got a look on his face that she has a hard time reading, like he wasn’t fully sure if he wanted to talk. “Adrian,” she pressed. 

“Did you get rid of the letter?” 

“No,” she said gently. “I put it up, but you don’t have to look at it if you don’t want to.” 

“Can you go grab it?” he asked and she nodded and slowly moved out of the room. Pulling the letter out of the junk drawer, knowing Adrian rarely actually looks in that drawer rather he just throws random stuff in it for her to find later. As she walked back in the room, the letter held in both her hands Adrian had sat up, still in his robe. 

“Here,” she said, handing it to him. To offer him some privacy she moved around their room as slowly as possible getting dressed in some comfy clothes, keeping her back towards him. When she finally turned around to look at him he’s still holding the unopened letter in his hands. 

“Did you tell Claire about the letter?” He asked softly, catching her eyes as she walked back over towards him. She climbed back on the bed, moving behind him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against him. 

“No, baby, just you,” she said as he nodded. Those words seemed to snap him out of it as he pulled away getting out of bed, shoving the letter in his nightstand as he started getting ready to get Claire off the bus. “Ade, we’ve got a couple hours so you can relax, you don’t have to get ready just because I did.” 

“I think I’m going to go on a run,” he mumbled as he pulled on his underwear and moved for his work out clothes and she was quick to get up and stop him from getting any further. 

“Hey,” she said gently, her hands cupping his face. “I’ve missed you, please don’t come home and just shut down on me.” 

“I’m not trying to,” he murmured, leaning towards her, almost a subconscious movement. 

“We don’t have to talk about the letter now, let’s just get you rested and ready for the tornado that is our daughter, okay?” she asked and Adrian cracked a smile at the mention of Claire.

“Okay,” he relented. The next few hours went by slowly as she finished helping Adrian get ready to at least pretend to be normal. Together they unpack his bag, she moves to start his laundry as she he makes his way to their basement to put his gear away. 

Her mind kept drifting back to the letter, shoved in his nightstand. She would tell it was weighing on him and Adrian never did great with addressing things that bother him. He’d much prefer to cut whatever was bothering him out and ignore it. It had been a slow progress to get Adrian to address issues head on instead of hiding them and he had made great progress once he finally had a listening ear, but when it came to his family and childhood he would just shut down. 

She had dragged some information out of Chris early on, mainly about Gut and just how awful he was towards Adrian when they were both in high school and the first time she saw a picture of younger Adrian she had to fight back tears thinking about the hell his own brother put him through and the fact he had no one to defend him. 

She had her arms wrapped around his middle, chin resting on his shoulder as they both stood at the end of the driveway waiting for Claire’s school bus. Adrian's arms holding hers against him, she loosened her grip the moment she spotted the yellow bus heading towards their house. 

“Daddy!” Claire shouted from the moment the bus stopped. She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh as she listened to Claire practically scream as she ran off the bus. Adrian was already on one knee as Claire threw herself at him, he lifted her up and spun her around, his laugh loud and carefree. 

“I missed you baby girl!” He said as she waved to the bus driver as they pulled away. One of her hands came to rest on Adrian’s shoulder as she kissed Claire's cheek. 

“We have so much to do!” Claire immediately said squirming out of Adrian’s grip, Adrian put her down and the little girl grabbed his hand and started pulling him up the driveway. “I checked out a new reptile book for us and we still have to finish our clay animals! Mommy said they’ll be dry now that you’re back!” 

She smiled as she followed the two up the driveway while Claire blabbered about everything Adrian had missed while he was away. She gave them their space and let Adrian enjoy some decompressing time with Claire. She handled dinner, not even bothering to interrupt them as she knew their orders like the back of her hand. 

“You do dishes, I’m going to get her ready for bed,” she said softly, kissing Adrian’s cheek as he hummed in agreement. 

“Don’t start a book without me!” He called after her and she laughed, shaking her head but at least happy that Adrian was seeming to be coming around somewhat normally. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Chase!” She said back as she ushered Claire into her room and started going through her nighttime routine, pajamas, brushing her teeth, and resetting her room. One that Claire was moving slower than normal through, especially considering she knew Adrian would be coming to read to her and according to Claire ‘Daddy does the story voices way better than Mommy.’ 

“Daddy is being weird,” Claire whispered, her little hang tugging at her shirt to bring her closer. She gave her daughter a small smile as she cupped her little cheeks. 

“He’s had a weird day,” she said softly. Claire frowned, worry etched on her little features, an expression she had seen a thousand times from Adrian. Sometimes her heart ached with how much Claire was such a mini Adrian, imagining him when he was small and alone.  

“But he’ll be okay?” She asked and she felt her heart clench. She was glad Adrian wasn’t in earshot of this conversation because it would shatter his heart to hear how worried Claire was for him. 

“Yeah, baby, he’ll be okay,” she said, pulling her daughter in for a much needed hug. “He has us.” 

“I vote for the Grumpy Lady Bug tonight! What do you think, Claire Brown Bear?” Adrian said, clapping his hands as he walked into the room, a smile plastered on his face. 

She let Adrian handle putting Claire down as she wrapped up the household chores and shutting the house down for the night. Normally, Adrian would come out and at the very least sit on the counter and yap while she worked, but tonight all she heard was him wrap up with Claire and head to their bedroom. 

When she finally joined him, he was sitting up in bed in his pajamas but his nightstand light was still on and his eyes were on the ceiling. She moved around the room, getting herself ready for bed before climbing into his arms in the bed. He was quick to wrap her up and press a kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she said gently, sighing and pushing herself closer to him. Adrian squeezed her. 

“Me too,” he murmured. She let the silence take over the room as she listened closely to Adrian’s heart beat. 

“Did you read the letter?” she finally asked after Adrian made no movement to turn off his light. 

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. 

“And what are you thinking?” she asked, looking up at him as he pulled off his glasses and sat them on his nightstand, his hand coming back to play with her hair. Her gaze returned to the wall in an attempt to give him some space. 

“Same thing I said on the phone,” he muttered and she frowned. 

“We could go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium," she whispered against his chest as he tensed underneath her. “We could go see Alcatraz, I’m pretty sure San Francisco has a killer science museum too.” 

Adrian hummed, but didn’t say anything. She moved her head so her chin was resting on his chest, her eyes locked on his face as he looked at the ceiling. She could feel his heart racing underneath her. 

“It’s one week, one chance, Ade.” She insisted. 

“He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Okay, maybe that’s true, but don’t you think Claire deserves it?” She pressed and she could see Adrian’s argument weaken on his face. 

“He’s just some guy! She has no idea that she even has a grandfather!” He complained and despite herself she laughed. 

“You think that she just thinks you came out of nowhere with no parents?” She said with a chuckle. “Baby, I know she’s five but she is starting to understand the world around her and she knows we both have parents. I know she’s not asking questions now, but trust me one day she will.” 

“She can ask questions, that’s different from meeting him,” he retorted, sitting up and the moment she sat up too he scooted away from her, a pained look on his expression. 

“Adrian, I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just making sure you fully understand what you’re saying.”

“I do understand! It’s him that doesn’t understand; he left! He doesn’t just get to come back into my life now because he wants to!” 

“Okay,” she said gently, watching as his chest was rising and falling fast, clearly on the verge of a breakdown. She moved closer to him, as if he was a spooked animal. Her hand came to rest on his cheek, moving his face to look at her. His green eyes were wild and filled with unshed tears. “Baby, it’s okay. I understand. I just want you to understand what you’re saying no to, okay?” 

“I do understand and I just can’t-” 

“Is Daddy okay?” Both their heads whipped around to see Claire standing in the doorway, her teal baby blanket clutched tightly in one hand as her eyes were on Adrian. Her eyes filled with tears to match Adrian’s. 

“Oh baby,” she said gently and the little girl quickly ran over to them, pulling herself onto the bed and wrapping her arms around him. Adrian closed his eyes and held her tight as the young girl started sobbing. 

“We don’t have to go to ‘Francisco! Don’t cry, daddy!” she said and Adrian tensed and looked at her. 

“You told her?” he accused, eyes wide on her. 

“No!” 

“I heard you guys talking, but we don’t have to go on a trip! I love Evergreen, we don’t ever have to leave!” 

“It’s a little more complicated than that, baby,” she said gently scooting closer to them both, hand resting on Claire’s back as she let out a cry.

“I don’t understand!” Claire cried, pulling at Adrian’s shirt. She gave Adrian an apologetic look. 

Before pulling back Adrian, wiped away his own tears so Claire wouldn’t see. Something she hadn’t seen Adrian do in a long time, always feeling comfortable with her and Claire. He had even remarked on multiple occasions on how important it was for Claire to see people cry and be vulnerable.

“Daddy’s dad wants to meet you and mommy, but me and my dad don’t get along like you and me do. I haven’t seen him in a very long time,” Adrian said gently, eyes locked on Claire. “Mommy thinks we should give him a chance, but I’m not sure because it's been a really long time. What do you think?” He asked Claire who genuinely seemed to ponder the question. 

“And he’s in ‘Francisco?" 

“San Francisco, baby. It’s a city in California,” she added gently and Claire looked at her. Her little eyes searched her face for an answer she didn’t have. 

“If we go, will you be sad? I don’t want to go if you’ll be sad,” Claire said and her heart clenched, for such a young girl to have such high empathy and worry for her father, it was both sweet and devastating. Adrian shrugged, his hands fidgeting slightly. 

“Maybe a little, but over anything I want to make sure you’re happy and if you want to meet him then we can do that,” Adrian said and she gave him a soft smile, knowing just how much he was sacrificing. 

“Are there cool animals in San Francisco?” Claire asked and Adrian let out an unexpected laugh. 

“Yeah, baby. Mommy was just telling me there’s an aquarium we could go to,” he said gently, his eyes went to hers and he nodded at her. 

“I think we can try San Francisco and if we hate it we never have to go back,” Claire said with a shrug and Adrian smiled at her. 

“Alright, then mommy and daddy will figure out the details, but let’s get you back to bed!” Adrian said, grabbing Claire and making her laugh as he spun her around. He was quick to move her so he was holding her upside down as her laugh filled their home. 

“Oh yes, get her riled up before putting her to bed, that’s smart,” she said dryly but couldn’t help the smile on her face as she caught Adrian’s green eyes. He gave her a small smile and a nod, a moment just for them to realize that even if he wasn’t sure he’d go through it if it was something his family wanted for him. 

The next few months passed slowly, she could tell it was always on the back of his mind as she handled all the communication with his dad and booking their flights. His dad was ecstatic to hear from her, even more excited when she sent over a family photo of them to help with airport pick up, immediately commenting on how much Claire looked like Adrian when he was her age. She tried to talk to Adrian about what his dad was saying and the plan but every time he would get a sick look on his face and get fidgety, so she decided not to push it. Even Claire seemed to be aware of how weird Adrian was being and kept her excitement about the trip to a minimum. 

But even that fact seemed to be weighing heavy on Adrian, the idea that his family felt like they had to walk around eggshells around him was causing a growing ache in his bones.

“Is this a good idea?” he murmured the night before they were supposed to leave, head resting on her chest while her hand played with his hair, as she used her other hand to check in for their flights. 

“The flights are non refundable, Ade.” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s one week and I’ve already got us tickets for stuff for just the three of us to do. I’m sure your dad will understand you need space.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll tell him? Adrian, I know this is stressful and it might not feel like it but at the end of the day you’re still an adult and at any point the three of us could go take a walk or go to dinner. Hell, you could even go by yourself if you needed some time.” 

After that Adrian didn’t say anything more about it, opting instead to press sweet kisses to her neck before she put her phone down, laughing as he pulled himself on top of her smile plastered on his face. 

“I love you, you know that right?” He murmured against her ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of her face. 

“I don’t think you’d ever let me forget you,” she said, hands running through his curls. “My lover boy,” she purred. Adrian smiled before pressing a firm but open mouth kiss on her lips. 

“Is the door locked?” he asked, looking at her with a slight twinkle in his eyes and she laughed. 

“Bold of you to assume this is going the way you want it to go, but yes our room door is locked,” she teased, having zero intention of telling Adrian no. She let out a sharp laugh as he blew a raspberry on her neck. “You better get to work, because Claire is still going to wake up at six even without school.” 

“I’ll wake up with her,” he murmured, licking up her neck before going to pull off her sleep shirt. 

“Yeah and that’ll last five minutes before you both end up missing me so much that you feel like you have to wake me up,” she said, a small gasp escaping her as Adrian got to work. 

“Come on, you know last time it was at least twenty minutes,” he teased and she giggled. “Besides, it’ll be our last chance till we get back.” 

“Then you better make it last, Chase.” 

Adrian’s good mood lasted through the morning, but once it was time to head to the airport and Chris had come and got the three of them to drop them off he was back to being shut down. Chris couldn’t even get much out of him, outside of a small promise that Chris would score some more appliances for the two before he got back from California Adrian’s expression was unchanging. Despite her concern she let Adrian just…feel what he needed to feel and simply just held his hand, giving him a comforting squeeze as they navigated their way through their first out of state vacation as a family. 

The airport was surprisingly a breeze and Claire did a great job making sure she either had her hand or Adrian’s. Her plane backpack filled with a few of her favorite books and some art supplies, however she spent most of the time looking around the airport and all the different people. Only crinkling her nose when she had to take her shoes off for security, matching Adrian’s expression. 

Once they were on the plane Adrian had taken the aisle seat, Claire in the middle, and her in the window seat.  

“Ade, we gotta talk about something before we get there,” she said looking over Claire, who had her headphones in watching Bluey, to Adrian in the aisle seat. He looked over, looking exhausted, despite the fact that it was only eight in the evening.

“What?” 

“How are we going to introduce him to Claire?” She asked softly and Adrian tilted his head. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like he’s your dad she knows that, but is she going to call him by his name, Poppop, gramps, something else?” She asked and Adrian furrowed his brow. 

“We’re mommy and daddy, why would he be anything other than grandpa? She calls my mom grandma,” he said, shuffling in his seat and she nodded. 

“Okay, that works, I just…wanted you to be prepared.” 

“I don’t think I could be prepared even if I wanted to,” Adrian muttered, clicking on the seat TV and groaning when he realized they only had 45 minutes left of the flight. “Is it too late to go home?” 

“Ade…”

“I know! I know!” He grumbled and she reached over Claire and awkwardly grabbed his hand. He immediately squeezed it back. “I’m glad you guys are at least with me for this.” 

“Adrian, of course. We both love you, I love you. I’m always happy to be there for you,” she said, emphasizing her words hoping that Adrian really heard her and understood what she was saying. He smiled before leaning back in his seat. 

The rest of the flight passed in silence, Claire falling asleep during the last twenty minutes and Adrian opted for carrying Claire off the plane instead of waking up, only pouting slightly when she grabbed their bags since his arms were full. It became clear his ulterior motives of carrying her once they finally bumped into his dad. 

If his arms were full, his dad couldn’t hug him. 

She wanted to roll her eyes at the action, but she knew him being here was enough of a struggle.

“Mr. Chase! It’s so nice to meet you in person!” she said, offering the man the hug that he was clearly expecting to get from Adrian. He was shorter than she was expecting considering how tall Adrian and Gut were, his eyes were also a sharp blue, nothing like the dark green of Adrians. In fact the only thing that looked remotely similar between the two men were the gray curls on top of his head. 

“Call me Charles! It’s so nice to meet you too and oh my goodness is this Claire!” he asked, pulling back and looking at Adrian who shifted uncomfortably, but at least moved so he could see her sleeping face, her carseat clenched tightly in his freehand. “Adrian, she looks just like you were at that age!” 

“It’s past her bedtime, so we probably should go back to the house and get her down,” Adrian said looking at her and she nodded. 

“It was her first time traveling and I think all the new people really wore her out,” she said, smiling at the older man who nodded, clearly fighting the defeat on his face from Adrian’s lack of a reaction towards him. 

“Of course, of course. Here let me take one of those bags! The car is just in the garage, probably a five minute walk!” he said and she nodded letting him take her bag as she readjusted Claire’s backpack on her back and pulled Adrian’s suitcase as they followed his dad. She was closer to him than Adrian who seemed perfectly content staying a few paces behind them. 

“We haven’t gotten to use these since our honeymoon,” she said, making conversation with Charles since Adrian wasn’t going to step up.

“Oh! Well, I’m excited you guys decided to come out then. Where did you guys honeymoon?” He asked and she couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out. 

“We went to Indianapolis actually,” she said, turning to look at Adrian briefly, remembering the two weeks they spent in the midwest. All their friends had teased them about their location choice, but she would go anywhere with Adrian and when he had brought up the random city with his research she couldn’t say no. “They have this really famous steakhouse that had been on our list for a while and they’ve got some really cool museums, a zoo, and a lot of bookstores.” 

“We actually stayed at a hotel that used to be a Coca Cola bottling plant!” Adrian said, piping in for the first time with a smile. “It was also right next to a Duckpin bowling place with like thirty different pinball machines!” 

“Wow, I mean that sounds like…fun,” he said, not sounding convinced and out of the corner of her eye she saw Adrian deflate slightly. 

“It really was,” she said confidently. “I wouldn’t have picked anywhere else. How many people get to say they pet a shark on their honeymoon?” 

The rest of the walk to the car was quiet, but at least not as awkward as she thought it would be. Adrian was quick to get Claire’s carseat situated and the girl in her seat, closing the door slowly but firmly so as to not wake her. 

“It’s about an hour car ride,” Charles said as she got into the front seat, already knowing Adrian would want to be in the back with Claire. “Do you guys have any music preference or we can just chat on the ride?”

“We probably shouldn’t talk so Claire can sleep,” Adrian said immediately, his hand snaking between the passenger door and her shoulder to rest on her arm. She patted his hand and gave Charles a look, trying to convey an apology for Adrian, but the man just sighed and didn’t even bother looking over at her before he started driving. 

Adrian kept his hand on her, even if it was an awkward angle. She could tell he needed to be grounded, but there was not much she could do in the car. The hour passed slow and steady, she kept her phone out just in case Adrian wanted to send her a text. He didn’t but at least once they got to the house Adrian let her carry Claire as he carried their luggage. 

“I’ve got you guys set up in the guest room and if you’d like the couch pulls out so Claire could sleep there that way you guys can have some privacy!” Charles offered as he opened the door to a beautiful decorated room, filled with an almost retro vibe and a huge window that overlooked not only the neighborhood but she could see the ocean in the distance since they were high up on a hill. She couldn’t help the smile on her face, she loved Evergreen, but San Francisco was starting to steal her heart. 

“No, she’ll stay in here with us,” Adrian said immediately, putting their luggage on the bed as Claire rubbed her face on her shoulder, still passed out from the long day. She watched Adrain as he kept his back towards his dad as he started unpacking, clearly done with the conversation. 

“We’ll talk about it, but for tonight we’ll keep her in here just so she doesn’t wake up and get scared,” she said gently and Chalres nodded. 

“Let me go get some extra blankets then so you can make a pallet for her,” he said before leaving the room and Adrian physically sagged. She walked over and leaned against him, exhausted from the travel, Adrian placed one hand on her back and the other starting running through Claire’s hair. 

“You okay?” she asked gently and Adrian pressed a kiss to her head. 

“Always better with you by my side,” he murmured right before his dad came back with a huge stack of blankets. Adrian was quick to grab them and start making a little bed for Claire. 

“She’s normally an early riser but we brought snacks for her and stuff to do so the whole house doesn’t have to wake up on her schedule,” she said, giving Charles a small smile. 

“No worries at all, I figured you guys would want to sleep in a little, but I can make breakfast around nine?” he asked and she nodded. “The bathroom is just across the hall and there’s nightlights to light the way.”

“That sounds great, thank you so much,” she said and he nodded and left the three alone. Adrian immediately got up and locked the door and took Claire from her to tuck her in. She sighed and stretched her arms, the five year old getting too big for her to carry around so much. The last time she made the comment to Adrian he had looked at her, horrified, and told her she would never get too big. 

She started unpacking, throwing Adrian his pajamas as she put hers on and left the room to get ready in the bathroom. She wasn’t sure if Adrian was going to calm down or if this was going to be the entire week, but she had no idea how his nervous system was going to handle an entire week in fight or flight. Especially considering he had no outlet to just go out as Vigilante. 

“Adrian, unlock the door,” she said, knocking gently and he immediately unlocked the door, as he quickly looked behind her and the side clearly looking for his dad. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Is this going to be all week?” she asked, pressing a kiss to his cheek before making her way to the bed. Claire’s soft snores filled the room. 

“Maybe,” he said, following her into the bed and immediately wrapping her up in his arms. 

“Well, maybe to help with that tomorrow after breakfast we go to the aquarium?” she said and Adrian kissed the back of her head. “It’s about a two hour drive, but I already told your dad it would probably be one of the first things we’ll want to go to do.”

“Please, Claire is going to go nuts!” He yell whispered directly in her ear. She cringed but let out a small giggle before leaning back against him even more. 

“Yeah, Claire is going to go nuts,” she teased, setting her alarm for the morning, knowing they won’t even need it because Claire will most definitely wake them up. “How are you feeling so far?” 

“Like we’re in a strangers home and I don’t even know all the exit points yet,” he murmured after a beat. 

“Adrian…” she said and he sighed. 

“I know,” he grumbled. “I’m trying.” 

“I know you are and I’m so proud of you,” she said, gripping his arms and he sighed. “Get some rest baby, because Claire is definitely going to be awake in five hours.” 

“Maybe six if we’re lucky,” Adrian said, leaning back to turn off the light in the room and she sighed, letting the exhaustion of the day finally catch up with her. Adrian’s arms stayed firm around her. Which she appreciated considering how cold the house felt. It didn’t take long for sleep to claim her, Adrian not far behind her. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t get lucky and she woke up at five in the morning to Claire peeling her eyelids back. She groaned and turned towards Adrian, he let out a low chuckle as she pressed herself hard in his chest. 

“Good morning, Claire Bear,” he murmured, hands rubbing her back. “Can you let me and your mom get a little more sleep?” 

“Lost cause,” she said into his chest. 

“But I’m not tired anymore!” Claire said at a volume way too loud for how early it was. She groaned and Adrian pulled himself out of bed. She whined at the loss of his warmth. 

“Can you play quietly for a few minutes while I get dressed and we’ll go take a walk?” he asked and Claire must’ve agreed because she felt the girl retreat to her pallet, snagging her backpack on the way. Adrian pressed a firm kiss to her forehead. “Before you doze off, can you text me the address?” 

“Just look outside,” she murmured. “Or use my location, I’m not going anywhere.” He let out a small chuckle as she threw the blanket over herself to try to block out Claire and Adrian’s version of being quiet. Not a single quiet bone in either of their bodies. 

She’s not sure how long she was asleep before she made her way down the creaky stairs, but after checking Adrian’s location and seeing that he and Claire still seemed to be on their walk she got ready and made her way downstairs towards the sounds and the smells of the kitchen.

She’s immediately greeted by what one would say is way too much food for four people. There were homemade waffles with all the fixings, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, some fresh fruit, chocolate milk, and what appeared to be fresh squeezed orange juice. 

Charles really had a spread going, one that she couldn’t wait to dig into. 

“Oh wow,” she said and Charles' eyes flew to hers as he gave an awkward chuckle.

“Sorry, I didn’t know what you guys would like and we can go to breakfast if-”

“No, no! This is perfect, Adrian’s favorite breakfast is waffles with peanut butter so he’ll be excited,” she said quickly smiling at the older man as the front door swung open. 

“Mommy!” screamed Claire as she came barely into the room and straight into her legs. She winced but smiled as she ran a hand through the young girl's hair. “We found three ant hills!” 

“Hey baby,” Adrian said softly, kissing her cheek before taking in the spread for himself. 

“Three! That’s so many, I bet you worked up an appetite! Look what Grandpa made us for this morning!” 

“Oh, is that who you are?” Claire asked, head tilting as she looked at Charles. Internally she cringed, in all her worry for Adrian she forgot to prep Claire on the trip past that they were visiting Adrian’s dad in San Francisco. 

“I…um yes,” he said, cringing slightly. “I’m your grandpa.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Claire said after a pause, moving so she was closer to Charles, holding out her little hand for him to shake. He laughed but took her hand and gave it a hardy shake which made Claire giggle. 

“It’s very nice to meet you too, Claire.” Adrian looked over at her, his lips pulling slightly up more. After a beat, he cleared his throat. “Well, let’s not let this food get cold!” 

“God, you don’t have to tell me twice, this smells amazing!” She said, sitting down as Adrian helped Claire into one the seat next to her, the small round table leaving Adrian with no choice but to sit next to his dad. She stood up with a plate and began adding food to Claire’s plate before Adrian waved her off, brows furrowed as he grabbed the plate from her.  

“I’ll serve her, you get your food,” he murmured immediately and she smiled at him, putting her hands on her hips as she watched him from behind dipping Claire’s plate. 

“I even got chocolate milk, Adrian! You used to drink so much growing up,” Charles said with a smile as he handed Adrian the glass jug of milk. 

“I don’t drink chocolate milk, I'm not a child,” Adrian grumbled as he accepted the jug to pour Claire a glass. “I’ll have orange juice like an adult.” 

“Adrian, you regularly drink Sunny D, so hush,” She teased as she planted a kiss on his cheek before finally deciding Adrian didn’t need her help for Claire’s plate and she grabbed hers and started loading up her own. If he was at all annoyed at her selling him out his expression doesn’t show it, instead he looks at her like he always does when she kisses him; like she’s hung the stars and the moon in the sky. 

“We can pick up some Sunny D at the store if you’d like,” Charles said immediately. 

“Orange juice is fine,” Adrian grumbled. 

“I like chocolate milk way more than Sunny D,” Claire chimed in and she laughed. 

“Yeah but that’s because you don’t have a refined palate like your dad!” Adrian teased, blowing a raspberry at her as he sat her plate in front of her, immediately digging in. 

“So, Adrian. What are you doing for work these days?” 

“I have a business with some friends,” Adrian said as he focused on dipping his own plate. 

“A business?” He said, blinking as he sat his own fork down, clearly not expecting that answer. She watched Adrian closely as she kept eating, his eyes were fixed on his plate as he slowly started to dig in. To be fair, the last update he must’ve gotten from Adrian’s mom was that he was a busboy. Both her and Adrian had tried to explain Checkmate to his mom a thousand times but she still thought it was just another restaurant. 

“Yeah,” Adrian said. 

“Doing what?” 

“Working.”

“It’s a covert operations agency,” she chimed in, knowing Adrian was going to keep dodging it. “They’ve been at it for about six years now, very successful.” 

“Daddy goes on missions once a month!” Claire chimed in happily. “But we still talk, don’t worry.” She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of Claire making sure that Charles knew their routine. 

“Missions? So you’re like a spy?” 

“An agent,” he said tensely. “Where’s your husband? I thought you got remarried or did that go south too," Adrian said, turning the subject against his dad and she can tell immediately in his tone that he’s doing this on purpose. She kicked him under the table but he didn’t react at all to her. 

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat. “We thought it was best if William wasn’t here while you guys visited. We didn’t want to overwhelm you guys so he’s actually visiting his family in North Carolina right now.” She watched the way Adrian flinched at the words and she knew immediately what he was thinking. He was being treated like a fragile child like he couldn’t handle anything, but by how he was reacting at simple questions it’s exactly how he was being. 

“That’s very considerate of you,” she said. “Maybe next time we can meet him.” Adrian’s eyes lock on hers, his brows furrowed and for a second he looks legitimately angry at her before he looked almost ashamed that he’d even start to look mad at her. 

“He’d love to meet you guys!” Charles said, clearly just happy that things seemed somewhat positive at least from her. “So, I know we talked on the phone about the plans for the trip, but were you guys still thinking about the aquarium for today?” Charles asked. 

“Yes!” Claire immediately said and both her and Adrian laughed. 

“Maybe let’s plan for tomorrow, spend today watching a movie and just hanging out. We could go tomorrow if the two hour drive isn’t too much to ask,” she said.

“Not at all, it’s been a while since I’ve been myself. I was more concerned that you guys might be too tired. Are you sure you guys will feel rested enough to go tomorrow? We can always push it off! The only thing with a real date is the fireworks in a few days.”

“These two? Too tired? I would love to see the day,” she teased and Adrian cracked a smile as he and Claire made eye contact with the same knowing grin on their faces. 

The rest of the breakfast mainly her and Charles chatting with Claire chiming in through mouthfuls of food occasionally. She offered to help wash the dishes when everyone was done but Charles waved them off telling them to go get ready for the day. Adrian was quick to leave the table, picking Claire up, and taking her with him. She followed quickly behind and the moment Claire had wiggled free to look around the room they had stayed in she cornered Adrian.

“Hey, listen to me,” she said putting a hand on his shoulder and he looked at her. “You can’t be a dick.” 

“Me? A dick?” He looked at her like he couldn’t believe what she was saying, green eyes wide in disbelief. 

“Adrian, he’s trying and you don’t have to be overtly nice, but we’re in the man’s home and you’re setting a bad example for Claire.” 

“A bad example? I’m the bad example? He-”

“Adrian, listen to me,” she said, taking his head between her hands forcing him to look at her. “I love you, I love you so much my bones ache and I want nothing more than to be by your side always and I understand that this is hard and it’s probably bringing up a lot of difficult memories from your childhood, but we are actively making memories for Claire. All I ask is if you want to have a more direct conversation with him we have it not in front of Claire, okay?” 

His expression fell at her words and he looked clearly ashamed at his action. 

“Do you think…do you think she’s upset with me?” he asked, in a small voice and she smiled gently at him before pulling him close enough to kiss the tip of his nose. 

“She has no idea what was happening at breakfast other than the fact that you seemed upset,” she said gently. “But that doesn’t mean if the behavior continues she won’t pick up on it.” 

Adrian sighed as she rubbed the apples of his cheeks. 

“It’s hard,” he murmured. 

“I know,” she said back. “Believe it or not, I think you’re doing good,” she said and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, this is hard. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is feeling impossible and daunting for you, but you’re doing so good.” 

“I love you,” he said, pulling her in for a tight hug, one that she was happy to return. Her cheek pressed firmly to his shoulder while her eyes went to Claire, who was watching them closely. She gave the small girl a wink and she giggled before running over and throwing herself into hugging her parents legs. 

“Can we watch a movie and color today?” Claire asked and she laughed, pulling back from Adrian to crouch down to Claire’s level. “Maybe go bug hunting?”

“That sounds good to me, baby. What do you think daddy?” She asked looking up at Adrian and he smiled with a small nod. 

The rest of the day was calm and quiet, Charles always in the background of activities and asking them questions. Adrian never seemed fully comfortable and relaxed but compared to the morning he had calmed down a lot. 

She was pleased with the fact that Adrian never seemed to get upset the rest of the day and had even given his dad a strained, but small smile. 

It seemed both her and Charles would take the win. 

The following morning, Claire was up early and ready to go to the aquarium, waking them up by squeezing herself into the bed between her and Adrian. Where she kept loudly sighing over and over again until they admitted defeat and got up. 

“Can we go now?” Claire asked, the moment their eyes opened, making both her and Adrian laugh. One track mind with that girl the moment animals were involved. Claire managed to keep them on schedule yelling “chop chop!” whenever they slowed down too much getting ready. 

When loading back up the car, Adrian had given her hand a squeeze as he sat in the back of the car with Claire. She took the front seat again with his dad, but at least this time the energy didn’t feel as tense in the car. 

“Do you think they have sea otters?” Claire asked Adrian and she smiled from the front seat as Charles kept driving. She knew this was about to be the next hour of the drive. 

“They sure do,” Adrian said and she could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Okay what about jellyfish?” she asked him. 

“Yes ma’am!” 

“Black rays?” 

“Pretty sure they do!" 

“Isopees?”

“Isopods, and yes!” 

“What about puffins?” 

“They have tufted puffins!” 

“The parrots of the sea!” Claire said proudly and Adrain laughed, clapping his hands making her smile from the front seat.

“Good job, baby!” 

“What are you the most excited to see, daddy?” she asked gently. 

“I’m the most excited for the life on the bay exhibit, you get to see the animals in their natural environment like-”

“Like harbor seals!” Claire said with a loud laugh. 

“Yes! What are you the most excited for?” He asked her. 

“Hmmm, probably the octopus!” she announced. 

“Do you remember how many suckers they have on each leg when they’re born?” Adrian asked, Claire took a moment to ponder. 

“14?” 

“Good job!” 

“Wow, you guys sure know your sea creatures!” Charles said with a chuckle. 

“It’s like this all day,” she teased. “Sometimes they quiz each other. I can’t even begin to describe the amount of animal books and those ‘who would win’ books we have.” 

“Hey! Those books are good,” Adrian complained and she laughed. 

“Yes, the first time you read them.” 

“Have you read them, grandpa?” Claire asked and she watched Charles tense slightly. 

“Oh, I umm I haven’t,” he said gently, glancing at the review mirror. 

“Hmm, that’s okay. Daddy did you pack any?” 

“I did, I brought hammerhead shark versus bull shark and whale versus giant squid,” he listed. 

“Okay, see we can read some together!” Claire suggested and she watched Charles grin. 

“I’d like that!” 

The rest of the ride to the aquarium was filled with soft music and Claire and Adrian babbling back and forth about all the different animals they were expecting to see. She smiled as she leaned her head back, eyes closed, just listening to them talk gently with each other. Being around Charles had started to make her wonder if young Adrian was like this too; just never ending facts and wanting to talk to people all day long. She wondered if anyone actually talked to him or at the very least listened to him. 

Based on Adrian’s very few stories, she figured the odds were low. 

Once they finally got to the aquarium, they were all quick to get out of the car to stretch. Both Claire and Adrian were quick to get out and take in the outside of the building. 

“Hey,” she said, pulling Adrian close into her as he kissed her cheek. “Remember the rule, gift shop at the end and be strong. One educational and one fun thing.” 

“We’re on vacation, maybe two fun things?” Adrian tried and she smiled as he winked at her. “Plus must fun toys have some educational bearing!” 

“This is one of many stops and gifts ships, trust that her backpack will be full by the end,” she said, giving him a light pat on the cheek as he leaned in to kiss her, accepting the small peck as an agreement to the rules. 

Claire and Adrian ended up leading the four through the aquarium, both of them chattering through every exhibit. Sharing fun facts back and forth and Adrian picking her up to get a better look at various things. 

It’s honestly the most relaxed she’s seen Adrian ever since the letter arrived from his dad and she knew it was mainly because he was able to focus on Claire, but she’d take it. She couldn’t help a laugh bubble up the moment Claire and Adrian found a tunnel to crawl through that puts you right underneath a waterfall. She couldn’t help but snap a picture of the two of them, identically large grins looking like they are in animal nerd heaven. 

“Do you guys have any pets at home?” Charles asked as the two watched Adrian and Claire count the amount of starfish in one tank. 

“God no. Even though Adrian’s schedule has gotten better I will not be the one who ends up taking care of a five year old and whatever pet those two wind up bringing home,” she said with a laugh and Charles nodded. 

“Growing up Adrian always brought home every stray animal he could find. Even animals that aren’t stray, one time he tried to bring home a chipmunk.” 

“Oh my god, yeah I could see that,” she said, covering her mouth as she laughed, watching the two of them. “Did…was he happy as a kid?” she asked softly, almost shyly like she didn’t want to know the true answer. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him flinch. 

“It’s not that answer you’re looking for, but I don’t know,” he murmured and she closed her eyes and sighed. 

“He’s a good man,” she said, her body feeling tense as she watched Adrian beam at Claire as she must’ve said a correct fact about some animal as he gave her a high five. “A really good dad and an amazing husband.” 

“I can see,” he said, voice sounding small. Her brain is still circling around the idea of young Adrian all on his own navigating everything, clearly needing help and just not wanting to be on his own but having no choice. No one to turn to. She always understood when she first met Adrian that something was going on in his life, there was a misconnection or some kind of fundamental lack in his life. The way he clung to Chris when they first met like he was the only person who could really know Adrian. It hadn’t taken her long to break through his shell once he realized she wasn’t kicking him around or had any plans to be mean to him. Adrian still looked at her like he did in those early days, just with pure love and joy wanting nothing more to make her happy even if it came at his own expense. 

It took time and work to get him to start doing stuff for himself. It took even more unpacking to realize that he was scared if he didn’t do what she wanted she would leave. 

And he was willing to sacrifice everything that made him happy for her to stay. 

“He did it on his own and he deserved better,” she said before wiping away a few tears before standing up to join Adrian and Claire. Adrian tilted his head as he looked at her, an unspoken question on his face as she shook her head but pulled him in for a quick kiss. “Lunch?” she asked gently. 

“Yeah, let’s get lunch,” Adrian said in a low voice, eyes still on her with worry. “You okay?” 

“I’m okay, baby. I think I'm just hungry,” she said. 

“Then let’s get you some food!” Adrian said happy to solve any problem she brought to him. She couldn’t help the extra twinge in her heart from his eagerness to make sure she was happy. 

The rest of the visit Charles kept his distance, respecting that she had gotten upset with him, and even though she knew she should talk to him and include him she had a hard time separating her attention from Claire and Adrian. In all her worry about Adrian and how he was handling things she neglected her own feelings. Adrian was her person, her guy, her soulmate. Of course it was going to hurt for her too. 

Adrian definitely picked up on her weird mood shift and the rest of the trip holding her hand and frequently checking on her. And each time she gave him a small smile and gentle reassurances that yes she was okay. However she was happy once they finally reached the last exhibit of the day and made their way slowly but surely to the gift shop. 

The gift shop came with an added challenge. 

As expected from an amazing aquarium the gift shop was loaded, leaving Claire running from aisle to aisle with all three grown ups trying to play catch up and help her decide. 

“Claire, how about a stuffed animal and a book?” she tried. 

“But did you see the pencil case?” Claire immediately said back, eyes wide at all the options. She spared a glance at Adrian. 

“Claire, honey we got five minutes and then we gotta pick and if you can’t pick daddy will pick for you, okay?” Adrian said, his tone barely stern but for Adrian to Claire, she’d take it. Claire pouted but picked up a sea otter plushie (one she felt she could’ve picked out the moment they walked in and saved them twenty minutes) and the pencil case that was covered in different marine animals. 

The moment they strapped Claire into her seat she passed out in the car, causing both Adrian and her to share sleepy smiles as they looked at each other. Sharing an almost knowing smile as she kissed his cheek. 

“Do you want the front seat this time?” She murmured and she watched him as thought about it before nodding. He opened her door and helped her into the backseat with Claire as Adrian took the front with his dad. 

The day had finally caught up with her and it didn’t take much for her to fall asleep, the gentle hum of the car and foggy view encouraging her to close her eyes. She was somewhat aware of the fact that Adrian was speaking to his dad in a low voice. 

She woke up at least three hours later in the bed at Adrian’s dad’s house. Claire passed out beside her tucked in on the side Adrian had been sleeping in. She stretched and checked the time. Claire would probably wake up hungry soon, but in the meantime she gently made her way downstairs, finding Adrian sitting on the floor alone on his switch. She smiled as she slid down the wall next to him, placing her head on his shoulder as she watched him play his game. He spared a single second of attention to place a kiss on her forehead. 

“Did you carry me upstairs?” she murmured. 

“Duh,” he said softly. “My dad’s ancient, you think he carried you?” 

“Alright, meanie,” she huffed out. “How was the drive back?” 

“Fine,” he said and she sighed. 

“Are you going to make me pry everything out of you?” Adrian sighed and paused his games. He leaned his head back and it thumped against the wall. 

“It was fine, we just did small talk and then listened to music.”

“What kind of small talk?” 

“Like how we met, me proposing, stuff about Claire, our relationship with my mom, if we want more kids,” he listed off and she slapped his arm playfully. 

“That’s not small talk!” 

“I don’t know. He just asked questions and I answered them!” he said and she pulled back, hand on his shoulder as she moved to look at him. A smile on her lips. 

“I’m proud of you,” she said and Adrian rolled his eyes but there was a small smile playing on his lips. 

“Well I can talk about you and Claire all day, that’s fine; it’s my favorite subject.” 

“Trust me I know, I’ve seen the photo albums on your phone. Albums plural,” she insisted and he let out a sharp laugh, one that was infectious. 

“I love you two, you’re my world.”

“You’re mine too,” she said, leaning to place a gentle kiss on his lips. One that Adrian eagerly accepted and pulled her closer to him. “What did you say to if we wanted more kids?” 

“That I’m working on getting you to say yes,” giving her a small peck as she laughed. 

“Absolutely ridiculous,” she teased, rolling her eyes. 

A gentle throat clear, took both of her and Adrian’s eyes off of each other and to his dad who was smiling down at them. He was leaning against the wall, looking at them like he had caught a couple of teenagers, but both of them were too old and too in love to even care about being caught.

“If you two wanted, I could watch Claire tomorrow night so you guys could have a date night or even tonight if you’d like,” Charles offered the two and she immediately smiled, accidentally ignoring Adrian’s tension. 

“No, that’s okay,” Adrian said immediately and she snapped to look at him, brow furrowed as he pretended to be more interested in the carpet. 

“Adrian, we haven’t gone on a real date in years. Your dad can handle Claire for an evening,” she said. 

“We can go on a date whenever we want, John could watch her!” 

“John Economos? You think John is equipped to watch Claire? John can barely watch Eagley!” 

“Okay, then Chris!” 

“Sorry, are you purposefully picking the worst people to watch our daughter?” She joked and Adrian tensed. 

“My friends are not the worst people to watch our daughter,” he said, sounding frustrated. She sighed.

“Adrian, I didn’t mean it like that, but come on. They feed an eagle lunch meat, I don’t necessarily expect them to be able to take care of Claire with no issues,” Adrian’s eyes snapped to her face. “We’ll talk about it, maybe tomorrow for an early dinner so that way we can put her to bed.” 

She said and Charles smiled, clearly happy with the possibility of them saying yes. 

“I hate when we do early dinner, then we have to get a sweet treat,” Adrian whined. 

“Yeah, but we can get dinner and then come back and take Claire to dessert. Win win!” She said and she watched Adrian roll his head in a circle, grimacing as he thought about it. 

“Okay,” he said and his eyes snapped to his dads. “We’ll only be gone for a little while, like three hours tops.” 

“Four,” she said, kicking him slightly. Eyes wide and bottom lip pouted out. “We can get dinner and take a nice walk.” 

“Four hours,” Adrian conceded and she smiled at him. “But let’s take Claire to the park first tomorrow, I don’t want her to get all bummed we’re hanging out without her.” 

“It’s not hanging out without her Ade, but alright we can do that.” She said and she looked up at Charles. “Want to come with us to the park tomorrow?” 

“That sounds great,” he said. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.” 

She giggled as Charles awkwardly left the room, only for Adrian to immediately tackle her, still careful that she didn’t hit the carpet too hard. He was quick to land his lips on hers, holding his body above hers. She chuckled slightly as they continued making out, Adrian smiling against her lips. 

“You’re not getting lucky on a living room floor,” she teased and Adrian laughed, the sound music to her ears and caused her own lips to twitch even further up. 

“I don’t need to get lucky, I already am,” he murmured as he kissed her underneath her chin and she laughed. He lifted himself further up so he could look at her, green eyes wide behind his glasses that were starting to slip off his nose. Adrian had used that line on her at least a hundred times, but every time there was a force to his tone that told her that he truly fully believed that. That he was the lucky one and not her. 

“Do you remember our first dinner at your moms house?” she murmured, pushing his curls behind his ear only for them to spring right back to where they were before. He chuckled as he rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, when she spoiled that I was going to propose to you in the first ten minutes of meeting her,” he said and she laughed. 

“I already knew, you weren’t exactly subtle.” 

“That wasn’t the point,” Adrian whined and she laughed, leaning up to give him a peck on the lips. 

“You just hate that she technically beat you to it, but Ade I wouldn’t change a single aspect of our life together. None of it,” she said gently and he smiled. 

“I wouldn’t either, every moment led me to you and I still can’t believe I have you,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Come on, let’s get some food and take it upstairs for Claire.” 

She nodded as Adrian slowly got up, holding out both his hands to help her up. Once she was up she paused before wrapping her arms around her husband. He was quick to sweep her up. 

The rest of the evening passed in quiet, small noises throughout the house but everyone was so dead from the aquarium. Claire barely ate anything for dinner, but she was glad she ate something and was willing to take a bath, before passing out for the rest of the evening. 

“The park and then dinner tomorrow?” she said softly as she laid down in the bed. Adrian was still puttering around the room, picking different things up just to sit them back down. 

“Yeah, sounds good to me,” he murmured before finally making his way to the bed. “Do you think Claire’s having a good time?” 

“Yeah, baby. I do.” 

Adrian left it at that, not poking anymore as he sighed, pulling her closer into him. She couldn’t force herself to stay awake any longer, despite her nap earlier in the day she was still exhausted and wanted to take advantage of the quiet as much as she could, knowing that Claire was still going to wake up super early and ready to go. So she gave in, letting Adrian’s soft breath in her ear lull her to sleep. 

The following day Charles had made breakfast again and she had helped him pack a small picnic for them all for the park. It had been his idea, figuring keeping Claire outside and running around will make things easier for her and Adrian to sneak out for their date night. 

“You guys are really cute together,” he said while she was packing a few different types of chips for everyone and making sure Charles had the kind of mustard Adrian liked for his sandwich. 

“Me and Ade?” she asked, brows furrowing as she turned towards the man. He was smiling at her, hands pausing over the desserts he was packing, some sweets from a local bakery he had raved about the day before. 

“Yeah, I mean. You don’t see too many married couples still so in love like you guys are. Makes me happy that he found you,” he said and she felt her lips twitch as she leaned against the counter.

“Yeah, we're both lucky to have each other,” she murmured, looking down as she smiled. “What’s it like meeting us?” she asked, head tilting. 

“It’s…nice. Gut’s come to visit a few times, but it’s normally when he’s just down on his luck. I can’t even put into words how nice it is to see Adrian and not only knowing he’s doing well, but also to see it with my own eyes.” 

“I can’t imagine what it’s all been like,” she said gently and he shrugged.

“I made a lot of bad choices and a lot of good choices. It’s led me here and I wish I could change some things but I can’t. I have to live with my choices.” 

“Well, even if Adrian won’t say it I am glad you reached out. He never would’ve done that on his own,” she said and Charles nodded.

“I’m glad you answered,” he said and silence fell between the two of them as they returned to packing up for the picnic. After a few minutes Adrian and Claire came barrelling into the kitchen, Claire giggling as Adrian chased her. 

“Ready?” He asked, pecking her forehead. 

“I am,” she said, patting the cooler and Adrian smiled as he grabbed it. “Hey, I can get it.”

“Nah, I got it. Dad, are you ready?” he asked. 

“Of course! What about you Claire?”

“For the park?” she asked, looking up. 

“Yes, baby,” she said and Claire smiled. 

“I was born ready!” she declared and they all laughed. Adrian picked Claire up and set her on his shoulders while she giggled. Little hands pulling sharply at his hair, but as always Adrian didn’t complain.  

The four of them walked slowly towards the park, Claire not lasting long on Adrian’s shoulders before she wanted to walk on her own. Claire bouncing back and forth between whose hand she was holding. She yapped the whole way, asking questions about the park, and how it’ll compare to the one back in Evergreen that they frequent. She felt lucky it wasn’t a long walk, since she was unsure how to keep answering Claire’s questions that she didn’t have the answer to. 

Once they got to the park, Adrian reminded Claire of the rules of staying where the adults could see her and being kind to the other kids. The moment Adrian said the last rule Claire gave them all a salute before she bounded off laughing towards the playground. She stood between the two men as she watched Claire run around the park, smiling as she clearly had no trouble making new friends. She turned to Adrian who had his eyes on the parking lot, watching everyone who walked up. She smiled as she noticed Charles doing the same thing but with everyone sitting on the bench. 

She elbowed Adrian gently and his eyes snapped towards her as she tilted her head towards his dad who was doing the same thing he was doing. The expression on his face was hard to read, it wasn’t as guarded as he had been the whole week, but there was still something unsure in it. 

“What are you doing?” Adrian asked him, leaning forward as his dad's eyes snapped to him. The older man chuckled. 

“Oh, old habits die hard, I guess,” he said, gesturing to all the people at the park. “Your mom would give me a hard time whenever we took you boys to the park because I’d watch the people more than I’d watch you guys, but you can never be too careful.” 

She watched Adrian’s face carefully, there’s something there that she can’t help but smile at. 

“Sounds like someone I know,” she said, knocking into her husband since he didn’t seem like he was going to say anything to his dad. 

“I’m going to go play with Claire,” he muttered as he walked away from the two, she frowned but didn’t say anything as he walked off. 

“Here let’s go sit, he’s got this,” she said, gesturing towards an open bench that still gave them a decent enough line of sight to everything happening around the playground. 

“He’s…really good at this,” Charles said, gesturing towards Adrian and Claire as they played, the two focused intently on skipping from raised lilly pad to lilly pad as they made their way towards the top of the jungle gym. She couldn’t fight the smile that came across her features. 

“At balancing?” She asked, brows furrowed as she turned to the older man who let out a chuckle. 

“No, I mean, at being a dad,” he said softly and she hummed, her eyes locked on the back of Adrian’s head no more than twenty feet away from them. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” She said low enough Adrian wouldn’t overhear them as his dad nodded. “He took to it so well that I thought something was wrong with me. Like don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter with my entire heart. I would do anything to make sure she’s safe, but every moment still felt…suffocating. Especially right after we had her, I mean there’s so much you can just fuck up, but not to Adrian. He just looks at her and knows what she needs. He’s known since she was born. He’s known what she needs just from the smallest babble, a quiver of the lips, just anything. He’s freakishly in tune with her.” 

“It’s impressive…I mean I wasn’t…you have to understand there was a lot going on in general. Especially internally and me and Adrian just had nothing in common,” she nodded. 

“Adrian just doesn’t know how to half ass anything in his personal life,” she said with a shrug. “He still struggles some days. He gets frustrated when things don’t make sense in his mind, but he’s gotten better at trying and growing. It’s all you can ask for most days,” she said gently and his dad nodded. 

“I’m proud of him,” he said. “But I’m not sure if he wants to hear that from me.”

“Tell him anyway, I’ll talk to him about it.” 

“Daddy, do you need a hug or some deep breaths?” She heard Claire’s voice from across the playground and she immediately locked in on the two. Adrian was standing near the middle of the jungle gym, his eyes were locked on them, but the expression on his face made it so she wasn’t fully sure he was actually seeing them. Claire’s hand tugging at his shirt, begging for his attention, she starts to get up to check in on them, but her movement seemed to snap him out of zone out as he turned back to Claire. He moved to start chasing her as the young girl screamed and continued climbing up the jungle gym. 

“Is he okay?” Charles asked and she looked over at him. 

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

The rest of the time passed in a comfortable silence with her and Charles watching Adrian and Claire play. Occasionally letting out a chuckle as the two did something funny or a small comment when a thought popped up in either of their heads, but for the most part it was just a calm afternoon and once Claire was hungry the four of them found a shaded spot to sit and eat. Adrian sat close enough to her that she leaned on him and then once they were done eating she laid in his lap while Charles pushed Claire on the swings. His hands were playing with her hair. 

“What were you guys talking about earlier?” he asked, voice low. 

“You,” she answered honestly, adjusting so she was on her back and looking up at Adrian. She watched him purse his lips, his eyes staying locked on Claire. “I was talking about how great of a dad you are, how you took to Claire quicker than I did.” 

“Baby, postpartum depression is really serious. We’ve talked about it, you don’t have to feel bad, it’s okay. We got you the help you needed and everything was okay.” 

“No,” she said laughing slightly despite herself. “I just mean like when we first came home from the hospital you were immediately in tune with her. Waking up slightly before she needed anything and you were just…so happy to help, never seeming too tired. Even now, you’re quick to know what she wants or you know exactly what to say to get her to stop pouting before dinner.” 

“Oh,” he said gently. 

“Yeah, you’re a good dad, baby.” 

“I love you,” he said gently, finally looking down at her with nothing but love in his eyes and she smiled. 

“I love you more,” she said and he laughed, shaking his head. 

“Absolutely impossible, my heart-”

“My heart beats for you too, you know,” she whispered. Throwing the words Adrian frequently said to her back at him. 

The rest of the time at the park passed without any big incident, Adrian stayed calm and enjoyed just sitting with her watching Claire. After another hour the four of them packed up and headed back to the house where her and Adrian got ready for their date. 

She opted for a simple summer dress she had packed and Adrian was in khakis and one of his better fitting polos. Charles had offered them to borrow his car, but Adrian insisted on leaving it in case they needed it to go to the hospital. Adrian also ran through every emergency number for his dad to call if something happened. His phone, her phone, and their friends back home. When she pointed out she wasn’t sure what they could do being so far, Adrian just gave her a pained look that made her nod and let him keep going. 

Once she actually got Adrian to leave the house, the dinner was really nice. They had walked hand and hand for about 25 minutes before arriving at one of the few restaurants open early enough for them to have dinner. She smiled as they made easy conversation and finally got seated, Adrian pulled out her chair for her. 

“Ugh, I’m so excited,” she said as she looked over the menu, everything looking so good. 

“We’ve been to dinner since we’ve had Claire. Multiple times, you’re acting like I never take you out,” Adrian said, complaining, but there was still a smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, but we’re on vacation! We’re in a new city and it’s just us. It’s nice,” she said and he nodded, looking at her with a smile on his lips as he leaned forward just a tad. 

“It is nice,” he repeated. They both placed their orders and she watched Adrian fidget slightly with his glass of water. 

“Ade, can I guess a question you’re going to hate?” she asked and he nodded, eyes flickering away from hers. “What was it like when he left?” her voice was soft but it didn’t stop the look of being struck that crossed his face. 

“Why?” 

“I just…I know this week’s been hard for you and I know how reluctant you were for us to even come in the first place. I just…want the missing puzzle piece,” she finished, voice soft as she grabbed his hand from across the table, he immediately intertwined their fingers together and gripped her tightly. 

“When my dad left, things just…got worse overall. It’s not like he nor my mom really stopped Gut growing up. With my healing factor…I was just the boy who cried wolf so it didn’t really change too much when he left, but it clearly affected Gut because he just got…worse, meaner. He pushed limits and just seemed to make it his life mission to make my life hell,” Adrian said before taking a sip of water. “And I hated them all so much growing up. I always thought ‘why me,’ like what did I do that made me so…hateable so hurtable. It just became easier to shut myself off from all of them, pretending their relationship to me didn’t matter because no matter what it was going to hurt, but at least this way I got to pick how it hurt.” 

“Oh, Ade.” 

“And I don’t regret it. Without Gut torturing me, I might not have become Vigilante and if I hadn't become Vigilante I wouldn’t have met Chris or you and who knows what my life would be. Probably awful, still bussing tables and living in my moms basement with no plans or a life. I think for a long time I was angry at him for leaving me in that house like he just didn’t care. And I get it, I get he’s sorry and I get why he wanted to meet you and Claire, but I think there’s still this part of me that sees that’s what he wants and wants to deny it because it’s mine. It’s something I built and found and have loved and cherished. Not him, he shouldn’t get it just because I’m his son.” 

“That’s not what’s happening. It’s not just getting this because you’re his son. You built this and you are making a very mature decision to share this. You’re being the bigger person in allowing him to see this and to show him what you built despite everything that happened growing up.”

“Yeah, well I hate it,” he mumbled, leaning back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling and she laughed. 

“I couldn’t tell,” she teased.

“Hey!” 

“Ade, it’s fine! You’re allowed to not like this too! You can be angry or as upset as you want with him. They’re your feelings. I’m not trying to make you feel one way or the other.” 

“I know, I just…I’m ready to be home. I miss our bed, I miss work.” 

“Do you think you’ll want to come visit again?” She asked, head tilting as he seemed to ponder it. 

“Not fully for it, but not fully against it.” 

“Once your mom hears we came out she’s going to beg us to come over again you know that right?” 

“Jesus fuck, don’t remind me. It’s going to be impossible, the moment we land we’ll be lucky if she’s not outside our door already with cookies,” he complained and she laughed. 

“Well, it’s not like Gut is going to be bringing around any grandbabies anytime soon,” she said as the waiter sat down their appetizer. Adrian grabbed his fork and snickered. 

“At least not a legitimate one,” he joked and she snorted. 

“Hey, you can’t judgemental like that. We had a close call before we got married,” she warned and Adrian smiled. 

“Yeah, but that’s different, we always knew we’d get married. Gut’s going to be lucky if a girl gives him the time of day for longer than to just put his dick in her.”

“I’ll give you that one,” she said after a pause and Adrian smiled at her, digging in. “Our next trip as a family, maybe we see if Chris and the others want to go somewhere,” she suggested casually as Adrian smiled. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I bet they’d be down for a resort somewhere and Claire would have a blast with all her aunts and uncles.” 

“Oh my god, we can take a cruise!” Adrian said, slapping the table and she grimaced and shook her head. 

“Tempting since Claire would be confined to a ship, but I fear if we took Chris onto international waters we might just be asking for trouble,” she said and Adrian pouted. “We’ll figure something out. Let’s survive these last few days and then we’ll start making plans." 

“Barely a few days, tomorrow night fireworks and then we leave in the afternoon the following day,” Adrian said looking excited.

“Still, let’s wait to plan our next trip till we get back,” she said and Adrian smiled and nodded. The rest of the evening passed with just the two of them talking back and forth, the conversation staying much lighter after Adrian’s confession. She knew, just from knowing her husband, that just because he’s admitting to some of what was bothering him about the trip didn’t mean it was all solved. Adrian had a habit of holding onto things, she was just glad that he had voiced something, clearly up a fraction of what he must be feeling every time they walked back into his dad’s house. 

Throughout dinner she debated circling back and telling Adrian about the conversation she had with him at the aquarium, how upset she got on his behalf, but by the time dessert comes out she decided it was best to just leave it, knowing Adrian would eventually ask her once they were home. 

When they got back to the house, they walked into complete silence and she felt the way Adrian squeezed her hand nervously. She continued to lead them into the house, only to find Claire passed out on the couch and his dad sitting in an armchair continuing to watch Bluey as if Claire was still paying attention. 

“She fell asleep maybe twenty minutes ago. I didn’t know if you wanted me to keep her awake to take her for dessert or what,” he said gently and she smiled. 

“We had dessert at the restaurant, we’ll just put her to bed and get her something special tomorrow so she’ll forgive us,” she said and Adrian smiled as he picked her up. The young girl’s head rolling on his shoulder as her eye lashes fluttered slightly. He walked past her and gave her a kiss on the cheek before carrying Claire to the room. 

“Did you guys have a nice date?” Charles asked, getting up and stretching from his chair. 

“It was really nice, thank you for watching her.” 

“Of course, it’ll be weird to go back to a quiet house. Don’t get me wrong, me and William love the quiet but it’s been really nice having you guys here,” he said softly and she smiled. 

“Your home is beautiful but I fear if Claire is here any longer she will destroy it. You should see her room back home, we’re going to have to repaint it and recarpet it whenever we decide to move,” she said as Adrian came back downstairs. His arms wrapped around her middle as he laid his head on her shoulder. 

“Well, that’s easy we’re not moving,”

“Okay, Ade. We’re not doing this conversation again,” she said, patting his arms and rolling her eyes. “This is a common fight-”

“Debate,” Adrian corrected gently. 

“That I think we should move and Adrian thinks we should just remodel the house, but we need a bigger space as Claire grows and-”

“Which we can get by remodeling, we have an acre in our backyard and we can expand,” Adrian complained. She looked over at Charles and shrugged. He sat back down and put a hand on his chin. 

“Why don’t you want to remodel?” he asked her, she pulled out of Adrian’s grip as she moved to sit on the couch. Adrian followed her. 

“Well, it’s a lot of work and money-”

“Which we have plenty of,” Adrian reminded her. “Checkmate is doing great, we can spend a little to make the house more comfortable without risking too much. It’s not like Claire’s going to college tomorrow, there's time to make these changes while still being comfortable.” 

“And time to be out of the house or in a house with a bunch of construction,” she finished and Charles turned to Adrian. 

“Why don’t you want to move?” 

“It’s our house, I want us to live there forever. We moved in six months before we had Claire. It’s the only home she’s had, I think we should keep it that way.” 

“Well, Adrian, forever isn’t realistic,” his dad said gently so as to not upset Adrian. She could feel him tense beside her but he didn’t say anything. “But also, moving just because a few things are wrong doesn’t mean you should,” he said to her and she sagged a little, looking over at Adrian. 

“I do like our house,” she said, this time focusing more on Adrian who smiled. “I just worry that construction is going to take too long and be too much.”

“Well, you two don’t have to decide today or hell even tomorrow,” Charles said and Adrian nodded. 

“That’s what I say, we’ve got the time,” Adrian said and she fought the urge to say something about how there were two of them now, knowing that might set Adrian off. “Thanks for talking to us about it, but we should get to bed,” he said standing up and the moment Adrian’s eyes were off his dad she saw tears well slightly in his eyes before he wiped them away so Adrian wouldn’t see. She couldn’t help the smile at the realization that without a fight Adrian at least heard his dad out on one of their arguments, which felt like a much bigger win than if she were to convince him to finally start looking at new houses. 

The three adults said goodnight and slowly made their ways to their respective rooms. She smiled, pulled Adrian in for a kiss the moment their door was closed. 

“We can remodel the house,” she said gently against her lips, feeling him smile. “But not right when we get back, give it a few months and then we’ll start figuring it out, okay?” 

“Okay,” he said gently, smile almost blinding. 

“And if we’re remodeling I want a clawfoot tub!” She said and he laughed, she threw a hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t wake Claire up. 

“Deal,” he murmured against her hand. She smiled and kissed him one more time before the two finally made their way to bed. Relaxing together before sleep claimed them both. 

Most of the morning and afternoon was spent getting ready for the evening. The firework show they had picked was at a different park, one they had to drive to, but they were having a farmers market and food trucks there so at least they didn’t have to worry about dinner. Plus Claire wasn’t too happy when she woke up and realized she was cheated out of a dessert. Consider it was their last full day she was completely surprised by Adrian’s unusual chipperness.

They had gotten their blanket spread out for the firework show, Claire sitting between her and Chalres with Adrian on her other side. 

“Oh wait! Claire, I brought you these!” Charles said happily pulling out of his tote bag some industrial noise blocking headphones, one that reminded her of what one might find at a construction site. She smiled as Claire happily accepted them, her expression being more of ease the moment the sound cushions were over her little ears. It was almost a comical sight with how big they were, but she knew Claire was thankful for them, her attention back on the night sky waiting for the fireworks to start. 

The next part seemed to go in slow motion for her. One second she’s smiling looking at her happy daughter, the next she’s turning her head to make a comment to Adrian about it, but when she turned fully he’s not next to her right anymore. Instead he’s running away. 

“Watch her, Claire stay with grandpa,” she didn't wait for either of them to answer her as she chased off in the direction Adrian went. She was lucky that for the most part he didn’t seem to move very fast, not as fast as she knew he could go. She followed him all the way to the parking lot and she was glad he didn’t have the key because she wouldn’t be surprised if Adrian drove off if he did. 

He had done that once before, back before they first started dating, while Task Force X was still getting their grounding after saving the world from butterflies. She had figured out pretty early on that Adrian liked her, but she was still unsure of him and what she wanted. Chris had gotten into Adrian’s head about her and her expectations and he had become a mess every time they were around each other, clearly unsure if he should be himself or who Chris said he should be to earn her love. He had said one dumb thing after another, spiraling until he finally squeaked out a goodbye and physically ran away from her. 

At least this time she was able to catch up to him. 

“Adrian, you can’t just run off. The last thing we need is Claire getting…” she stopped dead in her tracks when she took him in, hand over his mouth as tears raced down his face. He was crouched on the ground, leaning against his dad’s car. “Ade?” 

“Just give me a minute,” he gasped out, shoeing her away with his hand as she shook her head and fell to her knees in front of him. 

“What’s happening, are you hurt?” she asked, checking him over. Hands flying over him as she tried to make sense of what was happening to him. 

“I’m okay,” he said, pushing her hands gently off of him. 

“What’s going on?” she asked again and she watched Adrian force himself to look up, bottom lip wobbling as he seemed to debate telling her the truth or not. 

“Claire, she just looks just like me,” he said, eyes squeezed shut. “And it’s hard to see him being so…fatherly to her. I mean, fuck baby she looks just like me, she has my personality, your genes didn’t even try!” She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out as a few tears escaped her eyes at Adrian’s clear pain. 

“Yeah, she’s your spitting image,” she said and he let out a shaky sob. 

“Why wasn’t I good enough for him?” At those words she practically threw herself at her husband, wrapping him in her arms as a harsh cry left his lips. 

“Baby, no no no,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple as his arms circled around her tightly. “That’s not what’s happening. He’s not suddenly being nice because he likes Claire more than you, he’s being nice to Claire because he feels bad about how he treated you as a kid. He’s trying so hard to make you see that he's changed and he cares and he’s doing that by showing you the way he thinks you’ll be the most comfortable with. He knows you don’t want to have a direct conversation, but baby he’s trying to make you see he loves and cares about you and he is sorry.” 

“But why wasn’t I enough?” He begged her, begging for an answer she simply didn’t have and she felt her own tears starting to fall. 

“I don’t know, baby, but it wasn’t fair to you at all and I’m sorry. But you deserve good things and you deserved a good dad who was there for you,” she whispered, holding his face between her hands, wiping his tears as quickly as they were falling. 

“It’s hard,” he murmured, calming down. 

“I know,” she said gently. “And it’s not fair either, but you’re doing such a good job. This time tomorrow we’ll be home and if you don’t want to talk to him ever again we can do that.” 

“But what about Claire she’s having a blast with him!” 

“Ade, we’ll figure it out and yeah she’s five but she’ll understand if that’s what you pick,” she said and he sighed, his body sagging against the car. “Come on, let’s buy Claire some cotton candy, okay?” She said and Adrian laughed, it was watery but at least he was starting to sound back to normal. 

“So she’ll be up all night?” 

“Yeah, we’ll make your dad watch her so we can get some rest before the flight tomorrow,” she joked back as she stood up and held out a hand for Adrian. He was quick to accept it and pull himself up but before she could start leading him back he quickly brought her in for a kiss. She smiled as one of her hands went to cup his cheek. 

“I love you,” she said and he smiled. 

“I love you too.” 

The two made their way towards the cotton candy stalls, Adrian clutching her hand tightly. 

“Stupid California, $12 for a bag of cotton candy,” Adrian mumbled as he pulled out his wallet, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as the stall clerk took his cash and looked at him with concern. She felt lucky that at least the clerk didn’t say anything. 

Once they made it back, Charles gave her a questioning look and she simply shook her head as Adrian handed Claire the cotton candy, making her squeal in joy. 

The rest of the night passes with silence from the group, even Claire, who’s attention is on the sky and slapping her dad’s hand away from stealing her cotton candy. They didn’t get back to the house till almost 1 in the morning, Claire passed out as Adrian carried her around the park and back into bed. Before passing out, she and Adrian made quick work of setting out Claire’s outfit for the flight back and packing up the majority of their stuff. 

“Ready to leave tomorrow?” she asked gently, eyes almost blurry with sleep as she finally pulled herself into the bed. Adrian followed behind her. 

“More than ready,” he murmured as they both fell asleep. 

Both unfortunately and fortunately Claire slept in longer than they were anticipating. Normally the young girl was up early no matter what time she went to bed, but the joy of the fireworks and sugar crash kept her sleeping till almost eleven in the morning. Which meant they were rushing to get to the airport and say their goodbyes. If Charles was disappointed with the lack of a last morning he was careful to not show it on his face which she appreciated, knowing Adrian probably wouldn’t react well to any comment from his dad about them ruining their last day. 

“Thank you for inviting us,” she said, hugging Charles once they made it to the airport. Adrian standing behind her. 

“Of course, don’t be a stranger. You guys are welcome back any time,” he said and she pulled away, looking up at Adrian as he sighed, but awkwardly gave his dad a hug. 

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Adrian mumbled. 

“Seriously, Adrian. I’m really proud of you,” his dad said, giving him one more squeeze of the shoulder and Adrian nodded. 

“Bye Grandpa!” Claire announced, interrupting the moment between the two men, but she can tell on Adrian’s expression that he’s thankful for it. 

“Bye Claire, it was very nice to meet you!” he said and she giggled. 

“Of course it was, I’m cool!” she said hands on her hips making both her parents laugh. 

“Claire, what do you say?” she pressed her daughter.

“It was nice to meet you too,” she grumbled and Charles laughed, giving Claire one last hug before the three of them started making their way through the airport and on their way home to Evergreen. 

The whole flight and ride home Adrian was quiet, this time she gave Claire the window seat so she could watch and play with the window shade as she rested her head on Adrian’s shoulder. Occasionally she could feel him turning and pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she squeezed her leg. The moment they got back into their home, Claire was quick to run to her room to check in on all of her toys. 

“I’m sorry for pushing you into this,” she murmured as she pulled him into a hug, the moment they were alone in their bedroom. She felt him sigh against her as he swayed them slightly. The hug felt familiar and comforting, as she let herself melt in his arms. 

“No, I…I think this was good. I’m glad he got to meet Claire and you got to meet him,” he sighed. “I’m not going to forgive him at least not fully, but I think sometimes I worry that because he was my example of a dad that maybe I would be a shitty father and-”

“Adrian you’re the best dad!” She said immediately pulling back and looking at his face with a pained expression on her face, but Adrian let out a small laugh. 

“No, I mean,” he looked down suddenly looking bashful. “I know I am a good dad and I think it was good for me to see him because now I’m positive I’m way better at this than he ever was. It’s so easy to love Claire and it hurts that…that I wasn’t for him, but that’s his loss.” 

“It is his loss, Ade,” she repeated and he smiled. 

“Yeah, it is,” he murmured. 

“Daddy! Are we going to play with my new art kit from Grandpa! You promised when we got home we’d use them!” Claire said, busting into their room. 

“Besides, I have the best family in the world right in front of me,” he said, pulling her in for a kiss just long enough for Claire to start making fake gagging sounds. 

But god, she wouldn’t change any part of her family for the world. 

__

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Tag list:

blackout | ⚡︎ ❀

⤷ a power outage strands you and reid in the basement records room. his flashlight is useless, your lighter keeps flickering out, and you’re pretty sure you said too much — but somehow, he never makes you regret it.

bullseye | ❀

⤷ you didn’t plan on staying late at the bar, hustling reid at darts, or flirting with him after trivia. you definitely didn’t plan on the coffee waiting on your desk the next morning, either.

gambit | ❀

⤷ spencer pulls out a travel chess set on the jet and offers to teach you. it’s a harmless way to kill time… until you realize how much you like the way he looks at you across the chessboard. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!

hot topic | ❀⚡︎ᢉ𐭩

⤷ after an injury in the field, you patch spencer up with a skull-print bandage. he gets a little jealous, you get a little deflective, and a quiet moment passes at 30,000 feet where you both admit more than you mean to.

fever dream | ꩜ ❀

⤷ you don’t get sick. you don’t let coworkers into your apartment. and you definitely don’t have vivid, full-body sex dreams about spencer reid. except today, apparently, you do all three. 18+ MDNI

night watch | ❀ ⚡︎

⤷ ever since he showed up at your apartment (and ever since that fever dream you’re pretending didn’t happen), you’ve avoided being alone with reid. unfortunately, hotch has another plan: assigning the two of you to an overnight stakeout.

liquid courage | ❀

⤷ you never call anyone when you’re drunk — except tonight, you do. margaritas, glitter, and one reckless drunk dial later, you’re in spencer reid’s car at 1am, wearing his coat and trying not to notice how good he smells.

head rush | ❀ ⚡︎

⤷ dayton, ohio. one asshole cop, one concussion, six hours of stay-awake poker, and a kiss that makes you see stars — right up until you slam on the brakes.

lies | ⚡︎

⤷ after ohio, you rebuild your armor and pretend the kiss didn’t happen. two weeks of awkward distance, a charged moment at the gun range, and a stairwell conversation later, you tell spencer the cruelest lie you can think of. it should end there — but then he finds the only evidence that can prove you wrong.

truths | ⚡︎ ❀ ᢉ𐭩

⤷ spencer shows up at your door with irrefutable proof you’ve been lying — to him and to yourself — but that doesn’t stop you from trying to deny it anyway. what follows is a late-night reckoning: small truths, careful boundaries, and the soft kind of honesty you usually run from.

adagio | ❀

⤷ at work, you and spencer try out adagio tempo until a hotel room debrief tests just how slow you can go.

heart eyes | ❀

⤷ spencer tries to focus on the case, but watching you translate grief into gentleness ruins his concentration until morgan snaps him out of it. // ficlet written for my 1k celebration event!

limited exposure | ⚡︎ ❀

⤷ at rossi’s book release party, the team’s playful teasing pushes you and reid’s “not-a-relationship” into a quiet fight, a real apology, and a red-velvet photo booth that develops more than just pictures.

october nights | ❀

⤷ you can’t hide the fact you love autumn from anyone — especially spencer. he gives you all the best parts of the season in a single day: leaves in the park, halloween decorations, classic horror films, and a night that spooks you in a way you hadn’t planned for.

just socks | ⚡︎ ❀

⤷ you buy spencer funny socks because they reminded you of him. which is totally normal. and casual. and definitely not girlfriend behavior. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!

scorpio season | ❀

⤷ you’ve never been a fan of birthdays, but celebrating spencer (and reluctantly allowing him to celebrate you too) might just change your mind.

out of the doghouse | ❀

⤷ your neighbor’s shy, sweet dog doesn’t trust men, and she definitely doesn’t trust spencer when he shows up to your place like he belongs there while you’re dogsitting for the weekend. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!

raincheck | ❀ ᢉ𐭩

⤷ you finally say yes when spencer asks to take you on a real date, but work interrupts the night before the entrees arrive.

shelter from the storm | ⚡︎ ᢉ𐭩 ꩜

⤷ in the cold aftermath of a fight left unresolved, you & spencer get stranded as a storm rolls in. with the roads underwater and only one vacant room at the motel, you’re left with nowhere else to run but straight into him. 18+, MDNI. sfw/under 18 version

call it what you want | ⚡︎ ❀

⤷ things between you and spencer are perfect, right up until a flirty grad student and a mandatory ethics training force you to decide what, exactly, to call the thing you’ve been pretending doesn’t need a name.

wear & tear | ꩜

⤷ after a brutal week on a case and an evening at o’keefe’s spent hiding your relationship from the team, you and spencer finally get each other alone — and your fishnets do not survive the night. 18+, MDNI.

can’t keep my hands to myself | ❀ ꩜

⤷ spencer can’t keep his hands off of you during a rare day-off movie marathon, so you call him out and turn it into a no-touching bet with paperwork on the line. 18+, MDNI. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!

operation mystery girl | ᢉ𐭩 ❀

⤷ when the team realizes spencer has a secret girlfriend, garcia launches a glitter-covered investigation that’s equal parts profiling and meddling. the only problem? their “mystery girl” profile is so wrong it hurts — and then the case cracks wide open, whether you’re ready or not.

something borrowed | ❀

⤷ a very simple, very sweet, very boyfriend-coded gesture from spencer in the BAU bullpen becomes the team’s newest obsession. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!

the comet | ❀

⤷ you wake up in spencer’s bed to feather-light fingers tracing your freckles like they’re constellations. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!

tethered | ᢉ𐭩

⤷ spencer has spent so long being the one who steadies you, up until an unsub he sees too much of himself in knocks him off-balance. he asks for space but ends up at your door anyway, and you become the tether you didn’t know he needed.

liminal | ⚡︎ ᢉ𐭩

⤷ you’re caught between breaths, between doors marked STAFF ONLY, between the life you had and the one you might not wake up to. spencer waits on the other side, choking on words he should’ve said sooner while a ghost from your past sits beside him in the waiting room.

house rules | ᢉ𐭩 ⚡︎ ❀

⤷ getting shot was dramatic, but recovering is worse. especially now that spencer reid has a key to your apartment and a color-coded plan for your survival.

like real people do | ꩜

⤷ a follow-up doctor’s appointment leaves you with medical clearance, a filthy dream, and a rapidly deteriorating ability to act normal around your boyfriend spencer reid.

nothing serious | ❀

⤷ you agree to girls’ night to celebrate your first week back at work and end up a little too drunk, a little too honest, and very much forced to confront how serious your relationship with spencer has gotten.

you’re all i have to lose | ⚡︎

⤷ after spencer is exposed to anthrax, the hardest part isn’t being afraid. it’s knowing you love him for the same reasons you’re furious with him.

& more, coming soon!

what are greenaway!reader’s vibes .ᐣ.ᐟ

extras

⟢ greenaway!reader pinterest finds

⟢ headcanons 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

⟢ text messages 📱💬 | text messages pt 2

⟢ greenaway!reader fanart by gummy-cat-writes

⟢ apartment moodboard

⟢ hotch & emily’s relationship w/ reader

⟢ spencer said he “notices things” about reader. what does he notice?

⟢ why is greenaway!reader so avoidant/afraid of relationships?

⟢ greenaway!reader’s complex relationship with her sister Elle

⟢ how would greenaway!reader react to spencer going to prison? / part 2

⟢ things spencer has said to greenaway!reader that made reader not want to run

⟢ what did spencer & greenaway!reader each do with their photo booth strips from limited exposure?

⟢ greenaway!reader timeline

⟢ greenaway!reader marathon event

⟢ greenaway!reader’s MySpace page

⟢ greenaway!reader series playlist

⟢ a peek inside greenaway!reader’s camera roll

Dean had never had someone stay before. For a while, he still didn’t trust it. You staying was the kind of thing that used to make him think he was in a Djinn dream. Too good to be true.

You don’t talk about that one time, when he had one of those bad weeks, and you found him freaking out in the kitchen with the Colt in his sweating hands. He had thought it was Djinn dream. It took you hours to truly convince him it wasn’t. Sometimes you still have nightmares about it, or Dean does, or you both do and you hold each other tight until sunrise.

He’s gotten better at, at least, knowing that this is real. He’s hitched. He’s a dad, and he hasn’t dropped your kid on her head yet. Once he let her stumble and she scraped her knee. You found them sitting in the Dean cave with popsicles and Scooby Doo after. Dean looked more freaked out by the whole thing that Charlie did. She’d mostly been happy that Daddy let her have a popsicle, and she didn’t even have to promise not to tell Mommy.

You would’ve smacked him upside the head, if he hadn’t looked like he’s just watched Charlie die.

“She’s fine, De.” You’d whispered that night, and he’d grunted.

“I know-“

“Do you?”

He’d let out a slow breath, shoulder slumping. His head had bowed, one hand shooting out to steady himself against the dresser. You’d padded across the room, and wrapped your arms around his stomach. He’d grabbed your interlocked hands, holding them there. You’d kissed his shoulder, and he’d shuddered like you were pulling him apart.

“I keep thinkin’,” he’d choked out. “That I’m gonna blink and something’ll get past me.”

“Nothing gets past you-“

“Yet.” His voice had lowered. Dark and tired. “There’s always something new, sweetheart. You know that.” He’d let out a slow breath. “Always fucking something.”

You hadn’t answered. There was never anything you could say, to make this kind of thing better. All you could do was stay. Let Dean hold onto you, until he was sure you weren’t going to start dissolving between his fingers like sand. You’d kissed his shoulder, and he’d turned around, pulling you tight into his chest.

He still wasn’t sure, then. Not of you and Charlie—never of you and Charlie—but of himself. He wasn’t sure he was enough. That he’d given enough, to have earned this sticking to his hands.

The first time he is sure is when Charlie is two. She runs around faster than her little body can handle, and wears the kind of sneakers that light up—because he bought them for her, after she gave him that face that’s far too similar to yours, and how the hell was he supposed to say no—and laughs at almost everything anyone does.

Sometimes, she’d get serious, and Dean would think she only got his face. Her little lips pout and wobble, and she crosses her arms and refuses to move, and Jesus, that’s all you. He tells you as much. That does get him smacked.

“She’s just stubborn, that’s not like me.”

Dean smirks down at the dishes in his hands. “Sure, baby.”

“Sure.” You mock, rolling your eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t mhm me-“

“Sorry, princess.”

“You- You fucking-“

Dean looks up with raised brows, and finds you flushed and sputtering with anger. He chuckles, and your flush deepens.

“Shut up,” you whine, and his grin turns shit eating.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking things,” you grumble, shuffling right into his side.

Dean smiles to himself, when you press your face into his shoulder and hug his bicep. He’ll let you shove him around all he wants. He likes it more than he’ll ever tell you, and at least it reminds him he has two feet on the ground to trip over. He kisses the top of your head, and goes back to the dishes. He’s done this dance before. A lot, over the past few months. It’s like you got shot up with some kind of horniness serum. He’s a little worried that, at this rate, you’re going to break his poor dick.

Good way to die, though. He never stops you, because he can’t think of a better one.

“Charlie’s asleep.” You say softly, and Dean laughs under his breath.

“Uh huh.”

“She made me tell her the story about Daddy and the evil men again.” You hum, tracing your pointer finger over ever line in his forearm.

Dean sighs. “Jesus, you’re gonna make her think I’m Superman or something.”

“I think you’re Superman.”

“Yeah, well-“ Dean clears his throat, bowing his head so you don’t see his blush. “I fuck you. That doesn’t count.”

You laugh softly, propping your chin on his shoulder. “You know, my favorite story to tell her is about Uncle Sammy and the spooky town.”

“Of course it is-“

“Because.” You cut off his grumble with a dangerously adoring smile. “She always gets so excited when Daddy shows up. And saves Uncle Sammy.”

Dean’s heart stumbles. He has to put the dishes down and squeeze his eyes shut. You’ve seen him cry countless times, but he still hates it. You reach up and wipe the tears escaping down his cheek, and he leans into the touch.

“She loves you, Dean. You’re a hero-“

“I’m not,” he grunts. “I sold my soul, heroes don’t do that shit-“

“Oh, I know that. I was there. I nearly killed you myself.”

Dean chuckles, wet and tired. You turn his face, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“But just because you were stupid, it doesn’t make you less of a hero.”

Dean works his jaw. He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t. Not fully.

One day, maybe he’ll believe Charlie.

“I don’t love that you tell her those stories, sweetheart,” he rasps, and you huff a laugh.

“Because they make you look good?”

“’Cause that shit isn’t something she should know about-“

“She thinks it’s fake, Dean. She knows you’re a hero.”

“I don’t tell her about all your stuff-“

“Liar.” You give him a pointed look. “Last week she asked me if I really beat an archangel.” 

Dean chuckles guiltily. “Hey, she asked. I’m not gonna lie to her about how cool her mom his.”

“Well, I’m not lying to her about how cool her dad is.”

Dean sighs. He stares at you for a moment, and you just smile back. You know you’ve won. You always win.

“She’s pretty cool herself,” you whisper, and Dean laughs.

“Yeah. She is. What kinda toddler likes hearing about her old man getting beat up for a bedtime story.”

“Your toddler.”

“Nah, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You roll your eyes, and your expression shifts. Dean tilts his head, already questioning, and you sigh.

“You have to promise not the be weird about it.”

“Me? Bein’ weird about something? Baby, never-“

“Dean.” You squeeze his bicep. “I’m serious.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah. Alright. Hit me.”

And he’s a little worried. What if he said something. What if you’re done. What if you remembered that he’s not that cool guy anymore. Just some douchebag with a jawline who eats all your daughter’s fruit snacks and lets her sit in the Impala with him while he works on the engine. No better than his dad, no good for you and Charlie-

“I want another one.” You blurt, staring at his neck instead of his face. “Please.”

Dean blinks. “Another… baby?”

You nod, flushing furiously, and a grin breaks slowly over his face.

Another one. Another little piece of him, in a whole lot of you. Another kid. You still love him, enough to have another kid with him, on fucking purpose.

“I think I can swing that,” he drawls, and you roll your eyes, but smile. You smile when he kisses you. You giggle when he throws you over his shoulder, because damn, he’s still fucking got it.

And he thinks it. Right there.

Maybe this is going to last forever.

The second time he thinks it is when you’re full and knocked up and it becomes painfully clear. This place is too big. There are too many sharp and pointy things, too many cold drafts, and—according to you, but Dean never argues—not enough color. Charlie’s going to be going to preschool soon. You’re going to have a second kid, and sure there are plenty of rooms, but raising a family in this place sounds like hell.

Too many memories, as well. There are rooms Dean can’t go in alone, and rooms you can’t go in all together. For Christ’s sake, you have a dungeon, and Charlie’s going to find it one day.

The bunker can’t be home anymore.

You’ve gotta move.

Dean spends weeks, looking at buying land closer to the city. Somewhere mixed with woods and people, so you’re not one of those annoying suburban families  you used to make fun of on hunts. You aren’t getting yoga pants and joining a Friday night book club. Dean isn’t about to start golfing, and he sure as shit isn’t driving a minivan. Block parties sound like hell. All those people, outside on his lawn, messing up the hidden wards. No damn way.

“You can’t build a house, De.” You sigh, leaning over his shoulder. Dean just kisses your cheek and clicks his tongue.

“No faith in me, sweetheart. I got a hammer. We got wood. Put ‘em together-“

“If you say house, I am throat punching you.”

Dean chuckles, and grabs the hand hanging against his chest. It’s the one he put a ring on. Sometimes he likes to fidget with it, just to remember that it’s there.

“Remind me why we’re so against the suburbs?” You murmur.

“’Cause we don’t suck,” Dean drawls your name, and you laugh softly.

“I think we suck.”

“No, I think we’re awesome. Maybe sometimes I suck. And- Heh.” He smirks. “Sometimes you suck, but I ain’t talking about the adjective-“

You clamp a hand around his mouth, and he laughs, grabbing it and turning it over to kiss your knuckles. You get pushy and violent when you’re pregnant. And you’re always a little pushy and violent—in a hot way—but not usually towards him. Not like this.

Charlie had been worse, though. Dean had joked the whole time that she was going to come out like him, because there was no way she was getting all that sass from you. Sam had muttered that he might have rose colored glasses, and you’d thrown a shoe at his head. But you’d been pregnant. Sammy should’ve known better.

“Dean Winchester.” You hiss in his ear, and Dean doesn’t know better. He loves you too much for it to matter anyway. “Charlie is in the other room-“

“Playin’ with her toys, baby. She’s not listenin’ to us.”

“What if she is-“

“She’s not.”

“But what if-“

Dean says your name, stern and low, and you drop your face dramatically into his neck.

“You don’t suck,” you mumble against his neck.

“I know.” He doesn’t. It’s why you always say it. 

“And you- You could build the house, I just- I don’t think we’re going to have time.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Know that too. Just- Woulda been pretty sweet.”

You hum, looking up at the computer. “You could build use a shed. Or- This one would love a tree house.”

You pat your swollen belly, and Dean laughs. “Would she, now?”

“Mhm.”

“And she’s tellin’ you that through what, the umbilical cord.”

You roll your eyes. “No. She just- She feels more like you.”

And that knocks him off his feet. He would’ve loved a tree house. They never had a tree to build one in—or a dad who would’ve picked up the hammer—but Bobby had come pretty close once. Old thing in his yard, where Dean used to sneak up when he needed no one the find him. Bobby had known, of course. Bobby had always known. He hung up a hammock one afternoon, and never mentioned it to Dean again.

But his kid, they would have more than a hammock that Dad made Bobby rip down when he found out. They’d get a proper tree. A proper dad. A real, full blown childhood.

“What’s so bad about the suburbs?” You repeat the question, softer this time. And for the life of him, Dean can’t think of a real answer.

“Those places are expensive.” He mutters, and you hum.

“We got money.”

“Stolen money-“

“Still money.”

He looks back at you. You hold his gaze, gentle but firm.

“I love spiders and foxes as much as anyone else, De-“

“We wouldn’t have spiders-“

“We would in the woods.” You give him a stern look, and he shuts his mouth. “They’ll want their friends to come over. We’ll want our friends to come over.”

“We don’t have friends-“

“We will. And you’ll go fishing with a bunch of other dad’s who suck.” You pet his hair, rising fully up so his head is pressed against your belly. “And I’ll hang out with mom’s who hate their husbands, and tell you all the gossip they tell me-“

“Even the bedroom problems?”

That gets a laugh. “Especially the bedroom problems. And we can make fun of everyone together then host a very nice, boring dinner, then make fun of them some more.”

Dean sighs, looking up at you under lidded eyes. You smile. He smiles back, because that this point his face just does that, in reaction to you.

“You get a grill,” you add, and he chuckles.

“I’m already sold, princess.” He kisses the back of your hand. “I’ll start lookin’.”

You smile, and lean down to kiss his lips. Dean stays up late that night, then the next, looking for that boring, easy house. And he’ll never tell you how right you were—he doesn’t have to, you know—but a small, long buried part of him is poking it’s head up in excitement. Nothing’s more fun that people watching with you. This is just gonna be a whole life of that, and being five minutes from a nice bakery, and not needed to worry about his kids getting lost in the woods and being raised by wolves.

He finds the place in a week. He shows it to you, hands shaking more than he’s ever going to admit, because he wants it. It looks like what he used imagine houses looked like—what he’d close his eyes and try to remember, from the house that burned down—and Dean wants it so bad he can feel it, drumming in his chest.

“Listing says the garage door needs fixing, and- One of the doors doesn’t close all the way- One of the sinks doesn’t get hot right, either, but-“

“You can fix it.” You say, looking back to folding Charlie’s clothes. “Okay.”

Dean blinks. “Okay?”

“Okay. We’ll do that one.”

He coughs. It can’t be that easy. “You, uh- There are more pictures, if you wanna look more-“

“Is it in a good school district?”

“Yeah, and they got a good library, too-“

“Then okay.” You shrug.

Dean swallows. There’s a lump in his throat he can’t logic with. He doesn’t want you to hear it. “You wanna go check it out first?”

“No. I trust you.”

I trust you.

Just like that.

Dean has to sit on the edge of the bed. You notice him falling apart—you always do—and set down the clothing to hug him. He gets to put his face right in your boobs. He always forgets that part. If he remembered, he’d cry a hell of a lot more.

“You think Charlie’s gonna like it?” He chokes out, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s easy. Like he doesn’t think this might be forever again. “I do.”

Charlie loves it. That’s when he feels it the third time.

It takes months to get out of the bunker. There are so many things that need to be boxed up and shipped, more things that need to be given away, and uncountable thing that he doesn’t even know what to do with. Dean didn’t know they had so many things. As far as he could remember his whole life could fit in a duffle bag, and that duffle bag could be stuffed in a car, and if he lost the bag at least he still had the shit on his bag and in his pockets. But now he’s waking up and there are toys and photos and trinkets and shoes and jackets and a million other things to mark and pack.

Charlie keeps growing, but you say that you should keep everything for the next one.

“What if it’s not a girl?” Sam asks, eyeing your belly, and you shrugs.

“It’s a girl.”

“Did you guys check the sex-“

“No.”

“Well,” Sam shoots a look at Dean, like he’s supposed to know what to say about this. “You- You can’t know what the sex of the baby is, then-“

“But I do.”

“No, you literally can’t-“

“Is she inside you, Samuel?” You give Sammy a withering glare, and he flinches.

“No…”

Sam bows his head like a child in time out. You hum, pleased with yourself—you usually are, because they’ve known you for years and Dean can’t remember a single time when you haven’t won an agruement—and rub a hand over your swollen stomach. Dean isn’t sure if you got this big with Charlie. He thinks that might point to it being a boy, but he knows better than to tell you that directly.

“Winchesters get big,” He murmurs to you that night, testing the water. “Sam was five billion pounds.”

You snort, running your fingers through his hair. “Five billion?”

“Mhm. Massive freakin’ head, too. Dad let me hold him, thought he was an alien.”

That just gets a giggle, and Dean kisses the tip of your nose. He should keep you pregnant all the time. You get sweet and soft, and mean and sharp, and he’s never sure if he’s supposed to be coddling you like an angry kitten or bracing for the bite of feral dog. He kind of loves it. Sam says that ain’t healthy or whatever. Dean tells him that he’s just never had a wife as hot as you are. Sam says he’s never had a wife at all. Dean says exactly, and walks away before the argument can become something he loses.

Sammy just understand how much you are when you’re knocked up, and how awesome that is. It’s like there’s twice as much of you for Dean to love. You’re perfect no matter what, but you’re so perfect Dean doesn’t know what to do with it sometimes, and when you’re knocked up you just tell him. You kiss him like you’re drowning, then burst into tears when Charlie goes to bed because she’s growing so fast, and Dean feels useful keeping you steady.

“What’re you gonna do if it’s a boy?” He asks casually, and you roll your eyes.

“It’s not a boy.”

Dean sighs. “Sweetheart-“

“It’s not.”

“I know, but I just kinda wanna know what’s gonna happen if it is.”

You glare at him. His lips twitch up—you’re pretty when you glare—and you don’t seem to know if you want to smile back or keep trying to kill him with your eyes.

“I know you’ll love him either way,” he adds, softer this time. “I’m just thinkin’- like- Names, y’know?”

That makes you relax. You look up the ceiling in thought, and Dean kisses your breasts over your shirt. It’s his shirt, but you’ve long claimed all rights to things that he touches. He doesn’t mind. Makes him feel wanted. And son of a bitch, if you don’t look like a wet dream with your belly all swollen from his kid and his shirt hanging just above your thighs. Dean’s had that wet dream. He thinks it might’ve been practice, for not blowing his load when he has you like this for real.

“If it’s a boy…” You say slowly. “We can name it Robert.”

Dean likes that plan, and kisses your cheek. You smile at him, and it knocks him out every time. You keep pulling that shit, you’re going to end up pregnant all the time.

“How’d you know it’s not a boy, anyway?” He asks, because he kind of hopes you have a real answer.

He wants it to be a girl. He’ll love the little monster if they’re a boy too, but Charlie looks too much like he does. Doesn’t mean he loves her less. He just wants one that looks like you. He wants fifty that look like you. They can start a new nation of little Amazons that don’t try and kill their dads, and every country in the world can be run by his brilliant daughters. 

“It feels like you,” you tell him, and Dean pauses.

“You think I feel like a chick?”

You giggle, and kiss his forehead. That doesn’t feel like an answer.

“I’m not a freakin’ girl-“

“You’d be a very pretty girl.”

“Oh, I’d be smokin’, that’s not the issue-“

“Dean-“

“Nothing wrong with being a girl,” he cuts you off with an aimless grumble, mostly because you’ve been married for two years, together for far longer, and now he’s finding out you think he’s a girl. “But I’m not.”

You hum, clearly amused. “You’re right. You’re a very pretty man.”

Dean scowls, and you kiss him, and that’s a little better. He still doesn’t love it, at least until you show him some fancy article the next morning about how men with higher testosterone have more daughters, and that fixes pretty much everything.

“You’re an idiot.” Sam says flatly, and Dean flips him off.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have daughters, Sammy,” he says smugly. “Don’t worry. Few horse pills and performance enhancers, you’ll get there.”

 Sammy throws a paper towel at his head, and you laugh. Dean considers himself rich, for a moment. Maybe an elite, when Charlie starts shouting for him from her room, and demands that he sits with her while they go through her room.

“You wanna keep this one, kiddo?” Dean asks, holding up one of those poofy flower dresses she wears. Charlie nods, and Dean sighs.

She’s wanted to keep every dress. Dean doesn’t think there are enough boxes in the world, to get them all to the new house.

“You sure?” He tries. “You don’t even let Mommy put you in this one-“

“Not for me.” Charlie frowns at Dean like he’s crazy. “For baby.”

Dean blinks. For a second he thinks she’s talking about the car. “Uh- I’m sure baby appreciates it, but I don’t think it’s gonna fit-“

“Mommy says baby is growing.” Charlie says wisely, and Dean feels like an idiot.

The literal baby. Right.

“Did you give uncle Sammy your dresses?” Charlie asks, and Dean snorts.

“Oh, yeah. All of them.”

Charlie hums, pulling on the ears of her stuffed animal. “Did he like them?”

“Yep. Still has them today.”

An hour later, Charlie asks Sam if she can see his dresses. Dean dies laughing, holding himself up with a hand on the counter while Sam glowers at him. The kid will get over it. Dean’s the one who gets in trouble anyway, because now he has to go out and buy dresses for Sam to pretend were his, and you’re not happy with him for lying.

He apologizes and gets away with it. He gets away with more than he cares to admit. Probably because he’s just that good at being a husband.

“Think we got everything,” he mutters, looking around the library for a stray mug or blanket. “Just gotta- Y’know,” he grins at you. “Move.”

You hum, and lean into his side. Dean rests a hand on your bump, and pointless tears sting at his eyes. This kid is never going to know what it’s like to live in a place with alarms and guns and chains. There won’t be halls with blood crusted on the wall, that Dean might’ve spilt himself. She’s going to grow up with Charlie, in a house with a backyard, and the ability to throw a punch but never a need to.

And part of him is worried, when they take Charlie to the house, that she’s going to hate it. He spent hours painting rooms and building furniture. Hours thinking about exactly what she’d like, what you’d like, and—secretly, although he thinks you know anyways—what he would’ve wanted for himself.

Charlie toddles behind him through the door, holding his hand. He’s got you on the other arm, and tries not think about how chick flicky this feels. Like a shot from a cheesy movie, the kind he used to avoid like the toxin of happiness would seep into him, and he’d start to miss what he knew he’d never even had.

Dean looks at you, and you’re smiling around the hall. That’s a good sign. You’ll probably tell him that painting is a little crooked, but he left some things wrong on purpose, because he knew you’d want to fix a few things.

Charlie tugs on his arm, and he glances down. She’s blinking up at him with those eyes you say are just like his. He’s never been able to agree. They look better on her. More hopeful. More important.

“Daddy.” Charlie whispers, and Dean raises his brows.

“Charlie.”

“Mr. Ears needs to go potty.”

Mr. Ears is the elephant. Dean bites back his laugh. “You think so?”

Charlie nods solemnly. “He told me.”

“Alright.” Dean stretches out a hand. “I’ll take him, you can stay with Mommy-“

“No.” Charlie holds Mr. Ears tight to her chest. “He wants me to go potty with him.”

You laugh softly. It makes it pretty hard to keep his serious Dad face on.

“Well, do you need to go potty too?”

Charlie shakes her head, and Dean shrugs.

“I think Mr. Ears is gonna want some privacy, then. So I’ll just take. Him, and-“

“I do need to go potty!” Charlie says quickly, and Dean grins, scooping her up with one arm.

“I know, kiddo.” He kisses her cheek, and she giggles.

He’ll never get sick of that sound. It’s more like your laugh than his, and you’ve got the best laugh in the whole damn world.

Charlie observes the halls as he carries her upstairs—leaving you to collapse on the couch, because you’re getting to the point of pregnant where Dean has to pretend he’s not half-carrying you everywhere—and seems to be mimicking your analyzing face. It’s the one where your brows pinch and your lips pout, a sharp glint in your eyes as the world becomes a courtroom and you become a judge.

“Horses.” Charlie points to a picture Dean found at some yard sale, and he hums.

“Horses.”

“Do we have horses now?”

Dean snorts. “No, Char. You can’t have a horse in a neighborhood.”

Charlie huffs. “Why not.”

“’Cause. They’re too big.”

“But you’re big, Daddy. And we keep you.”

Jesus. He’s glad you’re not here. He’d never get you to stop laughing. “I’m think I’m smaller than a horse, sweetheart.”

“Hm.” Charlie tips her head up, and she might look like him, but that righteous, confident look is all you. “Mommy told Auntie Eileen that you were big.”

Dean chokes on the air. He sputters for a second, trying to think of what the hell he could possibly say to explain that, but Charlie’s already moved on.

“You’re bigger than a doggie.” She examines Dean like he’s just some asshole walking around in her house. “Can we get a doggie?”

Dean sighs. “Let’s do the baby first.”

Charlie looks skeptical. “Are you bigger than a baby?”

“I’m bigger than you,” Dean pokes her, and she giggles. “And you’re gonna be bigger than the baby.”

“I’m gonna be bigger than the baby?!”

“Oh, yeah. Baby can fit in Mommy. We can’t.”

Well. Dean can. He’ll tell you that joke later, and it’ll probably get him smacked, but it’ll also be worth it when you kiss him stupid after.

“Pants.” Dean reminds Charlie when she tries to climb on the toilet with them still up. She rolls her eyes like he’s crazy. Another thing that’s all you.

“I was gonna take them off, Daddy.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I was showing Mr. Ears how to get up.”

“Ah. ‘Course.” Dean smiles to himself. “Very thoughtful of you, Char.”

Charlie nods, like she already knows. Dean helps her with the potty—she ain’t that big, he doesn’t know where the hell she keeps those massive shits in her body—and when he checks on her face, she’s staring at the bathtub with an open mouth. Dean tips his head.

“You alright, kiddo?”

Charlie nods, hugging Mr. Ears tighter to her chest. “We have a pool,” she whispers, and goddamnit. There’s a lump in his throat now, and he has to grab the toilet seat to keep himself up on his knees.

Because it’s just a damn tub, but the Bunker didn’t have those. And he can swear on his battered, fogged up memory of his childhood that Sammy once said the same thing, when Dad finally swindled them a motel with more than a rusty shower.

“It’s called a bathtub.” He says, so choked he worries Charlie is going to hear. “Kinda like a tiny pool.”

“Can I play in it?” Charlie looks at him hopefully, and even if she couldn’t, there was no way in hell Dean could ever say no.

“Yeah. We can do some bathtime tonight.”

Charlie beams, and there it is. That feeling. You were right, talking him into this white picket house with bathtubs and horse pictures on the wall and a big garden that Charlie rolls around in, all afternoon. It’s everything he never let himself dream about. He almost cries there in the bathroom, then in the garden, then that night with his face back in your boobs because he feels it, and it’s lasting more than a moment.

He can see himself here in ten years. Twenty years. Thirty, maybe forty if he’s got that much left in him. He’s never been able to see himself past next month.

But he’ll be here until something finally gets him. Couldn’t drag him away.

And this. This is going to last.

Years pass, and Dean doesn’t feel it all the time, but it comes and goes with more certainty. Like a desert that’s slowly turning to ocean, the tides rising higher and higher every day. It’s small. He doesn’t even really notice the difference until it’s at his ankles, then his knees, then his waist.

He really realizes how high it’s gotten when Charlie hits six, and the second one—Ella, the exact photocopy of you he wanted, but with a bubbly little kick in her that you say is all Dean—is in preschool. He’s trying to get you to go for just one more. You say you’ll think about it, and Dean doesn’t say it, but he knows that means yes. If you didn’t want to do it, you would’ve cut off the shooter supply yourself with the scissors in the kitchen. But he tells you he’s scheduled the appointment, and you make him cancel it.

He grins, wiggling his brows, and you give him that disgusted look that’s always a little too flushed to be real.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything-“

“You’re thinking things.” You point an accusing finger, and he just keeps grinning.

“Yeah?” Dean slides a hand up your waist. “What kinda things am I thinking, baby?”

Your breath hitches, and your body leans, but you keep that pretty little pout on your lips. “You know.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Do I?”

“Mhm.” You’re hugging yourself now, and Dean chuckles. He’s gotta work for it. He can do that.

“You know, if we call Sammy, he and Eileen need practice herding the monsters tonight.” He kisses under your jaw. “Really, we’d be doing them a favor.”

You sigh, your arms wrapping around Dean’s neck, and he smirks against your skin. You always fit so well against him, so soft and pliant in his arms. He’s feeling pretty generous tonight. Generous and selfish. Not much of a difference, when it comes to you.

“Know that sweet pussy of yours is already dripping for me, sweetheart.” He pulls your thigh up, tracing his fingers on the curve of your ass. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna take care of it.”

You hit him and whine, but it doesn’t do much. You’re strong, you’ve only gotten stronger, but your punches against Dean have always landed flat. Hell, some days he thinks that the only reason he’s still kicking. Just like he’s never been able to push you away, you’ve never been able to get properly pissed at him. Fair trade, he thinks. He can’t even pretend to be mad at you.

“Gonna go call Sammy,” he mutters. “He’ll take them tonight, the gremlins will love it. He can feed them sugar and learn what that does to them after midnight.”

You pause, your nails digging into Dean’s neck. “Tonight tonight?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan-“

“We can’t tonight.” You sigh, dropping your face into his shoulder.

Dean reaches up, rubbing your shoulders as he tries to figure out why you can’t tonight. Ain’t a holiday or birthday. Charlie’s got none of those kid activies she’s gotta be driven to, the ones where Dean sits on some cold bleachers for an hour while you ignore his texts about how awesome Charlie is at everything. You’re not bringing Ella to any of those toddler classes where you get in a sexy swimsuit then just sing nursery songs for half an hour. You got that neighborhood book club thing now, but you hate it—you spend three hours in bed after, complaining about the book and the women—and he’s pretty sure it’s on Fridays anyways-

“Sam’s already taking them.” You sigh, a light dancing in your eyes. You know he forgot.

Dean grimaces, his smile tighter as he keeps trying to figure out what he fucked up. “Right- Uh- Because…”

You raise your brows, and Dean swallows. It better not be something real. He’s been so fucking good about remembering everything, and if it’s your anniversary or something, he’s going to find the nearest ghost and let it kill him.

“It’s… Our…”

“Parent teacher conference.” You prompt gently, your smile stretching your cheeks all pretty, and Dean groans.

“Shit, you said that was the ninth-“

“It is the ninth.”

“No, it’s Thursday, that’s the tenth.”

You roll your eyes, grab his phone out of his pocket, and show him the date. The big, fat 9 on the screen is mocking. Dean groans and drops his face into your chest.

“I wanted to have sex tonight,” he grumbles, and you laugh.

“I know, big guy.” You lower your voice to that honeyed, sweet coo he only gets when you’re real confident. “Sammy’s got them the whole night. If you’re on good behavior…”

You trail off, and Dean pulls back, scanning over your teasing expression.

“Yeah?”

You shrug, and he grins. He’ll be on the best behavior. No jokes that make the other parents look at him like he’s some kind of asshole. No snide comments about how soft they all are. No bullying the other kids, even though they’re not half as good at math as his Charlie. You probably don’t want him smacking your ass or making out with you in front of the other, perfectly classy and boring couples. But he really misses having you for a whole night. It’s been too many months of quickies and hushed fucks under the covers. As sexy as it is, to cover your mouth with his and rut into you until you’re crying, he needs to hear it again. The way you moan and scream his name.

So he’s on the up and up. He wears a shirt that he irons, like an asshole, and jeans without oil handprints. His shoes are clean. He even puts some of that good smelling shit in his hair and rolls up his sleeves like an adult. You smile at him, adjusting his buttons—he doesn’t think he did them wrong, but you seem dead set on touching him, and he’ll never say no to that—and Dean kisses your cheek.

“Look at us,” he says. “So normal.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re wearing a dead guy’s watch.”

“Everyone’s got a dead guy’s something, baby. Mine is just cool as shit.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm?”

“What? I’m agreeing with you-“

“You’re sassing me.”

Dean noses at your cheek, and you roll your eyes. He doesn’t know why you bother, when he can feel your heartbeat under his fingers. “Shut up.”

He hums, kissing your nose. “Fighting words.”

“They’re not-“

“They will be. Trust me, pretty girl.” He leans back, holding your blown out gaze. “I’ll take care of you later.”

You try to scoff, but it’s so pathetically breathy, Dean knows he’s not going to be the one begging by the time the night is over. He squeezes your ass once for the road, and you drag him out the door. You’re always so worried about being on time, and Christ, Dean wouldn’t give less of a shit if he wasn’t worried about you snapping yourself in half.

“Breathe, baby.”

“I am breathing-“

“You’re gonna hurt yourself-“

“I’m gonna hurt you.”

You mutter the words under your breath, and Dean snorts. “Oh, now you’re just askin’ for it.”

He gets smacked, and laughs it off. You get violent and bratty when you’re trying to invite him to do something about it. And he will. After being—as you told him to—on his best behavior.

Usually, during these kinds of activities—the ones where his kids aren’t actually there to need his support, he’s just supposed to show face and smile for the sake of all the other families—Dean tunes out. His hand rests on your hip and his eyes stay fixed on the curve of your mouth when you talk, the melodic sound of your voice over all the other noise. He’s barely more than a figurehead for the Queen. You’ll deal with it, and tell him what to say, and he’ll keep an eye for when you start to get too tense and it’s time to take over or—even better—just hit the road.

But Dean stands in the little first grader classroom, and he can’t stop thinking about it. How tiny all the chairs are. How bright and colorful the walls and carpet are. He never got this far, in school. Dad kept them out of the systems until he couldn’t anymore, so first grade was a workbook he picked up in a goodwill with half the questions already done in red felt marker.

You’re floating through the room—you always do—and Dean lingers in your wake, trying to wrap his head around it. Everything is so small.

“I was never this small,” he mutters in your ear, and you laugh softly.

“Yeah? You popped out six feet?”

“Six-two, baby.”

“Your poor mother.”

“’Least I wasn’t Sammy. That’s actually what killed her, you know.”

You snort, shooting him a disbelieving look of amusement. He’s gotten better at joking about that. Distance and time and you, all mixing together to make old gashes turn to muscles that ache when he twists them just wrong. He sits down at Charlie’s desk, knees pushed up to his chest, and pats his knee in offering. You shake your head.

“C’mon-“

“No.”

He glances around the room. All the other families have the mom sitting in the chair. Oops. He tries to get up, but you push him back down by his shoulders.

“She’d want you to sit there.” You crouch down at his side, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“She’s five. She doesn’t know what she wants-“

“Well, I want you to sit there.”

Dean huffs, because what the hell is he supposed to tell you, no. Never really been an option before, and it’s sure as shit not one now.

“I love you,” you whisper, and he grunts.

“Sure you do.”

“You look very handsome-“

“I look like I’m being packed to ship, sweetheart.”

You laugh, and take a picture of him that’s probably getting sent to Sammy, and he’s never going to get it down. At least he talks you into perching on his knee. Anyone who’s got a problem with it better remember that they all got kids here, so no ones got any puritan legs to stand on.

The teacher rambles about learning objectives and goals for the year. Dean doesn’t pay attention—he tries, but it’s not like there’s a pop quiz later—and his gaze wanders over Charlie’s desk. She clearly wrote her nameplate, and probably drew the fat unicorn that covers the ie. Her a’s look better. Dean’s pretty proud of that. They’ve been working on them a lot.

Charlie left a pile of her papers on the surface. Dean doesn’t know if he’s supposed to look at them, but he does anyway. It’s a lot of first grader stuff. Rainbows and letters and numbers all in crayon. Dean smiles to himself, thinking of Charlie scribbling her name on the top of the paper the same way she does on diner napkins. He thinks she’s shaping up to have good handwriting, even though he has no idea what the hell good handwriting looks like for a kid.

But that’s not what gets him.

It’s the drawing. Four stick figures, all stringy proportions and massive heads. There’s the little on in the middle, with pigtails. Dean doesn’t think Charlie’s ever had pigtails, but it’s labelled me in wobbly, scribbled letters. There a tiny lump on the floor that’s got feet poking out of it, labelled Ello, and the kid ain’t wrong. Ella’s not much more than a lump right now. Of the big ones, there’s the one got your hair, and is labelled Moomy. He chuckles, and almost pulls on your arm to make you look at it.

Then he sees himself. He’s got spiky sticks for hair and scribbles all over his face. He touches his jaw, and his beard has gotten longer than he meant it to, but you never complain. He’s the only one with shoes on, and the only one without any scratched on clothing. He’s holding your hand, standing a foot over your head, and he’s not that tall. Or broad. And he sure as shit doesn’t have bug eyes like Charlie gave him, but he’s never loved a picture of himself more.

A lump forms in his throat, as his fingers trace over the label. Doody. He snorts, but it’s wet and quiet, and you give him a strange look. He gestures weakly to the paper, and you smile. You kiss his brow and rub his shoulder, and Dean just bows his head. He’s not going to break down like a little bitch right now. Not with so many people around.

He folds the paper up, and shoves it in his pocket. He’ll put it in his wallet later. Hug Charlie real tight when he gets home. She’s still so small, but she’s getting bigger. She’s already older than Dean was, when he had a gun in his hands and one eye on the door all night. He never allowed himself to think she’d end up with a life like that. But now time passes, and he realizes in that first grade classroom that he was still clenching his jaw. Bracing himself for the other shoe to drop, for the luck to dry out and his sorry ass to be stranded back in the burning, cold and lonely desert.

But it’s only getting better. Dean allows himself to sit in it, for the first time. All of this is only getting better. And he’s never going to allow it to get worse again.

Ella has her first nightmare when she’s about three. Dean’s dealt with them from Charlie before, but it’s different. Charlie’s quieter. More serious. Usually he doesn’t figure out she even had a nightmare until she comes down the stairs in the morning with drooping eyes and messy hair, then says she didn’t sleep the night before. Ella gets loud. She screams and cries, and Dean thinks he’s about to walk into a murder scene. His heart gets hard like softer metal being pressed into something they could make bullets out of. He grabs the gun you let him keep in the dresser the kids can’t reach, and runs out of the bedroom before you can even call his name.

He locks you in the bedroom. If it’s a fire he’ll go back, if not you shouldn’t be anywhere near a monster. You can be pissed at him later, but you’ve got the third one cooking in your stomach, and Dean can take care of the ones with legs. He’ll take care of all of it. That’s what he’s for.

But there’s nothing in Ella and Charlie’s room. Charlie’s knocked out and grumbling in her sleep, the closet is a little ajar, and Ella’s curled into a tiny ball against her headboard. The blankets are bunched in her little hands, but she lets go of them to reach for Dean. He lowers his gun and goes to scoop her up, scanning around for the threat. He finds only silent room, and isn’t really sure what to do with it.

“Ella, what’s wrong-“

“Monster.” Ella sobs, pressing her little face into Dean’s neck. “Monster in- In the closet-“

She starts crying so hard she can’t talk, and Dean sets his jaw. There’s no bad smell. No temperature drops and flickering lights, but he knows better than to just dismiss it.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’m gonna put you down and check it out-“

“No!” Ella wraps her arms around his neck, and Dean doesn’t know how such stringy little arms can choke him better than some demons ever managed.

“El,” he tries gently. “You’re just gonna wait on the bed, and I’ll make sure there’s nothin’, okay?”

Ella sniffles, shaking her head, and Dean sighs. The fact that he’s been in here so long without an attack is a good sign. He kisses her forehead and pries her off his neck, slinging her onto one arm. He almost asks her to keep quiet, but that’s what Dad would’ve told him. And Dad never warded the house like you did. The more he thinks about it, the more Dean realizes that there’s no damn way something could’ve even gotten past the driveway.

He keeps his gun in his hand, though. Old habits.

Ella’s still shaking, when he pokes open the closet and finds nothing but lumps of clothing and boxes of toys. Charlie seems to have shoved everything in, before bedtime, and it’s made a strange shape and cast long shadows. And there, on the top, is that damn stuffed dog Sammy got Ella for her birthday. The one she drags around everywhere and screams about when they so much forget about it in the car. Dean grabs it and holds it near Ella’s face, lips twitching.

“This the monster?”

“Don’t wanna look, Daddy-“

“You sure?” He sighs, pressing the dog’s nose to her cheek. “Think he might be your friend.”

It takes a few seconds, but Ella looks. She shrieks in delight, and rips the dog out of Dean’s hands. It does the trick, even if she’s still a little spooked. Dean carries her back to your room to drop off the gun, then brings her back to bed.

“Did he fight the monster?” Ella asks him when he puts her down, and Dean pauses.

And he’s got a choice. Tell Ella there was never a monster, and that monsters aren’t real, or tell her that a damn stuffed dog can fight them off. Dad would tell her there was never a monster, but that when one comes she better not reach for the stuffed animal.

But Dean isn’t Dad. And looking at Ella’s big, soft eyes—far too much like yours for him to know how to let them cry—he doesn’t understand how Dad ever managed to let Sammy be afraid like that. How he let either of them be afraid like that. It’s not like Dean’s not going to be there, if something like that comes. Ella never has to worry.

“He was the monster, El,” Dean says, and it feels like the right thing. “And do you need to be scared of him?”

Ella giggles. “He’s not a monster, daddy-“

“You thought he was-“

“Because he was looking scary.”

“But was he scary?”

Ella pauses, still sniffling, then shakes her head. Dean smiles, running his fingers through her hair.

“Told you.”

“Hm.” Ella pulls at the dog’s ears, then looks up at Dean. “Can you sleep here, Daddy?”

Dean sighs, glancing at the door. “I think Mommy wants me with her-“

“Mommy can come too.”

Ella looks at him with those big eyes, and Dean caves. He always caves. You say he’s just big and soft like that, but he’s not. Stronger men would give in, if they had kids like his.

“How about we go to Mommy,” he offers. “So Charlie can keep sleepin’.”

Ella considers it, then agrees. It’s a bit of a trial, getting in bed without waking you up or letting Ella kick the baby bump, but Dean manages. Ella goes out in seconds, wrapped more around you than Dean, and he doesn’t mind. You pulled her into your arms without thinking, and she’s got her face pressed into the pillows just like yours, and Dean doesn’t know how he got so luck. Maybe he’d been banking up, all those years, and it just decideds to cash itself out. Maybe he hit some kinda lottery. Doesn’t really matter. All he knows is that he’s got this, and it’s not going away.

It’s not going away.

He lets himself breathe in that, for the first time in his life.

He’s got this good thing, and it’s not going to go away.

He doesn’t notice anymore. And he notices that he doesn’t notice on his birthday. You make him a cake. Charlie and Ella get him a mug and a shirt, and they’re kind of crappy but they picked them out, so he loves them more than anything else he owns.

You’re so pregnant you waddle more than walk, and Dean refuses to hear about you taking care of it. He doesn’t care that it’s his birthday. You’re the gift, he tells you, then laughs when he gets smacked in the face.

And he spent so many years, making his birthday one real nice pie and some expensive motor oil for baby. He glanced at red, analogue motel clocks and watched the clock hit midnight, before sighing and throwing an arm over his face. He wouldn’t sleep, because he was never sure if he’d make it to the next one. If this was the year his time ran out, and he was hitting the last number on his line.

But he has this birthday, and he blows out his candles, and he’s just… Not surprised. Another year. For the next one you won’t be all round and wobbly—which he’s still into, but you don’t seem to find that as reassuring as he means it to be—and you can take care of everything the way you keep insisting. Charlie will be older, and Ella will be stronger, and he can rent that lake house he’s always wanted and take his girls fishing.

The next one.

He thinks it, and doesn’t pause. Because it’s not a feeling worth dwelling on forever. This is just it.

This is going to last forever.

✦End note: i would have his babies. ✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

“like what?”

“like you’re about to ask for some weird shit.”

“put the suit on.”

he stops brushing.

you can actually see the words register. they move across his face in stages: confusion, disbelief, offense, and then the horrible, dawning realization that you are dead serious.

he spits into the sink. “no.”

“you didn't even think about it.”

“you said put the suit on.”

“yeah.”

“so, no.”

“katsuki.”

“absolutely fuckin’ not.”

you tilt your head at him, still smiling sweetly, and it is cheap. it is shameless. it works anyway, because his shoulders tense like he’s bracing himself for impact.

“baby,” you say.

he points the toothbrush at you. “don’t.”

“i just want to see it.”

“you’ve seen it.”

“not on purpose.”

“you saw it yesterday.”

“you were bleeding yesterday.”

“yeah, and?”

“and i was busy being mad.”

“you’re always busy bein’ mad lately.”

“because you’re spider-man.”

“keep your voice down,” he hisses, glancing toward the hallway like aiya— in her six month old glory— is going to rise from her crib and report him to the authorities.

you grin wider. “put the suit on.”

“why?”

you blink at him.

he stares back.

a second passes.

another.

then his mouth drops open just slightly, like he has finally, belatedly, realised that the woman who had his child is, in fact, still capable of wanting him so badly it becomes everyone’s problem.

“no,” he says again, weaker this time.

“yes.”

“it’s not—” he drags a hand down his face. “it’s not for that.”

“i know.”

“it’s work gear.”

“i know.”

“it’s dirty.”

“is it dirty right now?”

“no.”

“then put it on.”

“you’re fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“please?”

he groans like you’ve asked him to jump into traffic. which is rich, honestly, considering his usual hobby.

but he goes.

because he is impossible and stubborn and a liar and currently still on thin ice with you, but he is also whipped down to the marrow. you hear him open the narrow cupboard in the hallway. the quiet scrape of the false back he thought you didn’t notice after you found out. a zipper. fabric. muttering.

“stupid,” he says from the hall.

“love you.”

you settle back against the pillows, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t laugh too loudly and wake the baby. the monitor crackles once, just static, and both of you freeze out of habit.

nothing.

then katsuki appears in the doorway.

and you forget every single thing you were about to say.

because it is one thing to know.

it is another thing entirely to see him standing there in your bedroom, mask off, hair a mess from tugging it on, the suit sealed up to his throat and clinging to every brutal, familiar line of him.

it’s not shiny. not exactly. more matte, more practical, dark red and black with webbing worked into the fabric, reinforced at the shoulders and ribs. there are seams you never would’ve noticed on the news. small armored panels along his forearms. the faint outline of hidden web cartridges at his wrists. a tear near his thigh that’s been repaired messily by hand, probably his, because he never lets anyone touch his things unless they’re you or aiya, and even then he complains the whole time.

your eyes drop.

his hands immediately move in front of his crotch.

“nope.”

you blink back up at him. “what are you doing?”

“what’re you doin’?”

“looking.”

“yeah. stop.”

“no.”

“baby.”

“move your hands, boy.”

his face goes red so fast it’s actually beautiful.

“fuck off.”

“katsuki.”

“no.”

you sit up straighter, interest sharpening. “are you embarrassed?”

“i’m annoyed.”

“you’re covering yourself.”

“because you’re lookin’ at me like that!”

“like i love you?”

“like you wanna eat me.”

“also love.”

“not helpin’.”

you crawl to the edge of the bed on your knees, and his gaze dips before he can stop it. you’re only in one of his old shirts and underwear, hair still loose from your shower, skin warm from the lamp beside the bed. you know exactly what you look like. you know he knows. he swallows like he hates that you know.

“turn around,” you say.

“jesus christ.”

“turn.”

“no.”

“i had your baby.”

he glares. “you can’t use that for everythin’.”

“watch me.”

“that’s manipulation.”

“that’s motherhood.”

he shuts his eyes for a second, jaw working, then turns around with the stiff, humiliated dignity of a man being led to execution.

you make a sound.

you really don’t mean to.

it’s small. barely anything. just a little breath punched out of you because the suit is tight over his back and tighter over his thighs, and his ass is, frankly, a public safety hazard.

his head snaps around. “don’t.”

“i didn’t say anything.”

“you made a noise.”

“i have lungs.”

“you have problems.”

“yes. one of them is standing in my room dressed like japan’s sluttiest arachnid.”

he turns back so fast you almost laugh. “never say that again.”

“spider-suki.”

“no.”

“spider-man.”

“no.”

“daddy long legs.”

“fuck no.”

he’s trying so hard to be irritated that it wraps all the way around into adorable. his hands are back in front of himself, shoulders hunched, mouth in that pout he pretends is a scowl. and the worst part is, you know him too well. you can see the exact second embarrassment gives way to want. the way his breathing changes. the way his eyes keep catching on your mouth. the way he shifts his weight like he thinks it’ll hide what the suit is already starting to make painfully obvious.

you smile.

his eyes narrow. “don’t.”

“move your hands.”

“no.”

“let me see.”

“it looks stupid.”

“i’ll be the judge of that.”

“i don’t usually have a fuckin’ boner in the suit.”

“i’m not laughing.”

you press your lips together.

he points at you immediately. “don’t laugh.”

“you are. i should web your mouth shut.”

you light up. “can you?”

“wrong thing to say to you. forget i said it.”

“move your hands.”

“you’re evil.”

“yeah.”

he does.

not all at once. not confidently. he drags his hands away like he’s physically suffering for it, eyes cutting to the ceiling, cheeks red, mouth pulled into a miserable little line.

and you look.

because of course you do.

because that is your boyfriend. the father of your child. the man who washes bottles at two in the morning and warms your cold hands under his shirt and comes home bruised and lies badly and loves you so hard he almost ruins it trying to keep you safe.

and he is standing in front of you in a suit that leaves very little to the imagination.

your throat goes dry.

“oh,” you say softly.

he groans. “see? stupid.”

“not the word i was going to use.”

“don’t get poetic about my dick. i will leave.”

“no, you won’t.”

he doesn’t.

you reach for him, and he comes closer immediately, helpless as gravity. one step. then another. until he’s standing between your knees at the edge of the bed, still tense, still trying to hold on to the last scraps of dignity while you run your fingers over his waist.

the material is warm from his body.

that surprises you.

you thought it would feel colder. more removed from him somehow. like a costume. like a wall between what he does out there and what he is in here.

but it isn’t.

under your hands, it’s just katsuki.

your katsuki.

the hard plane of his stomach under your palm. the hitch in his breath when your fingers press into the seam at his hip. the little twitch in his jaw when you look up at him through your lashes.

“i should’ve known,” you murmur.

the teasing leaves his face. “what?”

you slide both hands around him, palms flattening against his back, feeling him stiffen at the tenderness of it. “i know your body too well.”

his gaze drops to you.

you trace one of the repaired seams near his ribs. “this one. you came home with a bruise here and told me you fell at the gym.”

“i did fall.”

“off a building?”

he says nothing. you touch his shoulder. “and here. you said you pulled something boxing.”

“kind of did.”

“fighting crime is not boxing.”

“close enough.”

“you’re so stupid.”

his mouth softens. “yeah.”

“and i’m still mad.”

“i know.”

“furious, actually.”

“i know.”

“but also...” your fingers hook into the suit at his waist. “you look really good.”

his eyes flick away like he can’t bear that.

which is absurd, because katsuki is not shy. he is loud in every room he enters. he argues with microwaves. he threatens furniture when he stubs his toe. he walks around shirtless in summer like he was built specifically to ruin your life and feels smug when he catches you looking.

but this is different.

this is the secret part of him.

this is the body you know wrapped in the life he hid.

so when your hands keep moving, slower now, reverent despite yourself, his mouth opens on a breath that doesn’t become words.

“baby,” he says eventually, very low.

“hm?”

“you gotta stop lookin’ at me like that.”

“why?”

“because i’m tryin’ to be good.”

the room seems to shrink around you.

the baby monitor hums on the nightstand. somewhere outside, a car passes over wet pavement. the whole city keeps moving, completely unaware that spider-man is standing in your bedroom, asking for mercy from the mother of his child.

you lean forward and press your mouth to his stomach through the suit.

his hand flies to the back of your head.

not pushing. not holding you there.

just touching. like he has to anchor himself to you by touch alone.

“fuck,” he whispers.

you look up. “take it off.”

his thumb drags once over your hair. “thought you wanted it on.”

“i wanted to look.”

“yeah?”

“now i’m done looking.”

that does it.

something in him changes. not loud. not sudden. just a shift, like a lock turning.

his hand slides from your hair to your jaw, tipping your face up. his eyes are dark and soft and still a little scared around the edges, because this is new. not you wanting him. not him wanting you. that part is old as breathing.

this is you wanting all of him now that you know.

the liar. the hero. the idiot on the couch. the man in the suit. the father who catches aiya before she falls, sometimes before she even starts to tip.

“say it proper,” he murmurs.

you smile. “i want you.”

he kisses you.

it is not gentle for long. it starts that way, maybe. a brush, a question, his mouth warm and mint-clean from the bathroom. but then your fingers pull at the sealed edge of the suit and his control snaps with an almost audible thing, his hand bracing on the mattress beside your thigh, the other cupping your face as he bends over you.

you pull him closer until he has to climb onto the bed, one knee sinking into the sheets, the suit creaking softly with the movement.

“zipper’s in the back.”

then he stops.

you blink up at him. “what?”

you stare.

he stares back, already humiliated. then you burst into the quietest, most violent laugh of your life.

“don’t,” he hisses.

you clap a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking.

“it’s not funny.”

“spider-man can’t get naked.”

“i can get naked.”

“not alone, apparently.”

“it’s a security design.”

“you need mommy to unzip you?”

his eyes flash. “careful.”

your laugh cuts off into something else.

he notices. of course he notices. his head tilts, just a little, interest sharpening like a blade.

“oh?” he says.

“shut up.”

“that do somethin’ for you?”

“you’re literally stuck in your superhero onesie.”

“and you’re still wet about it.”

you kick at him. he catches your ankle easily, grinning now, finally getting some of his footing back.

“turn around.”

“bossy.”

“turn around before aiya wakes up and ruins your life.”

that gets him moving.

he sits on the edge of the bed with his back to you, and you kneel behind him. the suit is even better up close, which is unfair. there are tiny scratches in the black patterning, a place near the nape that’s been torn and resewn, the faint smell of clean fabric and him. you find the hidden zipper between his shoulder blades and drag it down slowly.

too slowly, apparently, because his head drops forward.

“baby.”

“what?”

“don’t tease.”

you press a kiss to the back of his neck.

he goes quiet.

for all his strength, he is so easy there. so vulnerable when you touch the places he cannot watch you touch. your mouth at his neck, your hands on his shoulders, peeling the suit down inch by inch until his skin is bare under your palms.

you stop at the edge of a bruise blooming yellow near his ribs.

your chest tightens.

“katsuki.”

“old one.”

“how old?”

“couple days.”

“you didn’t tell me.”

“didn’t tell you a lotta shit.”

“that is not charming honesty.”

“wasn’t tryin’ to be.”

you kiss the bruise anyway. soft. once.

his breath catches.

“you’re still on the couch after this,” you whisper against his skin.

he huffs. “figured.”

“for a week.”

“three days.”

“five.”

“four.”

“six for negotiating.”

he turns his head, glaring over his shoulder. “that’s not how that works.”

“it is in my house.”

“our house.”

“my house until i forgive you.”

his mouth twitches. “mean ass woman.”

“lying ass spider.”

he twists suddenly, pulling you forward with one arm, and you squeak before remembering to be quiet. the two of you freeze, eyes shooting to the baby monitor.

static. nothing else.

katsuki whispers, “you’re gonna wake her up.”

“you just manhandled me.”

“me?”

“yeah, you.”

“quietly.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“you love me.”

“maybe a little.”

he kisses you again, smiling into it this time, and the suit gets lost somewhere around his waist, then his thighs, then the floor. there’s a clumsy, stifled struggle with one ankle that nearly makes you laugh again until he bites your shoulder through his own shirt and mutters, “one sound and i’m puttin’ it back on.”

“threatening me with a good time.”

“you’re insane.”

“you knew that before.”

“knew it before i knocked you up, too.”

heat blooms low in your stomach. his eyes catch it.

your hand tightens around his bicep. “should do it again.”

for a second, the whole room goes still.

not because he doesn’t understand.

because he does.

because aiya is asleep down the hall, and your body remembers her. the ache, the weight, the long nights, the softness of her head under your chin, the impossible terror of loving something that small. it remembers katsuki kneeling beside the bed with a newborn tucked against his bare chest, whispering promises to both of you like he could scare the world into behaving if he growled hard enough.

his hand spreads over your stomach.

careful. reverent.

“yeah?” he says, voice rough.

you nod.

he bends until his forehead rests against yours. “you sure?”

“i’m sure.”

“not just because you’re freakin’ out over the suit?”

“that is a factor.”

he snorts.

you smile, sliding your arms around his neck. “but no. not just that.”

his thumb strokes once, slow, over your stomach.

“aiya’s gonna be pissed.”

“aiya’s six months old.”

“she’s possessive.”

“she gets that from you.”

“damn right.”

you kiss him before he can say anything else stupid, and he follows you down into the bed with an instinct that feels older than the secret, older than the suit, older than the hurt still waiting for both of you in the morning.

for now, he is warm and heavy over you, bare skin against bare skin, one hand braced carefully near your head like he still thinks he might crush you after all these years. you pull him closer anyway. you always do.

“couch tomorrow,” you whisper against his mouth.

“yeah, yeah.”

“and we’re still talking.”

“yeah.”

“and you’re teaching me how the web thingy works.”

“absolutely not.”

“katsuki.”

“fine.”

“and i’m putting the suit on once.”

his head lifts.

you blink innocently.

“no,” he says.

“yes.”

“no.”

“it’s only fair.”

“you wearin’ that suit is how we end up with an army of brats.”

you gasp. “so you agree.”

“i agree you’re awful.”

the baby monitor crackles.

both of you freeze again, half tangled, half laughing, entirely caught.

aiya sighs.

katsuki lowers his forehead to your shoulder in silent, desperate prayer.

you bite your lip so hard you almost hurt yourself.

after a long moment, he whispers, “still asleep.”

“spider-sense?”

“dad sense.”

you soften before you can stop yourself. he feels it. lifts his head. the grin is gone now, replaced with something quieter. something open and tired and so painfully full of love that you almost hate him for making you feel it while you’re still furious.

“i’m sorry,” he says.

no defence. no excuse.

just that.you touch his cheek.

“i know.”

“i’ll tell you everythin’.”

“you better.”

“everythin’.”

you hold him there, fingers sliding into his hair, the city outside wet and glowing and alive around you. somewhere in it, there are rooftops he knows better than streets. alleys where he has bled alone. people he has saved without you knowing. versions of him you are only just beginning to meet.

but this version is yours.

in your bed. in your arms. warm, embarrassed, breathing hard against your throat.

“katsuki?”

“hm?”

“make another baby with me.”

he goes still for one heartbeat.

then his mouth finds yours again, and this time there is nothing funny about it.

“yeah,” he whispers.

his hand cups the back of your head like a vow.

“yeah, baby. i got you.”

feeling bored, you tapped your nails against the door armrest. you looked around at the trees. you sat up to see the lake in the near distance, the sun glistening off the ripples. you poked the fuzzy dice hanging from his rear view mirror. you rummaged through his glove compartment…

… and your brows shot up upon seeing a black pistol buried under documents and condoms.

you glanced over to see if he’d caught you snooping. his brows were still furrowed as he rolled the joint over the steering wheel. utterly enraptured by his weed. you smirked, feeling suddenly mischievous. with great care, you gently retrieved the firearm.

“put it down.” his voice rang beside you.

you tensed, suddenly feeling like a scolded child, then smiled faintly. you didn’t put it down. you treated it delicately, of course, purposely avoiding the trigger as you examined it. the metal was cool and heavy in your hand. “why is it in here?”

“needs to be,” he said simply. then, he took the gun from you, grabbing it by the barrel. he set it muzzle down in the empty cup holder between you before focusing his attention back to the blunt.

you tilted your head, unsatisfied, and stated matter-of-factly, “you’re indestructible.”

“you’re not.”

you raised a brow again, intrigued. “so it’s for me.”

“for assholes.”

“my hero.”

ben looked over at you then, sizing you up, half impressed, half perpetually annoyed.

“have you ever even been this close to a roscoe?”

you looked through your lashes. “… once or twice.”

that got his attention. he lowered the unfinished joint in his lap, looking you over again, his keen green eyes following a steady path down your figure. ben paused for a long moment, as if he was assessing you.

“when?”

“fourth of july.”

“what’d you shoot?” he sounded nearly fascinated. never in a million years would ben have guessed you did something like that. you were always such a sissy.

“the ground,” you confessed timidly.

the sharp sound of his laughter broke the peacefulness of nature surrounding you. his shoulders bounced, he tipped his head back against the headrest, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. he licked his lips and muttered something like jesus christ as he settled down, shaking his head and bringing the joint back up to work on again.

“you’re a card.” he stated. he gave the joint a final lick, pressing the paper down flush with the pads of his thumbs. he inspected it carefully before tucking it in his shirt pocket. he pushed his aviators back down, wearing them properly, hiding his eyes. “get out.”

you blinked, watching him open his door, grab the pistol, and step out of the car all in one motion. after a moment of hesitation, you followed.

he beckoned you over with a finger, his gun in his back pocket. ben’s hand snaked around your waist when you were close enough and he leaned against the hood of his car. he thumbed your hip and raised his hand, moving it to follow the horizon.

your eyes followed. the lake’s shore lapped at the dirt a few respectable paces away, the water slightly murky. surrounding you, conifers and hardwood cast sparse shadows. their leaves occasionally swayed with the soft breeze, and the unmistakable smell of sap comforted you in a strange way.

his voice recaptured your attention. “pick a tree.”

you looked over at him, a surge of disbelief passing through you. he really trusted you enough to do this?

you shook your head. “i don’t wanna shoot a tree.”

ben rolled his eyes. “hippie,” he muttered, reaching into another pocket of his. he pulled out his cherry rolling papers and ripped two out- then crumpled them into little balls. you blinked in surprise at the sacrifice of two perfectly good rolling papers.

“put these in your ears,” he commanded. and so you did. the sounds of the lake’s waves, the chirping of the birds, the swish of tree branches brushing against each other muffled.

without warning, he grabbed your waist in both hands, and yanked you in front of him. with his chest flush against your back, he wrapped an arm around your middle and fished his pistol out of his pocket. he brought it out to show off.

you knew not to reach for it. he turned it in his hands. his chin brushing against the back of your head. “this bitch’s no joke, you hear me, doll?”

you nodded. he grunted in approval, then flipped the gun back, left side up. he flicked the safety off, keeping the nose pointed to the ground.

gently, ben’s hand smoothed across your stomach, to your hip, and up your side. he trailed his palm over your forearm and down to your hand. being this close to him, you could hear each little inhale and exhale of his. you could feel his breath brush against your ear. you fought the urge to shiver, especially when his hand found yours. he lifted it and guided it to hold the grip of the gun, adjusting your fingers to stay clear of the trigger.

his hand wrapped firmly around yours, keeping your fingers temporarily disabled, the gun still pointed to the dirt. he squeezed your hand, and you felt something click beneath your palm. your heart raced.

“that was the grip safety,” he said, his voice calm. you nodded once, relaxing.

his other hand gestured in front of you, to a dead tree stump about sixty feet away, maybe four feet tall. it sat unimposing at the opposite shore of the lake, gray and peeling bark, surrounded by its living kin.

“see that stump?”

you nodded.

“aim for that.”

“… okay.”

his grip around your hand on the gun remained. you felt the grainy surface of the grip on your skin. his other hand moved, guiding your left hand to the gun in the same fashion he did the other. ben hummed in approval as he fixed your hands over the grip.

wordlessly, he guided your arms up, the gun still snug inside your fingers. he straightened your arms outright, then maneuvered your right index finger to rest gently on the trigger guard.

“don’t move your finger yet,” he said, his voice in your ear. you swallowed.

his hands left yours, leaving the breeze to brush over them, the coldness emphasizing the loss. he ran his hands slowly up your wrists, to the sensitive skin of the inside of your elbows, and he stopped to hold your biceps. he kept his feet planted firmly outside yours, his broad chest flush against your back.

you pressed your thighs together, his touch molding, and you avoided exhaling too shakily. though, you were almost certain he could hear your pounding heart. just the thought of his awareness made your cheeks flush.

“now…” he let go of one of your arms, his chin by your ear. he gently tapped the small, triangular-shaped bump on top of the pistol once, the one closest to your eye; then the bump further away, on the very tip of the barrel.

“sights. front and rear. as you can see, front is a post, rear is a notch. you line ‘em up both horizontally and vertically, at the center of that stump… and you’ve got your aim.”

you squeezed one eye shut to line the sights up, doing your best to center them as he instructed on the awaiting stump. he shifted, leaning over to look at your face, assessing briefly. he smiled faintly.

“now, i know that might feel right, sweets, but it’s better to keep both those pretty eyes open.”

his voice was cogent. you quickly reopened your eye, exhaling. you could hear the faintest of chuckles leave him.

he licked his lips and slid his hands up back to yours on the gun. one held both of yours in place securely, and the other reached to grab his gun by the barrel, between the sights. he slid the slide back, exposing the metal barrel underneath, and it made a clicking noise that made your brows furrow. he let it go, covering the barrel once again.

“she’s cocked. don’t you move a muscle till i tell you to.”

he found his place behind you again, his chest against you. he squeezed your shoulders gently before he smoothed his rough hands down your upper back, over the ridge of your bra, down to the dip of your waist. you blinked slowly, your eyes darting momentarily to the ground, then back up. you knew you needed to focus, not let his carnal touch divert your attention.

he ran his thumbs back and forth over your waist. his hands were warm and unmoving, and you couldn’t help but notice he kept your ass pressed firm against his hips, the print of his dick faint but felt. it made your breath hitch, but you remained planted against him. and when you heard a rough, faint groan leave his lips right in your ear? you wanted to ditch this whole shooting lesson.

when he spoke again, his voice was considerably softened. but it still made your heart skip. it pulled you back into what this was supposed to be. “you can put your finger on the trigger now, but do not put pressure on it.”

you swallowed again, nodding, regrouping, and you moved your finger carefully off the guard and onto the cool trigger. it was a strange sense of power. one pull and a killing stone would come out at 800 feet per second.

“atta girl. don’t pull yet. take your time, give yourself at least half a minute to aim. then you fire.”

you held the gun pointed where you wanted, taking slow, shuddering breaths, heeding his words. he trusted your judgment, the good head on your shoulders. you’re not so reckless to fire when you’re not confident. and you’re listening so well to each of his instructions.

you lined up the sights, acquiring yourself a good shot, but damn if his closeness didn’t make you blush. as if sensing your temperament at the moment, ben nuzzled his half hard cock against your ass with a slow exhale, causing you to gasp faintly.

your chest sank, about to lower the gun. but he spoke again, this time whispering gravelly. “now… shoot when you want. it’s gonna recoil, and it’s gonna recoil pretty fuckin hard, so be prepared for that.”

he lowered his hands from your waist to grip your hips. the feeling made you breathe uneven, just one short breath that didn’t escape his notice. he smiled, but for once didn’t point it out. not now. he held you tight, not letting you move even an inch away. having your precious self this close was too good to not take advantage of. just feeling your body heat seep into his sent blood straight down. he breathed heavy through his nose, right in your ear, and he gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

you pulled, and a loud bang- one you didn’t anticipate to be so booming because of the rolling papers- rang out when you applied pressure to the trigger. and not even half a second later, the sound of the bullet hitting the stump met your ears. just as he said, the recoil shoved you back. right into him.

tree branches shook as birds fled from them, and you gasped loud. his arm came around you immediately, and ben snatched the gun from your hands harshly by the barrel, quickly flicking something on it down with a click. you heard his laughter in your ear, your heart pounding.

“ha-ha! fuck, baby, you hear that? you hit that shit dead fuckin’ center. that’s my girl.”

he tucked the gun away, adjusting you forcefully to face him. his grin was unmoving, plastered on his face shamelessly. he gave you a shake as he laughed, and after getting your bearings, you finally sighed in relief. you smiled coyly, your hand bracing against his chest. and when you saw your stunned reflection in his sunglasses lenses, you finally laughed alongside him.

“i hit it?”

“did you hit it? yeah, you fuckin’ hit it,” he rubbed your arm, ruffling your clothes. he pointed to the stump. “see for yourself.”

you looked over, narrowing your eyes to see better. sure enough, near the center of the trunk, a hole from the bullet was marked. you picked the balled up rolling papers out of your ears. you let out a disbelieving laugh, grinning, feeling a twinge of pride for yourself. you just shot a gun and hit your target.

you were pulled out of your thoughts by a large hand smacking your ass, the slap causing you to freeze. his laugh deepened by your ear, his arm around you caging. he adjusted you in front of him, practically manhandling you, your hair catching in the wind.

your face fell at the proximity. your chest pressed flush against his made eye contact difficult. but ben hooked his finger under your chin, his other hand sliding down to grip your ass and pull you even closer. that’s when you registered it. him, the hard bulge of his cock straining against his jeans, pressing into your hip. your eyes widened.

“my little sharpshooter,” he said fondly. he leaned in to kiss you roughly, his teeth knocking against yours. it was as brief as it was aggressive, and it left you breathless and squirming.

he grinned, plucking the joint he rolled out of his shirt pocket, taking it between his lips. his other hand found your ass again, and with half lidded eyes, ben rutted his cock against you, just once. enough to make you gasp.

“now, why don’t you be a good girl and bend over this hood for me?”

You tried not to audibly groan as your feet found the floor. The body asleep next to you was lying on his front, his face buried into one of your pillows, his arms wrapped around it like it tried to run away in the night. He was tanned and dotted with freckles, a summer scene across the skin on his back, broad and taut with muscle. You frowned as you looked over your shoulder at him, trying to place a name, a face, any memory of the last few hours.

The only things that came to mind were bare skin and a lot of touching. Teeth and lips and hands and calloused fingers that dug into your hips as you rode him. You rubbed your face, clearing the sleep from your eyes, the tequila and the taste of sex from your lips.

You tried really hard to walk quietly to your bathroom, padding softly across the wooden floors, avoiding the sweater that lay there and the board that you knew squeaked like it held a disease in its whorls and knots. The bathroom door shut with a squeak and a click and you held your breath, forehead braced against the cool wood but you heard nothing, no sheets rustling, no feet on the floorboards.

Your reflection stared back at you from above the sink with disdain and disappointment and you weren't in a position to disagree with her. Your hair was a mess and there was leftover lipstick on your neck of all places, like you’d gifted it to someone who’d pressed it right back onto your skin. There was the beginning of a hickey on your chest, purple and pink and blooming under the bright fluorescent light that hummed above you.

The shower started with a groan and a hiss, the pressure battering the floor of the tub and you shed what little clothes you had on before clambering into it, skin prickling at the chill before it rocketed to almost too hot. You hit the temperature dial with an annoyed indifference, hiding under the cool spray until your hair stuck to your head and it didn't hurt as much as it did when you first opened your eyes.

You thought back to the night before, eyes closed, your stomach starting to turn with tequila and vodka and cheap beer. You remembered the sticky floors of the new bar you’d been dragged to, nothing more than a basement room filled with sweaty bodies and with brick walls covered in band posters and beer mats from places around the world. There were more people than tables and an oversized disco ball turned slowly overhead, entirely out of place as some indie sleaze song leaked out from the speakers in every corner.

You’d danced with your friends, nothing more than your hips moving in the crush of bodies, skin on skin as you tried to take shots without it spilling over your fingers. You remembered licking raspberry syrup from your thumb, your eyes on a guy who stood across the room from you, his brows raised when you grinned.

You remembered a song passing, maybe two, before he came over. There hadn’t been any bravado, no cheesy lines, no faux nonchalance. He’d bent down to your ear, a large warm hand hovering over the small of your back as he leaned into you. Someone had bumped him, his lips brushing your ear and he’d told you that you were pretty.

You’d grinned, shyness disappearing under the taste of tequila and when he’d asked you to dance you’d handed your empty glass to your friend and took his hand. It got blurry then, his hips against your ass as he moved to the music, moved against you. His hands, warm and big, laying on your hips, fingers settling into the crease of your upper thigh until you were too warm and the only answer was to pull him outside for some air.

He’d tasted like beer when he kissed you, your back against the rough brick outside of the bar. But his hand had cupped the back of your head to save it from becoming sore and that alone had you arching into him, his free hand around the back of your thigh as you hitched your leg to his hip. There must’ve been a taxi ride to yours and there was a fuzzy memory of your couch, the man pressed into it as you shed your shirt and straddled him, his lips dancing across your throat, your sternum.

You stayed under the spray until the water turned too cold and your head felt less like someone had jumped on it. Your hair was clean and your face had been scrubbed, your toes minty fresh as you spat leftover toothpaste down the tub drain and when you got out, wrapped in a too small towel, your bed was empty.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You didn’t think too much of the man. You tried not to. But when you’d finally gotten dressed and shuffled along the sidewalk in the town that’s finally waking up, you found yourself thinking about the night before more often than you wanted to.

You told yourself it was a good thing he left when he did. The perfect way to avoid the awkward morning after, the stilted conversation of if they wanted coffee and exchanging numbers no one was ever really planning on calling.

Right?

Right.

The subway was packed, uncomfortable and sticky hot, like honey on your skin. There was a woman pressed too close to your side, both of you clinging on to the same handrail, her gum snapping too sharp and obnoxious by your ear. There was a kid crying about a broken toy two carriage’s down and every time the doors opened, the shrill noise of it all cut you in two. You were way more hungover than you’d let yourself believe, hiding shamelessly behind a pair of oversized sunglasses that turned the bright morning sun and the flickering overhead fluorescents into a shade of grey that was much more manageable.

It suited your mood. It dulled the flavour of tequila that sat at the back of your tongue. But it didn’t dampen the memories of last night that were coming back to you, persistently stronger and less blurry than before.

You could remember getting out of the cab, the air still heavy and hot despite the early morning hour, the only way a night could be in Chicago during summer. There were memories of you dragging the boy behind you, your hand clasped in his as you fumbled at the door of your apartment building, pressing the wrong numbers for your key code, eyes fluttering closed as the stranger pushed his nose to your neck, his lips following the path he made. Then there was the stairwell, blessedly empty, the air much cooler and the brick wall rough as you were pressed against it on the first landing. More kissing, the dirty kind with all tongues and teeth, breaths panted into open mouths, hands tugging at the fronts of belts, sneaking under skirts, fingers pressed to cotton and lace.

The train jerked on the tracks and you stumbled, so unlike yourself and the thoughts of your late night guest gave way to the packed train once more. You didn’t think about him between your legs, you didn’t think about your hands in his hair - brown and messy and almost too long - and you definitely didn’t think about the way he moaned as loud as you did when you came on his tongue.

Elbows pressed into your sides as you pushed your way off the carriage, the train doors beeping, humid subway air giving way to something only a little fresher as you climbed the concrete steps and out into the street. Chicago was louder here, closer to The Loop now, you had to dodge others on the sidewalk, everyone with some form of earphones in, their heads down, their eyes low. Trucks were parked too close to the sidewalk, men with cigarettes hanging out their mouths yelled at each other as they passed crates of vegetables and fruit to each other, corner store owners filling their shelves and somehow, the streets smelled like freshly baked bread, roasted coffee and sewers all at the same time.

It did nothing to help your hangover. Neither did the ache in your hips that had you remembering how you’d been pressed into your mattress only hours before, skin slapping skin, gasps and moans floating in the air.

Your face burned with it.

It only cooled when you made a sharp left, narrowly avoiding a young couple trying to manipulate a too large couch from the back of a moving van into their narrow doorway. The alleyway turned the sky duller, the sun hidden from view as you walked between the two tall buildings, avoiding leftover puddles and rat traps before you raised your fist to an old fire door and knocked.

Knock was perhaps too polite. You let your palm slam down on the rust covered surface, the tiny pane of glass that acted as a window rattling at your efforts. The sound reverberated through the alley, loud enough to piss off the neighbours in the apartments above you and someone leaned out their window, half asleep and swearing viciously.

But the door was kicked open and the smell of cinnamon and bacon greeted you. The air was hotter than ever, the hum of the ovens adding to the warmth and the too loud sound of the back kitchen. Everything was silver and white and coated in a fine layer of icing sugar and flour and god, ew, a little bit of fryer grease. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker was blasting music that was too loud but it still didn’t drown out the drone of the extractor fans, the bubble and pop of the bagels in an enormous vat of boiling water.

The Gate was something of a hole in the wall, not quite a cafe, not quite a restaurant and not a place you usually saw tourists. It was on the right line of cheap, a little rough around the edges but the food was the best you could find this side of the Chicago River. It was all brick walls and a huge glass front, neon lights shining out of it every hour of the day and night. Chipped green and white tiles on the floor, wobbly legged tables and chairs that didn’t quite match anymore, The Gate was owned by a man called Jim Hopper but it was run by the rest of the staff he’d hired.

A group of people who were all in the middle of that age bracket between teenagers and adults, a bunch of somewhat misfits who were collectively in the stage of life where no one knew what the fuck they were doing and smoke breaks took precedence over bussing tables.

A guy called Eddie manned one of the grills you passed by, a cig tucked behind his ear and his dark curls pulled high into a bun atop his head. A sketch pad of tattoos peeked out from his chef whites and he merely lifted a spatula at you in greeting, a pair of headphones covering his ears as he flipped pancakes on the griddle and blocked out the pop song that came from the speaker by the prep zone.

There were Robin and Argyle, both sitting haphazardly on stools that had been dragged from the bar, peeling a variety of vegetables as they both shared details of the night before, both nursing the same kind of hangover you suffered from. The front of house looked quiet, no other staff at work just yet. The doors were still closed and the neon sign on the front flickered a garish pink as it told the rest of the city The Gate was still closed for now. The small bar in the corner was wiped clean, no sticky leftover gin or rum staining the wooden worktop and the various glass bottles on the glass shelves behind it were glinting in the morning light. There were crystals on the windowsills, more hanging in the corners of the room from wicker baskets and mosaic pots, all of them holding bundles of green, leafy plants. They scattered rainbows of all sizes around the restaurant, painted little rectangular sponges of colours on the tables, the brick walls, your arms and the tiled floor.

You sighed as you hung up your bag, swapping it for an apron that you tied around your waist. Breakfast shift was never your favourite, but you hoped that everyone decided the day was too warm and everyone was too hungover to bother venturing out this early. You looked at the clock, twelve minutes to seven. Seventy two minutes until the doors and you still didn’t deem that enough time to feel human.

You stuffed a new order pad into your apron pocket, reminding yourself to hunt for a pen as soon as you managed to snag some pancakes or a bagel from the kitchen first. Jim said he didn’t believe in technology, not to the point of tablets replacing a good old pad and pen for taking orders, but you were pretty certain that the man was just fucking cheap.

Minutes passed as you stood in the middle of the tables, your head tipped back as you closed your eyes and took a breath. And another. And another. Kaleidoscopes of colours painted your cheeks, your eyelids and you could hear the speaker from the kitchen playing faintly through the closed door. Suddenly it was five hours ago and you were on the edge of a dance floor you’d never been on before, a body pressed against the back of your own as you both swayed and rocked to the music. The cab drive to yours became clearer now, your head tipped against the window as you let your dance partner kiss down your neck, his hand skating up the fabric of your skirt as he gripped your hip. You remembered the cab driver's eyes in the rear view mirror, the sharp cough he let out when you grabbed your new friend’s jaw in your hand and licked into his mouth.

“Get ‘em while they’re hot.” The clatter of a plate and Eddie’s too loud voice broke you from your thoughts.

Cheeks burning and heart thumping a little too wildly, you spun, eyes flying open as you found a stack of pancakes waiting on the bartop for you. They’re dusted with sugar and dripping with maple syrup, a handful of freshly washed berries on the side. You moaned, the man who shared your bed momentarily forgotten about, and you contemplated giving Eddie a fat kiss on the cheek.

“You’re an angel,” you told him instead, forgoing cutlery as you bit straight into a pancake, eyes fluttering at the sweetness and warmth. “A real life angel.”

The chef snorted, already walking back into the kitchen. “Call my high school principal and tell him that, would ya?”

You managed two whole bites before the phone rang and Robin answered it, her voice bored and tired and muffled under the noise of music and hissing grills. Then the door flew open and she handed the receiver to you, eyes rolling. She pinched a strawberry and poked at your bare skin, where your blooming hickey bruised the space between the top of your shirt and your exposed collar bones.

You batted at her hand, frowning when she smirks and your lips were sticky with maple syrup when you tried to form a professional greeting. “Good morning, thanks for calling The Gate, this is— oh, it’s you.”

Hopper scoffed on the other end of the line. “Hello to you too, kid. Listen, there’s a new start coming today for the linecook position. Should be ‘round seven thirty and he’s more than qualified so just get him some spare whites and show him where the trash goes. Eddie’ll handle the rest.”

Your hangover pulsed in annoyance. “Can’t Joyce get him sorted?” You speared another raspberry and popped it into your mouth, eyes rolling when your boss sighed in return.

“Joyce is on vacation. With me. We told you this on Monday, you never lis— look, just get the guy sorted alright? He’s a good kid, he’s not gonna cause any hassle.”

“Whatever, sure,” you mumbled. You needed to find some tylenol, your eyes felt like they were going to fall out of their sockets. “Enjoy Cabo, or wherever it is you guys are.”

“We’re in Colorado, but close enough,” Hopper grunted. “Just don’t burn the place down, alright? See you in two weeks.”

You were frowning when the dial tone buzzed in your ear. It was three minutes past seven and you were left with a sticky, sugary mess on your empty plate and thirty three tables to set before the doors opened. And a new start to get set up.

You found a tylenol in Nancy’s open locker and a set of new chef whites in Hopper’s abandoned office. You set them by the side of the bar before you gathered cutlery and new napkins, splitting them with Robin as you both wove in and out of tables and booths, the kitchen getting noisier as Argyle and Eddie started prepping for lunch. The glass cabinets by the cash desk were filled finally with fresh pastries, the front of house smelled like freshly squeezed oranges and you had made yourself busy by misting an oversized fern when someone knocked on the front door.

There was a man standing behind the glass. He was tall and dressed in denim jeans that had faded knees, a white T-shirt with rolled sleeves and he had a pair of black Ray-Ban’s perched on his nose. Despite that, you recognised him. His hair looked ruffled, like someone had been pulling on it all night, dishevelled and messy in a way that would’ve made your mother’s cheeks burn. Any mother’s, actually.

Fuck.

No? No.

You unlocked the door and the click of it was too loud, too jarring. You stared at the stranger who didn’t seem all that strange and your stomach turned as you recognised the sweater he had clutched in his right hand. A forest green thing with a yellow patch on the chest. You knew that sweater. It had been on your bedroom floor when you’d made your quiet escape to the bathroom.

Fuck.

You looked at the man and he looked at you, the customer service smile he’d plastered on his face wilting at the same time his extended hand did, the professional greeting slipping from every fibre of him.

“You.”

“Speaking of domestic,” he continues, throwing a look at the camera that tells the audience they’re in for a fun time. “How are things at home?” Murmuring from the crowd - they’re held on the precipice, eating it up. Yes, this they want to know. Yes, this they want to see. 

Soldier Boy chuckles, perfectly charming. Turns his body a little more toward the camera. Broad shoulders. Thick hair, but not too thick. Handsome face. Probably a big dick. 

“Oh, whatever could you be talking about?” he asks with a little wag of his chin, and that gives the audience leave, they chuckle, slap their knees, oh, get a load of this guy!, lapping it up, their tongues hanging out their mouths.

“Why, America’s sweetheart, of course,” the interviewer answers, shoots a look at the audience, right? That’s what we want to know!, and they nod, slap their knees some more. “The Vixen.”

Oh’s and Ah’s from them now. Yes, the Vixen. They’re all imagining her. Women want to be her, men want to fuck her. Marilyn Who? one headline read. Blasphemous, but they’re licking their fingers.

“Oh, my girl?” Soldier Boy asks, but he’s joking along with the audience, teasing them, stringing them along. Has them curling their toes like they’re getting it real good. “Oh, my girl’s doing just fine.” The interviewer laughs.

“Gave you a patriotic welcome home, did she?” he asks, and the crowd loses it, yes, yes, did she? Did she!? 

And Soldier Boy leans back, relaxed, grinning. They can practically see her there, kneeling between his legs. Good, patriotic gal. A real keeper.

“Pal,” he says, “I had her singing the national anthem.”

Laughter from the crowd.

“You goddamn motherfucker!”

The glass explodes where it hits the wall just left of and above Ben’s head. He barely reacts, feels some of the shards rain down on his shoulder, but then just raises his own glass, scotch, takes a sip. Sucks on his teeth when he lowers it again.

“You done?” he asks, watching you pace up and down on the other side of the room. You’re clearly not, and he knows that - in fact, you’re only just revving up. He looks at your legs, visible, not visible, visible, under the long silk robe you’re wearing, the fabric fluttering with every step, and if you weren’t being such a humongous bitch right now he’d sure find some appreciation for them.

Actually, scratch that. They’re nice sticks. Even with the bitchiness.

“One thing I fucking asked for,” you say, and he grimaces at the shrillness of your voice. He rolls his shoulders, takes another sip. “One thing, and that was to make me not look like a fucking sex object in front of those people.”

You turn for another round, naked toes sinking into the orange rug that you personally selected for the apartment. Ben hates it. In fact, he says he hates all the colors of your apartment. Hates the music you listen to, because this guy is still caught in the fucking 30’s, hasn’t realized that a few decades have passed. Old dirty man with an old dirty mind.

“And you do this, this… bullshit!” you yell, now reaching for the newspaper lying on the low glass table, the one that puts your embarrassment on paper. The one that shows a grinning Soldier Boy, and the least subtle article on two super heroes fucking that you have ever had the displeasure of reading.

You drop it again, reach for the pack of cigarettes lying next to the ashtray. It’s filled to the brim, because you’ve been goddamn chain smoking since last night, when the interview aired. Sat here, Martini in your hand, joint rolled and ready, watching your super star boyfriend give his first interview since the two of you have made your relationship public. Some fucking relationship it is. 

You sat there, legs crossed, buzzing and excited, horned the fuck up because America’s biggest talk show was going to cover you - your existence, your life. And what the fuck came out of it? Another couple million men thinking about you only in the context of shoving their dick inside one of your holes.

You wish you had another glass to throw.

Ben isn’t as worried. He doesn’t like repeating himself, but he does it for your sake, because maybe you can learn a lesson from him.

“They all wanna fuck you anyway,” he says, voice booming but not threatening, because he’s not quite there yet. “That’s how they remember you. But now, you’re on the front page, and yesterday you weren’t. So rein it the fuck in.”

You drop your lighter on the table with a loud clatter, take a sharp drag, blow out the smoke. Point the cigarette at him, perfectly manicured fingers shaking.

“Is that why you’re so famous?” you say, your voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “Cause they all wanna stick it in your ass?”

And this is the first time he bothers to make a point today. Lowers his chin. Glares at you.

“Careful,” he says.

It’s a tone that usually gets a room of influential men to shut the fuck up and do whatever he wants. The thought that he could take their heads and make them pop like a melon dropped from a second floor window has something to do with that. But he likes to think it’s because they respect him too. If any of them want to fuck him, that’s none of his business, and they better not fucking let him know cause it won’t be melons being dropped from the second floor then.

He leans forward with a sigh appropriate for someone his age. Puts the glass down, reaches for the joint you never touched, cause you needed something stronger to calm you down yesterday evening. Kept calling his agent, called Vought, called them all, over and over, screamed at assistants to fucking get this limp dick motherfucker on the phone! He lights the joint, flame close to his face for a moment. He could probably use you to light it - you’re steaming enough.

“I don’t know why the fuck you keep insisting on embarassing me,” you hiss, take another drag, some of the ash of the cigarette dropping down on the carpet below. You don’t even look at it. Six months ago you were giving handjobs to help with the rent and sharing a one bedroom apartment with three other girls. Now, you’re the second most famous supe in the country. Sure got to your head quickly, Ben thinks. He tosses the lighter back onto the table. Clattering, again.

“You’re doing a fine job at that yourself,” he replies, leans back, gets comfortable, sinks deeper into the cushions, legs spread, smoke curling out of his nostrils. “Everyone wanted to meet you at the afterparty. Hudson asked about you. Had to tell him you were at home with the monthlies.” He takes another drag, looks up at you through the smoke.

You’ve stopped moving and shouting, so there’s that. But something about the way you’re standing, cigarette burning down between your fingers, face slack, the only movement the rising and falling of your chest - well, something about it is like the calm before the storm.

“You told Rock fucking Hudson,” you say, voice eerily calm, “that I was on the fucking rag?”

You lean forward, and, naively, Ben thinks for a second it’s to put out the cigarette. What happens instead is that you grab the ashtray and fling it at him too.

You miss, and that’s probably a good thing, because if you didn’t, he might have ripped your head off. As it stands, it scatters to the ground, ash going everywhere, staining the carpet even more, just another bill to send to Vought to pay for you.

It’s enough to catapult Ben off the sofa though. He drags the joint from between his lips.

“Calm the fuck down!” he bellows but you just throw up your hands, turn, walk a few steps from him, then put your head in one hand, groan.

“What am I doing?” you mutter to yourself. “What the fuck am I doing? It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Soldier Boy drops his head back, sighs. He rounds the table, walks over to you.

“Come on,” he says, joint between his fingers. “Take a hit, calm down.” Your shoulders are rising and falling, and he sure as shit hopes you’re not crying. He doesn’t do well with crying women. Pisses him off. He stops just behind you.

“Hey!” he says, cause you better fucking look at him when he’s talking to you. He’s got about two minutes of patience left in him. He only came over here cause the Legend told him he better get his ass in gear, set this right. He had a sweet little piece of ass lined up too, and now here he is, with you in fucking hysterics. He was hoping to at least get a blowjob out of this - if you ask him, you should be nothing but grateful. Sure, his rating has skyrocketed even more since the two of you have gone public - something about a single man at his age makes people uncomfortable. But still. You shouldn’t forget who you owe this new lifestyle to.

You turn around, arms crossed in front of your chest, the robe moved to the side a little, revealing the top of your breasts. Ben rests his eyes there before dragging them away, up to your face. Streaks of mascara on your cheeks from your tears. He’s not fooled though. He knows enough about this business not to trust them. He holds the joint out to you, like a goddamn peace pipe. Maybe he can still turn this around. It would make the Legend and the Vought board happy, plus, who knows - maybe he can still get it wet after all. He wouldn’t mind.

“You’re making this into a bigger thing than it is,” he says, lowering his head a little in a way that usually gets everyone to forgive him. That or the threat of violence. Both work. “You think you can be America’s sweetheart and not have everyone wanna bend you over? Not how it works, doll. Take the win. Don’t get tied up in your big feelings about it.”

And he thinks he sees it, reasonability on your face, and could it be? Could he have actually managed to calm you down? He extends the joint again to seal the deal.

The slap isn’t painful, but it is surprising. It hurts your hand more than it does his cheek, probably, and who knows, maybe your hand will actually fall off because you just struck God.

His head doesn’t snap to the side, but he does blink, a surprised expression on his face, sending a nasty, electric thrill through you. He’s looking past you, then his eyes wander to your face. You raise your chin, lips trembling, but he doesn’t miss the little twitch at the corners of your mouth.

“Fuck you,” you say, but you’re not doing a good job now at seeming actually pissed. You know it, know the way you’re clenching your cunt isn’t from anger. Or not just from anger. 

“You’re into this,” Soldier Boy says, eyes narrowing. “You like being pissed off. Gets you all drippy, doesn’t it?” Your chest rises and falls and when his gaze drops there, he can see your hardened nipples through the silk fabric of your robe. 

“Fuck you,” you repeat through clenched teeth, not giving him an inch, but that’s alright. 

He’s about to give you ten.

He reaches his free hand out, but you slap it away. Not that you actually could, but he lets you. He puts the joint between his lips, reaches out with that hand instead and you slap it away too, take a step back. You look up at him through your lashes, something animalistic yet calculated in your gaze. You take another step back, and this time he follows, feels himself growing hard in the tight confines of his suit. He’s wearing it cause you’ve complimented him on it, said you liked the way he looks in it. Well, you’re gonna get it now. He’ll fuck you in that suit, and you will enjoy it.

He sees you’re going to bolt a second before you do, and while his every honed instinct tells him to reach out, grab you, make sure you can’t move away from him, he suppresses it. Because he knows exactly what you need.

You start running, naked feet on carpet, robe flying, and he gives you a headstart the length of the blink of an eye. Then he’s after you.

The joint drops onto the carpet where he stood just a second ago. It singes the orange, then burns out.

You make it to the other side of the living room, close to the open kitchen you never use - said cooking is for housewives and poor people, and you’re neither now. You’re rounding the couch - some designer thing you yapped on about, while he barely listened - that faces the fireplace when he reaches you, shoves you so you need to get your hands out, catch yourself on the back of it. He’s crowding against you a second later.

His hands shoot to his waist, one press of his fingers and his belt drops to the floor, unzips his pants in record time. Practice, and you’re just pushing yourself up to stand, so the moment he’s done he pushes you down again with his left hand, fingers splayed, his other hand grabbing his dick and stroking it.

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” he grunts as he feels you struggle against his hold, whole body tensing. “You need some dick for that frustration, don’t you? All pent up, huh?”

He pivots his hips forward, fucks into his fist. Times each word with a thrust.

“Just a – nice – thorough – dicki—”

“Jesus!” you interrupt him, turn your head. He can only see the side of your face, but your lids are low, lips parted. “Stop talking and put it in already.”

Ben snarls, moves his hand to drag away the thin robe. It reveals your peach of an ass, no underwear so he knows this is what you were secretly hoping for all along, and he grabs your hip, pulls you back. Presses the head of his dick against your pussy hole - which is warm and needy, pulsing wet. Doesn’t push in, just rubs along you. He can feel you twitch.

“I decide when you get fucked,” he says, breath coming faster, and he sees you close your eyes, eyebrows pulling together. You push your ass back, trying to find him, his head grazing your entrance and slipping in about half an inch before he pulls back and you whine. “Shh, shh. You need it bad, don’t you?”

He hasn’t gotten you to say it yet. Hasn’t gotten you to say you want him, or need him. He likes hearing it, and he’s hoping he’ll crack you yet - your stubbornness has got him wondering why he ever agreed to this goddamn charade. He knows there’s something here that works. He just can’t figure out what.

He drives the thought away by sliding his dick into you. Slow, torturously slow, but he sees your hand fist the fabric of the couch where you’re holding on to it, sees the arch of your back. Vought’s to thank for that, the thick meat that can keep going and going, though he’d never admit it. He feels the tight, wanting squeeze of you, and suddenly he doesn’t give a shit.

You make a cracked little sound and before he’s fully seated in you, he rams that last inch home. You moan and he grabs the robe, collects the fabric in his fist, pulling tight, keeping you in place. Then he pulls back before thrusting back into you.

“This got you all wound up?” he asks, pulling out and setting a deep, punchy rhythm. It makes you drop your head forward, arch your back further so the impact sends little ripples of flesh through the meat of your ass cheeks. He grins at that. “Did you sit here yesterday, hoping to get yourself off to watching me on TV? Didn’t do the trick, did it?”

You make a general pleasurable sound, but don’t answer him, and that is threatening to really get a rise out of him. He knows you’re liking this, knows you enjoy it, but he can’t quite get the upper hand. Or hasn’t yet.

The reason is he talks too much. He could fuck like a god if he bothered to, but nothing pulls you back from the edge of a mind-breaking orgasm like that self-important drivel. Chasing you for those few steps got your heart pumping, not because of the distance but because you know he could rip you apart if he wanted, and Vought would pay for the dry cleaning with a smile and a thank you. But you’ve yet to actually see any of that danger he likes to pretend he carries.

Maybe today you’ll finally tickle it out of him.

Because he’s right. You did sit in front of that TV yesterday, pleasantly buzzed, ready to rub yourself raw. Ended up only screaming yourself raw, and not for any of the good reasons. Now he’s here, and you have made one decision: if you’re gonna play America’s number one sex kitten, then you’re at least gonna get something out of it. And if money, fame and a good dicking down is what that something is, you’re okay with that.

He keeps thrusting into you, but there’s little poetry to it. That’s okay though. You have a few tricks up your own sleeve.

One of your hands wander off the back of the couch to between your legs. Gently runs over your front and stomach, fingertips teasing yourself, and when you get to your pussy, you give your clit a little zap.

“Woah!” he says, another half thrust before he stills.

“Don’t fucking stop now, you imbecile,” you pant. “Keep going!”

He doesn’t for a second. He knows your powers - conducting electricity, as well as creating it to a certain voltage. Not a glamorous power by any means, and it’s become secondary to your celebrity persona. The Vixen - even Soldier Boy can’t resist-or her! was all that gave any hint as to your powers for your first photoshoot with your new lover. Him smirking down at you while you looked at the camera, arm wrapped around his, one eyebrow raised, a knowing grin and a short skirt. No one ever asked about it. That’s okay. It’ll have its moment to shine today.

Soldier Boy moves, just a little, careful, and it would be laughable if it wasn’t so annoying. You push back against him, making him sink deeper into you again, and then he finally grabs your hips, starts fucking you again, gingerly, until–

“Do it again,” he grunts. “That tickled my balls.”

Even though your back is turned to him, you bite down on your lower lip to hide your grin. Twinkle your fingers an inch or so over your clit, and just as you feel him confidently pick up his pace again, you zap yourself - and him - again in the process.

One of his hands shoots to your shoulder immediately, fingers pressing into your skin.

“Oh, fuck!” he grunts, pushes you hard against him with an obscene slap and the moan that escapes you is genuine and real. “Fucking hell, where’ve you been hiding this?” 

Instead of answering, you do it again. A high moan cracks from your throat - the way it travels through your nerves all over your body, into the meat of your thighs, up to your ass, the slight fizzle of it that dances around your nipples. Soldier Boy panting behind you. But it’s you that’s surprised when one of his hands comes down on your ass with a slap.

“Fucker,” you press out, and he squeezes the cheek in response. You feel his hand inching inside. Another zap, and he grunts loudly, that nice deep voice that you loved listening to on the radio. You know what he sees, know what he’s thinking, and not just from his thumb suddenly pressing against the tight muscle of your asshole.

“Ever gotten fucked here, doll?” he asks. “Cause it’s fluttering something fierce.”

You have. That one time you were really short on rent, and your landlord offered you a deal. You thought of Rock Hudson the entire time. 

Funny how life sometimes comes full circle.

You look over your shoulder, barely able to look Soldier Boy in the eyes. Bite your lip again and let it slip out between your teeth slowly.

“No,” you breathe, in that voice you use for whenever you talk to an interviewer or want to get out of a speeding ticket. “Don’t put it in there, please, it’s too big.”

And it’s so fucking over the top, and it’s so fake, and he could fall for it, just like all the others have. Instead he grins, snorts, then slaps your ass again, before pressing his thumb against you harder. You moan loudly as he sinks in, your ass cheek now fully within his grasp.

“You’re funny,” he says. “Never fucked someone who’s funny.”

And fuck you he does.

He goes harder now, but it’s not just that. It’s like he means it. You’re not connecting as people or falling in love or any of that bullshit, but it feels a little bit more like you’re on the same team.

You zap him again, your fingers now actually touching your clit, rubbing it quickly, and maybe it’s his finger serving as an earthwire, but he groans loudly, movement stuttering for a moment. Another zap, and it pushes you over the edge.

You come, entire body tensed, teeth pressed together. Not caring about pretty or sweet or feminine for once, but just about the fireworks going off behind your eyelids and between your legs. You know it sets off a low sizzle all over your body, and Soldier Boy must feel it, because he keeps fucking you, faster, ass cheek squeezed to the point of pain, and then suddenly he gets loud, really loud, as his thrusts become shallow.

“Fucking little–” he starts, but doesn’t finish what he’s saying - too busy pulling out, stroking himself as he sucks in air through his teeth and finishes on your ass. You’d laugh at that if weren’t shivering at it.

He pulls his finger from you, using the hand to steady himself on your hip instead. Pants, probably fucking basking over you, his dick resting heavy between your ass cheeks.

“You better not have come on my fucking robe,” you mutter. He groans.

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” he presses out, and there it is. That flame you thought he’d maybe fuck out of you. But it’s rekindling in your stomach. 

You reach your hand back, since you can’t turn with him still over you. Press your palm flat against his stomach and then you gather everything you can come up with for one single surge and send it into him.

He does something like a yelp, twitches back. It creates enough room for you to turn around, face him. You can feel a devilish grin spread on your face as his come drips down your ass and onto the carpet.

“Done already, soldier?” you ask, voice . He’s already bobbing into hardness again and you can’t help but lick your lips at that.

“Doll,” he says, raising his chin. “Somebody oughta fuck that sass out of you.” You bare your teeth.

“Try me, motherfucker,” you snarl.

He grabs for you, or you grab for him - you’re not totally sure.

All you know is that he drags you down, and you go tumbling with him. You manage to roll on top of him, and he doesn’t seem to mind. He could probably drag you under him and fuck you dead without even breaking a sweat, but he lets you sit there on top of him. You press your hands against his chestplate, your robe having fallen open, his eyes on your tits.

You push up on your knees, reach between you two. Ben watches you, a hunger in his chest he usually knows to be satisfied by enough drink or pussy or a really bloody fight. But right then, right now, he’s starving. Insatiable. He’s not the type for introspection, and he sure as shit isn’t about to start when he watches himself disappear inside you again.

“Did Rock Hudson really ask about me?” you say, looking down at him. Soldier Boy grabs for your ass, presses you down against him, pussy swallowing up the rest of his pulsing dick and you hiss while grinding down at the same time.

“He did,” he replies, unable to hide the grin on his face. “Pretty sure he got a stiffy at the thought of me coming back here and dipping my dick in that red.” 

You drop your head back, moan, and then finally begin rolling your hips, riding him. He’s fully hard again, balls plump and full and he breathes through his nose at the scorching heat between your legs, the incomparable vibrations of the electricity running through your skin that he can feel all the way into his skull, like biting down on a broken tooth, but the tooth is in his dick, and there’s something pleasurable about it. 

You ride him fast and hard, like he’s a price race horse. He reaches his hands up, finds your tits, squeezes, fondles in a way that does nothing for you but everything for him. You grind on him in a way that has him stuttering a curse. He must be hitting you at the right angle, because he can see your eyelids flutter, unfettered noises leaving you.

“Yeah,” he pants, “fucking come on it.”

When you do, you arch your back again, sounds filling out the room, face a mask of pleasure and pain, but it’s the way your clenching on his dick is paired with the tremors of electric shocks you send out of you and into him that are what get him squeezing your tits harder, huffing like a drowning man through gritted teeth. He’s never felt anything like it.

“Keep going,” he presses out. “Keep fucking going with that little cu–”

Your hand finds his face, fingers briefly disoriented and searching until they press down on his mouth.

“Shut up,” you half moan, half chant. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Fucking bitch, Soldier Boy thinks. Fucking ungrateful little bitch. 

His hands go up without him even meaning to, find your throat. One hand snakes over the back, one over the front and then he’s squeezing. He knows how to apply pressure, how to kill someone and how to make someone just think they’re being killed. But he’s never been a man for finesse. He’s always been a wrecking ball.

You feel the pressure, and you know this could go horribly wrong. Know that the strongest man on earth is pressing down on your windpipe. You’ve wondered before if he has to actively stop himself from constantly breaking things, destroying everything and everyone. 

With the way your brain is quickly fogging up at the lack of oxygen, you don’t care though. Neither does Ben. Killing you wouldn’t be great publicity, but Vought would find a way to sweep it under the rug. Not that he wants that. Not that the way you’re squeezing around his dick, heavy waves of electricity tickling him everywhere isn’t the best fucking time he’s had in a long while. He thrusts up, hard, and he feels you twitch.

He keeps thrusting, his own teeth gritted. He knows he has to be careful or he’ll be fucking a corpse in a second, but he’s about to nut again and he knows this is gonna be a big one, so he’s not gonna stop now.

Your body convulses. Death throes, they call it. He squeezes harder, and now you’re twitching and he keeps fucking up into your sopping wet cunt. If he wasn’t going cross-eyed in that very second, he’d see a vein pulsing on your forehead. He’d hear you wheeze. He’d see your eyes roll up til there’s only white. When he feels his balls pull up where he’s squeezed into you, he lets go of your throat.

You can’t cry out, but you make some indescribable sound as you come too, and it’s the ceiling lamp that explodes first. It goes low, then bright, then bursts, just as Soldier Boy blows inside of you, and there’s a floor lamp nearby that follows immediately after. The TV at the other end of the room turns on, and so does the radio, both screeching like they’re coming too.

And Soldier Boy can feel it. Shit, he feels like he can see it. The electricity rolls out of you, into him. He doesn’t hurt a lot, barely ever. Can’t remember the last time, but the way you shoot into his every cell has him busting so hard he can feel his ears pop. It keeps going, his hips still pumping, spurting, and he nearly screams. 

He’s never felt like this, and he’s just about done it all. 

It seems to last forever, and yet it’s over within seconds. You’re still rolling your hips, milk him for everything he’s got but then you collapse forward, against his chest. You don’t need to be held or some shit like that, but, Christ on a cracker, if you aren’t happy he’s there will all that brawn to make it feel like the fall back to earth isn’t quite as far. 

The room is quiet, now, only filled with the panting of both of you. You don’t know it yet, but there is an outline now beneath you of your two bodies where you singed the carpet. It’s fine. Vought will pay for it.

You finally press yourself up, more drop than climb off him, legs shaky. You let Soldier Boy drop out of you, and a lot of him comes with it, runs down your thighs and down into the carpet too. Your ass meets the ground and you reach your hand out, low table nearby, pack of Luckys there and a fat, golden lighter. You take one out of the pack, eyes still mostly closed, hands shaking, and stick it between your lips. You roll your head before lighting it.

“Now that,” you say, voice rough and cracked, and the makeup department will have to work overtime to cover the bruises that will soon bloom on your throat, you just know it, will be dabbing at it with concealer and concerned eyes, but no one will say shit. Meanwhile Soldier Boy can’t help but feel a little proud at that, that he’s fucked that sassy, nagging voice right out of you. “That’s how I would fuck Rock Hudons if I ever got the chance.” 

Soldier Boy scoffs, then holds his hand out for the cigarette. You pass it to him and he sits up, scoots back against the couch. Takes a long drag. 

Both of you are quiet. He passes the cigarette back to you, and you move how you’re sitting, wince at your sore cunt.

“For what it’s worth,” Soldier Boy finally says, and you look at him with dead eyes. “Pretty sure Rock Hudson is a fucking fairy. So you’re not exactly missing out.” He takes the cigarette back, wishes it was something stronger. When he notices you’re looking at him, he turns his head. 

You’re frowning. He opens his mouth, is going to tell you that he’s pretty sure the guy tried to come on to him, suck his dick or something, but then he sees the tears glistening in your eyes. He sighs. He really thought he’d fucked them out of you.

“You really hate me, don’t you?” you ask, sniffle. He holds his breath for a second, then shakes his head.

“I don’t,” he says. “I just kinda don’t give a shit about you.” You turn your head away, nod slowly.

“Okay,” you say. 

It’s not how you imagined it. You thought on the other end of it would be happiness, love. You thought that dumb, deep feeling inside of you would go away if only everyone just loved you.

“Then why do you treat me like that?” you ask, but the fight has left your voice. Ben sniffs. He oughta slap you green and blue for how you keep talking back at him, but he just sighs. Flicks some ash onto the carpet.

“None of us get what we deserve,” he says.

Aaw, goes the audience. We really thought they’d make it. We thought love was on the other end of this.

You look at the camera, shake your head.

“Not love,” you say, and then a cheeky little smile forms on your lips. “But something way, way better.”

He takes your hand as the two of you step onto the red carpet. The bulbs blind you, and you throw yourself against his chest, smile brightly, throw one arm up, so excited to be here. He wraps his arm around you, smiles, isn’t she such a catch? 

You’re wearing a silver dress, the decollete shaped in the form of a lightning bolt. No one will get why, or ask what it means. Instead they’ll ask you what Soldier Boy is like in private. They’ll ask you what drink you serve him when he gets home. They’ll ask him if he’s planning on popping the question. They’ll ask you if you’ve thought of baby names already. They ask things, and ask, and ask, and you answer and wink and smile and giggle, and he answers and chuckles and winks and pats your side like you’re both in on the joke. 

Among the photographers and interviewers there’s fans, actual fans. One girl faints when she sees him. Another girl jumps up and down when she sees you, tears streaming down her face. She goes home to a basement apartment and a violent husband. But she thinks maybe one day she can be like you.

He takes your hand. They cheer, they clap, they scream. They love you. 

Isn’t that all you ever wanted?