#then we’re off to Missouri the weekend after that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alotofpockets · 3 years

Text

With the right person | Natasha Romanoff x Reader | Part 1

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha and you had been dating a little over a year when she asked you to come with her to spend the weekend at the Barton’s. Seeing you with Clint's kids, makes her want to talk to you about having kids.

Word count: 1.531

Read on AO3

Natasha and you had been dating a little over a year when she asked you to come with her to spend the weekend at the Barton’s. She loved going to their home and spending time with Clints family. She never before asked you to join her, which was completely fine. You felt honored that she wanted to share this with you.

Now you’re shifting in your seat aboard the quinjet on your way to Missouri with your girlfriend. You’re nervous, what if they didn’t like you? As you were an agent working with the Avengers, you knew Clint, but you never met his family. You only knew them by the pictures Nat had shown you and the stories she had told.

Natasha, who was flying the jet, noticed you had been quiet most of the flight. “Is everything okay, my love?” She asked looking around. You smiled at her “yeah, just a bit nervous”. She put the jet in autopilot and walks over to you. “What are you nervous about?” she asks as she sits next to you and puts her hand on your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Just meeting Laura and the kids” you confide in the woman. “Oh детка (baby), you have nothing to worry about. They’re going to love you, I promise”. You nod. With another reassuring squeeze she gets up, kisses your cheek and heads over to the front of the jet again. “We’re about five minutes away”.

Hand in hand you walk up to the front door, Natasha knocks and shortly after Laura opens the door. “Nat, you made it!” the woman says giving Natasha a big hug. “y/n, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” she says pulling you in a hug as well. “Come in guys, Clint and the kids are in the backyard”.

You walk through the house to the garden, where Natasha is immediately met with Lila jumping in her arms “Auntie Nat!”. “Hey kiddo” Natasha replies twirling the girl in the air. You walked over to greet Clint. When Nat put Lila down she’s met with a big hug from Cooper.

“Hey kids, I want you to meet someone special okay. Do you remember the picture I showed you last time I was here?” She asked them. “The one with the pretty girl?” Lila asked. “Yeah that’s the one” She looks up at you with a big smile. “That’s her, her name is y/n”. You waved to the kids, from where you were standing with Clint.

“Tag you’re it, Auntie Nat!” Cooper squealed before he ran off. Nat ran after the kids, catching up to Lila and tagging her. You were looking at the three of them running around and smiled. You had never really seen Nat with kids. Lila came walking up to you “do you want to play with us?” the girl asked with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Yeah, I’d love to join. Who is the chaser?” You ask. Lila tags you and yelps “you are!” running away quickly.

You look around seeing where the others are. Cooper is the least far away so you try to go after him, you manage to tag him. He goes running off tagging his sister. Who then tags Nat. You look at them, Nat locks her eyes on yours. She sends you a challenging look, your eyes widen and you start running in the opposite direction. You might also be an agent, but definitely no match for Natasha’s speed. She catches up to you easily and then you are the chaser once more. “Kids, dinner is ready” Clint chuckles. As the four of you walk back over. “y/n, can you come sit next to me?” Lila asked. So of course you did. Laura walk over to the table with little Nathaniel in her arms, he just woke up from his nap.

Soon the garden is filled with chatter. You getting to know them and them getting to know you. All nerves you had felt before, completely gone.

You had been sitting outside for a while when Laura announces that it’s bedtime for Cooper and Lila. They both ask if they can get a bedtime story. “Sure, who do you want to read it to you tonight?” Laura asks. “Mommy” Lila says at the same time as Cooper says “dad”. The adults laugh.

“Well since Auntie Nat and y/n are here we can make that happen, are you guys okay with watching Nathaniel for a little?”. “of course, but only if you come give Auntie Nat a big hug first.” Your heart melted. They gave her a big hug and then both walked over to you and gave you a hug as well.

“Do you want to hold him?” Laura asked. You smiled and nodded. Laura gave you the baby. “Hey little man” you said, your free hand stroking his head. Clint looked around and saw Nat putting an arm around you. He smiled wide, while snapping a picture of the view of the three of you snuggled up together.

Clint and Laura joined you outside again when the older kids were in bed. The conversation started up again as little Nathaniel fell asleep in your arms. Laura asked if you wanted to help put him to bed. The two of you went inside and put the baby to bed. Leaving Nat and Clint outside.

“You’re in trouble” Clint said with a smirk on his face. “What, why?” Nat said back with a confused look on her face. “oh come on, I saw the look on your face when y/n was playing with the kids and then when she was holding the baby. Admit it, you’re whipped.” A slight blush crept up the woman’s cheeks. “She’s amazing Clint and I love her so much. But I guess we never really talked about kids, or the fact that I can’t have any. More so scared to talk about the latter.” She confides in Clint. “She clearly loves you a lot, I’m sure that everything will be fine once you tell her.”

You and Laura come back with some beers for everyone. And end up hearing the story of how Clint and Laura met. And telling Laura about the first time you and Nat met. Once your beer was empty you snuggled into Nat. They continued talking, but you were slowly dozing off. Nat nudges you “let’s get you to bed, детка (baby).”

As you say your good nights, you head up to the spare room. Both changing into your pj’s. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, gorgeous?” You ask sitting down on the bed next to your girlfriend.

“There is something you should know… about me. And I’ve been putting it off, because I don’t want to lose you.” She says not meeting your eyes. “Honey, you can tell me anything. There is nothing you could say that will make you lose me.” You grab her hand in yours and give it a reassuring squeeze, before intertwining your fingers.

Natasha takes a deep breath thinking of how to tell you. She settles on “I can’t have kids” and looks up at you to see your reaction. Your eyes soften “I know baby” you say, squeezing her hand once more. “Wait you know? How?” confusion written over her face.

“Remember that mission I went on with Yelena right after we started dating? There was this other agent, complete idiot, he asked her if she was on her period or something. She told him about the graduating ceremony. Shut him up real quick.” You explain.

“Y-you knew from the beginning? Why did you never say anything?” the woman asks. “Because it wasn’t my place. Plus it doesn’t matter to me, I love you no matter what okay.” You lay her down on the bed and put your arm out so she can cuddle up to you. “I love you too.”

You lay in a comfortable silence, running your fingers through her hair. “Nat?” you say breaking the silence “did you ever wish for kids?”.

She looks up at you “I used to not let myself think about it, you know with my childhood and everything. Until I met Clints kids and became their Aunt. I love those kids with my whole heart, something I never knew would be possible. And I guess somewhere along I realized that I wouldn’t mind raising a kid or two with the right person alongside me. How about you?”. Nat shares.

“I guess I’ve always imagined having kids one day. When I was around 14 years old, I used to babysit all the kids on my block.” You say, smiling at the memory.

“You know, when I saw you interact with Cooper and Lila, I fell in love with you all over again. And I know we’ve only been together for a year, but when you were holding Nathaniel, I realized that I could see you as the right person alongside me.” Natasha says looking into your eyes. A smile creeps it’s way onto your lips. “Yeah?” you ask. “yeah” Natasha confirms. You grab her face a pull her in for a passionate kiss.

680 notes · View notes

nephilim-problems · 3 years

Text

Hi guys! This is a new fic I came up with where the reader is Barry Allen's ex-wife and she moves to Virgina and becomes a part of the BAU. It's basically a cross over between The Arrowverse and Criminal minds. Let me know if you want more 🥰

I had been working at the BAU for 3 years and I felt like I was in a family but what type of person keeps secrets for their family? Everyone is the answer but I felt guilty for hiding a whole half of my life, and my slight crush on my boss. I mean it was only a slight crush I found him very attractive but he of course was my boss and he would never go over that professional barrier. I tapped my pen against my desk, feeling like I had read the same line on the same report 7 or 8 times. This job was great except for the paperwork. The paperwork was always the most boring part.

“Guys we have a case,” J.J said walking into the bullpen.

I looked up and saw Hotch wasn’t in his office and Rossi wasn’t either. They were probably already at the round table. Morgan came around my side as I push my chair in.

“He’s probably already at the table sweetheart,” Morgan said putting his hand on the small of my back. “We should probably head there too.”

“Yeah we should,” I sighed letting him lead me away.

“There goes my weekend,” Prentiss said taking a seat next to Rossi.

“You had plans this weekend?” Morgan asked sincerely as we sat down. “I stopped making plans years ago.”

“I still like to try,” She smiled.

“We wanted to take Henry to the zoo this weekend but I guess Will will have to go alone,” J.J said, sending a text I guessed to her boyfriend.

“I actually didn’t have plans so,” Reid replied, making me chuckle.

“I wanted to go check out that new restaurant down the street, but I guess there’s always when we get back,” I laughed as Garcia set a case file in front of me.

“Happy friday my darling profilers you are going to central city, Missouri, 3 women found dead all dumped by the side of the road going into the city. All 3 showed signs of torture and rape and then there is this, which is why the central city police is calling us in,” Garcia spoke but all eyes wen wide after we saw the pictures.

“He removed their tongue,” J.J said looking disgusted. “That’s new.”

“Actually this is the second time we have seen this. The last time was when Holis Walker killed 4 people in order to promote his book,” Reid replied.

"So rage maybe?" I said. "Maybe these women mean something to him."

"He shows remorse with the way he dumps the body," Morgan replied. "But he's so angry when he kills them."

"Either Way we have 2 days to find this girl alive. Wheels up in 30," Hotch said, collecting his case files and bolting out of the room.

I started to collect mine when Penelope, Emily, and J.J sat around me. They had left all their stuff on the table where they were sitting and they were all staring at me.

"So when are you going to tell Hotch you have a crush on him?" Emily asked, staring into me.

"I-I don't have a crush on Hotch," I chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "He's my boss, that would be completely wrong."

"You think you can hide that from some profilers?" J.J asked, smiling at me.

"I am not hiding anything," I laughed when suddenly I saw Morgan coming up behind Penelope.

"Baby girl, why are you picking on her," Morgan asked, setting his hands on her shoulders.

"Oh we're just teasing little miss (Y/N/N) about her crush on hotch," Emily said causing everyone to laugh.

"And I just said I didn't have a crush on Hotch," I said standing up.

"Sweetheart we all know, its okay," Morgan laughed, making me uncomfortably shuffle towards the door.

"I definitely do not have a thing for Hotch," I replied walking towards the door. "I have to get my go bag before anyone else starts in om my supposed crush on hotch."

I heard laughter from behind me but ignored it and ran to grab my bag. I quickly scooped the bag up and ran to meet the team.

Soon we were sitting on the jet discussing the case when the pilot announced we would be landing in 10 minutes. That was Hotch's que to start handing everyone a job.

"Rossi, you and agent Prentiss head to the abduction site, Reid, you and Agent Allen head to the dump site, J.J, Morgan, and I will head to the police department," Hotch finished then Morgan cut in.

"Reid and I were actually hoping to head to the police department," he said and Reid looked suspiciously at him then turned back.

"I wanted to start the geological profile," Reid smirked unconvincingly.

"Okay I will go with Rossi, Prentiss, you head to the crime scene," Hotch replied, sighing and looking over the file.

"Actually, sir, I would like to go to the abduction site if that's okay with you," Emily smiled.

"I'll go to the dump site then. We will meet back at the station when we're done,"Hotch replied.

The rest of the team smiled at each other before looking at me. I rolled my eyes at them and crossed my legs. They were absolutely right though, I did have a massive crush on Hotch. It started as just thinking he was hot and wanting to feel him thrust into me then I found the comforting side of him. I had gotten kidnapped while on a case Morgan joked it was a "rite of passage". It wasn't terrible. He had cut me a bit but when the team had broken open the door to his house it startled him enough for me to wiggle out of my restraints and attack him. Eventually I had to stab him just as Hotch broke in. He doted over me for weeks making sure I was okay and that he was always there if I needed to talk. It was very cute and it made my feelings for him grow more intense; however I was going to deny it until I was blue in the face. Even if it was no use because I was lying to a group of profilers.

It was an uncomfortable ride to the dump site. I was trying to focus on the file in front of me but it was unbearably hot in the humid Missouri weather and for some horrible reason the a/c wasn't working. I was closer to using the file as a fan than actually looking it at. Hotch had taken his jacket off and loosened his tie which had me on edge. It looked as hot as I felt. I couldn't take my eyes off him but I didn't want him to see me.

Soon the car was stopping and I was hopping out thankful to be out of the car but somehow it was hotter outside.

"Hotch I can see the body was from here," I said standing on the other side of the car.

"So he wasn't trying to hide her," he replied.

I followed him down off the street and across the crime scene tape.

"He has to have stayed here awhile. Posing on the victim, her hair is brushed, and her fingernails are painted. But he could be seen from the road," I said, throwing my hands in the pockets of my pants.

"So he doesn't stand out," Hotch replied.

"Or he parked his car and hid himself from view."

"Then the car was plain enough not to raise alarm."

"We're in Central City Hotch. I lived here for a bit, the locals are helpful. If they saw a car parked here at night they'd probably stop to ask what's wrong."

Hotch actually looked a bit stumped for the first time since I had started working at the bau.

"Then he has to have a van or truck," Hotch said.

"That's big enough to conceal her and him but something you wouldn't stop on the side of the road to help," I said stepping around the scene. "What about city or park trucks?"

"They're large enough to block traffic from seeing him," Hotch paused. "Let's head to the station to meet with J.J, Reid, and Morgan. Hopefully Reid has something with the geographical profile."

With those words Hotch was off with a phone to his ear I assume to Garcia. I followed close behind and slid in the car with him and we took off to the station. It wasn't far. We talked about the heat mainly and Central City. When we pulled up to the station I got queezy. This meant I'd have to see Joe and Barry again. It was a life I was hoping would never clash with this one.

Hotch parked and we walked up the steps to the central city police station. It looked just as I remembered it, beautiful. J.J came fast approaching and stopped in front of Hotch.

"Hotch, Captain Singh may have brought us in but the officers aren't cooperating. Detective Joe West was the officer assigned to this case." J.J said, stopping us in our tracks.

"Is he cooperating?" Hotch replied.

"For the most part yeah," J.J said tapping her thighs which she only did when she was frustrated.

"They won't cooperate because of the flash," I piped up and they all looked at me confused.

"Who is the flash?" J.J asked.

"He's a vigilante from Central City. The U.S government has kept a handle on any information about him to keep from a vigilante crisis," Hotch replied.

"If central city has the flash, why are we being called in?" J.J asked.

"The flash is good at catching people but he isn't a detective. He can't find these women like we can," I replied.

"I don't care about the flash right now, the only thing we should be focused on is finding this girl in the next 40 hours," Hotch said walking by J.J and into the bullpen.

I followed and saw Joe talking to Reid and Morgan in a small glass room on the other side of the bullpen. I basically ran over and opened the door so excited to see Joe again. Then I saw Barry standing with them.

"(Y/N)," Joe called out.

"Joe," I smiled as he grabbed me into a large hug.

"It's so good to see you," he said, squeezing me tightly.

"It's so good to see you too," I smiled, parting from the hug and pulling Barry in. I hadn’t realized how much I missed his hugs.

"It's been awhile (Y/N/N)," Barry said and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah, I've missed you Bares," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"I missed you too," Barry mumbled as I pulled away.

"You guys know each other?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah, I was in college and I lived with Joe, Barry, Wally, and Iris," I said feeling a bit happier.

"Barry has been helping us with the forensic side of things," Reid replied.

"How far did you get with the geographical profile?" I asked

"Not very far," Reid said, making his nervous smile.

"Don't tell Hotch that," I smirked and patted him on the shoulder.

"We're thinking male, white, late 20s early 30s, sexual sadist," Morgan said, throwing the file down.

"Hotch and I think he might work for the city or parks. He's got a truck that gives him enough privacy to pose the victim and brush her hair," I said. "And the only thing we could think of was city and park vehicles."

"I already called Garcia to check for white males in their late 20s early 30s that have access to city or park vehicles," Hotch said standing over me.

"That's almost anyone," Joe replied. "Anyone who works for the city, parks and recreation, police, or even just rich CEOs who donate."

"Can you get me a list of all those people?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah," Joe replied and started walking. "Barry, I'm going to need your help."

"Coming Joe," Barry replied. "(Y/N/N) you s-should come by for dinner. Iris would love to see you."

"I'll make time for it Barry," I smiled and squeezed his arm as he left.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you tell us you were from here?" Morgan asked.

"I'm not from here," I laughed trying to brush him off. "Iris, Barry, and I went to college together. We've kept in contact the best we can but things have happened."

"Oh yeah what things?" Morgan laughed as Emily and Rossi came in.

"The victim put up a huge struggle," Emily said and I silently cheered. "She threw anything within reach at him. We found bullet holes in the walls. We think she had a gun."

Suddenly Morgan pulled out his phone.

"Hey baby girl it's Morgan," he said and we all knew he was calling Garcia. "I'm going to put you on speaker."

"Hey Garcia, did Alyssa Smith have a gun registered to her?" Emily asked, putting her hands on the table.

"Yes she did own a gun. She also had a hunting license," Garcia replied.

"Did any of the other 3 victims?" Hotch asked, setting his hand on the lower of my back. It sent chills down my spine as I tried to focus.

"Yes, all 3 victims had gun licenses and hunting licenses," Garcia replied.

"Thanks baby girl," Morgan said.

"Anything for you my love," Garcia replied as Morgan hung up the phone.

"You know, cases where victims have and use guns scare the shit out of me," I said, taking a step back and feeling slightly sad when Hotch took his hand off of me.

"Thats our only pattern," Reid sighed.

"I don't know if you've noticed but central city isn't exactly a hunting gun owning town. Most people don't own a gun unless you work in law enforcement," I replied.

"Detective West said law enforcement was on our list of people who had access to the vehicles we are looking for," Hotch said. "Get Garcia on the phone. I'm going to see if I can check on that list."

"I'm going to talk to Barry and see if he has any contacts who saw anything," I said, starting to walk towards the door.

"J.J make sure this doesn't get leaked to the press," Hotch said following. "Agent Allen, I need to talk to you."

"Uh, yes sir," I said walking out and standing on the side.

#aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #hotch x y/n #barry allen x reader #arrowverse #the flash #barry allen #au #crossover

187 notes · View notes

troubatrain · 3 years

Text

sober - m. barzal (pt. six)

a/n: so after the hell week we all survived in the good ol’ USA my brain finally decided to let me actually write. tbh i wrote this about four times before i forced myself to just finish it and stop tweaking it.

Five

Mat’s kitchen looked like a tornado had run through it. The usually pristine, absolutely untouched kitchen of the young bachelor was getting more use in the twenty minutes Mat had been awake than it ever had. Truthfully, Mat wasn’t a morning person. Mat slept like a rock, and he thought there was nothing besides the fear of his coach that could get him up earlier than noon, but he was wrong. You had him up before eight, hoping if he could beat you to waking up you wouldn’t have a chance to sneak out on him. He did, opening his eyes to catch you snoring softly beside him. He laid there for a moment, his eyes on you because he almost in disbelief you actually stayed. It was a moment of peace, the complete opposite of the mess you’d both gotten yourselves into. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t debating how he was going to get someone to leave, he was figuring out how he was going to get you to stay.

Mat was an absolute whore, and he didn’t care one bit. Why should he? He was young, he was at the top of his game, and his ego got a little bigger everyday. He was just as guilty as you were when it came to his lack of commitment. Mat had never been able to be a good boyfriend, no matter how hard he tried - so he just stopped trying. His schedule wasn’t made for dating, and he never wanted to put the work in. You were different. Something clicked in Mat when he realized how enraged his body felt hearing DeAngelo talk about you the way he did. He was going to let it go, and in hindsight maybe he should have, but he didn’t want to. That protective feeling took over his body because it was too strong for him to shove back down before it got out.

Mat would have told you he loved you after that game, because he does, but he knew he was playing a dangerous game. The reality of what would happen if this was real scared him, but not nearly as much as he knew it had to scare you. You had something to lose, a life that Mat just wouldn’t be apart of. Mat wasn’t in a position to ask you to give that up, especially for someone who you weren’t even dating. Mat knew if he moved too quickly you’d get spooked and run away without giving Mat a second thought. He’d disappear from your memory like everyone before him.

Mat’s thoughts were broken by the sound of your feet padding into his kitchen, your arms wrapping around his waist while you pressed a kiss to his back, “Hi pretty girl.”

This was uncharted territory, the morning after. You’d always been an expert, leaving yourself enough time to sneak out and leave before anyone would notice you were gone. That kept your heart safe, free from the feelings that were present in this very moment. You couldn’t have left last night, slipping out of Mat’s bed and into a cab in the middle of the night, but something stopped you, “Do you actually know what you’re doing?”

“I thought I’d try to make you breakfast,” Mat admits, a smile on his face while he turned off the stove, eggs forgotten to look at you, “I’ll get better at it, I promise, breakfast can be my thing.”

“Your thing?” You muse, letting Mat gently push you onto the island, standing between your legs.

“Yeah, when we fall in love or whatever, I’ll make breakfast,” Mat chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“You’ve lost your damn mind Barz,” You sigh, leaning your head on Mat’s shoulder while you savored the last few moments of peace you were feeling. You were going to have leave his place, off to a four game road trip where Mat was free to fuck whoever he wanted.

Mat’s finger was gently gliding over your face, “If I’m crazy it’s because you made me crazy.”

“You were insane before I met you,” You defend not daring to open your eyes and meet Mat’s gaze, “And now you’re just annoying.”

“I don’t remember being annoying when you were begging me to fuck you last night,” Mat counters back, hands moving to your bare thighs, the warmth from his hands was a stark contrast from the cool counter, “If I’m correct it sounded something like Mat please.”

“Don’t push your luck Mat,” You threaten, his impersonation of you from the night before stopping almost immediately.

“Would I push it if I asked you to stay until my flight later?” Mat asks, eyes full of hope while he tries to hang onto the moment just a little bit longer.

“If you never talk about it again,” You nod, deciding that the damage was already done. You were so far gone a few more hours couldn’t hurt you anymore.

“We can talk about how fucking good you look in orange and blue though,” Mat teases, a grin on his face. You furrow your eyebrows, looking down and realizing just what shirt he had given you the night before. A bright white number thirteen in the corner, with an Islanders logo present on the front.

“Mat if you don’t take this off of me right this second.”

“You never have to ask me twice to take off your shirt babe.”

***

You leaned your head against the window of the private jet that definitely cost more for one flight than your entire salary, taking a deep breath and a break from the laundry list of emails you were due to answer. You were flying to St. Louis for the All Star Game, your plans of a week long vacation somewhere warm with some of the team and their significant others thrown out the door the second Chris stepped in for Panarin last minute. Not even two minutes later, Charlotte strutted over to your desk to tell you that without a need for someone to translate for Artemi, you were the new kid and that meant you had to suffer through the weekend while everyone else took their vacations.

“At least pretend to be excited,” Chris mutters next to you, taking a break from his own reading and elbowing you in the side.

“It’s hard to be excited when everyone’s on a beach and we’re flying to Missouri in January,” You snark back, pulling your glasses off your face and rubbing your eyes.

“You either need to start sleeping or stop hanging out with that secret boyfriend of yours,” Chris jokes, but it struck a nerve with you.

Mat wasn’t your boyfriend. Mat. Wasn’t. Your. Boyfriend. He didn’t get to have all of you, because he didn’t deserve it - no man does. Nothing about the very small amount of vulnerability that he got to see after that game meant anything. You left that morning and he went on a four game road trip and the world spun on. You could stop whenever you wanted to, move on with some other dumb boy who didn’t care more about you in clothes than without. But did you want to? That was a debate you’d been having with yourself for days.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You grumble, gritting through your teeth. Technically, it wasn’t a total lie.

“So you are seeing someone!” Chris points out, as if your deliberate words were going to make it past him. Chris held most of the intelligence on the entire Rangers roster, and there was nothing that he didn’t pick up, “So, What's the deal? He doesn’t want anyone to know about you or you don’t want anyone to know about him.”

“It’s mutual,” You hum, sipping the coffee that had gone cold.

“Are you a sugar baby?” Chris questions, a cautious tone to his voice, “Not that I think there’s anything wrong with it or anything-”

“No I haven’t found a sugar daddy,” You roll your eyes, waiving Chris and sparing him the lecture that there’s nothing wrong with the idea at all, “We’re just in a limbo.”

“For what it’s worth,” Chris says, taking a deep breath before he finished his thought, “You seem happy, you haven’t snapped on Tony in almost a week.”

“Thanks Chris,” You laugh softly, popping a headphone back into your ear so you could finish up some work.

***

Mat was in absolute disbelief the moment he saw you step into the hotel lobby. You weren’t supposed to be in St. Louis, you were supposed to be on some island in a bikini making him wish he wasn’t good enough to be selected for the All Star game at all. Mat scratched his head for an answer as to why you didn’t mention the change of plans, but then the thing that he spent his entire roadie before he left for St. Louis entered his brain at full speed.

You’re not her boyfriend.

Mat owed you nothing, and you didn’t have to tell him anything you didn’t want to. Mat honestly knew about four things about you and all of them related to your job. He was dying to know everything, even the stuff that didn’t matter that much. Hell, Mat would’ve killed to see the inside of your apartment at this point. He just needed one thing, one thing that he could hold onto that you showed him that no one else got to see. He was sure he’d find it, especially after he finally got you to stay at his place, but now he was starting to think maybe he’d never crack you.

You were going to just avoid Mat like the plague. The hotel was swamped with players, their families, and any staff that had tagged along for the weekend. The city was still buzzing from last season’s Stanley Cup win and there was not a chance Mat wasn’t going to be busy all weekend, because Mat Barzal was an amazing hockey player. You hated to be reminded of it, because if you could have Mat feed you stupid compliments and never remind you of his job you’d be happy forever.

hotel sex is on the table

and you look fucking hot today

You roll your eyes, checking your phone while you were standing in line to check in. You look around the room, trying not to draw any attention to Mat who was giving you a shit eating grin from across the lobby. He looked good, a white button up tucked into suit pants that were doing his ass justice. You look at Chris, who was too engrossed in his own phone to even look back at you.

pretend like i don’t exist right now and we’ll talk

wanna play a game?

that didn’t go well for you last time Barzy

if i beat your buddy kreids tomorrow night you give me one night

you won’t

is that a yes?

fine

You turn around, giving Mat one last death stare to remind him you weren’t kidding on your plea to pretend you didn’t exist. Your job was important to you because you weren’t Mat. You weren’t going to get paid millions of dollars to play and then retire with a pretty penny in your pocket. You worked, and the stress of losing your job would definitely break you. Charlotte instilled fear in you like no other boss you ever had could, and if you got caught messing around with someone who played for another team while you were working she’d probably just fire you on the spot. Not to mention the heartbroken faces of your chosen family. Mat somehow existed in both a different and the same world as you. He understood your work life because it was so close to his, but he had his own work family and you had yours. No matter what, there would always be some sort of weird divide caused by that stupid rivalry. For now, it was just going to have to be something you’d worry about later.

***

You turned in the mirror of your hotel room, the lacy black lingerie set fit your body like a glove, and you were impressed with Mat’s taste given all he ever wore was sweatpants. You look in the corner of the room, the last piece of his little gift sitting in the box. Mat dropped it off earlier, a note on top telling you that when he inevitably smokes Chris in the faster skater competition he had something in mind. You weren’t surprised by his confidence, but you were surprised by the gift itself. Folded neatly in the box wasn’t just the lingerie, a bright blue and orange jersey was right underneath it, a shiny white number thirteen stitched into the back. You knew you didn’t have to wear it, because Mat wasn’t going to force you to do anything, but you were wet at just the thought of how animalistic Mat would probably get. You tossed on the jersey, throwing an even bigger sweatshirt and sweats over it before you snuck up to Mat’s floor- hoping Chris wouldn’t catch you leaving from the room across the hall.

You pull out the room key Mat gave you, sneaking into the door and locking it shut behind you. You slipped off your sweats, leaving you in nothing but the jersey and your panties.

“Fuck,” Mat dropped his phone from his hand the second you came into his view, “I didn’t think you’d wear it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” You muse, your confidence boosting while you strutted over to Mat. He had that effect on you, the ability to always make you feel like the sexiest woman in the world - even if you didn’t feel like were, “But then you beat McDavid.”

Mat pulled you between his legs while he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands toying with the jersey while he let the fabric slip through his fingers, “You look so fucking good in my jersey baby.”

“I’m proud of you Mat,” You purr into his ear, playing into Mat’s ego just a little bit. You were proud of him, and for the first time you wanted him to know. You pressed a kiss against his jaw, feeling his own breath hitch in his throat, “Can I show you?”

“Keep that jersey on and you can do whatever you want to me,” Mat admits, slipping his hand under the jersey and tapping your ass lightly.

“I’ll keep it on,” You giggle, pushing Mat on his back and getting to work. Your lips kissed down his chest with every button of his dress shirt you got undone, tossing it in the corner to be forgotten about until later. You unhooked his belt, leaving open mouth kisses just above his pants. You slid off his dress pants slowly, taking his boxers with them to let his cock spring free. Mat groaned at the sight, gathering your hair to pull it back for you.

“Wait,” Mat stops you, holding your hair back to stop you from putting your mouth on him. His finger traced your cheek, a look on his face you couldn’t quite read, “I just want to remember this, you look so beautiful right now.”

You could feel the heat rush your cheeks, Mat had called you to dozens of things but never once did the word beautiful ever slip through his lips, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to blow you.”

“No, baby, I mean it- fuck,” Mat groans, this thoughts halted by your mouth on his cock. His hips snapped up, hitting the back of your throat, “You’re so fucking good princess.”

You moan, hollowing your cheeks and gripping Mat’s thighs a little tighter, giving him the show you so desperately wanted. You head bobbed in a perfect rhythm, taking as much of Mat as your body could handle. Mat pushes your head back, taking a look at the line of spit that was still connected to his dick, your eyes were glassy and your throat was sore but Mat would keep you like that forever if he could, “Let me finish.”

“I’m in charge tonight,” Mat reminds you, the tone in his voice sent a chill up your spine. You knew Mat was rough, and a little demanding but he never crossed that line with you, “On your knees.”

“Like this?” You tease, sitting up on your knees to rile him up just a little bit more.

“More like this princess,” Mat stands behind you, gently pushing you down so your ass was in the air. He was quiet, bunching up his jersey so he could get a full view of the lingerie he went out and bought just for you, “Be good or I won’t let you cum pretty girl.”

Mat’s threat with a light smack to your ass, a moan escaping your lips. He slipped the black lace panties to the side, gliding one of his fingers against your folds while he pressed a kiss to your skin, “So wet for me already.”

“Only for you Mat,” The words tumbled out of your mouth, your eyes widening at your own confession.

Mat was thankful he was behind you, because if you saw the way his gaze changed from your words he’d never live it down. You looked so perfect, spread just for him. His jersey. His number. And in his own fantasy: his girl. He snapped himself back into reality, sliding into your pussy that was practically dripping in anticipation.

“Faster, fuck Mat please,” You whimpered out, trying to move yourself to get Mat to pick up the pace. He chuckled darkly, hips snapping back and forth until the only sound in the room was the string of curses leaving your mouth, “I’m close-”

Mat flipped you over before you could finish, his hand grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him, “Tell me this pussy is mine.”

“Fuck I’m yours Mat,” You breath out, locking your eyes with his while it felt like time froze around you, “I’m yours.”

“Look at me when you cum baby,” Mat urges, his hand still gripping your chin. He picked up his place, making use of his other hand around your clit, “C’mon princess just for me.”

Your pussy fluttered around him, Mat letting out a groan while he tried to hold onto this moment for just a bit longer. He looked down at you, catching your breath from your own high. You hand snuck down to his cock, pumping it slowly, “Cum on me.”

Mat nods, letting you work on his dick with your hands while he nibbled at your neck. He was going to mark you up, make you remember who you belonged to because he so desperately wanted it to be him. He spilled onto your pussy, head pressed into your neck while he came down from his own high. You both laid there for a moment, your hand gently stroking Mat’s back while you both took a moment to think about what just happened. Mat was possessive in a way he’d never been before, and you ate it up without a second thought - that had to mean something right?

“I need to get back to my room,” you whisper, afraid to break the comfortable silence.

“I know,” Mat nods, finally picking his head up, “Keep the jersey, you might need it one day.”

“Your stupidity is honestly astounding,” You joke, brushing his hair out of his face while Mat’s face turned into a pout.

“Can I take you on a date?” Mat breathes out, hoping he wasn’t reading this the wrong way, “No games, no funny business, let me take you out.”

Say no. Say no and never call him again.

“One date,” You agree against your better judgement, pushing Mat away and looking around the room to find your sweats that you snuck into his room in, “Better make it a good one.”

Mat smiles, teeth on full display while he watched you slide your pants back on, “I’m the best at everything Y/N don’t forget that.”

“Goodnight Barz,” You tease, giving him one more look before you left his room.

The elevator ride down was quiet, most of the hotel’s occupants already asleep or still out partying the weekend away. For your sake, you hoped Chris would be fast asleep like the grandpa he was. You rushed down the hallway, Mat’s jersey still hanging loosely off your frame while you looked in your hand for your room key. Your search was stopped by a throat clearing behind you. You jump, turning around to see Chris’s eyes boring into you.

“You’ve got some explaining to do.”

#My writing #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine

266 notes · View notes

raysofcrosby · 3 years

Note

28 & 42 with matty please 🥺

28. “how drunk was i?” + 42. “stop being so cute” w/ matty tkachuk

“Could you please drive slower,” you groaned, pressing your head against the cold window. “Or at least try and not hit curbs. It’s a miracle the state of Missouri granted you a drivers license.”

“It’s not my fault you decided to do a shots contest with Sam,” Matt laughed, reaching out the bottle of pedialyte to you and nudging you with the end of it.

“I was defending your honor,” you mumbled, grabbing the bottle from him and opening it, closing your eyes as you took a sip.

“My honor didn’t need defending, thank you. Besides, that’s his big party trick.” Matt took the bottle back from you and put it down in the cup holder. “Go after the newbie, challenge whoever they came with to a shots contest, add in a wager and boom, hook line and sinker. Newbie gets wasted and Sam gets richer.”

“You could’ve warned me,” you sighed, shutting your eyes tight to hopefully relieve the slight headache.

“I did and totally got shit for it by the way because it’s a huge party foul,” he laughed. “But you were already buzzed from pre-gaming and brushed me off. ‘Don’t worry, Matty. I’ve got this,’ I believe is what you said.”

“Well now I don’t want to go to this team barbecue,” you said, sitting up and turning towards him with a pout on your face. “I probably made a fool of myself and they all think that I’m stupid or easy or something.”

“Nah,” he replied, shaking his head as he came to a stop outside of a beautiful two-story craftsman style home. “It’s his thing, think of it as an initiation of sorts. Besides, no one else takes it up because they know he holds his alcohol like a camel holds water. Everyone’s been in your shoes before.”

“Whatever you say,” you sighed, taking off your seatbelt and getting out of the car. “At least I didn’t make a fool of myself then.”

“Well,” he sang, nodding his head from side to side. “I wouldn’t say that you didn’t necessarily...do that.”

You stared at him, holding onto the plate of cookies the two of you made earlier this morning as he walked beside you. “What do you mean, necessarily?”

“Come on, we’re running late.” He said, nudging your lower back as the two of you walked towards the front door of the Giordano’s home.

“You tell me right now Matthew Tkachuk,” you demanded, standing on the front porch as he rang the doorbell. “Tell me right now or I’ll call–”

“Matt, Y/N,” Gio smiled, looking relaxed in board shorts and a tank top. “Come on in, everyone’s out back.”

“Thanks, man.” Matt smiled, greeting Gio with a broshake before leading you through the house, raising an eyebrow at you as he smirked, knowing damn well he got out of your threat.

You’d known Matt and his family since forever, really. They moved across the street when Keith had gotten traded to the St. Louis Blues and your Mom was thrilled that there were two kids your age moving right across the street, practically giving you instant friends. Matt was a year older than you, Brady a year younger which was perfect. And an instant friendship is what it was. You grew close with the two Tkachuk brothers and Taryn too once she came along.

Family summer barbecues, invites to the Tkachuk’s lake house, carpooling throughout elementary school, movie nights on the weekends when there weren’t hockey games, watching Keith play from the family box, teaming up with Brady against Matt in any pick-up game and when Matt went to Charminade instead of the public middle school like you did, he was at the receiving end of the chirping lessons and notes you’d picked up from Brady and Keith.

It sucked when he decided to go off and join the USHL sophomore year of high school, ending up all the way in Michigan at the USNTDP for the remainder of your high school careers, but that just made the summers all that better. The two of you would spend the three months catching up on the others’ lives– friendships, drama, hockey, relationships– and then he’d go off again for another nine months and come back and you’d do it all again. And that never changed once he went off to the OHL. Besides his family, you were the first person he told about choosing to go for the draft and were even invited alongside the Tkachuk clan, sitting beside Brady when you heard his name called as the sixth overall pick. And sitting next to Matthew two years later when Brady got drafted fourth overall.

He went off to Calgary and you went to Mizzou, the two of you staying in touch over text messages, facetime calls, an occasional email when he felt like being a pest cause you didn’t respond to his text right away. And when the summer rolled around, you both returned back to your hometown and picked up right where you left off, like nothing had changed and nothing skipped a beat.

Until this past summer, when something did change.

••••

A late night in the Tkachuk’s driveway on Matt and Brady’s last night before they’d go back off to their respective training camps. Your two roommates from college had decided to fly in early from their respective states so the three of you could all arrive at school together that weekend. Matt and Brady had invited some of their high school friends over too, the group just sitting around a portable fire pit as you all mingled and laughed, sipping on the mixed drinks you guys had been making all night.

Which is exactly what led the group of twenty somethings to play what started out as a game of never have I ever but eventually turned into most likely to. By the time you all were in at least a couple of rounds, the mood was light and everyone was laughing.

“Most likely to…” Callie, your roommate, smiled as she looked around the circle. “Get a ‘special’ piercing.”

“Special piercing?” Brady asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Like on your dick, dude,” Max, one of Matt’s friends chimed in, looking at Callie. “Or for girls, nipple piercings or…” his eyes dwindled down, the sexual tension between them had been high all night and no one could stand it.

“God, please just get a room and thump it out already,” Tori, your other roommate replied, rolling her eyes as she pointed at Callie. “My votes for her.”

“Same,” you smiled, pointing at Callie.

“You guys are cheaters! You were there with me!” She groaned, shaking her head as the four boys followed suit and pointed at her, making her the one who had to drink.

“Shouldn’t have asked such a dumb question then.” You smiled, shrugging your shoulders.

“Fine, Tori?” She leaned over to tori and whispered, the two of them looking at you with smiles.

“Okay, most likely to..” Tori’s gaze settled on you as she raised her cup. “Fall in love with their best friend?”

Immediately, you felt your cheats get hot as you watched the two of them point at you. It only got worse when you saw both Max and Trevor pointing at Matt, who looked just as embarrassed.

Brady laughed, resting his cup between his legs as he used both hands to point at the two of you. “I love this game.”

“Oh fuck off, all of you,” You said, flipping them off as you and Matt both took sips of your drinks, not even daring to look at the other.

“No, no, I think I’d love to explore this one,” Trevor smiled, nodding at Matt. “Clearly since both friend groups and Brady voted for the both of you, there’s gotta be something there.”

“Or you’re all just a bunch of drunk assholes,” Matt replied, shaking his head. “Just because I’m a guy and she’s a girl, doesn’t mean we can’t be platonic best friends.”

“There’s nothing platonic about the sex eyes you guys give each other when the other isn’t looking, Matt.” Max laughed, patting his shoulder.

“I suggest a new game,” Tori smiled, raising her hand. “Seven minutes in heaven and the first two to go are Matt,” she pointed at Matt and then turned to you. “And Y/N. All in favor?”

Everyone raised their hands and you wanted to sink into your chair and disappear. “Maybe it’ll eas the sexual tension that’s been building since 9th grade.” Brady laughed, shoving Matt out of his chair.

“This is stupid,” you said, shaking your head as Trevor got up behind you and nudged you out of your chair, Tori grabbing both yours and Matt’s hands and dragging you over to the garage. “Come on–”

“Inside, seven minutes,” She smiled, nodding at Matt to enter the garage code.

He rolled his eyes and did as she said, the door slowly opening to reveal Matt’s old dodge sedan he got for his 16th birthday. “Let me guess, lights on so you guys can creep in through the windows and get off?”

“Oh no, lights off,” Tori smiled, nudging you both into the garage. “It’s not our business what the two of you get up to. But trust me, I’ve seen Y/N come back from plenty of make-out sessions and shes easy to read, so I’ll know if the two of you are lying.”

She pressed the code Matt had done and waved as the door closed between you, leaving you and Matt in the dark. He sighed and pulled out his phone, turning of the flashlight as you stood there. “We don’t have to do this, Y/N.”

“She wasn’t lying when she said she’ll know, Matt.” You sighed, shaking your head. “She’s like a freaking psychic or something I don’t know.”

He laughed, nudging you to the car. “Well, we can at least sit in the car instead of standing by the door. Cobwebs, you know?”

You agreed and the two of you walked towards his car, Matt opening the door and getting inside. “The fact that you don’t lock your car in the garage is concerning,” you laughed, closing the door behind you as he did the same.

“It’s a safe neighborhood.” He replied, shrugging. “So...that was interesting...the game.”

“Or our friends are assholes,” you laughed.

“That too.”

It’s not like you’d never wanted to kiss him before, because you had. For the entirety of junior high, you’d dreamt of Matt being your first kiss, but that went to Trevor during a game of truth or dare at his own 13th birthday party. Besides that crushing defeat, Matt never showed any interest in you like that. You never caught his gaze lingering on yours or him taking a double look at you when you were even in your hottest bathing suit at the lake. As much as you hated it, to him it was like you were one of the guys. Which is why it was even more embarrassing that Trevor and Max had claimed Matt was most likely to fall in love with his best friend.

Because that was you and you were more than sure he still pictured you in your tomboy phase.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” you sighed, resting your head back. “They’ll bring it up at every party, watch.”

“Why? Because we didn’t wildly make out in the garage?” He laughed, looking over at you only to see that you weren’t laughing. “Oh shit, you’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” You replied, shrugging your shoulders. “Oh well it’s senior year, I can take it.”

“What if you don’t have to?” He asked, shrugging. “I’ll kiss you if it means you won’t get tormented.”

“Wow, maybe don’t act like kissing me is such an inconvenience, Matty,” you laughed, rolling your eyes.

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re mean.”

“How am I mean?” He laughed, leaning onto the center console.

“Because you made it sound like kissing me was a chore!” You huffed, rolling your eyes again. “Which, by the way it isn’t because I am a great–”

His mouth was on yours before you could finish your sentence. The moment you melted into the kiss, his hand came up and cupped the side of your face as you parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to brush against yours. And before you could even get your body to move over the center console, there was a knock on the garage door.

••••

You’d kissed quite a few people in your time at college and even before. Boys, girls, the few short term boyfriends you had– but nothing ever made your stomach twist into the knots that kissing Matt did. And since then, you hadn’t been able to get it out of your head...but your friendship stayed the same.

Spring Break, Matt asked if you wanted to come up and stay with him since Calgary weren’t on the road for the week you’d be there and you took him up on it. Finally excited to meet his teammates and friends he’d spent so much time telling you about and talking about. Part of you came under false pretenses, though. Sure, you wanted to spend time with Matt, but you also wanted to talk to him and ask him about that kiss...something you could never manage to do over the phone. But four days here and you hadn’t mustered up the courage to do so.

Which meant you only had three days left to do it or else you’d have to wait until the summer when he came home– which was pure torture.

“Well if it isn’t my girlfriend!” Sam smiled, standing at the edge of the pool with Jacob next to him.

“I’m sorry, what?” You laughed, placing the cookies down onto the food table as Matt walked beside you. “Please tell me he’s kidding.”

“I told you that you didn’t not totally act a fool,” Matt replied, rolling his eyes.

You looked at Sam and stomped over, poking his chest. “I want my $10 back. I know your party trick.”

“Sorry, babe.” Sam smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “A bets a bet. Which speaking of,” he looked over your shoulder where Matt was standing and then back at you. “We need to talk about last night.”

You looked towards Jacob, frowning. “Are you sure I’m not dating you instead?”

Jacob laughed. “Unfortunately, not.”

Sam rolled his eyes and held your hand, walking you away towards the Giordano’s back deck. “Okay, in all seriousness...are we playing it up today or not?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you shook your head. “Playing what up?”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “We were going to fake it today, being into each other to make Matt jealous so he’ll make a move.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You blinked at him in shock before laughing. “How drunk was I?”

“Drunk enough to where you told me how you’ve been in love with Matt since junior high and that the two of you kissed this summer and it was,” he cleared his throat, smiling at you. “The best damn kiss of my entire life, I swear it made me we–’”

You gasped, smacking his shoulder. “Stop, no I didn’t.”

“But you did, babe. So, I agreed to make Matt jealous, which shouldn’t be too hard because he doesn’t seem all that pleased that we’re standing over here talking.”

Sure enough, you looked over your shoulder to see Matt frowning as he talked to Jacob, his eyes moving away from you and Sam. You looked back at Sam, crossing your arms. “You don’t think I’m overthinking it?”

“Please, do you know how excited we all were when he told us you were spending the week with him?” Sam laughed, taking a sip from his cup. “Everyone knows he’s practically in love with you and we’ve all been waiting for him to make a move. So if this is what does it, I’m game.”

“Okay, let’s do it.” You smiled, shaking his hand.

You and Sam spent the better half of the day together, laughing and getting to know each other. He was a pretty nice guy and you could understand why him and Matt were close. Matt stayed nearby the entire time and sometimes it was like he was eavesdropping on your conversations. Sam made sure to throw in some flirty banter during a fun game of volleyball in the pool and kanjam with Jacob and Elias.

But it wasn’t until you were playing with Gio’s daughter at one of the kids table where she was drawing you a picture. You were helping her pick out what glitter pens and markers to use when Matt came over, tapping you on the shoulder. “Can we talk?” He asked, looking at the pool.

You looked over to see Sam with Jacob, a smirk on his face as he sent you a knowing wink. You looked back at Matt and nodded. “Sure,” before turning back to Gio’s daughter and telling her you’d be back.

Matt walked ahead of you the entire time as he lead you towards where you and Sam had met up earlier, only this time he stopped around the side of the porch, leaning against it as he took a sip of his drink. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You laughed, crossing your arms. “Sit with a little girl and help her draw a picture.”

“No, yes...ugh,” he groaned, leaning his head back. “Just...don’t do it, okay?”

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. “I don’t understand, Matt.”

“You with kids!” He huffed, motioning back to the pool. “It’s cute and you’re cute and damn it, Y/N, stop being so cute! It’s giving me thoughts of you with kids and you having kids and you can’t have kids with Sam, okay?”

“Is this about me and Sam?” You laughed, pointing towards the pool. “Because it was all a show, Matt. Sam and I aren’t dating and we’re not anything, it was just a joke.”

“Oh,” he paused, his cheeks turning red. “Okay, that’s good.”

“It is?”

“Yeah,” he placed his cup on the edge of the porch behind him and reached out, grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. “Cause then he won’t be mad if I do this.”

His hands moved up to cup your face before he pressed his mouth to yours, the scruff scratching against your chin as you pushed yourself further into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and letting your hands travel up his back. Before you could deepen the kiss, he pulled back and sighed. “I’ve been wanting to do that again ever since–”

“This summer,” you sighed, nodding your head. “Yeah, me too.”

You kissed him again, feeling him smile against your lips as his hands moved back and tangled themselves in your hair. Matt pulled back again, looking down beside you and raising his eyebrows. You looked down to see Gio’s daughter standing there, a smile on her face. “Sam told me to give this to you.”

She held up the piece of paper and once Matt took it, she ran off giggling. He looked at it and laughed, rolling his eyes before turning it around to face you. The glitter additions belonged to her, but the two kissing figures sitting in a tree...did not. Especially since Sam’s sloppy handwriting was tucked in the corner. The two of you looked back over at the pool to see Sam smiling at the art table, waving.

Matt rolled his eyes and looked back at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Any way I can convince you to go on a date with me before you leave?”

“I think I can fit that into my schedule.”

#anon #answered #raysofcrosby blurbs

58 notes · View notes

postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 3 years

Note

I would love for you to talk more indepth about the montage. To me it feels so off and weird. Almost like a parody? So many scenes in it are "funny" moments that just don't make sense in the context of an emotional overview of the road so far... (Like all the scenes where Dean is eating, Donna with donut dust on her face, Sam getting hit during the game show.) I don't know. Isn't the montage supposed to make me nostalgic, teary-eyed? This one definitely doesn't do it for me!

Here I am! Yes, I absolutely agree. The montage is Weird(TM). It’s kind of a tone rollercoaster. It’s very full of funny/silly moments, with some serious moments smacked in. And it definitely looks like... there’s something about it.

For an easier consultation I will reference the gifs I have made of the montage sequence here.

[Gif 1] It starts pretty much like I’d expect a Supernatural goodbye montage to start. The two brothers meeting for the first time in the pilot, a reminder of their childhood with John, their banter still from the pilot, a couple moments of them driving in the car in the first seasons, Dean saving Lucas in 1x03 which is the first Dean-heavy episode and also an extremely symbolic moment for Dean’s entire journey - just think at how Lucas as a mirror was still relevent during the “drowning” Michael possession arc. Everything feels normal so far. We’re starting from the beginning! Now--

[Gif 2] Interesting and weird choices start here. Them pretending to be high school teachers from After School Special 4x13 - actually a very iconic moment for the fandom, remember that post of Dean in shorts from that episode that you had to reblog when it came on your dash? (Actually I’m not sure if I ever reblogged it lol.) Dean celebrating getting young again from The Curious Case of Dean Winchester 5x07 (and Jensen showing off his agility). The two of them showing their FBI badges to Jesse Turner’s biological mother in 5x06. Dean mowing the lawn of Mary’s house in the Djinn dream and immediately after Jess and Sam kissing also in the Djinn dream, from What Is And What Should Never Be 2x20. Then Dean after killing the witch when he was under the memory loss spell, in Regarding Dean 12x11. Sam happy when they celebrate Christmas in A Very Supernatural Christmas 3x08. Them being “lucky” under the effect of the rabbit’s foot in Bad Day At Black Rock 3x03. Sam also happy in Baby 11x04.

Again the present, then the montage starts again with the water-related ghost from Red Sky At Morning 3x06, a Bela episode, and then Bela herself from her first episode, 3x03 again.

What do these moments have in common? Not all of them, but for many of them I’d say reality being manipulated. The Djinn dream, the rabbit foot, Dean’s aging, the Antichrist... and it’s not over yet. Also, them pretending to be teachers, agents etc - not “real”.

[Gif 3] The tone suddenly gets more serious and relevant to current events: Chuck in The Monster at the End of This Book 4x18 (eh). Death in Two Minutes to Midnight 5x21 (the first appearance of Death, while now we’ve had Billie’s last and a very short-lived new one), and then two major moments from Lazarus Rising - Dean emerging from the grave and finding the handprint on his shoulder. Crowley’s first episode, Abandon All Hope 5x10. Zachariah’s death in Point Of No Return 5x18. Anna from The Song Remains The Same 5x13, where she is the antagonist having been brainwashed successfully by heaven. Michael burning and Sam jumping in the cage with Michael in 5x22, then another moment from 4x01 (the brothers hugging after reuniting). A moment from The French Mistake 6x15 (reality fuckery again!). Sam in Frontierland 6x18.

[Gif 4] Reality fuckery continues with Becky marrying Sam in 7x08. Funnily enough, this is the peak of Becky’s obsessive behavior which she went to therapy for and grew away of - it definitely emphasizes how far Becky has come. Donna’s first appeance in 9x13. That iconic shot of Dean in Bloodlust 2x03 because he’s pretty. Charlie’s first appearance in 7x20 while she dances to Walking On Sunshine (relevant?), Kevin’s first appearance in 7x21 when he becomes a prophet (lots of firsts). Abaddon’s first appearance in As Time Goes By 8x12. Then there’s the first appearance of the bunker, in the next episode, a couple shots in fact. Then more 4x01, Ruby pretending to mistake Dean for the pizza man (eh). Then more present...

This section seems to be mostly “first appearances” - including Ruby’s s4 meatsuit, i.e. Genevieve’s first appearance.

[Gif 5] We suddenly jump to more recent events with Kelly and Jack in heaven in Byzanthium 4x08. Jack’s iconic hello from 4x16 Don’t Go In The Woods. Dean teaching Jack how to drive in 14x07 Unhuman Nature. But then we suddenly go from Jack things to something completely different on the surface: two consecutive moments from Changing Channels 5x08, including the iconic Nutcracker scene, and Sully from Just My Imagination. We are actually back to the previous theme: reality fuckery. Gabriel’s episode was about placing them in “television shows”, Sully, while real, is literally a child’s “imaginary friend”. And then... a moment from the cartoon part of Scoobynatural! It doesn’t get more reality fuckery than that. Oh, wait! Charlie and Dorothy going to Oz in 9x04. That’s a pretty strong contender. Dean being hit in the face by a fairy in 6x09 - also about a realm Dean briefly went to. And, in case we felt like we hadn’t gotten enough 4x01 yet, Pamela’s first appearance (her last, albeit a hallucination, was about the whole “How come you only want what you can't have?” thing).

[Gif 6] We continue again with a mixture of firsts and weird things. Ellen’s first appearance in 2x02, Dean and Cas in 4x18 (we saw Chuck from that episode earlier), Jody’s first appearance in 5x15 Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid. Rufus in 6x04 Weekend At Bobby’s (not his first but a good episode...), Garth in 9x12 Sharp Teeth (not his first but the first in which he is a werewolf and is married... relevant to recent lamp events??), Missouri in 1x09 (her first appearance).

Then Gabriel from 13x21 Beat The Devil (an episode where he plays a trick on Lucifer) and Rowena from the same scene (in fact a scene where they’re flirting). Then Eileen coming back to life in 15x06 and smiling at Sam. Jo flirting with Dean in 2x02 - her first appearance, again. Funnily enough, she had been introduced as a love interest, but ended up being repurposed as a sisterly figure. Tempted to say it’s relevant in an ironic way. Mary in 14x11 Damaged Goods, when Dean has a goodbye mother-son moment with her. Amara in 11x09 Oh Brother Where Art Thou when she was looking for her brother. Then Lucifer in two different vessels (12x07 Rock Never Dies and 12x21, when Lucifer regains control over the vessel).

Then Metatron doing the find a wife make babies speech to Cas in 8x23! Relevant??? Dun dun dun. Then Ketch for some reason (the first episode where we see his face, 12x08 LOTUS).

[Gif 7] Then Jo/Anael in 13x13, another first appearance. (I cropped these horribly I should have cut them when the present happens lol.)

Sandwiched between two shots from the present, Dean Sam Mary and John having dinner together in 14x13 Lebanon.

Then we start again with Dean riding Larry in 12x11, Dean and Cas dressed as cowboys in 13x06 (mini pattern here...), Asmodeus with the archangel blade in 13x13 (insert meta about Asmodeus in Christian lore here), and the really intriguing “Intermission” shot from the play in 10x05.

[Gif 8] To continue a certain pattern we might be tempted to see, Dean eating piecake from 14x06 Optimism (an episode about a distorted version of romantic love), then Dean eating noodles from 10x13 Halt & Catch Fire (the ghost is a husband that passes on thanks to his wife). Dean after his dentistry session with Garth in 15x10. Meg from 6x10 Caged Heat (the episode with the pizza man porn). Dean and Sam investigating in 4x12 Criss Angel Is a Douchebag (an episode about growing old poorly). Crowley in 10x16 Paint It Black (that episode). Dean playing that game in 14x17 Game Night (the episode Cas calls for God, and when Mary dies - the one playing the game was God...). Sam and Dean getting out of the car in 13x05 when they visit the traumatized kid (peak mourning Dean episode...). Then we go into reality fuckery territory again with 14x15 Peace of Mind, Sam under the psychic’s control and Cas disgruntled about it.

[Gif 9] Mick Davies from 12x16 Ladies Drink Free, when he learnt a lesson about monsters. Dean geeking out about the Hatchet Man - so heavy with mirror significances - in 14x04 Mint Condition. Belphegor - Jack’s dark mirror - in 15x03 The Rupture, the break-up episode. Donna’s first episode again, this time Dean and she eating donuts. Dean, Sam and Mary hugging in 12x22 after the confrontation in Mary’s head. Kaia in 13x09 The Bad Place, when Jack uses her to find the way to where Mary is (Mary pattern?). Claire&co rescuing Jody and Donna in 13x10 Wayward Sisters. Dean in 1944 dresses as a sailor in 11x14 The Vessel. Baby nyooming in 15x11 The Gamblers...

Aaand more Changing Channels, the genital herpes ad. It’s almost like reality fuckery is a theme. Followed by Sam drinking the anti-cold concoction at Garth’s in 15x10 and the two of them outside the monster fighting pit in the same episode. Then Cas, Dean, Sam and Jack on a video call with Ketch in 14x09 The Spear when they talk about the egg to trap Michael.

[Gif 10] We stay in the same episode with the four of them heading to Michael. Then the four of them celebrating Jack’s return to life (after Cas’ deal with the Empty). More present, and then the iconic “we’ve got work to do” [trunk closes] moment from the pilot.

So: some of these moments seem like genuine moments you’ll want to put in a montage, but there’s a weird predominance of characters smiling and looking happy or goofy. It’s kind of... not exactly representative of the show as a whole, you know? There are moments that fit as, you know, iconic steps in the story, but surprisingly few, and many moments you’d expect to be in a “final” montage are blatantly not there. Several moments with, let’s put it like this, suspicious meta connotations. Moments that, well, we don’t know what happens in the finale yet, but smell like they might be relevant to future developments. (Metatron’s speech to newly human Cas anyone?)

What really strikes me is the amount of moments connected to reality being manipulated or distorted in some way. Lots of Changing Channels, fantasy elements of various kinds (the Djinn dream, Scoobynatural, Oz, the imaginary friend Becky’s wedding to Sam, the fairy, ...), them acquiring luck (s3) or losing it (s15), and so on. It’s almost like the sequence is telling us something...

Thoughts?

#anon #my spn thoughts #spn meta #spn 15x19 #spn

139 notes · View notes

getoutofthisplace · 2 years

Text

Dear Gus & Magnus,

As is tradition, here is the exhaustive play-by-play of my birthday:

I wake up on the 26th floor of a Kansas City hotel room. I open my computer and search for museums. Liz has made it known she wants to go to a local hair museum, where some woman displays her collection of hair, each lock formerly attached to a famous person’s head. There’s the Nelson-Atkins Museum, of course – everyone who’s visited Kansas City since the mid-1990s has posted a photo of themselves standing next to one of the giant shuttlecock sculptures, but that’s all I really know about it. I look it up and see that the museum is most famous for its extensive collection of Asian art, something that doesn’t appeal to me. Instead, we decide we’ll go to the Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art after breakfast.

My mother is keeping our youngest son, who turns seven months old today – this weekend is the longest Liz has ever been away from him. While I read a text from my mother about Magnus’s sleep performance last night, a notification from Instagram drops down my phone screen. Liz, who is in the bed beside me, has tagged me in a post, which is out of character. She’s averaged less than one post per year since 2018.

“What are you doing over there?” I ask. I pull up Instagram and see a photo of the two of us from last night, in the hotel elevator after we walked a half-mile from the restaurant – the food was incredible. Fried rice croquettes with tuna, Icelandic lamb dumplings, seared scallops, cappellacci with shrimp, crawfish, squid, and anchovies – I love anchovies so much. You can see the redness in our faces from the bitter cold we’d just come from. I read her Instagram post and when I look up, I realize she is watching me read it, waiting for me to smile.

“Thank you,” I say.

“I worked on it a long time,” she says as she shows me the notes in her phone. It’s pages long. “I tried a lot of different avenues but then we had that silly picture and I had to make the post funny to match.” She leans in and kisses me. “Happy birthday,” she says, and then she walks out of the room.

Alone, I read the post again. The first time I read it I mostly saw that she says I’m a good writer and father – those are the parts I feel confident in. But when I read it again, I read that she calls me the love of her life. She wouldn’t have written it if it weren’t true. I know she loves me, but she’s never called me the “love of her life.” It gets to me. I read it again and again until I have to fight back a tear. I hear her walking back to the bedroom, so I put the phone down.

“Let’s go,” she says, “Mama needs to eat.”

We mask up and take the elevator down to the mezzanine – a couple in their mid-to-late 50s gets on the elevator with us and they tell us about riding up and down the elevator twice before getting off and trying another to get where they need to go, which is the level with the fitness center. “It was the elevator from hell,” the woman says, laughing. When they get off, Liz says they are exactly the kind of people she thinks of when she thinks of Kansans.

“We’re in Missouri,” I say.

“You know what I mean,” she says. I love this about her.

On the mezzanine level, we follow the signs to the restaurant, walking past pockets of caffeinated dance moms and teenage girls in Athleta joggers, sequined backpacks on their backs – there’s a dance convention at the hotel.

Liz and I stand at the restaurant’s host stand, but two dance moms walk by us and go straight in. We follow them, there’s a buffet. We get plates. I’m prepared to show someone my breakfast voucher, but there’s no one. I’ve only spotted one employee – a server helping other tables. I put honeydew melon on my plate. And bacon, scrambled eggs, a French toast triangle. Liz and I sit in a booth.

“Are we sure we aren’t going to have to pay for this? Is this where we’re supposed to use the voucher?” Liz asks. The food is sub-par and the price is way too much.

“I’m sure,” I say. My plan is to say we don’t want the terrible food, if someone says our voucher is no good here. And then we walk away. But no one comes. And we eat. Liz goes to get coffee and brings me back a water. As we’re finishing up, the server comes and asks if we’d like something to drink – a question generally posed at the beginning of a meal. (I’m sensitive to customer service.) We tell her the water is fine. She walks away, then comes back to drop a check. She puts it right beside the voucher I’ve left on the table. I open up the black check holder and see the bill is $30. I put the voucher into the check holder and say, “You ready?” As we walk away from the restaurant, I half-expect someone to come running after us, but it doesn’t happen. Praise be.

---

The parking garage was mostly empty when we checked into the hotel yesterday, but now it is a motor pool of minivans with dance decals on the back glass. The license plates are from states all across the Midwest. We drive a couple of miles north to the Kemper Museum, but when we get there, it looks closed. The main entrance has a sandwich board sign out front that says, “Entrance Closed.” I pull a u-turn in the middle of the quiet street to circle back around. Liz says she saw a parking lot for the museum. I start to drive the alley behind the museum, but she says to stay on the road, the parking lot is a little further. Sure enough, there it is. Kemper Museum Parking. It seems too far away, but there are two other cars in the lot, so someone is using it. I call the museum from the truck and get an automated message. The hours are 10am-4pm on Saturdays. It’s 10:30. I put on my hat and gloves and we walk out of the parking lot and past a building with ceramic heads lined up in a row in front of it. It’s got to be a studio for the Kansas City Art Institute, which is across the street.

“That one’s my favorite,” I say, nodding toward the one on the end with large, shiny dreadlocks hanging off it.

“Mine, too,” Liz says. “But that one’s cool too,” she says, nodding toward one that sits in the grass, away from the others. It’s a human body, chopped up, but not in a gory way, if there is such a way to chop up a body.

We find a second museum entrance, but it also has an “Entrance Closed” sign in front of it. Just the same, I glance through the glass behind it and see someone inside, which brightens our spirits as we push forward against the cold. The museum isn’t massive and we’re getting some good perspective on its size as we continue our walk around the whole building in search of an entrance. When we turn another corner, we see a single row of parking – plenty of it – with cars dotting the lot right in front of the third entrance we approach – this one welcoming us in. There is a sign that says Kemper Museum Overflow Parking is down the street, where we parked. I glare at Liz. She grins as a plea for forgiveness.

---

“This is the kind of art I want in our house. It’s so ugly,” Liz says. We are looking at a drawing – pencil on paper – of a man’s mangled head. It does nothing for me, but Liz loves it. At Halloween, when we go to the pumpkin patch, she likes the gnarled, warty ones. I can only hope this bodes well for me as I grow into old age.

My own favorite in the gallery is a tall, bright, obnoxiously colorful piece that seems like nothing more than random brushstrokes until my eye gets to the top, where the brushstrokes form the image of a bear’s head. The eyes are the only realistic part of the painting. I didn’t like it at all until I saw the bear, and then somehow all the colors made sense. “That does nothing for me,” Liz says.

“I’m going one…” I say, naming my favorite, and starting with a point to the bear, “two…three.”

“One…” Liz counters, pointing at the mangled man’s head, “two…three.” Our only crossover is a portrait of a well-groomed black man against a baby blue background.

---

“What’s up?” Liz asks. She’s asking why my nose is in my phone when I am surrounded by art.

“Bronco has COVID,” I say.

“Oh, God.” Omicron is making its way through our office, just like it’s been making its way through society. Liz and I have agreed that it’s no longer a matter of “if” and instead it’s a matter of “when” we contract the virus ourselves. Though we are not scared for ourselves as much as we are for our unvaccinated children, both of them too young for the vaccine. --- I park the truck on the street, right in front of an art supply store that I use to orient myself whenever I am in this part of Kansas City. We are centrally located between the art galleries we want to visit and the restaurant where we want to eat lunch.

When we enter the first gallery – in a large, industrial, brick building – a labradoodle greets us loudly, barking an alert more than a threat. A woman’s voice calls out to the dog, telling him to stand down. We assure her the dog is fine with us, but she tells him to come behind the counter anyway. I take off my hat and gloves and jacket and we look at a series of staged photographs of a female mannequin in various poses, doing various things – drinking, petting a stuffed cat, sitting at a table full of ceramic frogs. Liz likes them more than I do. We move on to look at a collection of intricately crafted vases and I imagine how easily and quickly they would perish in our home. I imagine standing over our energetic four-year-old and asking, “Gus, what do you need to say?” and he would say, “Sor-ry.” And then we would have no choice but to sweep up the broken pieces of the $3,500 vase so that we could move on to the next thing. --- We love the food at a place called Café Gratitude. It’s a vegan restaurant I sought out years ago when we weren’t eating meat, but the meal was so good that we’ve come back multiple times since returning to an omnivore’s diet. Our only complaint is the names of all the items on the menu – something that shouldn’t matter at all, but they are so damned bad. Each dish has some over-the-top, hippy-dippy, self-assuring positive mantra label. If you want a kale salad, then you order an “I am Pure.” A chai latte is an “I am Charismatic.” A mimosa is an “I am Radiant.”

Our server is a young woman in a two-toned denim jacket. In my head, she’s a student at the art institute, but that’s based on nothing. She has a kind of slow-moving demeanor that makes me think she hasn’t been waiting tables long, but maybe she’s just tapped into the vibe of this place. No one here is in a rush, like at every other restaurant in the world. These people are completely in touch with their seven chakras or whatever.

“I am Terrific,” Liz tells our server.

“Excellent,” the server says.

When she looks at me, I can’t remember what my food’s mantra is. “May I have the raw pad Thai, please?” The noodles are made from kelp.

“That’s what I’m getting!” Liz says.

“Oh,” I say. (It turns out that I am also terrific.) The server looks at me like I might want to change my order so that Liz and I don’t get the same thing, but instead I say, “And may I get a cup of the soup?”

She pushes some buttons on the tablet she’s holding and says to herself, “I am Thriving.”

I want to say, “We all are. This is America.” But I don’t.

Before she walks away from our table, she says, “Here at Café Gratitude we have a question of the day and today’s question is ‘How are you transforming?’”

Liz and I look at each other and both give a courtesy “Oh…”, but we are unsure if we are supposed to answer the question immediately or if we are supposed to think about it for a while. The server looks at us expectantly, but she’s also slowly backing away from our table. Is she waiting on us to say something? I am Awkward. Finally, she turns and walks away.

“Oof,” Liz says.

“Are we going to have to tell her how we’re transforming when she comes back to the table?” I ask. “Or are we just supposed to talk to each other about how we’re transforming?”

“I don’t know, but I was really counting on you to take control there and you let me down.”

“I know. But I really just didn’t know what I was supposed to do.”

“Try this juice,” Liz says. She has a small glass of green liquid in front of her.

“It’s good. What is it?”

“I am Rejuvenated.”

“I know you are, Honey, but what’s in the juice?”

“I don’t know. Active cultures.”

I’m a slow eater. While I finish my kelp noodles, Liz searches the Internet for Café Gratitude copycat recipes she can make us at home.

“If we ate like this for dinner just twice a week, I think we’d feel way better about ourselves.”

“I’m down for it,” I say.

Less than two hours later we’re starving, so we go to a tapas bar and eat three different kinds of sausages and drink coffee with Bacardi 151 and whipped cream in it through a straw. I am Gluttonous.

---

“Heater, heater, heater,” Liz says after we climb back into the truck. We aren’t going anywhere, but we need a quiet place to sit and Facetime her mother so we can talk to Gus. He sings “Happy Birthday” to me and as soon as he’s sung the last line he buries his face in his Yiayia’s shirt. He’s embarrassed. I wouldn’t trade this time alone with Liz, but I miss our little boy.

He asks if I’m going to have a cupcake for my birthday. I tell him I might. He says, “You have to have a cupcake, Dad. Because it’s your birthday.” He seems genuinely concerned about my birthday experience.

“I’ll see if I can find one,” I say.

---

At the next gallery, the door is locked, but there is a sign with a number to call. The man who answers says he’ll be right down. He wears a navy blazer and glasses. He looks like a young Bernie Sanders. On his lapel he wears a button that says “Art hard, KC!”

“On Saturdays, it’s just me,” he says, locking the door behind us and leading us across the floor of a warehouse-turned-art studio. “We’ll start with this first piece over here.” It’s a life-sized ladder -- a corporate ladder -- with multiple people climbing up or falling off it. At the top is an angry white man in a suit, using the heel of his feet to push people off. “A financial firm commissioned the artist to create a piece they could display in their lobby, but they didn’t give him any parameters. When they saw it, they paid him for it, but didn’t want it displayed in their lobby, as you can imagine.”

He leads us onto an old freight elevator with wooden doors and we ride it up to the third floor. The room is black and unlit except for the lights shining on the artwork.

“What do you see?” the man asks. The piece in front of us is a large, rectangular piece – the images look to me to be a pattern of wood blocks linked together, something found in a carpenter’s workshop. One is the shape of a baguette, the other the shape of a slice of Wonder bread. I like looking at art more than I like analyzing it. I like taking things at face value.

“I see sperm,” the man says. “Some people see baguettes.”

At first I think the man is going to give us an introduction to the three-room gallery and turn us loose to wander on our own, but then it becomes clear that he intends to accompany us the entire time. We are his only visitors right now. Very quickly, Liz and I realize his knowledge does make each piece more interesting.

“See this black and white pattern here? The artist’s father was a surveyor and he uses the black and white pattern of a surveyor’s rod in a lot of his work.”

Sure enough, as we work our way through the gallery, I see that pattern over and over. “There’s Dad,” I say. The man nods.

“What was his relationship with his father like?” I ask.

The man says, “It must have been good because he shows up A LOT in his work.”

I think of my own work and how often I write about my dad. He was nearly all I wrote about for two solid years, but it wasn’t because we had a great relationship as much as it was because we had a relationship I barely understood. I wonder if William T. Wiley was doing what I was doing – processing his complicated relationship with his father, but I don’t say that.

I only catch snippets of the man’s explanation of the piece I like the most in the gallery, but the piece’s message is not hard to ascertain. It’s a 12-foot-long terra cotta, porcelain, and fabric sculpture by a Caribbean artist named Joann Quiñones. The bust of an elderly white woman in an extravagant dress that is absurdly long, and the whole thing is held up by 17 black feet. I stole glimpses of the piece long before we got here because it sits ominously at one end of the gallery. When we finally reach the part of the tour where we are standing in front of it, I’m almost scared of it. I stand back and take a picture of Liz and the man in front of it.

Once we’ve seen all the art on display, we ride the elevator back down to the first floor, and the man says, “Hey, how about a picture of me with the birthday boy?”

“Let’s do it,” I say.

The man grabs an oversized papier-mâché Abraham Lincoln mask and we position ourselves in front of the museum’s sign. As Liz starts to take the picture, the man spreads his arms out like wings and squats like a baseball player caught in a pickle, ready to run either direction. “What’s he doing?” the man asks Liz. “Is he posing too?”

“No,” Liz says. “He’s just doing his normal thing.”

The giant Abraham Lincoln mask turns to face me and though I can't see the man inside it, I know I have disappointed him. But he doesn’t let it get to him, which I appreciate.

---

On our half-mile walk to dinner, we come across a bookstore with a bar – or maybe it’s a bar with a lot of books – either way, it appeals to us, so we go inside and order martinis. There is a little boy in the back, just older than Gus, and we talk about how much we miss our son. But we also know he is at home having as much fun without us as we are having without him. Just the same, Liz pulls up a picture of our little boy. She accidentally scrolls to the next picture in her phone and I see it’s a selfie she took in front of the mirror in our hotel room just before we left for dinner. She took it because she wanted to see what she looked like. She was checking her makeup in different lighting. She was looking at her hair. She meant to delete the photo, but she forgot and now I’ve seen it and I’m making it a thing.

“Hellllllo…” I say, taking the phone from her hand. I send the picture to myself so I have it. Liz smirks, faking humility. We have been married five years, but we still get excited – or relieved, in my case – when the other finds us attractive in photos.

The man next to us has the Chiefs game pulled up on his phone and there are a couple of people looking over his shoulder. It’s the fourth quarter and a way closer game than it should be. Before we leave, I notice the bartender stands idle, so I ask her to take our picture, which embarrasses Liz.

We’ve had reservations at the Corvino Supper Club for weeks and our expectations are high. The server tells us we should order four to five plates – most of them are small. (But she doesn’t know we had the sausages at 2pm.) We order the tuna & octopus tostada, then the seaweed donuts with trout roe & cream, maitake mushrooms with smoked eggplant and pistachio pesto, and we finish with a whole branzino and anchovies – I love anchovies so much.

Over and over we ask the other, “Did you taste that yet?” It’s all delicious. At one point our server tries to take the branzino plate when the only thing left on it is the fish head. “Actually, I’m going to get after that head,” I say. The server laughs. Liz laughs. But I am not laughing when I cut the head in two and use my hands and teeth to get to the small pieces of meat around the eyes.

“What time is it?” Liz asks.

I tap the screen of my phone on the table.

“You made it your wallpaper?” She asks. She’s talking about the photo I sent to myself from her phone. The hotel mirror selfie. “What is it about that photo that you like so much?”

“You look good,” I say. But I can tell she’s not satisfied with that answer.

“But you think I’m hot when I’m happy and smiling. I’m not smiling in that picture.”

This is new information for me. I don’t know why she feels that way, but she’s not entirely wrong. Maybe she knows me better than I do. I look at the photo of her on my phone again and ask myself why I like that picture of her so much – I have hundreds and hundreds of pictures of her – why did I choose this one to make my wallpaper when I’ve had the previous wallpaper for two and a half years?

“It’s because I can tell your guard is down,” I say. “You’re relaxed. All the anxieties that normally plague you – the things that need to be done around the house, keeping the kids healthy in the middle of a pandemic – they are gone in that photo. The big problems are gone and all you are looking for in that photo is something that doesn’t really matter and you know it. You’re looking at the subtleties of your makeup or your hair. You aren’t smiling, but I can tell you are happy. And I like it when you are happy.”

Liz squints playfully at me from across the table. She knows me well enough to know what’s coming next.

“And you look fine as hell.”

The server brings a dish we didn’t order. It’s a bowl of milk chocolate ice cream with what she calls “a birthday crunch.”

Liz takes my picture and says, “You have to send that to Gus and tell him you got your birthday cupcake.”

---

I don’t want to be 40 years old, but I would not trade this life for anything.

Dad.

Kansas City, Missouri. 1.8.2022 - 12.02pm.

SIDENOTE: The photo is us taking a shortcut from the Belger Arts Center to Cafe Gratitude. I posted other photos from the day to my Facebook page. It was such a great day with your mother.

#40andfabulous #birthday #happy birthday #guy choate #liz choate #kansas city #art #kcmo #belger arts center #cafe gratitude #alley #long post

4 notes · View notes

niiwa-angel · 3 years

Text

Plastic Smiles

Hal couldn’t wait for this upcoming weekend. After months of much debate and discussion, Barry had agreed to move to California with him, and they were relocating this Saturday.

Hal was beyond excited to be able to properly show his boyfriend around his home city without worrying about when he had to go home. He knew Barry was also excited, but nervous as well. The blond was hiding it well, always smiling and bubbly when he mentioned the move, but Hal also knew that it was hard for him to leave Central and his family behind.

At the moment, Barry was off visiting his dad one last time before Saturday, and he was bound to be emotional when he came home, so Hal had picked up some pizzas and wings for him when he came home. There wasn’t much left to do, a majority of Barry’s stuff was already packed and had been sent ahead to their condo, all that remained were a few pairs of clothes, his toiletries, and his laptop and charger.

~~~~

“Why can’t I just run there?” Barry grumbled, leaning against Hal’s chest while they sat in the airport waiting lounge.

“Because it would raise too many questions.” Hal reminded him, tugging him closer and kissing his head.

Barry huffed and snuggled closer, Hal feeling his tension in his shoulders. He knew that Barry was not looking forward to the four hour flight at all, so he had made sure to pack a variety of snacks and had downloaded a couple of funny movies Barry liked so that they had something to do.

Hal pulled Barry to his feet when their flight was called to board, feeling his boyfriend tremble when they had their tickets scanned and were waved aboard by the stewardess. Hal guided him to their seats, knowing that they had an entire row to themselves, courtesy of a brilliant idea on Bruce’s part, that having an extra seat might give Barry more room to breathe.

The stewardess started on the safety brief, making Barry close his eyes tight and start shaking harder. Hal shrugged off his jacket and tucked it around the blonds shoulders, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Remember, this is the safest way to travel.” Hal reminded him, hoping Barry didn’t throw up on the flight.

“Shut. Up.” Barry hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes shut tight.

Nodding his understanding, Hal kept holding his hand while the plane started moving. When they tilted back for lift off, Barry squeezed his hand so tightly Hal felt his bones grind together, the blond whimpering and shaking as the plane bounced in the air.

When they got to their desired altitude, Hal grabbed his laptop and fired up one of the movies he had bought as a distraction. From there, there wasn’t much Hal could do other than wait for the flight to land.

~~~~

It had crossed Hal’s mind to carry his boyfriend over the threshold when they got to their new shared accommodations, but he figured that after a nerve wracking flight, Barry wouldn’t be too keen on being picked up.

The condo currently looked like only Hal lived there, Barry’s things still in boxes in the living room. The couch was draped with a few throw blankets, and the sliding glass door leading to the garden cast a square of waning sunlight on the hardwood floor.

“Do you wanna just order in?” Hal asked while Barry toed off his shoes.

“I guess.” Barry agreed, holding up his phone and waving it. “I just have to call Iris first and let her know I’m still alive.”

The blond hurried off towards the bedroom to call his adopted sister. Hal leaned against the counter of the kitchen and started looking up delivery services near them, mentally flagging a sushi joint and a mongolian grill that would deliver to them.

~~~~

The pair sat at their kitchen table, a banquet platter of sushi in the center of the table between them. Hal was almost completely mesmerized by the sunshine lighting up Barry’s blond hair and reflecting off his blue eyes while he looked out the window. The only thing distracting him from his boyfriend's perfection was his full plate.

“Do you not like the sushi?” Hal asked, snapping him out of his daze.

“No, no it’s good. I’m just not that hungry.” Barry explained, dragging his attention away from the window.

Hal froze, waiting for the punchline. Barry was always hungry, it was unheard of for him to turn down food unless he was really sick.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hal asked, looking him over.

“I’m fine.” Barry waved him off. “It’s just left over nerves from the flight and the move.”

He wasn’t fully convinced, but he let the subject drop. He knew Barry had really hated the flight, and had been anxious about it for a while, but he had also never heard of him getting stress sick. He pondered it while he finished his own meal, trailing Barry when he stood up and packaged the remainder of his sushi and what was left on the platter.

When the supper dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Hal wrapped his arms around Barry’s waist and pulled him until his back was pressed against his chest. The blond relaxed against him, shifting so they were swaying a little. Hal pressed a few kisses into Barry’s neck, feeling his pulse on his lips.

“Ya’know, we’re only a five minute walk from the beach. What do you say to walking down and watching the sunset?” He asked.

“Mmm, maybe tomorrow.” Barry hummed, “I just wanna go to sleep right now.”

Hal nodded, kissing Barry’s neck again and pushing them towards the bedroom. He was really looking forward to taking his boyfriend down to the shore and cuddling while they watched the sun sink into the sea, but he also knew Barry was tired. Plus, now that Barry lived here, they could do that anytime they wanted, the sun wasn’t going to leave anytime soon.

The pair brushed their teeth, changed into their pajamas, and crawled into bed. After some shifting and getting comfortable, they settled in with Barry resting his head and hand on Hal’s chest, tracing circles with his finger while Hal dozed off.

~~~~

Hal woke up in an empty bed, the other side of the mattress cold. For a moment, he forgot Barry had even moved in, but when he remembered, he got up and went in search of him. When he found him, the blond was stretched out on the couch, sleeping. Not really sure why his boyfriend was sleeping on the sofa when there was a perfectly comfortable bed in their room, Hal started making coffee.

Maybe Barry had woken up at night, been unable to get back to sleep, and had gone to the living room so he didn’t bother Hal. Perhaps he had gotten up to grab something, sat down for a moment, and fallen asleep. Or, Hal pondered, he was suffering from Jetlag, Missouri was in a different Timezone than California, so he might have just been following the routine his body was used to.

Not wanting to wake Barry up, he took his coffee out to the patio to watch the sunrise. It was a brisk morning and the cool air made Hal shiver as he stepped outside, while it made the hair on his arms stand up, Hal enjoyed it, it made his hot coffee feel that much more satisfying. After a half hour, he heard the sliding door open and felt Barry drape himself over Hal’s shoulder, kissing his cheek and playfully trying to steal his mug.

“Good morning Handsome.” Barry mumbled.

Hal moved his cup out of his reach but he returned the kiss. He reached around and pulled Barry until he was sitting in his lap.

“Good morning.” He returned. “Why did you sleep on the couch?”

‘Mmm.” Barry hummed, “I got too hot.”

Hal was taken aback, their bedroom was one of the coolest rooms in the condo, aside from the bathroom. The rest of the condo was also air-conditioned, so overall, their home wasn’t overly hot, it didn’t make much sense that he would get overheated.

“You got too hot?” He clarified, making Barry nod.

“Yeah. I think it was just because you were pressed right up against me.” He explained. “It just got to be too much, so I went to crash on the couch.”

“...Okay.” Hal said slowly.

That wasn’t really unbelievable, he knew through previous relationships that he ran hot when he slept. If he and Barry had been cuddling while they slept, it was reasonable to state that Barry had really just gotten too hot and had gone somewhere cooler to sleep.

“Oh my god, how are you sitting out here?” Barry muttered, climbing off Hal’s lap and finding his own seat in the shade.

“What? Too cold?” Hal asked.

Barry sent him a look of disbelief, shaking his head.

“It’s fucking hot out here.” He moaned, pressing his palms into his eyes.

“Oh come on! It’s only, like, eighty-five degrees out here.” Hal acclaimed.

“That’s hot!” He cried.

Hal laughed, standing up with his mug in hand, going to get a refill of coffee and offering a cup to Barry.

“Whatever. Do you want a cup of caffeine?” He asked.

“Yes please.” Barry said.

Hal smiled while he went back inside, grabbing another mug out of the cupboard. He filled his own mug with coffee, adding a spoonful of sugar and a small splash of milk. He filled Barry’s with tea, adding two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of French Vanilla Coffee Mate.

He had to use his ring to open the door again for himself, and behind him when he stepped through it. He set both mugs on the patio table, turning to his boyfriend to invite him over.

Barry looked a lot different than he had when Hal had left for the kitchen. He was sitting hunched over, with his hands clutching the sides of his head. Hal couldn’t see his face, but the back of his neck was flushed and his hands were shaky.

“Bear?” Hal asked, “Straw-Barry, are you okay?”

“Hmm?” The blond hummed.

“Are you okay?” Hal asked again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, just a little warm.” He muttered.

He stood up on wobbly legs, creeping over like a newborn fawn to the patio table for his tea. Hal watched him while he took a sip, he could now see that he was incredibly red in the face and he looked unfocused.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water.”Hal said, hurrying to the kitchen.

He had just filled the glass from the dispenser when he heard a heart-wrenching thud from outside. Slamming the cup down on the counter, he rushed to the patio door.

Barry was huddled on the floor, clearly having fallen. Hal threw the door open and rushed to his side, kneeling beside him to check on him. Barry was, blessedly, breathing, and there was no blood around him. While he was checking him over, Barry’s eyes fluttered under the lids and he started tilting his head and moaning.

Having lived in California for the majority of his life, Hal quickly recognized the signs of heat exhaustion in his boyfriend. Cradling him carefully, Hal lifted him up and carried him inside. When he laid him on the couch, Barry’s eyes had opened and he was looking around, confused. Hal pushed him down when he tried to sit up, wiping his sweat-soaked forehead with his hand.

“Stay here, I’m going to go get some water for you.” Hal ordered.

He retrieved the half-full glass from the counter, folding a clean tea towel and throwing it into the freezer. He rushed back to the sofa, wrapping an arm under his shoulder, helping him to sit up and take a sip of the cool water.

He made Barry slowly sip down the half glass of water, leaving briefly to refill it and swipe the now cool towel from the freezer. He folded the towel and placed it on Barry’s forehead, having him sip down some more water. By now, he was confident that Barry could sit up by himself, Hal left for the bathroom to draw a cool bath.

He only filled the tub up halfway, swishing his hand around in it to make sure that the temperature wasn’t too cold to handle. He went back to the living room, grabbing Barry under the arms and hoisting him to his feet, assisting him to the bathroom. He helped Barry peel his sweat soaked sleep shirt off, tugging his pajama pants down and step out of them.

He had Barry sit in the tub, sloshing the water to make it wash over the parts of his skin not in the bath. Hal could feel Barry’s skin start to cool down under his hands and he stopped shivering.

“Thank you.” Barry whispered.

“Of course.” Hal replied, handing him a towel as he climbed out of the tub.

Convinced that Barry wasn’t about to fall down without Hal there to hold him up, he went to the living room to tidy up. He brought the coffee mugs in from the patio, placing them on the coffee table to come back for them later. Even though their condo was cool enough inside, Hal turned up the AC and shut the blinds so Barry could come back to the living room and rest.

When all that was said and done, Hal hurried back to their bed room for something to give to Barry to wear. Given that most of his things were still packed in boxes, the quickest things on hand were what he had brought in his suitcase, which wasn’t much at all. If it had been solely his decision, he would just have the blond be naked, but Barry was far too modest for his own good so Hal grabbed a clean pair of boxers and took them to the bathroom.

His boyfriend was much the same as when he had left him, wrapped in a towel and sitting on the closed toilet lid with his head down, he looked positively miserable. Slowing his movements down so he didn’t overwhelm him, Hal carefully took Barry’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting his head up until Barry was looking at him. He looked even more dejected once Hal could see his face, his mouth was set in a sad pout, his eyes were glistening with tears, and his cheeks were still tinted pink in a feverish way and it made Hal’s heart twist.

“Hey Beautiful.” Hal whispered, “How’re ya feeling?”

Barry sniffled quietly and wiped the back of his hand under his nose.

“Better.”

His voice was still soft and weak, that one word sounding like he had put his entire heart and soul into saying it outloud.

“Okay, I brought you something to put on, and then maybe we can go watch some of that new Star Trek series you like, how does that sound?” Hal asked.

In response, the pilot got a small nod and a shaky smile, a fleeting thing that looked like it took all of Barry’s energy just to produce.

“Okay, hang tight Love.”

As he went to help Barry stand, he noticed that he was still wet from the bath. Not soaked, but not dry enough to comfortably sit and watch T.V. Hal knew he needed to fix that before he could get Barry somewhere more comfortable, so he slid an arm under his armpits and lifted him up, he used his free hand to pat Barry dry with the towel, employing all the tenderness usually reserved for newborn kittens.

When he was dried off, Hal made him grab onto his shoulders so he could keep himself upright while he knelt to help Barry step into his boxers. Tugging Barry into a hug, Hal rubbed his back and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. He had already made the decision that Barry wasn’t walking anywhere for a while, not even to the couch, so he hoisted him up and started walking to the living room with Barry’s perfect nose tucked into his neck.

He sat down on the couch with Barry in his lap, grabbing the remote with his power ring so he could queue up an episode of Star Trek for them to watch. As soon as he heard the intro, Barry shifted and climbed off him, getting comfy beside him with his head resting against his shoulder. Hal wrapped an arm around his bare shoulders and gave him a kiss on the crown.

“Doin alright?” He whispered.

“Yeah, sorry about that. It never gets that hot in Missouri and it shocked me.” Barry whispered back, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I just need some time to adjust.”

That made sense, in Hal's mind at least. Barry had been born and raised in the midwest, he had grown up with snow storms and sweaters, hot drinks and winter boots. Even in the summer, it had probably never gotten as hot as it currently was outside, so Barry had no natural defenses to the heat yet. Fortunately, Hal knew that the man was strong as hell, given time to adjust to the climate, things would get better.

~~~~

Six weeks later, things had not gotten better, in fact, they had gotten far worse. Contrary to Barry’s claim that he would adjust with time, he hadn’t, and Hal was stuck watching him get sicker and sicker.

While at first they could be brushed off, the changes were now impossible to ignore. While he had always been skinny, Barry had also been strong as well, now he was frail and weak. He was shaking constantly, not with passion or pent up energy but like he could topple over at any minute, and he was always exhausted. Given how sick he actually was from the heat, he could rarely sleep and never was in bed with Hal, always on the couch, alone.

Because of how hot he was all the time, he had started to avoid any physical contact of any kind, the closest he could get without feeling like he was burning was to brush his hands against his boyfriends, on a good day, they would hold hands, but those were becoming farther and farther between. Hal suspected that the lack of affection was hurting Barry more than anything else, given that he had always been touchy, even before they were dating. To add salt to the wound, he could barely be the Flash anymore. He could hardly walk in the California heat, running was out of the question, and given that he couldn’t stand without trembling, he was no longer fit for duty.

Of course, when Hal had asked him about it, Barry had painted on a fake smile and played the optimist. He was still insisting that he would get better, he just needed to get himself sorted out, that everything would work itself out, just like he had said a month and a half prior. But Hal wasn’t so convinced anymore, Barry had lost a lot of weight and his clothes were starting to hang off him in ways they hadn’t before, and he was miserable.

Though he tried to hide it, Hal knew, he could see that the plastic smile Barry put on was getting harder to maintain, he could hear him crying quietly to himself when he was alone in the shower or on the couch at night and his voice sounded wobbly whenever he spoke to his sister or dad over the phone about his new residence. He suspected that the only reason Barry hadn’t voiced how awful he felt was because Hal had pushed California hard, bringing up the benefits of living in a blue state in a blue city, with all the perks that brought to them, he didn’t doubt that Barry was keeping silent because he thought it would make Hal happy.

Hal couldn’t stand to see Barry so miserable, he knew he needed to act fast or there could be irreversible damage done to his physical and mental well being. Which brought him to the present, in a crowded bar, stuffed into a corner booth with Oliver and Guy. He had sent them both an SOS text, briefly explaining the situation and begging them to meet up with him to give him advice, and here they were.

“So,” Guy drawled, “What didja fuck up this time?”

Normally, Hal would have been frustrated with Guy’s blunt ‘never beat around the bush’ conversation style, but tonight he was grateful for it. He felt like he was running out of time, or like water was slipping through his fingers.

“Barry’s sick. Really sick.” Hal answered, “He’s been sick for a while and I don’t know what to do.”

“From the heat, right?” Ollie piped up.

Hal frowned, looking at his best friend quizzically. He hadn’t told them everything over the text he had sent and Barry didn’t really like Oliver, so he wasn’t sure how he knew what was making Barry sick. Ollie picked up on his confusion, and answered the unasked question.

“Dinah and Barry talk a lot, she told me that he’s been suffering from the heat.”

“Whatever.” Guy grumbled, waving the archer off. “Why did you ask us here?”

“Because I need advice! I don’t know what to do, Barry’s gotten so sick recently that I’m scared to leave him by himself, his powers are acting up, and he’s so depressed!” Hal rushed out, “I don’t know what to do, he’s suffering and I can’t do anything.”

“Yeah, right.” Guy scoffed, taking a sip of his drink.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ollie snapped, angry on Hal’s behalf.

Guy rolled his eyes, looking at the pair like they were idiots. When it was clear that they really weren’t on the same page, he scoffed again and shifted to glare at them while he lectured.

“You can do something, you moron, you can take him home. He’s obviously not cut out for the desert heat, whatever, he gave it the ol’ college try. He’s made sacrifices for you by coming all the way out here and leaving his family behind, now it’s time for you to grow a pair and do the same for him.”

“I- I don’t know if that would work Gardener.” Hal attempted.

“Whatdaya mean ‘it wouldn’t work’?” Guy spat, “Listen you dumb fuck, you don’t deserve Barry, he is too good for you. I know it, you know it, this blond moron knows it, everyone who has ever met the pair of you knows it. The only one who hasn’t figured out that Barry deserves better than you is Barry, so for the love of God man, you need to keep him from figuring it out!

“He loves you! For reasons I cannot understand, he loves you and you know it. That’s why you pushed so hard to bring him here, even when he had the most to leave behind. You know Barry would jump through hoops for you, so you had him move to the middle of the fucken desert.”

“Hey, he wanted to come!” Hal defended.

“No he fucking didn’t, he wanted to be with you! He doesn’t care about California, he cares about you and he’s scared you’re going to pull the same disappearing act on him that you’ve pulled on every other poor bastard you’ve dated so he moved to keep you happy.” Guy snarled.

“I wouldn’t just ditch Barry!” Hal snapped, responding with equal hostility. “I’m more than willing to admit that I’ve done some pretty shitty things and put some people through hell, but I’m in therapy, I started sorting through those issues before Barry and I became an item!”

“Then why did you drag him out here? You have no friends here, the only family you’ve got, you don’t talk to, at best you’ve got Coast Uni, but you’ve been done school for years now. From every standpoint, it would have made more sense for you to move to Central, Barry has his sister and his Dad, he’s exclusive to Central unless he’s with the league, you just fuck off across the galaxy!” Guy argued, “But you begged him to come to your home city because you’re a prideful son of a bitch who's watching the man he loves decay in front of him, and you know how to fix it but you won’t, for reasons I don’t think even you understand!”

Hal sputtered, grampling for any defense for himself. He knew he must have looked like a fish out of water, and he knew he didn’t have a defence for himself. Barry was a people-pleaser, always had been and Hal knew it, he had known that Barry would come to California and now he was staying even though it was killing him.

“Look man, for what it’s worth, I know you didn’t plan on hurting Barry, I know that he’s pretty much the only reason you’re a half-functional human being.” Guy offered, “And listen, you can fix this! If you go and say that you want to take him back to Central, you’ll be his personal hero, his sister will be relieved that he’s back, he’ll be able to see his dad again. Fuck, in ten years when you two have your two point five kids, a dog, and a picket fence, this can just be a really funny story.”

Hal nodded, knowing that Guy was right. He was either going to take Barry somewhere with a more accommodating climate for him, or he was going to lose him, either because he got so sick that he could not recover or because their relationship would fall apart from the stress. He had come to these men for advice, it was obvious what that advice was, so now he needed to figure out the practical end; how he was going to get Barry back home.

His boyfriend was stubborn, so much so that he was surprised that he didn’t have a Green Lantern ring of his own, admitting that he was struggling was hard for him. Still, Barry was getting sick, his powers were acting up, and he needed to be back in a climate he was accustomed to. Of course, that wouldn’t be easy, they would have to break their lease and find a new place in Central because Barry had gotten rid of his, not only that, but Barry would need to get his job back at the CCPD. None of that would be easy, but he hoped that it wouldn’t be too hard. He would talk to Bruce and Iris later, see if either of them could help him out in some way, but for the moment, he bid his friends adieu, paid his tab, and headed home to Barry.

~~~~

The blond was sleeping on the couch when Hal got home, his arm dangling over the side and a throw pillow under his head. The guilt Hal had felt earlier tripled while he looked over his sleeping boyfriend, dressed in a tank top he’d stolen from Hal and a pair of boxers. He didn’t look completely comfortable, just slightly more at peace while he slept.

Even though it was even later in Gotham than it was here, Hal knew he needed to start putting his plan in action sooner rather than later. First, He gently lifted Barry up off the couch and carried him to the bed, pulling back the covers with his ring and laying the forensic scientist on the mattress. Then he went back to the living room, stepped out onto the balcony and called Bruce.

“What do you want?” Bruce asked, picking up after the first ring.

“I fucked up.” Hal admitted, careful to keep his voice down.

There was silence on the other line for a moment, dragging on for so long that Hal checked to make sure he hadn’t been hung up on.

“So?” Bruce asked, “That isn’t new for you.”

God, Hal hated his boyfriends best friend sometimes. Bruce had gotten along with Barry from the start but had hated Hal since the first second they met. While he and Barry had grown closer, Bruce had hated him more, rolling his eyes and being slightly cheeky to him whenever they had to speak. When he had started dating Barry, he had called a truce with the Dark Knight of Gotham for his boyfriends sake, but he doubted that they would ever get along. Still, Hal needed his help.

“I know but this is worse than usual.” He confessed, “Barry’s getting sick, he can’t handle the heat. I want to get him back to Missouri before he gets worse but I need help, I need to convince him to move again and I was hoping you would have some advice.”

There was silence on the other end again, making Hal feel even worse about himself. He had prepared himself for some gloating, knowing that Bruce would probably rub it in his face that he didn’t deserve Barry.

“I wondered if that would happen.”

There was the silence broken, and Hal braced for the verbal dress-down.

“He’s what I can do. I need a safe house in California and I have too many in Missouri.” Bruce began, “I can sell you and Barry one of the houses in exchange for you subletting your condo to me so I can see if I want to buy it.”

That… Was very generous. Incredibly generous and far more than Hal had been expecting.

“That’s… That’s amazing Bruce.” He stammered, “I cannot thank you enough. How much do you want for the house?”

“For anyone else, I wouldn’t go less than three hundred thousand. But, it needs some work done, I haven’t updated that interior since I bought it, and it looks like something out of the nineties.” Bruce said slowly, “And someone was murdered in it before I bought it, which really decreased the value, so I’ll give it to you for one hundred thousand.”

Alright, knowing someone was killed in the house was weird and he could see why it would decrease the value. But a house they owned would be far better than an apartment they could rent, they could redecorate and make renovations, and it was far more private than an apartment building, which was good for their alter-egos.

“Bruce, I cannot thank you enough. I need to talk to Barry about this, but thank you so, so much.” Hal thanked, mentally adding ‘get Bruce a muffin basket’ to his to-do list.

“Just, don’t kill Barry.” Bruce muttered, “A guy like me only gets one best friend in life, and when he’s gone, I don’t get a new one.”

That was sweet, though Hal would never admit it. Apparently Bruce did have a soul, or at the very least, he had borrowed it back from Satan for this phone call exclusively.

“I’ll keep him alive.” He promised, “Have a nice night Bruce.”

He didn’t get a response, just a dial tone as Bruce hung up. He would normally mumble about his lack of manners, but tonight he could only inwardly rejoice while he went back inside. His phone buzzed in his hand, Bruce having sent him a link to view the house, which he emailed to himself so he could show Barry in the morning.

Hal took a quick shower, got into pajamas, kissed Barry on the forehead, and went back to the living room to sleep on the couch. He shifted around for a while to get comfortable, which wasn’t easy on the small sofa, he eventually managed it, willing himself to fall asleep.

~~~~

Hal woke up with a kink in his neck and a sore back but a good feeling in his heart. He hurried through making coffee, logging onto his laptop while he waited for it to brew. As soon as the computer was awake, Hal pulled up his email and clicked on the link leading to pictures of the house Bruce had offered.

It was a nice house, two levels and a basement, lots of windows, a large kitchen/living room/dining room area. There were two bedrooms, the master bedroom, which had an attached bathroom and a spacious walk-in closet, and a smaller room that they could use for a guest room and home office. There was another bathroom across from the smaller bedroom, decked out with a bath/shower, toilet, and a sink with lots of cabinet space under it. And of course, the basement, but it wasn’t finished, it did have a washer and dryer down there though.

The backyard was also nice, the back deck obviously needed some work but it was nice enough. The yard was fenced with a wooden plank wall, attaching to the house with a gate on one side. It was nicer than Hal could have ever hoped for and he hoped Barry would see it the same way. He checked the neighbourhood it was in and saw that it was pretty nice, located close to a library and a community center, with a grocery plaza not even fifteen minutes drive away. It would be an amazing spot for them to live in, and it would be better to own a home than to rent one, now he just needed to wait for Barry to wake up to talk to him about it.

~~~

An hour and a half later, a very sleepy Barry Allen dragged himself into the kitchen. He was still in the clothes he’d been in when Hal had put him to sleep, the stolen tank top and his boxers, his hair was a fly away mess, and his eyes were still cloudy from sleep. It was better rested than he had looked in weeks, not healthy, by a country mile, but it was better nonetheless. His boyfriend shuffled in and rested his head against Hal’s shoulder, linking their fingers together and squeezing his hand. That had been a pretty standard display of affection between them for the majority of their time in California, it was intimate but not so touchy that it was too hot for Barry.

‘Good morning Beautiful.” Hal greeted, kissing him on the head.

“Morning Handsome.” Barry mumbled.

The blond pulled away and set about making himself tea, pouring boiling water into a mug, adding a tea bag, and then poking it with a spoon to make it brew faster. Hal stared, leaning against the counter, watching while his boyfriend moved around the kitchen, making his drink. When Barry bent over to reach the creamer in the fridge, he couldn’t stop himself from ogling his perfect ass.

“You put me in the bed last night.” Barry said, standing up with the creamer in hand.

“I did.” Hal confirmed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Why?”

Hal sighed into his coffee and put the mug down. He turned to Barry while he added sugar and creamer to his tea.

“Because you’ve been bending over backwards to accommodate me and I haven’t been taking care of you like I should be.” He answered.

“You’ve been taking care of me.” Barry protested, frowning.

“Not like I should have been, not like you deserve.” Hal said.

Barry scowled and crossed his arms, glaring at his tea cup.

“I’m not some helpless baby, I don’t need someone taking care of me.” He muttered, “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine!” Hal snapped, “You’ve been sick for weeks, that is not fine!”

Barry flinched at his tone, his eyes welling up with tears and he closed his eyes against them. He swallowed hard around a lump in his throat and tried to compose himself enough to talk but he wasn’t having much success. Hal noticed he’d been too harsh and cursed in his head, making Barry defensive and weepy wasn’t the right way to start the conversation they needed to have.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound cross.” He apologized, sweeping a hand through his hair. “Shit, Bear I’m sorry. Just, come sit down with me, we need to have a talk.”

Hal took his coffee and brought it over to his laptop on the coffee table, putting his mug down on a coaster and sitting on the couch. Barry stayed in the kitchen for a moment, putting away the sugar and creamer, stirring his tea, and then following Hal to the living room and sitting down on the sofa. He didn’t put his mug down, he held it tightly in both hands with it sitting on his thigh, he wasn’t looking at Hal but he was close enough for a heartfelt conversation and that’s what he wanted, so Hal just started talking.

“So listen, I know that California hasn’t been your cup of tea. I can see you’re sick and I know it’s from the heat.” Hal began.

“If you’re going to break up with me, just do it already, don’t drag it out!” Barry snapped in a teary voice.

Hal paused and mentally reset. Break up? He didn’t want to break up with Barry! He loved Barry!

“Break up? Babe, no no no, I don’t want to break up with you!” He said in a rush. “I love you! I want to spend the rest of my life with you! I don’t want to break up!”

“Well then what do you want?” Barry sobbed, wiping his eyes.

Hal bundled Barry into a quick hug, nothing so long that he would feel too hot, but long enough to be reassuring for him. Barry returned in with one arm, the tears coming hot and fast from both of them. When they broke apart, Hal started to explain what he had discussed with Bruce.

“Straw-Barry, I want to take you home. Back to Central.” Hal explained, “You’re obviously sick, and you’re not getting better.”

“I’m trying!” Barry interrupted, crying hard. “I’m trying to get better, I’m trying to get used to the heat!”

“I know you are! I know that, but Barry, you’re hurting. Badly. Listen, I talked to Bruce last night, he has a safe house in Central he doesn’t want anymore that he’d be willing to sell to us.” He said, “I think we should take it and move you home.”

“But you love Coast City.” Barry protested.

“Not as much as I love you! I don’t care if this damn city burns, as long as you’re safe by my side.” Hal promised, “And right now you’re not safe.”

Barry sniffled, wiping his eyes one at a time, left then right.

“But it’s cold in Central and you hate the cold.” He pointed out.

“I do, I do hate the cold. But I’ll get some warm sweaters, and start drinking hot chocolate, and I have my space heater of a boyfriend to cuddle with. I can put on more clothes to stay warm, you can’t really get any more exposed than naked to stay cool here. Not that I’d have a problem if you want to go around naked all the time.” Hal joked to lighten the mood.

The joke landed and Barry laughed, no fresh tears being shed anymore. He leaned in close and rested his forehead against Hal’s collarbone for a second, then shifted to the back of the couch.

“You’d really come back to Central with me?” He asked, looking up at Hal with big blue eyes that made him melt.

“I would follow you anywhere you go.” Hal whispered.

Both men rested against the sofa, looking at each other with affection. Pushing through his heat exhaustion, Barry reached over and took Hal’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Show me this house you and Bruce talked about.” He requested.

“Of course!” Hal agreed, reaching for his laptop.

They spent the morning like that, settled on the couch with the laptop open to the pictures of the house. Hal grabbed a notepad and a pen, both of them discussing paint colours for the rooms, upgrades for the kitchen appliances, and what they wanted to do with the garden. At some point, Barry ordered Uber Eats from Mcdonalds for their breakfast and some drinks from Starbucks, a sugary coffee for Hal and an elaborate iced tea for himself. For the first time in weeks, Barry looked truly hopeful.

~~~~

A month later, Hal woke up in their shared bed in their new house. Barry was cuddled into his side, giving off plenty of warmth to keep them comfortable. From the windows, the early morning sunlight reflected off of the snow and into the couples room.

They had moved all of their things from California to Missouri three weeks prior. They had been greeted by Barry’s joyful adopted family, who had helped them get home from the airport and unpack. Later, they had come over to help with renovations to the house, repainting rooms, setting up appliances and furniture, and cleaning up afterwards, then they had all had pizza and wings together and spent the night laughing and joking together.

Barry had gotten better, his colour was better, he had gained weight, he was bouncy and energetic, able to be The Flash again, and he was smiling. Real smiles this time, not fake, plastic smiles to gloss over how much he was hurting. The couple was able to touch each other again without Barry getting sick, and Hal rejoiced at having their sex life back on track after nearly two months of it being nonexistent.

As for Hal, he had been adjusting to the Missouri winter. He had gotten a heavy winter coat and snow pants, a pair of winter boots, and a set of hat and gloves to wear outside. He and Barry had gone and gotten him winter clothes from the mall, so he wouldn’t be cold when they were hanging out in the house. Barry had also gotten him some heat packs for his boots and gloves to wear when he went outside, which was the best gift he had ever received.

He found that he really liked the snowy winter. He and Barry had made some snowmen in their backyard one Sunday afternoon, then they had made a snow fort and had a snowball fight. Hal really liked watching the snow come down, especially when it was twilight and the streetlights had just come on. He could spend hours in the armchair in front of the window, Barry cuddling with his legs over his lap, each with a cup of hot chocolate, just watching the snow come down.

In his sleep, Barry shifted and hummed, drawing Hal’s attention back to him. The blond was in a warm pair of striped pajamas, with the blankets tucked up to his chin. Hal settled back into bed, wrapping his arms around Barry to leech off his body heat. He would have plenty of time to admire the snow later, for now, he was just going to cuddle.

#Halbarry #Halbarry fanfiction #Barry Allen #The Flash #Hal Jordan #Green Lantern #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Ollie Queen #Green Arrow #Guy Gardener

41 notes · View notes

bisluthq · 3 years

Note

Sorry I just caught up with your blog. I’m into wildestyles so I sometimes come and look up your tag and what you say about them because I love how much you love them haha but I’m not very active on tumblr so I tend to see things a while after you posted them.

No shade or aggression at all btw so don’t take it that way, but I think you’re mistaken about “COVID scandal” in the DWD set. They did stop for two weeks in November because there was a positive case among the crew but that’s all that happened ~COVID related with the set. It wasn’t really a scandal and they followed protocol, they didn’t get bad press or anything.

Also, that was in November and the news of them dating were in January, so I’m not sure what you think was the correlation? They didn’t play it up for PR at all. Olivia didn’t wear his pearls. She was wearing two Éliou necklaces with the names of her kids, but Harry had no involvement with that, other than the fact that he’s worn the brand before. They’re not even considered jewelry, it’s beaded necklaces, and a lot of celebs wear them. Harry doesn’t sponsor them or anything.

The media was just hungry for news of them. A friend of mine is friends with a bunch of LA paps and they all knew they were holed up in Harry’s house in Laurel Canyon, one of them was stationary outside the house trying to catch them but only got a few shots of Olivia alone and the media and fans at large didn’t really know Harry had that house so they weren’t the money shot. The Santa Barbara shots were tipped off. If you go to fans’ accounts you’ll see that there’s a set of pics that never made it to the press. She’s wearing a blue shirt and he’s wearing a robe. They’re having breakfast in a balcony and both have their hair wet. Those were the first pics they got taken together outside of set.

I don’t know this for a fact but the speculation I’ve heard from people in the know is that they negotiated for those pics to not come out in the press and instead gave the paps limited shots of the wedding. It was like “well, cover is blown, we’re gonna make our tabloid debut, might as well do it dressed up and formally and not LIKE THIS” But they’d been hiding their relationship since early November, unfortunately they couldn’t get away with it much longer.

That weekend they were papped leaving Santa Barbara but that was the last time they were caught together by paps until the Italy trip in July. They’ve been together 10 months and have been papped together five times (Santa Barbara is all the same pap and same place and within two days so I count it as one), Santa Barbara in January, Italy in July, and then three times in LA, once outside their house in Los Feliz, once walking to a restaurant (from their house), and once leaving a gym in Santa Monica. They’ve been spotted by fans a hell of a lot and some of those pics made it into articles but they had to insert the tweets to use the pics so obviously they weren’t taken by paps.

The lack of news from them (they were both also almost 100% silent on socials), right after the blow up of them as a couple is why the tabloids were scrambling to find stuff to write about them, hence the necklaces. It was like “they wear the same brand” and it came from fans on Twitter 💀 The press has gotten creative with them. They wrote articles about Olivia driving Harry’s car, about Olivia commenting an emoji in a post about him by a random dude who does podcasts, there were fifty articles about Olivia posting an old picture of Paul McCartney eating a watermelon lol

And in terms of “they did a world tour during the pandemic” ummm I wouldn’t say all that? They were in LA until mid February, then they flew to England, because Harry had to film a movie and Olivia’s kids were there since Jason was filming Ted Lasso. They stayed there until July, when they went to Italy for a couple of weeks, then they went back to LA. Pretty tame? Also I would say that Harry is more famous and has more influence than Taylor in the UK lol. It also helps that Harry IS British and Olivia has Irish citizenship. The UK has special agreements with Irish citizens. For going to America, Olivia is a citizen and Harry has a working visa, otherwise he couldn’t go (his sister and mom both posted about wanting to go to his tour but not being allowed despite being vaccinated).

I don’t know how Joe got in America. I’m assuming work visa as well. I don’t think Taylor would have any restrictions to go to the UK right now.

Sorry for the essay! You just seem interested in them and I figured I’d give you a rundown and you might enjoy it?

Oh, btw, Olivia has been to 3 out of 5 concerts so far! She even went to Missouri. She’s so cute! She just referred to her and Harry as “we” in her stories ❤️❤️❤️

Yeah this all tracks. It seemed like they were into the attention when the first pics of them dropped but I’ve changed my mind radically on them. I’d still call it a world tour, they’ve been to LA the UK Italy and now the tour. It’s fine they have reasons to but still.

#nat talks wildestyles

3 notes · View notes

belovedrival · 3 years

Text

Sorry this is all a blargh kind of post but this is how I feel right now:

My grandpa died last Thursday. To support my dad, I went to my parent’s house on Friday and stayed until today. I’m glad I went (my aunt and uncle were there too) but when I got home I felt completely overwhelmed.

Mister’s school had a baby shower for us on Friday, which was very loving and generous, but the nursery, which was very clean and organized, looks like a wreck again. And there’s more things that need washing. More things to do.

I’m tired of people telling me (whether in jest or being serious) that my house will never be clean again - oh, and I’ll never get enough sleep for at least a decade. It’s not helpful. Or funny. Seriously, either shut up or give constructive advice.

Every room - and I mean EVERY room in the house - needs organization/cleaning/something done. It makes me even more tired to think about it. I put away clean clothes a little while ago - that helped to feel like SOMETHING is being done.

There’s been a mix-up, on my end, over who’s parents will be here when after Wiggles is born. I thought my in-laws would be here a bit early, but nope - now it sounds like they’re waiting on my parents. Which is okay on the one hand, because my parents are a couple hours away, but on the other it’s not okay because my brother and sister-in-law are also expecting a baby very soon, and my mom told me this morning that she has plane tickets to go to their house on March 21st. So now I’m like...okay, I thought THAT part of organizing help for the first couple weeks was done, but it’s not. Add that to the list.

Grandpa’s funeral is next Saturday in Missouri, where there’s basically no Coronavirus restrictions unless the family calls for it, and my dad’s side of the family is not on the whole, people who call for it. And of course every second cousin within driving distance has been invited to come - to the funeral, the meal afterwards, and the grave side military ceremony. Mister’s been asked to be a pallbearer and this is my last living grandparent, so my inclination is to go because I know I would regret not going to my Grandpa’s funeral in a month, in a year, in ten years. People might feel differently but this is an event where it only happens once. There’s no way to do it later. I have zero input over the plans because they were all made by Friday afternoon and I didn’t find out about them until Friday evening. I’m not scared of getting Coronavirus but what I *am* scared of is Mister getting it, or testing positive, I go into labor, and then I’m forced to give birth without the one person allowed to be with me. We could mask, but I have to be realistic: there won’t be social distancing and we can’t keep our masks on while eating (obviously).

And I hate even thinking of all this, because I feel like I should be remembering Grandpa, and instead I’m feeling resentful that two of the last weekends before my due date have been completely devoid of doing anything substantial at home, and the list of things to do keeps getting longer, and people keep saying very sweet things like how good I look, while inside I feel like an ungrateful bitch because I’d prefer a cleaning crew or house elves to organize my house over their compliments, so I don’t keel over from stress.

One of my coworkers is off later this week. I can’t take time off to do stuff at home. I feel like this is my last realistic week to get anything done work-wise.

Did I mention I’m pretty sure I felt real contractions - not Braxton Hicks - over the last couple days?Nothing consistent but...let’s add to my stress, la la la la la...

Tomorrow is my pre-registration at the hospital, and I’ve got another appointment with my doctor, and another NST. I’ve got two NSTs a week scheduled for the duration, on Mondays and Thursdays. This coming Friday I have another ultrasound. Fingers crossed Wiggles is still head down.

And now Mister is on the phone because another student tested positive. At least this time he’s not as worried because 1) this student, unlike the last positive case, wasn’t crawling all over him (literally) yesterday and 2) he and the entire staff got their first shots yesterday. For what it’s worth.

Argh. I hate feeling tugged in two. But Wiggles, and us, come first. I’ll talk to the doctor tomorrow and explain the situation, and ask if/what’s the wise thing to do.

I want, desperately, to be there when Grandpa is laid to rest. Fuck Coronavirus, fuck how much everyone’s been divided over the response to it this past year. I’ve never been an absolutist about it - I do not think it’s reasonable to expect those with little to no risk to quarantine for months on end; nowhere in history were healthy people expected to behave as though they were sick. Neither do I think it’s right to just go on with things as though it’s 2019; I wish it was, but it’s not. If we pull the trigger and say we’re not going I can just hear what my sister will say. My brother and sister-in-law aren’t coming; they say they want to avoid a situation like they had with my nephew G, when they barely made it to the hospital before he was born. Driving eight hours one way isn’t something to put my SIL’s mind at ease. I get that. And, of course, there’s Coronavirus. My sister is half convinced that R simply doesn’t want to travel to Missouri (though my brother’s family plans on going to the beach later this summer, pandemic or no pandemic) - and she (my sister) might be right.

Thank God that my mother said before I left them today (with my father standing right there, nodding) that whatever we chose, they would support us. This still sucks.

Things will get done, somehow. Wiggles might decide to make his/her appearance this week and the whole conundrum is solved for us (though I’m going to hit 37 weeks this week and I’d rather cook for another week).

Oh, I can’t even getting too much into the guilt I feel over not writing/updating my fics. It makes me depressed thinking that I won’t get any time for that for the foreseeable future. I understand having a child trumps personal things, but I can’t help but mourn a little for my former life. I am not my mother - someone who poured her life into being “mom” and seemingly had very little/no other personal interests until we were out of the house. I am so grateful for the opportunity to be a mother; but there’s more than that one side of me. Does that make sense?

(My mom is a wonderful mom, by the way. She also is an excellent amateur photographer who I think could sell her pictures if she wanted to.)

Gotta end this rant/blargh somehow. I hope you all have a more peaceful evening.

8 notes · View notes

cxmetery-gates · 3 years

Text

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER ONE: FAKING IT

SUMMARY: Lynn Moore dreads the beginning of her greatest fear: the first day of senior year. WORD COUNT: 2.3k NOTE: Get ready for typical teenager angst. Let’s all bully Lynn. WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

JUST LIKE EVERY YEAR AROUND the middle of August, my mom tells me the same advice; have a good first day. Of course, most mothers, fathers, or whoever tell their child this, but it's as pointless as a circle. Whoever has a fantastic first day of school? There are new teachers to impress, you're stuck with the same bunch of losers you sit with at lunch, and there are more jerks and morons to pick on you, despite the status quo you fall under. High school is frankly really awful all the way around and there's no way someone can deny or even try to argue that. These are the four years of utter hell and we're all dying to get out. I've stepped through those heavy doors, resembling the gates of hell, on a first day three times now. My anger and hatred have only been fueled rather than dying down. I'm sure nothing will ever change.

"Don't forget--" Mom tries to tell me from the porch in sweats and a maroon t-shirt. Her unnatural dirty blonde hair piled on the top of her head with an old red clip. There are tears welling in her eyes, seeing her only child almost grown up. I have one last year of school and mere months until I'm an adult. For me, it may pass by far too slow, but I bet it's a whole different story for her. In all honesty, it's ridiculous that the woman is so upset and not to mention annoying. I have done this routine twelve times now, for Christ sake, she should get a grip on herself by now. I don't mean to belittle my mother but one of her greatest achievements is being able to replicate every single stereotype women have, including having no control over her emotions. An outsider looking in may say I'm a bit to harsh. All I can say to that is no one has loved with her for almost eighteen years like I have.

"I got it!" I yell against the wind as it smacks my face while I walk across the grass. "Christ on a bike," I curse tossing my messy light brown hair from my field of vision.

The bus would take another five minutes to get the corner, but I'd like to not look stupid on my first day by running to catch up with the metal rectangle of devilry Peter Parker style. Well, maybe it would turn into an interesting story at the least. Spiderman is my favorite superhero of all time after all. Despite this, I only allow an angry face to part my path. It's totally fake but faking it is the only way to survive.

Down at the intersection, there are already kids waiting. I think it's safe to assume that all of the puberty-sicken teenagers are freshmen or sophomores since most junior and seniors are still asleep at this early hour, knowing the good majority are able to drive. I take a good look at all of them. The fact that they find throwing bits of gravel at squirrels or birds makes me want to go over and smack them upside the head. That thought crosses my mind a lot. The world is so full of morons; it's hard to pick out which ones are actually tolerable. They're almost as bad as kids in letterman jackets with expensive sports cars. Those fuckers are the worst. All they care about is their ego and how much money they can wave around coming right from mommy and daddy's wallet.

Take the kid in the striped shirt tucked into his hand-me-down jeans. He looks like a nice kid; after all, he's got nothing to brag about. His parents are probably office workers or maybe nothing too difficult. Nothing too important. That's all we are, right? I mean, once we're dead and gone. No one is gonna care what car you drove or what brand your plain white shirt is. People who think they're hotshots or something special are the real morons.

Besides, who thinks it's cool to spend thirty bucks on a t-shirt?

An old car passes, a teenage girl in my grade sits in the driver's seat. I sort of duck out of the way. Not James Bond-like, but I move my already shitty hair in front of my face as if it's going to help hide my identity. The chick probably didn't even see me. I watch the car drive on, kinda imagining what sort of car I would drive once I get one. I suppose I would have to learn first. I personally am not a fan of getting behind the wheel. Hell, I can't even ride a bike without falling over. I'd rather move to a large city and order cabs to get me places. They seem more convenient and, if you get in a wreck, it's not your fault and it's not your money coming out of pocket. No car equals more money. Then again, no car also is equivalent to no freedom and taxis and Uber's can get expensive. It seems like each idea is flawed these days.

Upon scanning the area again— this time ignoring the idiots— I notice only one person who seems excited out of the group. Her dark brown hair and dark skin contrast to the majority of our town, including those waiting nearby. Her curled hair bounces with each stride she takes, happier than the step prior.

Some say it's strange that the girl and I are such good friends. You don't see God and Satan going out and having coffee every weekend or anything.

"What's got you in a good mood?" I question as I readjust my dark blue shirt underneath the flannel. Flannels are my favorite personal quirk. I own at least fifty, most being cool or dark colors. I don't have an obsession; just an interest that I care way too much about. Flannels are to Lynn Moore as controversy is to famous influencers. Looking back up, my eyebrow is still raised. I'm shocked to see her here, assuming her parents would have given her a lift. After a second, it dawned on me that this, riding the bus to school, was her punishment for getting into an accident she won't take responsibility for.

Posting memes and vines references are fun and all, but doing it while going 60 down a highway isn't the smartest. Forgive me for not following the strict millennial handbook but I don't actually want to die nor do I want my friends to.

My best friend, Ellie Graves, gives a small glare. "Why does it always seem like you're on your period?" I shrug my shoulders, and played with the wire choker I always wore. As my fingers slip underneath the necklace, it is evident how to lose it has gotten since I bought it a few months ago. I make a mental note to take a quick trip to the shopping side of the internet sometime soon.

I click my tongue before answering. "Probably because I'm closer to hell than you are," I say, referring to my obvious lack of height. I'm only five feet and just barely three inches off the ground while Ellie is at least five feet and seven inches. Personally I think we would make a cute couple given our attitudes and the extremities of our heights, except for the fact that dearest Ellie is not interested in people other than men. What a party pooper. For me, anyway. "But lets do our best to not reinforce stereotypes," I say referring to her comment.

She nods her head. "Yes, mother." I snort at her sass, leaning my body weight onto my right leg. "But hey! We have one year left! That's something to be excited about, am I right?"

Yes, I would say she is right. Freshmen, sophomore, and the dragged out junior year have come and passed, full of useless information and embarrassing memories with it. It's mostly embarrassing if I have to be honest. School isn't my thing, however falling up and down the main set of stairs apparently is. Who knew?

"Yeah, I suppose so. At least we're considered adults now," I reply trying to find some positive about the situation.

Ellie begins to lightly laugh, "True. That's kinda a scary thought, though." Her body shudders, either because a breeze just blew passed or out of what she just said.

The age of freedom is so close, I can nearly touch it. Despite my longing to finally buy a lottery ticket and spray paint, the fear of adulthood gnaws at the back of my mind. With eighteen comes responsibility, something I lack to a high degree. I muse the idea of getting a degree of irresponsibility. However, I don't think such diploma could help me get into a creative writing career.

I make a thinking face and bring my shoulders to my ears preparing for an exaggerated response. "Well, you aren't wrong," I reply in a forced high pitch noise, catching the attention of the guys. Now I notice they are all matching in basketball shorts and a jacket. Men's fashion, ladies and gents. Ellie chuckles at my utter dorkiness while I continue to make some weird face I'm sure she will get a picture of sometime within the next few seconds.

It's crazy how time is able to fly. Just last week, so it seems, the outgoing, beaming chick I have as a best friend and I were in third grade, the year I moved to a new house, a different school, and a very different town. Although my eight-year-old-self hated it at the time, I'm glad I left the northern state of Maine, all the way across to the midwest. That is if you consider southern Missouri part of the midwest. If I hadn't, who would have the privilege of being my first smack in the face? Or first sleepover (with an actual girl)? Who knows, and I honestly wouldn't like to. Ellie's my best friend; I would be dead if she didn't have my back. And I'm honestly positive she would say the same about her tiny best pal.

Little time passes after the picture was indeed taken and posted on Elle's Snapchat before an ugly shade of yellowish-orange appears entering the neighborhood. Ellie is practically fidgeting, fighting the urge to run up the bus even if it is some distance away. My eyes roll trying to not say anything to kill her spirit but I do let out an accidental groan as its loud hum draws nearer. The bus came to a screeching halt and I already want to turn on my heel and head home. When I step on, I notice there is a new driver this year. After Ellie got her license and could legally drive me around, I never bothered with the bus unless I needed space or she was busy, which was hardly ever. Ellie and I mostly spend our time together with our group of friends. Despite this, I still easily took notice of a different person in the seat. Instead of a balding old man with a face like alligator skin, a woman sat in the brown leather seat and looks roughly in her forties. She, like all of us except for Ellie, looks tired but fakes a smile anyways. The same rules apply; middle school and junior high in the front and high school in the back. It seems as if sitting in the back always made you cool of some sort. Every time a kid got away with it in middle school, he or she was automatically the bad kid, the cool kid, or the king of the bus. God, how stupid is that theory? These thoughts remind me how annoying and stupid we all were at ten and eleven years old. I'm sure if I had a duplicate of myself at that age, I'd shoot either one of us to cease me from the utter pain.

Instead of going all the way to the back, I turn to sit in the seat half way down the aisle while plunging in an earbud, leaving one open to listen to Ellie. I instantly scroll through an select a playlist that mixes rock, punk, and even some emo. Given today being my last first day, I figured early morning jams would be appropriate to get me pumped up even though I tend to listen to this genre quite often as of lately. I enjoy the heavy guitar and double bass pedal and lyrics I can either relate to or wonder who hurt the singer so bad. Needless to say, I'm definitely more of a rock person however there's still a lot of other types of music on my device, including orchestra and folk or indie. I don't like to limit what I listen to; whatever makes me feel good ends up on my phone. Simple as that.

"So, Lynn," Ellie says sliding in right next to me. I look in her direction, which was to my right, waiting for her to respond. She looks at me, but nothing came out of her mouth. Slowly, I arch a brow. Still, there was nothing. "I had nothing to say, I just wanted your attention." Ellie gave a stupid grin while I glare kindly at her if there is such a thing.

My head shakes and I reach out to pat her cheek, "You, my darling, are an absolute dumbass."

I feel her grin grow against my hand since I haven't moved it yet. "Not as big as you, though." I can't argue; she has a point.

As the bus lunches forwards, I look out the window and watch the world go by. Something settles in my gut about then, the feeling both familiar and foreign. I can't tell what it is, but as I watch the clouds roll in over the sun and birds flying through the sky, I only hope my last year of high school will be memorable.

#dark!tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fanfiction #teacher!tom hiddleston #loki #obsessive teachings #high school #stalking #obsessed love #obsessive #dark!fic

15 notes · View notes

rinnysega · 4 years

Text

Charlie & Lovejoy Fic Commission - “The Basement”

First off, I love writing for Charlie.

Second, I completed my first fic commission since the early 2010s it feels like. I can’t keep track of time anymore.

This was really fun to do @pascalls, thank you for commissioning me and helping me get through this hell diet by giving me a fun project to work on! I hope you like it, and I encourage others to read this too if you want to see a really unique Simpsons OC that I again love wholeheartedly.

Hope you enjoy it!

The worst part about living in the reverend’s basement was hearing all the clatter going on upstairs - the normal sounds of daily living for suburbanites of Springfield, of which Charlie felt no part of. Every one of Helen’s laughs, every clink of silverware on a plate, every moment Timothy Lovejoy spent without him, just echoing through the ceiling and in every vibration through the wall. Charlie once again found himself trying hard to not let it get to him as he concentrated on a project he’d started earlier that afternoon.

A few days ago, Lovejoy came to him and explained he had to go out of town for that weekend, and that Charlie would have to stay behind on his own. Charlie wasn’t one to feel dependent on others - in fact a few days to himself sounded like a much needed period of rest to him - but he did find himself sad when he was told the news. He would miss him, that reverend.

He put his tweezers down, finishing up the last touches of his masterpiece. He looked it over, wondering if there was any need for improvement, and despite there being many, he decided it would have to do. In his contemplation, the voices of Tim and Helen came in through the window to the lawn, and he assumed they must be packing the car. They’d be leaving any moment now to make it to Missouri by 11pm.

Whatever. He held his little gift in his hands, and he smiled to himself, hoping the reverend would like it.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard footsteps coming down toward the basement, and he slipped the figure into his pocket, slipping into the shadows out of habit.

Reverend Lovejoy came in, peeking through the door as not to startle him. When Charlie saw he was alone - as always these days- he came out from beside the work desk.

“Hey.”

“Hey Charlie,” Lovejoy said. “Thought I’d stop by and say goodbye before we left.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Charlie replied. It might have come off as sarcastic, but he meant it...kind of. Deep down he did. Whatever, best stick with your choices, he thought. “Well, what kind of holy man would you be if you didn’t come mingle with the vagabond before going back to your basic, Wonder Bread wife.”

“There’s no need for hostility, Charlie.” He glared at him with that smug arrogance said vagabond had come to love so much. Though in all honesty, he should have seen some kind of snark coming, regardless of what he said. It seemed to be his nature, even with others beside himself. Whatever the case, it was something Charlie craved in their interactions.

“We’re only going to be in Missouri for a few days. You should be fine on your own until Monday afternoon.”

“I don’t see why you have to go to a church retreat when your church is literally next door.”

“It’s a...thing.” Even for a preacher he didn’t feel like explaining how stupid it was. Still, he sighed. “Part of being in my position is to go on these weekend retreats with other leaders of the community and -”

“Yeah, yeah, look, you just go and have a good time.” Charlie finally approached him to straighten up his navy tie against his salmon pink shirt. “I’ll watch over the house in case you get robbed and you know.” He made a throat slit motion. “Take care of any problems that may come up.”

“Charlie, if I come back and there’s police tape on my-”

“Relax, Timmy.” He patted off a few bits of sheepdog hair from his shoulders. “If I kill someone it’s not going to be on your property. We’ve been over that already.” He continued to get the staredown. “Okay, fine, I won’t kill anyone at all.”

“That’s better.” His scowl turned into a small, endearing grin as he began to count his points on his fingertips. “Now, I went ahead and put the frozen steaks in the fridge to thaw, and the DVR is set to record a few shows Saturday night - do NOT erase them.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re welcome to sleep on the couch and use the television as long as you pick up after yourself. Last thing I need to do is explain anything to Helen if something’s misplaced or filthy.”

“You can’t blame it on the dog?”

“He’s staying with the Flanders’ until Tuesday.”

“Okay.”

“And-”

“Tim, I think I can handle two whole days on my own.” He backed up and hoisted himself up to sit on top of the Lovejoy Junction table. He knew Tim hated it, but it was comfortable and he’d just have to deal with it. Besides, he should count himself lucky he kept control of his tail as not to break anything. He continued on, “Shouldn’t you be going then? Isn’t your wife wondering where you’re at?”

It pained him to say that ‘w’ word sometimes, and that moment was definitely one of them.

“I told her I was putting up my trains in the order I like them kept in before a big trip. I already did it last night, but I just wanted the extra time to...come see you.”

Charlie’s ears perked a bit at that statement. He tried to play it cool.

Lovejoy coughed a bit before finishing his thought, “-and of course to let you know the rules of the house while we’re gone.”

His ears wilted slightly before perking up again when he remembered the little project he’d been working on.

“Hey wait.” He got up from the table and dug his hand into his pants pocket. “Before you go, here. I made you something.”

Charlie pulled from his pocket an ill-crafted wooden figure and set it down on Lovejoy Junction beside the steeple. It was a small pastor, and although crude in its shape and design, Lovejoy could tell who it was supposed to resemble.

“Aww. You made a little me,” he said.

“I tried.”

“No, no, I think it’s good.” He walked over beside him and picked it up to hold in his hand, letting it lie across his fingertips. “Really good.”

“Well...thank you.”

Lovejoy continued to smile at the little thing before he set it back down where Charlie had put it. He turned to him. “You know, you surprise me.”

“Huh?”

“You surprise me. I came down here thinking you’d be listening to swear music or smoking out of the window, but you’ve been productive. I’m very proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” he questioned. “Mmm, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. I think my company has started to rub off on you. You’re getting creative and into some new hobbies by the looks of it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just thought it was stupid you didn’t have a Reverend Lovejoy for Lovejoy Junction. Imagine if Lard Lad Donuts didn’t have a Lard Lad outside. It’s chaos.”

“Well thank you, Charlie. I really appreciate it.”

“And you’re not just saying that because you have to? You really like it?”

“Why yes, I really really like it. You’ve got a talent.”

“Please don’t butter me up before you leave. You’re embarrassing us both.”

“I wasn’t trying to, but if you’re feeling humble, then please, take the compliment. Maybe you could do a few more this weekend until I get back.”

It was something Charlie considered. “Well, what’s it worth to you?”

“The satisfaction I helped guide you to a more appropriate pastime than whatever debauchery you get yourself up to out in Springfield.”

“Come on, you can at least buy me dinner.”

“What, those steaks upstairs not enough for you?”

“Fine. What else you got then?” That smirk came back. This was getting fun.

“Well...how about I spend the night?”

“With who?”

“With you!”

“With me? You mean down here with me?”

“Sure.”

Well, that caught him off guard a bit. “Okay...and you won’t be on your train set the whole time?”

“Not the whole time, but most of the time I’d like to take the choo-choos out for a spin.” He giggled a little to himself. “If anything, just to get the noises going to give Helen the idea I’m pulling an all-nighter.”

“I mean if it’s noises you want…” Charlie slipped over to rub against him but as usual, the man backed off with a hand to block him.

“No.”

There was a car honk upstairs.

“Your carriage awaits, my liege.” Charlie brushed past him to see him out the door, but stopped when he saw how Tim hadn’t followed. It was as if he were hesitating, looking down at the floor while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’ll get going...umm…” he trailed off.

“What is it?” Charlie asked.

He didn’t say anything at first, but opened his arms for a hug. “For the goodbye.”

Charlie smiled and immediately bounced over into his arms, enjoying the warm embrace from him he often craved as well.

“You’re being so nice to me tonight. Really, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’m just…”

“You just what?”

“...I’m just going to miss you. That’s all.”

Charlie’s fingers tightened against his shirt, enjoying the smell of him, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Without anything to say back, he took the opportunity God gave him that moment, and he leaned forward to kiss him.

Nothing special, he figured. Just the same old kiss he usually gave him. Something he did on occasion whenever words couldn’t express how he felt. And at this point it went one of two ways. Lovejoy would either push him away out of anger or annoyance, or he’d hesitate those actions and let him finish - to get it out of his system, he’d say. Sometimes whenever he did that, Charlie would imagine maybe those lips were pushing back, even though he knew they weren’t. But it was a comforting thought on those lonely nights in the basement. What he’d give to crawl into bed with him and kick Helen to the floor. Surely Lovejoy had to know how hard he’d been restraining himself not to hurt her or anyone else he liked more than him. Surely he’d be proud of him for setting aside his vices of jealousy and dependency on him. But, another day would pass, and there would be more cold silences where Charlie longed for something warmer. And in those times, he would believe he was kissing him back, even if it was foolish to think so.

And tonight he was prepared to feel that same let down.

But then, a miracle.

A hand grasped his lower back, the other the back of his neck. Charlie didn’t open his eyes, afraid perhaps he was imagining such a feeling, and reality would let him down again.

But it was real. He felt the reverend’s fingers grip his ginger hair. He felt him pull his waist closer to his body. He felt his lips parting, and he felt his hot breath that preceded his tongue. His mouth was open, and he was willing. Timothy Lovejoy kissed him back. Not only that, but if Charlie’s mind wasn’t deceiving him, it was with the same passion as Charlie would show him on occasion. Could this mean…?

Maybe.

Oh, how he didn’t want it to stop. He could feel burning tears trying to bubble up, but he forced them down and held the reverend tighter until there was no gap between them to fill. He even went beyond as such to slide his leg up the leg of his holy man. The friction, the touch, the soft sensuality of it, it was setting him on fire.

But almost as suddenly as he got his wish, Lovejoy pulled his lips away, leaving Charlie’s behind to remain open, tongue outstretched, begging for the man to return to him.

He opened his eyes, but the smudges on his glasses from their feverish embrace blurred Lovejoy’s face in streaks of color. Even in that distortion he could tell he was nervous. Perhaps even sad, or worse...ashamed.

“I...I need to go.” He said.

His hands slipped down to Charlie’s hips and he pushed himself away from his grip.

Charlie stepped forward, desperate. “Don’t go.”

He hated how weak he sounded, but how could he not when his defenses were broken down so easily with just a hug and a kiss.

“I’m sorry.” The reverend said again. He kept stepping back with every one of Charlie’s steps forward until Charlie had no other option but to stay and watch him back away, hoping that by staying his distance, Lovejoy would remain here with him.

Lovejoy himself could see the battling emotions of despair and hope that were at war inside Charlie, and he had no one to blame but himself. He thought by coming down here to say goodbye, it would only be out of kindness of his heart for him...but now he feared the worse - there was more.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated and he turned around and left.

“Wait-” He went to rush after him, but Lovejoy slammed the basement door shut. By the time Charlie reached it and tugged at it to budge, he heard the heavy click of the lock.

Charlie pressed himself against the door and clawed at it pathetically, like a dog scratching at the door for his master. He hoped maybe this would change the reverend’s mind, emotionally manipulate him into opening it again. Then, he begged, maybe he would hold him in his arms in grief and apologize for his outburst.

Yet, the sounds of footsteps going upstairs pushed that idea from his mind. It burned it to the ground in ashes.

Charlie backed away from the door and leaned against the train table. He glanced up at the windows that led to the lawn. He’d crawled in and out of there a million times, and Lovejoy knew he could do it. He knew he wasn’t trapped in here, that Lovejoy knew there was a means of escape for him. But even if he managed to squeeze out of the window in time, chances are he and Helen would be long gone down the road…

As that thought crossed his mind, the headlights shone through the basement - tires scraping against gravel - and then they disappeared, along with his beloved.

His lips still tingled where they kissed. If there was ever anything to pray over, he’d hope this feeling could last him through the weekend until he could see Tim again. But he’d never pray for such a thing. It felt useless to beg love from a God who kept Tim at bay with his moral conscience. He’d never give him or Tim what they both wanted.

But maybe...knowing Tim wanted it too, deep down...that could be enough...maybe.

In the meantime, Charlie removed his glasses to wipe on the edge of his shirt as he made his way over to the tool box. He took out another wooden figure piece and sat at Lovejoy’s workstation, pushing those thoughts from his mind as he worked. He chipped away at it for the rest of the evening.

The minutes turned into hours, and those long hours passed through the night while nothing but a dim lamp kept him company as he whittled and smoothed out as many rough edges as he could. He painted carefully, as carefully as he could with his claws, and after a while, he just had to accept that it was his best. And that thought saddened him.

He stared at his creation in begotten woe. Even his best was ugly.

Maybe it was a good thing Tim wasn’t here to see him this way. He’d never forgive himself for being so weak. He could barely forgive himself for how soft he acted before Lovejoy ran away from him.

Charlie moved away and stood before Lovejoy Junction, staring down at the reverend he made by the steeple. He looked at the piece in his hand, and then back to him.

What are you doing this for? He thought.

He didn’t belong beside him as he wanted. He didn’t fit into this perfect little world. No matter how much he told himself through the reverend’s actions, there was no way in Heaven nor Hell that Timothy Lovejoy would ever choose him.

And with a sigh that solidified his acceptance of that reality, he placed his hard work on the far side of the valley - behind a mountain, almost hidden completely by a lop-sided bush. No one but Lovejoy would ever see it when he cleaned his table top, and he figured even then he’d probably overlook it. It was so small and out of the way.

But he knew it was there. He knew.

A little wooden Charlie.

#pascalls #charlie oc #reverend lovejoy #simpsons fic #simpsons stuff

18 notes · View notes

abusybuzzingbee · 4 years

Text

Skin | Supernatural Season 1 Episode 6 Rewrite | Dean x Fem!Reader

A/N: this gif is SAUCY i should not find it as attractive as I do

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Major Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: canon level violence, language, Dean and the reader being assholes to each other TW: shifter calls the reader some pretty terrible things that may be triggering to some readers. if you tend to have self-deprecating thoughts, you may not want to read this episode. also, heavy topics mentioned in a fight between Dean and the reader

Word Count: 7,547

Summary: The boys and the reader head to St. Louis, Missouri when Sam gets an email about one of his college buddies. Tensions continue to rise between Dean and the reader following their dispute in Toledo, Ohio.

Series Masterlist

Season 1 Masterlist

Click here for the series playlist!

Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face Sam. “Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.”

Sam did not respond to him.

“Sam wears women’s underwear.”

“I’ve been listenin’, I’m just busy,” Sam answered, never looking up from his phone as he scrolled through it.

“Busy doin’ what?”

“Reading e-mails.”

The older brother got out of the car and began to fill up the Impala’s gas tank. “E-mails from who?”

“From my friends at Stanford.”

“You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?”

“Why not?” Sam shrugged.

“Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”

“I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.”

“Oh, so you lie to ‘em.”

You picked at your nails as you sat in the backseat. “What else is he supposed to do? Say, ‘Hey, I’m hunting ghosts’?”

“I get why he’s lying, I’m not tellin’ him to tell the truth.”

Sam looked over to Dean. “So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?”

Dean shrugged.

“You’re serious?”

“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period,” Dean answered.

“Oh, whatever.” You flopped back onto the leather seat.

"You’re kind of anti-social, you know that?” Sam told his brother.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean shook his head.

The younger Winchester went back to his emails.

“God…” he trailed off.

“What?”

“In this e-mail from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine.”

“Is she hot?”

You scoffed. “Really, Dean?”

“I went to school with her, and her brother, Zack,” Sam explained. “She says Zack’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.”

Dean paused. “Dude, what kind of people are you hangin’ out with?”

"No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.”

"Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.”

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re goin’.”

Dean leaned down into the passenger’s side window, chuckling, “Look, sorry ‘bout your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem.”

“It is our problem,” Sam argued. “They’re my friends.”

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, guys.”

“So?” you questioned.

You and Dean exchanged annoyed looks before he got in the car and pulled away.

***

“Dude, this house belongs in the Hills,” you told Sam as you took in the large two-story house that sat on a beautifully manicured lawn.

He chuckled at your comment. “This one’s no big deal compared to some of my other friends’ houses. You should’ve seen Jess’s parents’ house.”

You smiled faintly. “I bet it was beautiful.”

Sam nodded, mirroring your expression. He knocked on the wood of the large front door which opened to reveal a pretty girl with blonde hair.

“Oh my God, Sam!” she exclaimed.

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky,” he replied.

‘Little Becky?’ you thought.

“You know what you can do with that ‘little Becky’ crap,” she grinned. The two of them hugged.

“I got your e-mail,” he explained to her.

“I didn’t think that you would come here,” she said.

Dean took the opportunity to step in. “Dean. Older brother.” He extended his hand to her.

She shook it. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m (Y/N), I’m a family friend,” you said, effectively pulling her eyes away from Dean as you shook her hand. You were not about to watch him eye-fuck one of Sam’s friends.

“We’re here to help,” Sam told her. “Whatever we can do.”

“Come in.”

Becky led you three into the house.

“Nice place,” Dean commented as he looked around at the tall ceilings and seemingly expensive furniture.

“It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free.”

“Where are your folks?”

“They live in Paris for half the year--” Becky replied.

‘Of course, they do. Wasps.’

“--so they’re on their way home now for the trial. Do you guys want a beer or something?” she asked as she led you into the kitchen.

The older Winchester smiled. “Hey--”

Sam cut him off. “No, thanks. So, tell us what happened.”

“Well, um, Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” Becky began to tear up. “So, he called 911, and the police—they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police—they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight.”

“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene,” Sam suggested. “Zack’s house.”

“We could,” Dean agreed.

“Why? I mean, what could you do?”

“Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop.”

Dean laughed. “Detective, actually.”

‘Oh, great.’

“Really?” Becky’s eyes sparkled. “Where?”

“Bisbee, Arizona,” he lied."But I’m off-duty now.”

“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just—I don’t know.”

Sam tried to convince her. “Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go get the keys.” She walked away from you three down the hall.

As soon as she was out of sight, Dean turned to his brother. “Oh, yeah, man, you’re a real straight shooter with your friends.”

“Look, Zack and Becky need our help,” Sam countered.

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.”

“Two places at once? We’ve looked into less.”

Dean still was not completely convinced.

“Sounds a little bit like our gig, Dean,” you pressed further.

He said nothing but looked defeated.

You and Sam smiled at each other.

***

You and the boys stood next to Becky by the Impala. You stared out at the small, white house blocked off by yellow and black tape.

“You’re sure this is okay?” Becky asked Dean.

“Yeah. I am an officer of the law.”

You rolled your eyes at Dean’s unconvincing tone. ‘Good grief.’

Dean led the way up to the house, ducking under the tape, followed by you and then Sam.

Despite how frequently you work jobs, the sight of a gruesome crime scene always made you sick to your stomach.

Blood was splattered everywhere. It stained the newspapers on the coffee table, the knocked-over lamp in the corner of the living room, and the picture frame that hung tilted to the side.

“Bec, you wanna wait outside?” Sam asked her as she stood on the other side of the tape.

You looked over at the young woman. She had one arm wrapped around her stomach and one hand over her heart. The blonde steeled herself despite her obvious discomfort. “No, I wanna help.”

“Tell us what else the police said,” Sam prompted.

“Well, there’s no sign of a break-in,” she started tearfully. “They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers—they’re already talking about a plea bargain.” Becky looked around her, more tears rising to the surface as she did so. “Oh, God….”

“Look, Bec, if Zack didn’t do this, it means someone else did. Any idea who?”

The blonde shook her head, but then a look of remembrance crossed her face. “Um, there was something, about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes—Zack’s clothes. The police—they don’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.”

Sam and Dean walked away from you and Becky. The blonde followed after Dean as he went to the front door. Apparently, he was looking at the neighbor’s dog as you gathered from what Becky told him next.

“You know, that used to be the sweetest dog.” She looked over his shoulder at the barking animal.

“What happened?” he asked.

"He just changed.”

“Do you remember when he changed?”

“I guess around the time of the murder.”

Dean looked back at her before walking away.

You went to the kitchen to meet Sam. He was looking at something posted to the fridge door.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” you asked the boy.

He gestured the picture in front of him. It was of himself, Zack, and Becky.

“You were really close to these guys, huh?”

“Yeah,” he nodded sadly.

“I’m sorry you had to leave all this behind,” you stated.

He shook his head. “It’s okay.”

Dean walked up behind you and his younger brother. “So, the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zack’s girlfriend was killed.”

“Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal,” Sam noted.

“Yeah, maybe Fido saw somethin’,” Dean affirmed.

“So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?”

No. Probably not. But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.”

“You just can’t admit when you’re wrong, huh?”

“Nope,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

Becky walked over to you.

“So, the tape. The security footage—you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it, ‘cause I just don’t have that kind of jurisdiction,” Dean told her.

“I’ve already got it. I didn’t wanna say something in front of the cop,” she explained.

The older brother laughed.

“I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

“Right on,” you grinned.

***

Once you got back to Becky’s parents’ house, the four of you sat down to watch the security footage.

The screen showed the front of Zack’s house lit up in the dark night by the lights on either side of the door.

“Here he comes,” Becky said just as Zack appeared on screen.

Dean noted the timestamp. “22:04, that’s just after ten. You said time of death was about 10:30.”

“Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with.”

“Hey, Bec, can we take those beers now?” Sam questioned.

“Oh, sure,” she answered. She got up from the couch to go to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Sam stopped her. “Maybe some sandwiches, too?”

“What do you think this is, Hooters?” she joked with a grin. She left the room shortly after.

“I wish,” Dean chuckled. “What is it?”

“Check this out.” Sam rewound the tape and replayed it. One of the frames showed Zack looking right at the camera, but his eyes had an unnatural silver color to them.

“Well, maybe it’s just a camera flare,” Dean pointed out.

“That’s not like any camera flare I’ve ever seen. You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul,” Sam began.

“Right,” you affirmed. “Remember how that dog completely freaked? Maybe he could sense this was some sort of a dark double of Zack’s.”

“Like a Doppelganger,” Sam added.

“Yeah. It’d sure explain how he was two places at once.”

***

Despite how you and Dean were not verbally attacking each other constantly, the tension between the two of you was stronger than ever. He did not trust you, and you were still pissed at him for what he said to you.

Back at the motel, you hoped a shower would help clear your mind. You turned the water on and began to sing to yourself.

‘Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and

Wouldn't you love to love her?’

You used to love listening to Fleetwood Mac with your mother. “Rihannon” was one of her favorite songs.

‘Takes to the sky like a bird in flight and

Who will be her lover?’

Both you and your mother had beautiful voices. The two of you loved to sing to one of her cassette tapes together. “Rihannon” was one of those songs that when you sang it with her it would make you feel genuine peace. With the life you led, moments of peace were few and far between.

‘All your life you've never seen

A woman taken by the wind’

One of your favorite memories with your mother was riding in her beat-up station wagon on a highway in West Texas. The sun was just beginning to set, the windows were rolled down, and the wind whipped through your hair. The shadows of the dense trees on either side of the road made shapes appear on your face with patches of light shining through the holes in the shadows. You were sixteen at the time. The two of you took this rare moment alone to sing together, simply enjoying each other’s company.

‘Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Will you ever win?’

You scrubbed your scalp as you rinsed the soap out of your hair, closing your eyes in an attempt to bring yourself back to that day.

‘She is like a cat in the dark and then

She is the darkness

She rules her life like a fine skylark and when

The sky is starless’

If you could have your mom back, for even just a moment, maybe you would be able to feel that same peace again. You would feel safe and protected. The day before her passing was the last time you felt truly at peace.

‘All your life you've never seen

A woman taken by the wind’

Tears clouded your vision and your throat constricted as you continued to sing.

‘Would you stay if she promised you heaven?

Will you ever win?

Will you ever win?’

***

A loud knock on your door pulled you out of your deep sleep.

You jumped, grabbing for the gun you kept under your pillow. You cocked it, walked up to the door, and pressed the muzzle of the gun against it. You opened it with your opposite hand just a crack. To your surprise, it was Dean.

You slammed it back in his face.

“(Y/N), open the damn door,” he demanded unenthusiastically.

You did not, but put the safety back on your gun and threw it on your bed. “What do you want, asshole? It’s almost five in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that. Look, I don’t wanna be up either. It was Sam’s idea,” he explained.

You opened the door just a crack. “Okay, what does he want at almost five in the morning?”

“I don’t know, he just had a thought, I guess.” Despite the fact that you were asking completely fair questions, his tone showed he was clearly agitated. “Get dressed.”

***

“Alright, so what are we doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning?” Dean questioned. He leaned against the hood of the Impala which was parked outside of Zack’s house.

“I realized something,” Sam stated. “The videotape shows the killer goin’ in, but not comin’ out.”

You walked over to the younger of the two brothers who was across the street from the car. “So, he came out the back door?”

"Right. So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue.”

“‘Cause they think the killer never left, and they caught Zack inside,” you added.

“I still don’t know what we’re doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning,” Dean grumbled.

Both you and Sam chose to ignore him as you looked around outside of the building.

“Blood,” you noted as you looked at a smear on a wooden telephone pole. “Somebody came this way.”

“Yeah, but the trail ends. I don’t see anything over here,” he said before taking a sip of his coffee.

An ambulance blared its sirens as it sped down the street that separated you and Sam from Dean.

You looked up at Sam, who exchanged a knowing look with Dean.

Dean drove the three of you over to where you assumed the ambulance was coming from. He parked a few houses down from a house that was surrounded by police cars. One policeman was covering the house with yellow and black tape.

You got out of the Impala, watching as a man in a suit was handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police car.

Dean walked a few paces ahead of you, stopping next to one of the onlookers. She looked as if she had been going for a jog when she stumbled upon the crime scene, as her hair was tied back and she had an MP3 played secured to her arm.

“What happened?” he asked her.

“He tried to kill his wife. Tied her up and beat her,” she informed him.

Sam tore his attention away from the house and turned to the woman.“Really?”

“I used to see him going to work in the morning. He’d wave, say ‘hello.’ He seemed like such a nice guy.” The young woman shook her head.

You watched as the cop car with the supposed killer in it drove off.

The three of you decided to stay at the scene of the crime to dig around. You and Sam walked around the back of the house, looking for any sort of a clue. Sam lifted the lid on one of the two blue garbage cans behind the house.

“Why are you dumpster diving?” you asked Sam. “I don’t think the killer’s hiding in there.”

“Shut up,” he chuckled. “I don’t know, I’m just looking for... anything. I don’t really know what to look for.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you told him as the two of you walked around to the front of the house.

Dean came up behind Sam a moment later. “Hey.”

The two of you turned around.

“Remember when I said this wasn’t our kind of problem?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded.

“Definitely our kind of problem.”

“What’d you find out?” Sam questioned.

“Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex’s story. Apparently, the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked,” he informed you.

“So, he was two places at once,” Sam affirmed.

“Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house, police think he’s a nutjob.”

“Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way.”

“Could be the same thing doin’ it, too.”

You thought for a second. “Shapeshifter?”

Dean shrugged.

“Dude, bear with me on this one. It’s something that can make itself look like anyone.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” he replied.

“Every culture in the world has shapeshifter lore. You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men,” Sam added.

“Right. Skinwalkers, werewolves,” you continued.

“We’ve got two attacks within blocks of each other. I’m guessin’ we’ve got a shapeshifter prowlin’ the neighborhood,” the younger brother went on.

“Shapeshifters aren’t exactly known for flying--” you started as you headed off back behind the building, “--so I think it’s safe to say that I found a trail back there. Someone ran out the back of this building and headed off this way.” you pointed down the street.

“Just like your friend’s house,” Dean told Sam.

“Yeah. And, just like at Zack’s house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared,” you noted.

“Well, there’s another way to go—down,” the older Winchester pointed out.

You looked down to where the trail ended to find a manhole.

The three of you climbed down the ladder into the hole, looking around the dark cavern.

“I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too,” Sam commented. “The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.”

You went to take a step but stopped yourself when you looked at what you were about to walk into. You bent down, examining the pile of what appeared to be blood and skin.

“Is this from his victims?” Sam asked as he, too, bent down.

You took out your pocketknife, picking up some of the skin with the end of the blade. “Gross.”

“You know, I just had a sick thought,” Dean piped up. “When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.”

You looked back to see Sam’s nose scrunch up further as he thought about what Dean had said. “That is sick.”

You shook the skin off of your knife, wiping it off on Dean’s jacket.

“Hey!” He swatted your arm away.

You snickered.

“C’mon, you two,” Sam commanded with a groan as he made his way up the ladder.

Sam and Dean followed close behind you as you headed to the car. You leaned on the side of it as Dean popped open the trunk.

“Well, one thing I learned from Dad, is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.”

“Silver bullet to the heart,” Sam nodded. A moment later, his phone rang. “This is Sam... We’re near Zack’s, we’re just checkin’ some things out...” He mouthed Becky’s name to you to let you know who was on the phone. His expression changed a moment later to one of confusion. “What are you talkin’ about?... Why would you do that?” Suddenly, he seemed irritated. “Bec—... We’re tryin’ to help... Bec, I’m sorry, but—” He was cut off when she hung up on him.

“What was that all about?” you asked.

“She found out about Dean.”

“What, how he’s not a detective?”

“Yep.”

“I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” Dean jumped in. “You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked. It’s just--it’d be easier if--”

Sam understood where his brother was going with his statement. "If I was like you.”

“Hey, man, like it or not, we are not like other people. But I’ll tell you one thing. This whole gig—it ain’t without perks.” He held up a gun with a smirk.

***

The three of you headed back down the manhole, walking down the cavernous hallway with flashlights and guns in hand.

“I think we’re close to its lair,” you told Sam.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because there’s another puke-inducing pile next to your face,” you grinned.

“Oh, God!” he cried as he turned to see skin and blood on the pipe not two inches from his face.

Dean noticed a pile of clothes in the corner. “Looks like it’s lived here for a while.”

“Who knows how many murders he’s gotten away with?” Sam shook his head.

You heard a small splash in a puddle behind Dean. You whipped around and aimed your flashlight at the sound, seeing the shifter in the form of the businessman.

“Dean!” Sam shouted.

He wheeled around only to get punched in the face by the shifter. Dean toppled to the ground as the shifter ran away from you and the boys.

Sam shot after it a few times, but he missed. You tore down the corridor after it, not even once taking a look at Dean.

“Get the son of a bitch!” Dean yelled after you.

“That’s the idea, jackass!” you called back. You watched as the shifter climbed out of the manhole you and the Winchesters had used to get into the sewers. You scrambled up the ladder as quickly as you could, popping out of the ground and gazing out into the dark night.

You could just barely see the shifter at this point. You followed where you thought you had seen him turn. You held your gun inside your jacket, eyes focused on the alleyway you saw the shifter turn into. You pressed your back against the brick wall of the shop on the right of the alley before turning into it. You shined your flashlight down the dark alley, walking into it a few paces. The all too familiar smell of coconuts and tobacco filled your nose. When the beam of light hit the wall of the building along the back of the alley, you turned around, only to see the shifter in the form of the businessman staring directly at you. Before you could so much as aim your gun at it, it hit you over the head. Your vision went completely dark.

***

You woke up to an unfamiliar sight. The shifter had taken you to his lair; a cold, damp, dimly lit room in what seemed to be a house. You groaned before attempting to stand up, only to get choked by a rope that had been secured around your neck and pulled back by ropes around your hands. The shifter had tied you to a wooden post.

‘Brilliant,’ you thought.

You heard muffled voices behind you, one that sounded like it was Dean’s.

“Dean?” you called.

“(Y/N), it’s not--” Sam shouted, but cut himself off with a groan.

“Dean” walked over to you.

“Hiya, sweetheart,” he smirked, leaning down to your eye level. He put a hand next to your head on the post.

“Dean, the rope around my neck, it’s too tight,” you lied, struggling against the ropes. You pretended like your throat was constricted by making your voice strained. “Help me, please,” you begged.

The shapeshifter chuckled. “How stupid do you think I am?”

You dropped the act. “It was worth a shot,” you mumbled.

“You act like Dean-- I’m sorry, I-- would help you anyway,” he said as he walked away from you.

You looked up at him curiously.

He turned back to face you. “I’m so ready to leave your sorry ass in the dust,” the shifter laughed coldly. “All you’ve done since we met you is cause more trouble for us. I hope you’re tellin’ the truth about leaving the second we find Dad, ‘cause I don’t know how much longer I can put up with you. God, from your voice to your personality, you aggravate the livin’ crap outta me.” The shapeshifter leaned back down in front of your face, the two of you only inches away from one another.

“You’re a burden, (Y/N). You’re exhausting to be around. I constantly have to keep my guard up around you. I can’t trust you, not after what happened in Toledo. How do I know you won’t turn on me and Sammy?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you kept them at bay.

He turned away from you once more. “Sammy... that’s another thing. I hate how close the two of you have gotten. I mean, you roll up in your stolen car and immediately have him wrapped around your finger. He’s so ready to defend you against me. Maybe that’s why I hate you so much. You’ve replaced me. And sooner or later, you’re gonna take him away from me. Hell, everyone else in my life’s left, why wouldn’t he?”

The shifter took a deep breath, his frustrated expression leaving his face. He replaced it with a smug look as he continued on berating you. “Y’know, take your voice and personality away, Dean would definitely wanna fuck you. He thought you were hot the first time he met you. Then he actually got to know you, and, eh, things changed. But I’m sure he’d have tons of fun with Sam’s little friend Becky.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “I think I’ll go pay her a visit.”

With that, the shapeshifter disappeared.

You heard Sam mutter something, and then someone coughing.

“That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature,” you heard Dean call from somewhere in the cavern.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sam confirmed.

You steeled yourself, trying to push the shifter’s hurtful words out of your mind. “Sam, that thing went to Becky’s carryin’ Dean’s face,” you informed him.

“Well, he’s not stupid. He picked the handsome one,” he told Sam.

“Shut up,” you groaned, trying to wiggle your way out of the ropes around your wrists.

“Yeah, that’s the thing. He didn’t just look like you, he was you,” Sam continued. “Or he was becoming you.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories.”

“You mean, like the Vulcan mind-meld?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that. I mean, maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us,” Sam suggested.

You heard shuffling behind you, which you assumed was Dean walking over to Sam.

“Hey, jackass, you passed me up,” you yelled at Dean.

“I know,” he called back to you. He went back to his conversation with Sam. “Maybe he needs to keep us alive. Psychic connection.”

“Hands,” Sam ordered Dean. “Yeah. Come on, we gotta go. He’s probably at Rebecca’s already.”

“I’m still stuck here!”

Sam came over to help you get the ropes undone. However, Dean could care less about the state you were in.

You found all of the guns the shapeshifter had stolen off of the three of you, and you tossed each of the guns to their respective owners.

Sam boosted you up to a window high off the ground in the room you were in. You climbed out, “Come on. We gotta find a phone, call the police.” Sam started to head down the street.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dean effectively stopped his brother. “You’re gonna put an APB out on me.”

“Sorry,” Sam grimaced.

“This way.” You took off down the street. The neighborhood you sprinted through was dark, the street lamps so scattered and dimly lit that you could hardly see your feet hit the pavement below you. As you came up on a block full of shops, you slowed your run to a walk as to not draw too much attention in the well-lit area.

You almost headed past a shop with a bunch of televisions set to a news channel in the window, but you stopped when you heard what the reporter was relaying to the audience.

“An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.”

A sketch of Dean appeared on the screen next to the reporter.

“Man! That’s not even a good picture,” Dean piped up from next to you.

You looked around, making sure no one heard Dean’s loud exclamation and got suspicious.

“It’s good enough,” Sam muttered. He quickly walked past the shop to get back in the cover of night on the other side of the strip of stores.

“Man!” Dean grunted as he followed his brother.

“Hush, you big baby,” you snapped.

Sam turned down an alley with you and his older brother falling behind.

“Come on,” Sam urged the two of you quietly. “They said attempted murder. At least we know--”

Dean cut him off. “I didn’t kill her.”

“We’ll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she’s all right.”

“Alright, but first I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him.”

“Dean,” you started, “We have no weapons. No silver bullets.”

He stopped, turning to face you. "(Y/N), the guy’s walkin’ around with my face, okay, it’s a little personal. I wanna find him.”

“Okay. Where do we look?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

The older Winchester paused for a moment. “Well, we could start with the sewers.”

“We have no weapons, genius. He stole our guns, we need more.”

“The car?” Sam offered.

You shrugged. “He probably drove it over to Rebecca’s.”

“The news said he fled on foot. I bet it’s still parked there.”

"The thought of him drivin’ my car,” Dean snarled.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Alright, come on.”

“It’s killin’ me,” the older brother whined.

“Let it go.”

***

As you walked up the street on the right side of Becky’s house, you noticed the silhouette of the car outlined by the dim light of the street lamp.

“Oh, there she is!” Dean exclaimed happily, the relief in his voice evident. “Finally, something went right tonight.”

A police car appeared around the corner and parked next to the Impala.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered. You turned around, beginning to run away, but another cop car was parked across the street at the intersection you had come from.

This way, this way.” Dean headed toward a fence.

“You go. I’ll hold ‘em off,” Sam told you and his brother.

“What are you talking about? They’ll catch you,” the older Winchester said.

“Look, they can’t hold me. Just go, keep out of sight,” the brunet urged. “Meet me at Rebecca’s.”

“You got it, chief,” you called back.

Dean was the first to hop the fence and you followed. You stumbled upon landing in the backyard of the house you happened upon.

The voice of a police officer broke through the silent night as you and Dean started off to the fence on the backside of the yard. “Don’t move! Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

You climbed over the fence into the backyard of another house and ran around the left side of it to head down the street the cop car was parked at the intersection of. The two of you stayed out of the glow of the lamp lights that lined either side of the road as you ran along.

When you had gotten several blocks over from where you had that run-in with the cops, you and Dean stopped to catch your breath. You both sat down on the street corner, chests heaving. The older Winchester went to lay back, but you stopped him.

“Hey, stay sittin’ up,” you directed.

“What? Why?”

“You’re gonna pass out if you do.”

“Uh, okay.” He looked at you as if you did not know what you were talking about but still followed your orders.

The two of you sat in silence for a minute.

“So, what now?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “The cops are probably still snoopin’ around Rebecca’s house. Can’t go get the car ‘til they’re cleared out.”

“Yeah, so, what now?” you asked again.

“I don’t know, man,” he grumbled annoyedly. “You got any ideas, Einstein?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking you, dumbass,” you responded snippily. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a watch on me.”

“Great,” you sighed, standing up. You brushed your hands off on your pants and dusted the back of your jeans off.

“Could go get some burgers,” Dean piped up from his seated position on the grass.

“Your brother just got arrested, and you’re a wanted man, but sure, let’s take you where everybody in the joint’s gonna be able to clearly see your face.”

“Jeez, calm down. It was just a suggestion.”

“Yeah, a dumb one.”

“What’s your deal, (Y/N)?” Dean stood up, and you turned to face him.

“My deal? What about yours?”

“I don’t have one! But you’ve clearly got a stick up your ass.”

You shook your head in frustration. “Dean, don’t lie to me. You have a deal. With me, specifically. The shifter told me all about it.”

The young man tilted his head to the side in question. “What?”

“Yeah, he told me what you really think of me,” you continued. You took a step toward him with each sentence. “How much I annoy you. How much I exhaust you. How much of a burden I am to you.”

His face dropped out of its angry expression as he took a step back.

“He also told me how you think I’m gonna replace you in Sam’s eyes.” You laughed coldly. “Is that why you hate me so much? Because you’re so insecure about your relationship with Sam?”

The fact that Dean did not respond showed you that you were correct.

“I gotta be real with you, that’s pathetic.” You regretted what you said instantly.

The anger returned to his face. “Still think you don’t have a stick up your ass after you say something like that?”

“I’m sorry, I--”

“No. Just shut up.”

He walked off down the street.

Your frustration replaced your guilt in an instant. “Seriously? I say one thing that cuts slightly below surface-level insults and you get butthurt?”

Dean turned around.

You walked up to him. “What I just told you was fucked up, sure. But it wasn’t half as bad as what you said to me back in Toledo. That I probably drove my family crazy enough that they'd kill themselves over it? Does that ring a bell?"

“What do you want me to say, (Y/N)?”

“I want you to apologize, for starters!” you shouted back. Your tone changed to dripping with sarcasm. “Now, I know that would require you to humble yourself and get past your superiority complex, so I understand how difficult that’s gonna be for you.”

“I’m sorry, okay!” he yelled, throwing his arms out to his sides. “And I’m sorry about what that shifter said to you.”

“Thank you!” You took a moment to collect yourself. “And I’m sorry, too.”

“Thanks.”

You looked around at the houses that surrounded you on either side of the road the two of you stood in the middle of. “Now that we probably woke up half the neighborhood, let’s bounce.”

Dean chuckled, walking down the street away from you. You caught up to him.

“I don’t know where you think you’re going, we haven’t exactly decided what we’re doing.”

“I’m goin’ back to Becky’s. The cops probably cleared out by now,” he replied.

‘Okay, way to fill me in on what the plan is,” you scoffed.

“I didn’t realize I had to share every little bit of my thought process with you,” Dean clapped back.

“Well, it’s kinda helpful to know what you’re thinkin’ when we’re working together,” you told him.

“Whatever,” Dean brushed you off. “Why does it bug you, anyway? That’s such a stupid thing to fight with me about.”

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “Your face is just annoying.”

“Gee, thanks,” he retorted dryly.

As you approached the car, you noticed the sun had begun to rise.

“I guess that answers the ‘what time is it’ question,” you noted. “It’s probably somewhere around five in the mornin’.”

Dean popped open the trunk, shrugging on the navy blue canvas jacket he found on top of the gun compartment. You grabbed your duffel bag out of the trunk before Dean opened the hollowed-out bottom of the trunk.

You grabbed more silver bullets out of your bag and loaded them into your gun as Dean filtered through the weapons in his trunk.

“Doesn’t look like the shifter took anything,” he told you.

“Alright, to the sewers.” You headed up to the passenger’s seat after haphazardly throwing your bag over Dean’s head back into the trunk.

“Watch it!” Dean scolded. “You almost knocked me out!”

“But I didn’t,” you smirked, ducking down into the front seat.

***

You and Dean pointed your flashlights and guns around the sewer as you walked down the corridor together.

You walked into a chamber filled with candles and chains hanging from the ceiling. You aimed your flashlight at the ground, noticing many piles of shed skin and blood all over the floor. You even noticed a few teeth and fingernails near the pile.

“I’m gonna be sick,” you grimaced, looking up at Dean.

“(Y/N)?” you heard a muffled voice call from the far right corner of the chamber.

“Bec?” you responded, rushing over to a curled up figure covered by a tarp. You pulled the cover off to reveal a disheveled Rebecca, her hands and feet bound with rope.

“Thank God,” she sighed when she saw your face as you began to untie her. The blonde’s face was red, and tears had dried on her face.

Dean came over to the two of you, coming up behind you. “What happened?”

Rebecca started crying again as she spoke. “I was walking home, and everything just went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me. I don’t know, how is that even possible?”

“It’s okay, you’re okay now,” you coaxed her as you finished untying her binds.

“Come on. Can you walk?” Dean asked as he helped Becky stand up.

She nodded.

“Okay, we’ve gotta hurry. Sam went to see you.”

***

You jumped out of the car before it had even stopped rolling into the half-circle shaped driveway, rushing into Rebecca’s house behind Dean.

You held your gun out in front of you, Dean doing the same and yelling “Hey!” as he entered the living room.

You saw the shifter in the form of Dean jump off of Sam, whom he had previously been strangling. Dean shot the shifter in the chest twice, and it dropped to the ground dead.

You ran over to Sam. “Hey! Hey, are you okay?” you questioned as he slowly sat up, grasping at his neck.

The younger brother groaned, nodding in response.

You blew out a puff of air. Rebecca came running over, crouching down to yours and Sam’s level, looking him over.

You looked back at Dean and watched as he ripped the necklace he always wore from around the shapeshifter’s neck. He looked over at you, giving you a knowing nod. His jaw was clenched, and his eyebrows were furrowed.

You stood up, leaving Sam and Rebecca on the floor while you walked over to Dean. His eyes followed your face as you got closer to him

“So, what are you gonna do with... you?” you chortled, trying to make light of the situation.

He scoffed at you. “I guess have Becky call the cops once we get the hell outta dodge.”

“Sounds good,” you nodded, glancing down at the shifter. Your movements tensed as you remembered the awful things he said to you. Things that had apparently been on Dean’s mind; the reasons why he hated you. Despite the fact that Dean had apologized, you were still hurt.

“You okay?” Sam asked you when he walked up behind you.

You turned around to face him, noticing Dean had left his crouched position next to the shapeshifter.

“Yeah,” you lied, “I’m good.”

He gave you a knowing look with a tilt of his head.

You smiled half-heartedly. “We’ll talk about it later.”

***

You and Dean were packing up the car while Sam said his goodbyes to Rebecca. You looked on as the two friends shared a hug. When they pulled away, the blonde waved to you and Dean. You smiled at her, waving back.

“So, what about your friend, Zack?” Dean asked as soon as Sam walked up to the car.

“Cops are blamin’ this Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder,” Sam smirked. “They found the murder weapon in the guy’s lair, Zack’s clothes stained with her blood. Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with. Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon.”

Dean rolled his eyes before he got into the car, leaving you and Sam chuckling to yourselves.

***

Dean broke the silence in the car that you three had been enjoying the entirety of the ride up until that point. “Sorry, man.”

You looked away from the trees that flew by outside of the Impala’s window over to Dean.

“About what?” Sam inquired.

“I really wish things could be different, you know? I wish you could just be….Joe College.”

“No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in.”

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak,” Dean quipped.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Well, I’m a freak, too. I’m right there with ya, all the way.”

“Yeah, I know you are,” the younger brother laughed.

“Aw, isn’t this sweet,” you piped up from the backseat.

“Shut up, (Y/N),” Dean responded, making you snicker. He paused. "You know, I gotta say—I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.”

Sam turned his head to his brother. “Miss what?”

"How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?”

You snorted, curling up against the window while the car went quiet again. The shapeshifter’s words swirled around in your mind, causing the corners of your lips to turn down.

Were you really a burden to Dean? Or was the shapeshifter just saying that to get under your skin?

‘I mean, he never denied feeling that way when we were fighting,’ you reminded yourself. You huffed, crossing your arms.

‘I’ll talk to Sam about it next time we stop,’ you told yourself. You closed your eyes and decided napping was a better idea than being in your own head at the moment.

One final thought made its way into your head before you could suppress it.

‘He can’t really think that badly of me... could he?’

Feedback is always appreciated and tags are open!

Series Rewrite Babes:

@rach5ive @ppeachygemss

Dean Girls:

@akshi8278

24 notes · View notes

raysofcrosby · 4 years

Text

CHANCES – M. TKACHUK

requested: yes | no

warning(s): none that i can think of.

word count: 5,066

listened to: chances by the backstreet boys

inspiration: mixed luggage au [ i can’t find the og au-prompt masterlist, but if this is your au idea, lemme know and i’ll link you for credit (: ]

authors note: listen– i don’t know what it is, but i’ve literally been on a tkachuk thing lately. like, i used to despise this little curly-headed gremlin, but now??? it’s all hearteyes motherfucker. this is purely a writing to help me get back into the writing groove again after these last six months of nothing– so i might be a lil rusty. anyway, i hope you enjoy <3333

I’m sorry Y/N, but if you’re not here in the next 5 minutes I need to keep going.

That text haunted you– it was all you could think about the moment you got off of your flight. The uber your sister had ordered for you was close to canceling– all because there were too many planes taxiing on the airstrip and your stupid flight ended up circling in the air for thirty minutes. If this were any other airport, no doubt you’d be screwed. Luckily though, you knew good ole St. Louis Lambert International like the back of your hand. So getting from point A to point luggage claim would be no problem at all. The only delay would be the luggage getting put out onto the carousel.

Which of course, did prove to be the problem at hand.

You were the first one from your flight at the carousel and hoped to be gone before any disgruntled passengers you managed to bump into, could show up. Unfortunately for you, just as the bags were being loaded onto the carousel, your fellow passengers were arriving too– more than a few giving you a look that would normally result in you rolling your eyes in response. Yet, your focus wasn’t on them, it was glued to the small carousel door, keeping an eye out for your suitcase.

Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey handle. Teal bag with a grey hand–

“Ah-ha!” You smiled, catching eye of your suitcase and rushing to meet it instead of letting it eventually make its way to you. You grabbed the suitcase and extended the handle to drag it away, already walking towards the exit.

One minute.

You had one minute to catch your uber before they left you and you hoped and prayed that luck was on your side and the black Toyota Corolla just happened to be parked near the door you chose to exit from. The warm summer air of the Missouri summer weather practically smacked you in the face and it fit wasn’t for the awning covering the pick-up zone, you would have no doubt been blinded by the sun too.

“Oh, thank God,” you sighed, catching sight of a black Toyota Corolla that your sister said to find, parked just six cars down to your left. You sped walked to the uber, coming to a stop at the window and waving at the driver, catching her attention. “I’m so, so sorry I’m late.”

The woman, probably in her early 60’s gave you a friendly smile instead of the scowl you were expecting. “Are you Y/N?”

“Yes ma’am,” you replied, nodding.

“Go ahead and put your suitcase in the trunk, it’s opened for you.”

You walked to the trunk and lifted it open, placing your suitcase inside before closing it and walking to the back passenger door, getting into the backseat. “Again, I’m so sorry for making you wait. We had to circle in the air for 30 minutes because of the traffic on the airstrip and,” you exhaled, relaxing back into your seat. “I’m so sorry.”

She laughed, pulling away from the airport. “It’s no problem sweetheart. I saw your reply. I was going to give you a little extra time. I know how hectic airports could be. Especially this time of the year. Everyone’s traveling for vacation.”

“Yeah, I think I might have accidentally elbowed one too many people trying to get to luggage claim.”

“Are you visiting or coming home?”

“Coming home…kind of,” you laughed, staring out the window at your hometown. “I actually just graduated from college a few weeks ago, so my roommates and I rented a house on the Jersey Shore to celebrate. But, my sister is getting married tomorrow, so that’s why I’m back.” You looked back towards her, laughing softly to yourself. “But then come September, I’ll actually be moving to Calgary for a new job and to get my Masters.”

“So a lot of traveling, I see.”

You took a deep breath and sighed, nodding. “Yeah, but I’m glad to be able to spend all of this time with my friends and family before I start working. Especially since I’ll be moving so far away.”

“It sounds like a great time,” she smiled, looking at me through the rearview mirror. “I’m a sucker for weddings, why don’t you tell me about it?”

Normally, you weren’t one to talk a lot whenever you and your friends would take Ubers downtown on the weekends– but this driver was sweet and you found yourself talking nonstop as she drove you towards your final destination. After all, she didn’t abandon you at the airport like you thought she would.

The car ride to your parents' place went by a lot faster than you thought it would and it was all thanks to Mrs. Sheila, your lovely uber driver. Whom, you learned, started driving after she lost her husband late last year. Her kids lived out of state and once they went back home after those first few weeks, she wanted to find something to do to keep herself busy and get herself out of the house– so, she became an uber driver.

Walking into your parents' house, you were greeted with empty echos of your footsteps. Your parents were still at work and wouldn’t be home until just a little before the rehearsal dinner tonight. Your brother, well, as far as you knew, he had absolutely nothing going on, so you didn’t know why he wasn’t around. If anyone was guaranteed to be home, it was your sister. She was the one who ordered your uber and had them take you here, so she was more than well aware of what time you’d be arriving home.

“Hello?” You called out, leaving your suitcase by the door and making your way to the living room. “Char, are you here?”

“Is that my favorite sister?” You heard her voice call out from upstairs. Looking up, you could see her rounding the hallway corner, carrying a closed laundry basket full of, no doubt, stuff for tonight’s bridal party sleepover.

“I’m your only sister,” you laughed as she made her way down the staircase.

“Unless you count all of the times we got bored and turned Nick into Nikki,” she giggled, reaching the end of the staircase and putting the basket down before stepping forward and hugging you. “How was the flight?”

“It was great up until our 30 minutes of circling in the air,” you laughed, pulling away from the hug. “Where’s my dear brother?”

“Working out with some friends. We probably won’t see him until tonight.”

“Nothing says welcome home like being greeted to an empty house.”

“Excuse you, I was here to greet you.” She laughed, picking the basket back up. “But if you really want to be upset, you should see all of the packed boxes in your room.”

“I leave in three months! Why are they packing me up now?” You gasped, acting dramatically.

“Nick and dad are planning on transforming it into some kind of training room or something.”

“But they–“

“Already took over the garage? Yeah, I know and mom is pissed.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the handle of your suitcase again. “He literally told the Blues that he was going back to Michigan in the fall to try and win a championship. Why the hell are they even treating him like he’s already a hall of famer?”

“Perks of being the youngest, not to mention dad’s only son,” she laughed, looking at the door. “Ready to head to the Airbnb?”

“Can we get food first?” You asked, dragging your suitcase along. “I’m starving.”

She laughed as you held the door open for her. “Good, because we’re most definitely getting food before we go and take a nap.”

You laughed, walking out of the house with her and then closing and locking the door behind you. “I knew we were related.”

Lunch and a nap turned out to be exactly what you needed. The two of you had stopped at a subway to get some food before driving over to the Airbnb that you, your sister and the rest of the bridesmaids would be staying for the night.

It was a beautiful three-bedroom, modernized cottage that looked like it was stripped directly from the pages of a fairytale book. It was tucked away, just off to the side in the backyard of a beautiful colonial house, whose farm would tomorrow be transformed into a whimsical fairytale wedding location. The men would be getting ready in the house, while the women would be getting ready in the cute cottage. Sort of like a secret getaway paradise before the wedding.

When you got back with your food, your sister took you on a tour of the property while the wedding planners and staff were setting up all of the bigger decorations for tomorrow. You were off at school during the entire planning process, only ever seeing every one of her ideas in pictures. The only things you were able to take part in, were the dress shopping and her bachelorette party since they were both held at a time you were on a fall break from school. Besides being there for those two things, the only other thing you helped with– was the proposal.

Colton has been in your life for as long as you could remember. He and Charlotte have been best friends since Pre-K. It was the cliché friends to lovers kind of story that was told time after time– but in theirs, there were no other people in it. It was just them. There were no other boyfriends or girlfriends, no other crushes– from the very beginning, they were it for each other. They were each other's first everything– kiss, date, girlfriend/boyfriend, time– in their love story, they had found their one great love…all before they turned five.

Wherever Charlotte was, there was Colton– they were stuck like glue and your parents loved it. It was their friendship that brought both of your families together to the relationship that you all had now. Your families were best friends, all because of their relationship. You often took vacations together, spent holidays together, hell, you and Colton’s middle brother, Mason, even had joint birthday parties– as did your two younger siblings, Nick and Addie. Your families even try to go as far as to dropping hints that all three kids should date.

Colton and Charlotte. You and Mason. Nick and Addie– all the same age and practically family already.

It was perfect.

Until you and Mason tried to date in the tenth-grade and realized that kissing the person you’ve shared every birthday party with, used to take baths with and shared every key moment growing up– wasn’t all that great. In fact, it was weird. So the two of you remained as the almost black sheep of the families, especially since Nick and Addie were headed down the same path as Charlotte and Colton. They started dating in eighth-grade– like Colton and Charlotte– and have maintained a healthy and strong relationship to now, even long-distance, when they’ll both be sophomores in college in the fall, Addie at the University of Missouri and Nick playing hockey at the University of Michigan.

You and Mason were there, always making jokes about how it runs in the family but skipped a generation. Never letting your siblings live it down that the two of you will be the ones to break the cycle. Funny how you two were also the ones who played the biggest roles in Charlotte’s engagement.

Both of your dads are huge St. Louis Blues fans. So naturally, they tried to rub that off onto their children. And it worked, all except for you. You tolerated the blues, but never really adopted hockey as your favorite sport. You understood it, watched it whenever you never had a choice– but like your mom, you gravitated more towards football and adopted her hometown team as your own– the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Colton and Charlotte, however, were both diehard Blues fans from day one. There were even pictures to prove it. They even went to a game on both their first ‘supervised’ date and ‘unsupervised’ date. So, when the Blues were making a run for the Stanley Cup– it was imminent for your families to attend at least one game. You and Mason did everything in your power to get the Blues attention. You emailed anyone and everyone who worked in their front office, you spammed their social media accounts– anything and everything to get their attention so you could share their story and Colton’s plan.

And at game four it all came to life. Charlotte was ‘randomly’ selected to participate in an intermission event after the first period where she’d be blindfolded and needed to walk along the ice to find Louie after collecting ‘Blues momentos’ along the way. The Blues had played the short slideshow of Colton and Charlotte that you and Mason had sent them, as they introduced her to the crowd. Unbeknownst to her, both of our families were on the ice with her, standing behind her while she was blindfolded. You and the other three siblings were scattered in front of her, each holding a single rose.

The Blues staff member helped her walk along the ice and the moment that she took a flower from someone, they needed to go back to where she started, which was where Colton was standing with the ring in his pocket. The four of you each had a sign, that when held up together read ‘Will you marry me?’ Once Charlotte neared Louie, he cut the distance to just by center ice where all of you were waiting. And when she found Louie, the entire crowd had erupted into cheers as she took off her blindfold, all smiles until she turned around to see the signs and Colton on one knee.

She said yes. The Blues won. The proposal went viral and your families were given a box to game seven where the Blues won the Stanley Cup.

All in a day's work between the two middle siblings, and one that led you all to this moment– the wedding tomorrow. Where Colton, who was already like a big brother yo you, would officially, pretty much become your big brother.

“Y/N,” your sister said, shaking your arm. “Y/N, get up. We’ve got like 45 minutes to get ready for dinner before we have to leave and no offense, but you need to shower.”

“Your lucky that you’re getting married tomorrow or I’d kill you,” you mumbled into the pillow, taking a deep breath and exhaling before pushing yourself up. “Can you charge my phone for me? I won’t take too long, just need to rinse off and I’ll be back.”

“In your backpack?” She asked as you walked out of the room.

“Mhhm, small front pocket. The charger is with it.”

You walked out of the room and into the connected bathroom, closing the door behind you before walking towards the shower and turning on the water. Your nap was more than enough to help you make it through dinner. You hadn’t thought that you were even that tired, but the moment you laid down to relax after eating your sandwich– you were absolutely knocked out.

To be fair though, you had spent the last two weeks partying it up on the beach with your college roommates, trying to relive every moment from your last four years of partying, downing booze, and making out with any attractive guy who caught your eye. You know what they say, no rest for the wicked– and boy, oh boy, were the wicked actions of shotgunning beers with strangers in the hot summer jersey sun, coming back to haunt you.

At least you got one hell of a tan and more memories to last you a lifetime, out of it all.

You turned off the shower before you stepped out and wrapped a towel around your body, then wrapping your hair up in a second towel. You walked out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom, only to find it empty. "Hey, Char?"

"In the living room...er, kitchen, I guess!"

You walked out of the bedroom and into the living room to see Charlotte sitting at the kitchen counter, a make-up mirror propped up in front of her and hot curling iron in her hand. "Why are you doing your hair in the kitchen?"

"You were in the bathroom and the lighting is lacking in the bedroom." She let a curl, fall from the iron and turned to you. "What's up?"

"Well, for one, the bathroom is free," you laughed, looking around. "And two, I was wondering where you put my suitcase? It was in the room and now it's not."

"No," she dragged out her reply, focusing on wrapping another piece of hair around the iron before averting her eyes towards the door. "You left it by the front door. Never brought it in."

You turned towards the front door and sure enough, right there not even three feet away from the door...was your suitcase. "Awesome, thanks!" You said, walking over and tugging on the handle, extending it out before walking back to the room. "And my phone?"

"Charging in the kitchen. It was dead by the way."

"Great," you huffed, walking into the bedroom and over to the bed. You lifted up the suitcase, letting it plop down onto the bed and exhaled a deep breath. It was a lot heavier than you thought it was. But maybe your body was just tired from traveling and last night's final night out.

You caught a glimpse of the alarm clock that was set up on the bedside table and saw that your getting ready time was vastly starting to dwindle. So, not thinking anything more of the heavy suitcase, you unzipped the zipper and threw the cover back, ready to grab the romper you had placed directly on top, just so it wouldn't get wrinkled. You stared down at the contents of the suitcase, quickly grabbing the cover and shutting it again.

Okay, maybe you were imagining things.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling, and then opening your eyes and opening the suitcase again.

No, you definitely weren't imagining things.

The same spike ball netting was still staring you right in the face. Surrounding it, were three spike balls and a crumbled up bag that was supposed to house the set. Beneath it, a bunch of crumpled up clothes and other things.

"No," you shut the suitcase again, repeating the same steps: close your eyes, take a breath, hope you're dreaming, open your eyes and then the suitcase, only to be disappointed. "No, no– oh my God, this can't be happening. Charlotte!!"

You heard her footsteps echo off of the wooden floor as she made her way to the bedroom, half of her hair curled and set. "What?"

"This isn't my suitcase."

"Of course it is," she scoffed. "Colton and I got you that big traveling set for graduation, and that," she pointed at the suitcase, "is it."

"No, it's not," You opened the suitcase and reached in, grabbing the first thing you felt and holding it up to show her. "See? Not mine!"

"Y/N," her eyes widened before she started to laugh. "You might want to put those down."

"It's just the spike ball bag, it's not big–" you turned to see what you were holding and sure enough, it was not the spike ball bag you thought you had picked up. It was a pair of Ant-Man boxers, and it was unknown whether or not they were clean or not. "Ah, ew!" You tossed them back into the suitcase, wiping your hand on your towel. "Ew, ew, ew, I just touched a stranger's dirty underwear."

"You don't know if they were dirty."

"You don't know if they were clean!" You argued back, looking around the handle for an identification tag. "This definitely isn't mine. My travel tag isn't on the handle."

"Who uses a travel tag?" She laughed, shaking her head.

"Me," you turned towards the suitcase, slamming it shut and zipping it. "I use a travel tag, so if my luggage gets lost or switched, they can contact me. It's common travel knowledge."

She sighed, walking over towards the suitcase and unzipping the two pockets on top, looking in and shaking her head. "Nothing hidden in those pockets. Did you think to go through the rest of the suitcase? Maybe they have a tag in there."

"And risk touching another pair of possibly dirty boxers and God knows what else? No thanks," you zipped up the suitcase and picked it up, placing it back onto the ground. "I'm doomed. That suitcase had all of the clothes that I took to Jersey, in it. It had my outfit and makeup for tonight."

"I have something you can borrow," she walked over to the closet, opening it to reveal it was empty besides two dresses hanging up. "And I've got make-up and whatever your little heart desires for your hair."

"Your wedding present was in there too," you sighed, walking over to the closet. "Which one?"

"This." She held out the rose-colored dress, handing the hanger to you. "You can get away with no bra and I can give you a pair of underwear from the new pack I bought this morning–"

"Why would you buy new underwear?" You asked, taking the dress.

"In case of emergencies," she closed the closet and turned back to you, nodding. "Which, this is. Unopened pack in that laundry basket I was carrying, feel free to take a pair and keep them. As for shoes...you're kind of on your own on that one."

You sighed, defeated as she walked out of the bedroom, leaving you to get dressed. You unwrapped the towel around your hair, letting it drop onto the floor as the towel wrapped around your body went with it. You took the dress off of the hanger and untied the straps, lifting the dress over your head and tugging it down. Your mind was going over every detail of just how you picked up the wrong suitcase. Fair, it was a dead-ringer for the suitcase you took with you to Jersey, but even you should have known to realize that there was no bright red luggage tag hanging on the side handle. And it was all you could do but hope that whoever picked up your suitcase thinking it was theirs, would at least call or text.

"Oh shit," you said, holding onto the straps that hung down on the side, trying to tie them in the back. "Charlotte! My phone!"

You ran out into the living room to see her now finishing up her make-up at the counter, turning to you with wide eyes. "Okay one, sit down and let me brush your hair," she stood up and grabbed your wrist, bringing you over to counter and sitting you down. "And two, your phone is right there."

"If they figured out our luggage was switched, they'd call! My luggage tag!" You reached across the counter, grabbing your phone and turning it over to see that the screen was still black. "Oh come on, my phone wasn't that dead!"

Charlotte tugged you back and started to brush your hair, not bothering to go slow. "I plugged it in the moment you went to take a shower, just give it a few seconds."

If looks could kill, your phone would be nowhere ready to turn on. You were glaring at the screen as if pure intimidation would turn it on. This could go one of two ways:

1) This person left your suitcase in the dark abyss that is lost luggage at the airport.

2) Like you, they didn't realize that they had grabbed the wrong luggage until they went to open it and they'll find your luggage tag and call you.

"Ah!" You yelled, jumping out of the chair as your phone lit up. You leaned over the counter, your heart racing as Charlotte tried to keep brushing your hair. "Come on, come on, come on..."

"Right there," Charlotte said, pointing at your screen as a text message notification popped up on the screen from an unknown number. "That has to be them!"

"Oh thank God," you sighed, thumb ready to swipe the message open. "Oh...yikes."

"Uh," Charlotte laughed as the two of you continued to watch your messages pour in, at least 5 coming in from the unknown number, along with three phone calls. "Yikes indeed, I guess they're panicking just as much as you are."

You swiped on the notifications, unlocking your phone, and going to the message.

unknown: hi y/n i think you grabbed the wrong suitcase...

unknown: yeah, uh, you most definitely grabbed the wrong suitcase.

unknown: is there any way we can switch in the next 30 minutes before i reach my house?

unknown: ok, so i'm sorry for the spam texts and calls...but this is kind of urgent.

unknown: like life or death.

"Life or death?" Charlotte asked, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "What the hell was in that suitcase?"

"Spike ball and dirty clothes," you replied, shrugging. Your eyes went wide before you turned back to her. "What if they're a drug smuggler and there are drugs in there?"

She opened her mouth to speak before looking down at your phone, nodding. "Now's your chance to find out. Look who's calling."

You looked back down at your phone to see the unknown number flash on your screen. You looked back at her, shaking your head. "You answer it."

"Your luggage, you answer it," she laughed, pulling back segments of your hair to tie back. "But put it on speaker, I'm curious what the drug dealer sounds like."

You shoved your elbow back, avoiding her as you nervously slid your thumb across the screen, answering the call and pressing the speaker button. "Hello?"

"Oh thank God," the unknown called sighed, clearing his throat. "Sorry for the spam calls, I've just been panicking."

"Yeah, I’m sorry...my phone died," you replied, looking at Charlotte as your voice dwindled off.

"The suitcase," she mouthed, nodding her head back towards the room.

"Oh, the suitcase!" You said, almost a little too excited. You cleared your throat, calming yourself down. "I most definitely have your suitcase...maybe."

"Well I have yours," you could hear rustling in the background. "Y/N L/N, right?"

"Yep, that's me," you looked at Charlotte again, shaking your head. "Sorry to kind of do this...but how do I know I have your suitcase? I mean, what if I grabbed someone else's and you grabbed mine and there's three of us in this and–"

Charlotte smacked your back lightly with the back of the brushed, shaking her head as the voice on the other side of the phone laughed. "Um, shit," he coughed, smacking his lips. "Uh well, there should be a spike ball set in there. If not, then I left it at Johnny's. Otherwise, it's just clothes."

"Congratulations," you laughed, leaning back into the chair. "I've got your suitcase."

"Oh thank God, I was really worried there for a second," they replied. "Is there any chance we can exchange them soon?"

"Okay, so about that," you sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. "I kind of have a wedding rehearsal and dinner to go to in 20 minutes...and I don't think that will be over with till about...two hours from now. Is that okay?"

There was silence on the other side and you couldn't help but feel horrible at the fact that you were keeping this stranger away from his luggage and that he had to keep yours until then. "My family and I are going to dinner in two hours, reservation and all."

"Where at?" You spoke before your brain could even catch up with what your mouth was doing. "I'm sorry that was creepy."

He laughed and you felt a little flutter feeling in your stomach. "No, it's fine. I think we're going to Maggiano's in–"

"In the Westfield town center?" Your eyes widened as Charlotte placed the brush down on the counter behind you, looking at you with a smile. "We're going to Pieology in the Westfield town center!"

"Pieology for a wedding rehearsal dinner? Sounds like my kind of party," he laughed. "So, do you just want to exchange then? When I get there and you're leaving?"

"Sounds perfect!"

"Great! So I'll just, text you when I get there and I promise I won't forget the suitcase."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"All right, bye, Y/N!"

"Bye!" You hung up the call and Charlotte leaned against the counter a smile on her face. "What?"

"He sounded cute." She stuck placed the extra bobby pins she didn't need, onto the counter. "Maybe he can be your date for my wedding."

"Not this again," you groaned, getting out of the chair. "For the last time, I don't need a date. Besides, this guy is a total stranger– I don't even know his name!"

"You can learn it later," she laughed, wiggling her eyebrows. "Either way, do your makeup quickly because we need to leave in ten."

She walked off towards the bedroom the two of you had claimed and you sighed, sitting back down into your seat, grabbing her mascara, blush, and golden liquid shimmer eyeshadow. It was the best you could do for now, until you got all of your stuff back from this stranger. As you applied the eyeshadow, you couldn't get Charlotte's comment out of your head. She was right, he did sound cute. But who's to say that he's not a total creep? Or that he's even your age? He could be in his 40's or even barely cruising 18. And then stood the real issue, you didn't even know his name.

Your phone screen lit up once again and you looked away from the mirror, seeing that you had another text from the unknown number. You furrowed your eyebrows and unlocked your phone, opening his text.

unknown: my name is matt, by the way 😊

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl one shot #hockey imagine #hockey oneshot #hockey writing #nhl writing #calgary flames oneshot #calgary flames imagine #calgary flames writing #matthew tkachuk writing #calgary flames #my writing

302 notes · View notes