#I guess I can’t go wrong with a good old coat borrowing right | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherienymphe · 3 years

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Crave (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, NON-CON, vampire!Peter, bloodplay, mentions of animal cruelty, mentions of murder, mentions of X-Men characters

DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

divider provided by @/k1tty4rk

summary: when Peter goes missing while on a mission, he’s not exactly himself when he returns. His appetite is a little different now, and you soon find out that he’s hungry for more than just blood

You should’ve known that something was wrong when your phone went off at nearly 3 in the morning. No one ever called you that late, not even Peter. Your best friend was more likely to slip through your window if he needed something. Groggy with fatigue, it took you a moment to realize that you had not plugged your phone up before going to sleep like you thought, and that it was instead in your sheets somewhere.

“Hello?” you finally grumbled, eyes still closed as you wondered just who in the world was calling you.

“Kid, it’s Tony. Is Peter with you?”

You were suddenly wide awake, blinking your eyes open as you forced yourself to sit up.

“No…? I thought… Isn’t he on a mission?”

Worry began to bleed into your heart, and it only increased at Tony’s words.

“He was, yeah.”

You threw the covers off of you, hurriedly sliding out of bed as you searched for some shoes.

“What do you mean ‘was’?”

The older man sighed, and you noted that his voice shook a little bit. You froze, heart dropping into your stomach as the severity of whatever was going on registered. Tony Stark was worried.

“He was supposed to check in 2 days ago. He was supposed to be back today. Neither of those things have happened.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Your pitch had risen, and you didn’t bother to mask your fear.

“I don’t have much time to explain. Capsicle and Robocop are coming with me to see if we can find him. We’re leaving shortly, but my coordinates show that he’s still in Bulgaria. That’s where we sent him. We just haven’t heard a word from him and can’t seem to get in touch with him.”

You could hear things going on in the background, and you figured that they were only moments away from leaving. Your stomach churned, and you felt like you might be sick. If Tony Stark with all of his gadgets and resources couldn’t get ahold of Peter, then something was really wrong.

“Look, I have to go. If he shows up there, let us know immediately.”

He hung up before you had the chance to tell him that you were coming straight to the compound. You stared at your phone for a bit, brows drawn together as you processed this news. You hadn’t thought anything of it when you hadn’t heard from Peter in a few days. He wasn’t a kid anymore, had graduated college alongside you only last year, so his presence on the team was needed a lot more. His missions were less juvenile, so losing touch for a week at a time was nothing new.

As you threw on a coat to combat the biting New York air, you tried not to dwell on the worst. It couldn’t be helped though, and as soon as you stepped into your apartment hallway, shoulder grazing your door, tears filled your eyes. If Tony could see where Peter currently was...and he wasn’t able to get in touch with him...then that meant he was dead right? You shook your head, locking your door and tightening your fingers around your purse. There could be so many reasons for that. It didn’t mean he was dead.

The entire drive to upstate New York was a quiet one. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to fill the car with mind-numbing music to distract you. Your fingers were tight on the wheel, legs so tense that when you finally arrived at the compound, they actually hurt when you stepped out of the car. You leaned your back against the vehicle, the warmth seeping through your coat, and you released an unsteady breath.

You had known Peter since high school, easily finding a place with him and Ned, and eventually, MJ too. When Ned and MJ took their college education elsewhere, you had remained. You told yourself it was to save money, a partial truth, but you never wanted to admit that it was also to stay by Peter’s side. You couldn’t imagine being away from him. It was pathetic really, but Peter was more than some guy you loved. He was your best friend.

“I had a feeling you’d show up here.”

The familiar voice reached your ears, and you looked up at Wanda just as she floated down next to you. Her auburn hair was ruffled with a gentle breeze, her eyes sympathetic as she reached out to pull you into her side.

“They will find him,” she assured you.

You could hear Sam on the phone as soon as she guided you inside of the compound, and he sent you a tense smile and wave, which you returned. You could faintly hear other voices as well, and you figured that everyone who stayed back was wrapped up in doing whatever they could to get in contact with Peter. You felt helpless.

“What can I do?” you asked Wanda, already knowing the answer.

“Just be here,” she told you, making you sigh.

“Wanda…”

You gave her a reproachful look, and she smiled at you.

“We know you’re worried just like the rest of us, probably even more than the rest of us,” you swallowed at her knowing look. “...but everything will be okay. The last thing we need is you putting yourself in harm’s way or bursting a blood vessel.”

You nodded, heeding her words. You made your way to your room with a heavy heart. You were far from being a member of the team, you could barely throw a proper punch, but seeing as you came over so often with Peter, sometimes in the dead of night, Tony decided to have you a room put in. Right next to Peter’s.

One of his old college sweatshirts was on your desk, still there from the last time you borrowed it, and without thinking, you got undressed and put it on. It still smelled like him, and with the scent of your best friend filling your nose, you laid down and sought out sleep.

The next day brought bad news. They had found Peter’s suit, but no Peter. It explained his stationary location and their lack of success with getting in touch with him. You had just stepped into the door of the room when Tony told them, his virtual face wracked with fear and worry, something you weren’t used to seeing.

You could tell that you weren’t meant to hear the news just yet by the way Nat’s eyes widened when she finally noticed you. The rest of the team turned as she hurriedly rose, making her way to you just as your face crumbled.

“Y/N-.”

“Wh-what does that mean? What does he mean?”

Tony’s voice faded as she pulled you from the room, and you almost tripped over your feet as your legs shook.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s going to be okay,” she said, attempting to calm you.

“What does he mean by that? Why doesn’t he have his suit- where is he?”

You were in your room now, and she shushed you as she guided you to your bed. You sat down, staring at your feet as your brain whirled. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating, and your whole body shook as you fought to process this news.

“I don’t understand,” you mumbled, more to yourself than the spy before you.

She came into your vision as she knelt before you, her hands taking yours.

“Me neither,” she mumbled.

You fingered Peter’s shirt. You were still wearing it, just with some jeans, and Nat observed the movement.

“How long?” she quietly asked.

She didn’t need to elaborate. You knew what she was asking.

“Since…” you shrugged, releasing a heavy breath. “...practically since forever.”

“Does he know?”

You sadly shook your head. She pursed her lips, red hair framing her face as she studied you.

“We’re going to find him, and when we do, you can tell him. Okay?”

You nodded.

“Okay,” you quietly replied.

Nat didn’t stay for long, and you guessed that she needed to get back to the team to plan the best course of action. You barely left your room for the rest of the day, not having much of an appetite nor energy for anything. It was late in the evening when you found yourself making your way to Peter’s room. You lost count of how many times you slept in here, but Peter was usually with you, and if not, he at least showed up at some point. You liked waking up to the sound of his soft snores.

It felt weird with him gone, even weirder when you accounted for the fact that you didn’t know when he’d be back. If he’d be back. Your face almost crumbled at the thought, and you laid down, grabbing one of his pillows and hugging it to your chest, unable to stop the tears that spilled over, no matter how much you tried.

You slept in his room for days, and for days there was still no sign of him. The team was beyond worried now. You knew it, no matter how much they tried to portray otherwise. They were getting restless and scared. You couldn’t exactly say that you were any different though.

Sleep was hard to find, and even when you did, you found yourself tossing and turning throughout the night. Every time you woke up, you kept hoping that he’d be there, that you’d hear his voice. You were met with a dark empty room each time though, and it always broke your heart. After Peter had been missing for 8 days, Wanda finally came to you.

“I think you should go home,” she told you.

You were sitting cross legged on Peter’s bed, and she sat before you, hands in her lap with her feet on the floor. You frowned at her, wondering if you had overstayed your welcome, but she continued.

“It’s not that we don’t want you here, because you know we love having you around, but… You do not look good, Y/N.”

You squirmed under her concerned stare, clearing your throat.

“I’m fine,” you quietly argued.

“You’re not, and that’s okay. You just...you look exhausted and worried, and you’ve lost weight. A considerable amount in such a short time. What would Peter think if he came back right now and saw that you weren’t properly taking care of yourself?” she wondered.

Guilt flooded you, and you reluctantly nodded.

“I know that being here brings you some comfort, but I don’t think it’s worth the toll it’s taking on you.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you reluctantly admitted that she was right. You wanted to be near Peter in any way you could, but constantly waiting and listening out for any news was stressing you out.

“Go home. Sleep in your own bed. Get some rest. You can always come back,” she said.

“Okay.”

So, you did. You took a shower as soon as you made it back to your apartment, finding another one of Peter’s shirts he’d left. You forced yourself to at least eat something of substance, and when you had all you could take, you made a cup of tea. You had tried to watch tv, but funnily enough, the news was reporting on a crime that Spider-Man’s had helped solve months ago. Unable to stomach it, you turned the tv off and opted for bed.

Strangely enough, you were able to sleep better in your own bed. It happened quickly, and you didn’t toss or turn much. The first time you floated back to consciousness, it must have been around 3 in the morning. It was the longest you’d slept in days, and you knew that you’d be drifting back soon. However, you faintly noted that goosebumps had erupted over your skin, like you were cold.

Considering it was cold outside, you kept your heater blasting.

You blinked, staring at your window. It was closed, but the curtains were parted, and you could see that it was snowing outside. For the first time in days, a small smile tugged at your lips, and with a sigh, you rolled over. A dark figure was standing beside your bed, and the scream that you let out echoed through the apartment, filled with terror.

You fought back against them as they reached for you, struggling to get away and move further back on the bed. Their hands were cool, like they’d been outside for a while with no gloves. You were sitting up, pushing against them when they reached over and flicked on your lamp. When light flooded the room, your eyes widened.

Peter stood before you, dressed casually in dark clothes and looking completely unharmed. You sharply inhaled, all of your breath leaving you as your lips parted, eyes welling with tears. You blinked a few times, feeling like you might have been dreaming, but Peter remained. You reached out to him with shaking hands, and your vision had started to blur.

“Hey, breathe. Breathe, Y/N,” he softly ordered, brows furrowed.

You did as he said, and your chest burned as you moved closer. You slid off of the bed, moving to stand up, but your legs were unsteady. Peter caught you just as you fell into his arms, wrapping your own around him. You buried your face into his chest, your tears wetting his shirt, and he enveloped you in his arms as he shushed you.

You were shaking so much, and you just couldn’t stop. You couldn’t believe that he was here, and he looked perfectly fine. You sobbed into his chest, and you felt him tighten his arms around you. You clung to him, maneuvering to bury your face into the crook of his neck, feeling guilty about his shirt. You could feel him do the same, his nose brushing against your skin, and he took a long inhale, breathing you in.

“You’re okay,” you blubbered.

“Yeah...yeah, I’m okay,” he whispered.

You pulled away from him, roaming your eyes over him before meeting his own eyes.

“Where...where have you been? Everyone is looking for you,” you softly told him.

“I know,” he replied, looking sheepish.

“We have to call Tony,” you said, reaching for your phone.

Peter stopped you before you could, his hand tight on your wrist, and you found yourself wincing at his harsh grip. You looked at him with a frown, heart skipping a beat at his sudden dark countenance. He swallowed, and your eyes were briefly drawn to the subtle movement in his throat before he eventually let you go.

“I can’t...I can’t go back,” he told you, shaking his head.

Your eyes widened at him, and confusion filled you. What?

“What are...what are you talking about? Everyone is worried sick, more worried than I’ve ever seen them. Peter, they have no idea where you are or if you’re even okay! We should at least tell them-.”

You swallowed the rest of your words as you noticed that he made to leave.

“I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come here-.”

“Wait, wait!”

You grabbed onto the back of his shirt. You weren’t any match for him, but you were thankful that he halted. You wrapped your arms around him from behind, your lips brushing his shoulder as you spoke.

“Stay. Please stay,” you whispered.

His shoulders heaved as he sighed, and you continued.

“I’m sorry, okay? We don’t...we don’t have to tell them anything. If you don’t want to go back that’s fine, but… I’ve been so worried.”

That last part was said so softly, it was a wonder he even heard you. He didn’t say anything, nor did he move for a while, but eventually he turned around, and you let your arms fall. When your eyes met his again, you watched the way they narrowed, forehead creasing just a bit. You didn’t understand why until he reached up to press his fingers to the skin beneath your eyes. You could see the disapproval in his eyes, and all you could offer was a shrug.

“I was so worried.”

Peter blinked, face falling before he pulled you into his arms again. You returned the hug and let your eyes fall closed, just basking in the feel of him. You could hear his heartbeat, so slow...and so faint, something that seemed impossible. You told yourself you were imagining it.

“You’ll stay, right?”

He threw you a small smile when you pulled back to look at him, and you watched the way his dark eyes ran over you, lingering on your neck a tad longer than the rest of you before his eyes met yours again.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

You smiled at him, pulling him towards your bed. You settled in, only just realizing how cold you had gotten, while Peter got in behind you. Your head hit the pillow just as he turned the light out, and you frowned when you noticed that he wasn’t completely laying down. He was on his side, facing you with his head propped up onto his hand.

“You’re not tired?”

His eyes trailed to your window, staring out into the night for a moment before he shook his head.

“No...not really.”

You chuckled.

“So you’re just going to watch me sleep?” you wondered.

He reached towards you with his other hand, brushing his fingers along your neck and collarbone, fingers cool against your warm skin. A shudder passed through you.

“I missed you,” was his only answer, and it made your heart soar.

You knew that he didn’t miss you like you missed him, but it made you happy to hear that nonetheless.

“I missed you too.”

He didn’t respond, and you closed your eyes, the feel of his fingers on your skin oddly soothing. He always made you nervous, but not tonight. You wondered if it was because you had gone without him for so long, unsure if he would ever return. Sleep was just within your reach, but something weighed on your mind that prevented you from grabbing hold of it.

“Why don’t you want to go back?”

Your voice was small in the otherwise quiet room, and when Peter didn’t answer right away, you peeled your eyes open. He had stopped touching you, fingers curling into the covers as his jaw clenched.

“They won’t want me back.”

You frowned, forcing yourself to sit up. You blinked at him a few times, lips parting as you processed what that meant. Why wouldn’t they want him back? Peter was part of the team, one of the most loved members of the team. Said team was practically sick with worry, had been for over a week. Despite the fact that Peter was right in front of you and seemingly safe and sound, worry began to take hold again.

“Why wouldn’t they want you back?”

Your best friend didn’t answer you, and your worry grew, heartbeat picking up. Peter’s eyes were on you now as he sat up too, so focused and intense.

“What happened on your mission, Peter? What happened in Bulgaria?”

Again, Peter didn’t respond, but the minute you moved closer to him, he snatched your arm. Startled, you almost fell over, but his fingers curled around your wrist and pulled you closer, guiding the palm of your hand right to his chest.

Where his heart was.

Again, like before, you noted that his heartbeat was so slow. And even fainter. It was almost nonexistent, and your brows crinkled. You had felt and heard his heartbeat many times before since he’d become Spider-Man, and you knew that this was no effect of the spider bite. You had a hard time wrapping your mind around what you were feeling, and you looked at him again.

“I have...I have to tell you something…”

You fought to keep your worry at bay, noting the way Peter’s voice shook.

“I may even have to show you...but you have to promise me…”

His hand tightened on your wrist, and he released a shaky breath.

“...promise me that you won’t be scared.”

Scared of Peter? He was your best friend, and you couldn’t ever imagine being afraid of him. Still, you felt like he needed this so you nodded.

“Okay.”

Peter’s side of the bed was empty when you woke up, and your heart lurched in a mild panic before you realized why. The sun shone through your window, bathing your room in the warm rays, and you swallowed as you wondered where he could’ve gone.

“I’m right here.”

You snapped your head up to find him standing in the hall, just outside of your doorway. He was out of the sun’s reach, and you slid out of bed to join him. He was watching you like he couldn’t anticipate your next move, and you sent him a smile to reassure him.

“Do you...need anything…?”

You didn’t come right out and say it, but you both knew what you were asking. He studied you for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. I...ate before I came here last night,” he told you.

You nodded and folded your arms over your chest with a long sigh. You could feel his eyes on you as you looked away.

“Look, Peter...I know you're not going to like what I have to say, but…”

You chanced a glance at him and found his dark eyes narrowed at you.

“I think you need to tell Tony.”

He briefly closed his eyes before letting them fall to the ground, hands shoved in his pockets.

“If anyone can help you, he can.”

Peter scoffed, a humorless sound.

“Help me with what? It’s not like he can fix this, Y/N. This goes past Tony Stark and all of his intellect,” he practically spat, frustration coloring his tone. “This is what I am now.”

You grabbed his hands, squeezing them as you moved closer.

“I know, I know. I just meant...maybe he can help you safely get what you need.”

His eyes met yours, albeit reluctantly.

“...and maybe he can help you control your appetite better. That way...that way you won’t hurt anyone else,” you quietly finished, recalling everything he’d told you.

Guilt passed through Peter’s features at the reminder of what he’d done. He closed his eyes, practically squeezing them shut as his shoulders heaved, a small sigh escaping him.

“Maybe...you’re right,” he hesitantly admitted.

You could see the war going on within him when he opened his eyes, conflict and guilt and self-loathing all passing over his face.

“Hey.”

He looked at you.

“You’re still you. You just...your diet’s a little different now, that’s all.”

He cracked a smile, a small chuckle leaving him, and you joined him.

“When the sun goes down, we’ll go to the compound, and...and everything will be okay,” you promised him.

He nodded, and hours later, when the sun was safely behind the horizon, that was what you did. You drove. Peter was still wary of his new strength, strength that far surpassed what he had before. Your wrist was still sore from when he’d grabbed you last night, but you didn’t want him to feel any worse than he already did.

Having called Tony on the way, he was waiting outside when you arrived. As per requested, he was the only one. You didn’t want Peter to get overwhelmed. You weren’t exactly sure of what he was capable of now, neither one of you really were, and you didn’t want to stress him out.

Tony had pulled him into a hug the minute he reached him, and your heart clenched for many reasons. You hoped that you’d made the right decision. Tony loved Peter. He’d help him, right? When he pulled away, the bearded man’s eyes flickered between the two of you with a frown.

“So you’re going to tell me what the hell this is all about?”

Before you could respond, Peter moved to pull him inside.

“It’s a long story, Mr. Stark…”

His voice trailed off as they went inside, and with a small sigh, you eventually followed. Neither one of them were present, and you figured that they went to the lab. You had a feeling that everyone else was there too, or at least not far off. They’d been worried sick and now Peter was back, seemingly unharmed. Of course they’d be concerned and curious.

Wanda was the only one who greeted you, and her eyes were wide as they met yours. They were a bit accusatory, even fearful, and you pursed your lips. She probably didn’t mean to, but it was easy to guess that she’d been inside of Peter’s head. She knew, and there was no telling what she saw.

“Y/N…?”

You shook your head.

“He’s still him, Wanda. Okay? Everything is going to be fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue as you moved past her to go to your room. You didn’t see anyone else the rest of the night, and you knew that they were all caught up with Peter. Figuring out how this happened, running tests, coming up with the best course of action. You were in and out of sleep when you heard Peter come into your room in the early hours of the morning.

He wrapped his arms around you as he slid in behind you, and even though he wasn’t as warm as he used to be, the familiarity of it all immediately relaxed you. You felt him bury his nose in your hair, taking a deep breath as he breathed you in, fingers brushing over the skin of your arms.

“Everything okay?” you mumbled, referring to Tony and the rest of the team.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “He wants me to drink pig’s blood, but yeah. Everything’s okay.”

You chuckled at that, sleep finding you once more as you smiled at Peter’s joke. However, it was the next day when you discovered that he hadn’t been joking at all.

“You’re serious?”

Peter nodded with a frown, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the counter.

“He wants to start weaning me off of human blood and start transitioning to animal blood,” he grumbled.

You noted that he wasn’t happy about that, and your curiosity got the better of you.

“Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily, no,” he sighed. “He thinks it’ll help me. That maybe I’ll...crave human blood less and it’ll lower my chances of losing control around someone.”

You blinked, wondering if you agreed with that.

“I mean, he doesn’t exactly know. This is all just trial and error, right now, because probably for the first time in Mr. Stark’s life, he’s stumped,” Peter said with a shrug. “...but it’s worth a shot.”

You felt like there was more to it, like he wanted to say something else.

“He doesn’t know that I already tried that,” he whispered.

You leaned against the opposite counter, watching as his frown deepened, eyes troubled.

“When I woke up...I felt like I had swallowed fire,” he murmured. “My teeth hurt, my throat burned, and my mind was going a mile a minute. I felt like I was losing it.”

He sounded angry as he glared at the floor.

“The only thing that even smelled slightly appealing was…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, a light chuckle leaving him.

“I must have killed at least 100 animals. Anything I could get my hands on… It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch, only 1,000 times worse. It wasn’t until...it wasn’t until I came across those hikers…”

He swallowed his words, letting his face fall into his hands. You neared him, resting your hand on his arm.

“It was the first time I’d felt okay in days. I could finally freaking think,” he said through clenched teeth, letting his hands fall. “There I was...covered in blood...surrounded by bodies of innocent people...and I was finally at peace.”

You pulled him into a hug as he recounted what he’d already told you. You knew that Peter wouldn’t ever forget that moment, but God, you wanted him to. That wasn’t who he was, you knew it, and you wanted him to know it too. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, nose brushing over the skin, and his hands rested on your waist.

Your conversation with Nat weighed on your heart. Like she’d said, Peter was back, and you could finally tell him, but it didn’t seem appropriate. The man had been attacked and turned into something you thought only existed in books. This was a hard time for him, and it seemed silly to drop one more thing onto him, one more thing that could definitely wait.

“I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you, Y/N. He might mistake you for a quarter pounder.”

You pulled away just as Bucky’s deep chuckle reached your ears, and you turned to see both him and Sam enter the kitchen. Sam seemed pleased with his little joke.

“You’re not funny,” you told him, completely unamused.

“It’s a little funny,” Bucky disagreed, and you huffed.

You felt Peter pull away, and by the time you looked over your shoulder, he was gone.

“Seriously?”

You threw them an incredulous look, and Sam shrugged.

“Look, we’ve got to find some humor in this okay? The kid’s got fangs and he lives off of blood now,” Sam said like it was the most absurd thing in the world.

Considering that you all were friends with literal Gods and even a woman who controlled the weather, you were inclined to disagree.

“This is hard for him, okay?”

You weren’t sure if they knew the full extent of what he’d done, but you heard Sam sigh, and Bucky at least looked a little sheepish.

“I’m sure he’ll joke about it when he’s ready, but please let him do it in his own time. His whole life has changed...again.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the club,” Bucky sighed.

You rolled your eyes and turned away with a scoff.

“What’d I say?” you heard Bucky ask, but you were already making your way to Peter’s room.

You were surprised that he told you to come in when you knocked, and you slowly stepped inside. He was on his bed, hand behind his head as he scrolled through his phone.

“You okay?”

He let his hand fall, greeting you with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m good. They don’t mean any harm, so I’m not going to let it get to me,” he replied, reaching for you.

You joined him on the bed, laying your head on his shoulder as he told F.R.I.D.A.Y to turn on the tv.

“Want to watch a movie with me? As silly as it seems, all I could think about was curling up with you and watching a movie the whole time I was away,” he confessed.

Your heart fluttered, sure he could hear it, but he didn’t comment on it. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

His hand tightened on your hip as you figured out what movie to put on.

Every day, Peter went to the lab with Tony and Bruce, and every time he returned, he always seemed irritated. You tried not to comment on the harshness of his eyes and tautness of his jaw, but eventually, you had to express your concern.

“It’s nothing,” he told you one day. “They just keep treating me like some science experiment gone wrong.”

He played it off like no big deal, but you could tell that he was genuinely bothered.

“...and its this stupid diet or whatever you can even call it! It’s not working. It’s not satisfying or fulfilling, at all. I can’t taste a damn thing, I’m just drinking to get full? If that’s what you can even call it. It does absolutely nothing to satisfy me or quell this desire…”

He trailed off at your light chuckle.

“Alright, Edward Cullen.”

He threw you a hard look, and you swallowed your laughs. While he was finally making jokes about the situation himself now, you realized that now was not the time.

“Sorry…”

He heaved a long sigh, turning to stare out of the window.

“You wanna get out of here?” he suddenly asked.

You blinked at him.

“Now?”

He glanced at the clock, and so did you. It was almost 2 in the morning.

“I can’t think of a better time,” he replied.

You chewed on your lip.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” he shrugged. “Just for a little bit…”

He hadn’t left the compound in weeks, Tony far too paranoid, and you could see how much he needed this.

“Okay.”

That was how 40 minutes later, you found your car parked near a small pond while you and Peter leaned against it, staring at the full moon. Neither one of you had said anything since you left, and you guessed that Peter was in his thoughts. You couldn’t blame him.

“You know, if I’d been bitten by a werewolf, we’d be having a totally different night, right now.”

You barked a laugh, and he joined you.

“If you were bitten by a werewolf, I’d be trying to play fetch with you,” you replied.

He chuckled again, and the two of you fell into another easy silence. Your eyes narrowed a bit as something weighed on your mind, and you suddenly crossed your arms over your chest.

“Why won’t Tony let you have any human blood? I mean, blood banks exist…”

Peter sighed, a frustrated sound, and you turned to look at him. The cool nightly breeze blew his dark hair around his face, and his jaw clenched.

“He thinks it’ll make me crave it more. Kind of like an addict, you know?”

You shook your head, disagreeing with that.

“...but...it’s not. This is part of your DNA, now, is it not? He shouldn’t be looking at it like a drug but instead like...food. It’s what you need to survive, now,” you explained.

“You’re right...but that’s blood I’d be taking away from people who need it. Besides, it’d be pretty messed up of me to…‘convince’ some stranger to let me drink from them and then alter their memory of the whole thing,” he mumbled.

“That’s right. You did tell me you can do that, now,” you mused.

“I’m pretty sure it’ll come in handy during missions. You know, if I ever go on one again,” he complained.

Your heart hurt for Peter. His entire life had been turned on its head again. He couldn’t go on missions, couldn’t even see his aunt, and on top of it all, he couldn’t even satisfy the craving his body had for what it actually needed. You pursed your lips and glanced at him again. You were positive he noticed before, but this time he commented on it.

“What?”

You glanced away from him, heart speeding up a bit as you wrung your hands together.

“What about me?”

He didn’t respond right away, and when you looked at him again, his eyes were on you. They were narrowed, hard, but you could see the spark of something in them that gave you hope that maybe this wasn’t such a horrible idea after all. Peter’s lips parted, his sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight before he snapped his mouth shut. He cleared his throat.

“You...you would do that?”

“Of course,” you said with a frown, turning your body completely to face him. “This is what you need, and you’re my best friend, and I’m willing. So you don’t have to let your morals get in the way.”

Peter stared at you for what seemed like a long time, eyes roaming over every inch of you. You watched as he swallowed, the conflict written all over his face. You could see that he was scared, afraid that he’d hurt you, but you could also see the fire in his eyes, the desire to take you up on your offer.

“Worst case scenario-.”

“You die?”

You rolled your eyes at him, stepping closer.

“You won’t let me die, Peter. We both know it,” you whispered, pushing your sleeve up and holding your arm out.

Peter’s dark eyes snapped to the bared skin, no doubt tracing the veins that you couldn’t see. Hesitantly, he grabbed your wrist, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting your arm as he bent his head. His breath, like everything else about him now, was cool against your skin. You watched as he closed his eyes, dark lashes contrasting against his fair skin, before opening his mouth. You barely got a glimpse of his sharp canines in all of their glory before they were sinking into your arm.

The reaction from you both was instantaneous.

A loud gasp escaped you, but not from pain. No. Your body heated up like never before, blood on fire as Peter let out an equally loud groan. An addicting sense of euphoria descended over you, and you felt your legs shaking, lashes fluttering as you struggled to keep your eyes open. Sensing this, Peter reached out with his free hand and tangled it within your hair, pulling you closer until your head leaned against his shoulder.

You could feel him moving forward, and he didn’t stop until your back was against your car. His hand tightened in your hair, almost painfully, but all you let out was a moan, your breath choppy and lips trembling as he pressed his leg in between yours. Your free hand clutched his jacket, attempting to pull him closer, and a low moan escaped his own throat as he pushed his thigh more firmly against your now heated core.

You faintly noted that this was a lot more erotic than you anticipated, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. He was still pressing your head to his shoulder, and your lips brushed the fabric of his jacket as you murmured his name.

“Peter...Peter…”

You couldn’t tell if you were asking him to stop or not, but considering this was the best high you’d ever been on, you concluded that you were not. Suddenly, all too soon, Peter practically ripped himself away from you, and you would’ve fallen to the ground if he hadn’t caught you. Your chest was heaving, so was his, and when you peeled your eyes open, his own wide ones were focused on you.

“Shit,” he cursed, looking like he was seconds away from getting in trouble. “Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t have done that. Mr. Stark is going to kill me…”

“Hey...it’s okay,” you panted, weakly reaching up to brush a dark strand out of his face. “I’m okay. How do you feel?”

He seemed stumped by the question, and he suddenly blinked, brows drawn together as he stared down at you. His lips were stained with your blood.

“I...haven’t felt this satisfied in weeks,” he whispered, looking at you strangely.

You weakly chuckled, eyes fluttering closed.

“Good.”

You had only been seconds away from falling when he caught you, and he finally straightened as he lifted you into his arms. You could feel yourself on the verge of sleep...or was it the verge of death? Either way, you were happy that Peter was happy. He gently deposited you into the passenger’s seat, strapping you into place. Your head lolled as he shut the door, facing him as he settled behind the wheel.

You could feel his eyes on you, and with difficulty, you opened yours again. He was staring at you with that look again, and you were sure he thought you crazy for putting your life in danger like that. The car was quiet, just the sound of your shallow breathing could be heard, and you thought to yourself that you kind of wanted to tell him you loved him. However, before you could, Peter leaned over and pressed his blood-stained lips to yours.

It was quick and soft, just the barest of touches, but it made your eyes widen nonetheless. You stared at him as he sat back and started the car, and you wanted to keep staring at him, wanted to ask him what the hell was that, but sleep finally got to you before you could.

It was days before you finally discussed what had happened, and that was only because it was days before Peter needed to “feed” again.

“I think I can go longer without when it’s human blood...because it’s what actually satisfies me. What my body needs,” he murmured one night while you were watching a movie you’d both seen a million times.

“That’s a good thing. Surely Tony will see that this is the best thing to do. This is what will keep you in control and allow you to go on missions again...see your aunt May…”

You had decided to keep what happened between the two of you, but you didn’t exactly feel right about it. Peter sighed and shook his head.

“No. I think he’d send me away,” he quietly told you.

You quickly moved your head to look up at him, your cheek on his chest as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s been doing research, trying to find others like me. I think he has. I overheard him talking to the captain and Sam one day. He’s thinking about sending me somewhere I can learn to control my thirst and utilize my new…abilities or whatever,” he grumbled.

You fully sat up now, looking down at him with a stricken expression. His eyes finally moved away from the screen, and he smiled at you, rubbing your back in a soothing manner.

“I’m not going to let him send me away, Y/N, but he’ll definitely try if we tell him what happened.”

You nodded, forcing your heart to slow before you laid back down. Peter’s hand was still on your back, tracing patterns into your, well, his shirt. You listened to his slow heartbeat, the organ pumping what was left of your blood through his body. Your lashes fluttered when he dragged his fingers up to your neck, the appendages playing with the hair there. You found yourself humming when he tightened his hold there, and you looked up in confusion, prepared to ask him what he was doing when his other hand gripped your arm, and he pulled you up.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was nothing like the first one. You gasped against his mouth, and he wasted no time before taking the opportunity to taste the inside of yours. Peter moaned into the kiss, circling both arms around you now as he rolled the both of you over. He settled himself between your parted legs, and you sharply inhaled at the bulge you felt there.

Peter’s hand traveled to your neck again, grasping the hair at the nape, holding you in place as he dragged his mouth down. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he bit you, throwing your hands out to grasp anything you could. Your right hand hit the lamp on the nightstand, and it fell to the floor with a soft crash. Peter’s other hand pressed into your back, forcing you to arch your chest into his.

His hips were rolling into yours, his clothed member pressing against the most sensitive part of you so deliciously. You let out a soft moan, one hand clawing at his shirt, pushing the fabric up to drag your nails along his back. Peter had you completely pinned in between him and the mattress, every curve of his hips sending pleasure through you.

“Peter,” you moaned, reaching up to drag your hand along the headboard. “Fuck, Peter.”

You could feel your blood crawling past your neck, staining his sheets, but he didn’t seem to care. The bed shook a bit from his movements, and you hooked one leg on his waist as he continued to grind into you. You could feel yourself fading, and you welcomed it, and before you could, one particularly slow roll of his hips sent you over the edge.

You were a moaning mess as you came beneath him, his teeth still embedded in your neck. Your whole body shook, legs practically vibrating as they fell around him, chest heaving as he finally pulled away. He licked at your neck, and your arms fell to the bed, soft murmurs leaving your lips to which Peter chuckled at. He brushed his thumb over your lip before leaning back down, lips grazing your ear.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You did, he was, and he greeted you with a kiss, further filling you with confusion as you wondered just what you were. You didn’t want to ruin it, didn’t want to break the spell by trying to make him define this. You simply wanted to enjoy whatever this was, and enjoy it you did.

Every few days or so, you found yourself squirming beneath Peter one way or another. Sometimes he simply pressed kisses along your neck as he rolled his hips into yours, sometimes his teeth were in you, and sometimes his fingers were in you, the sound of it so loud as he thrust them in and out of your fluttering core. The rest of the team was none the wiser as you both satisfied each other in more ways than one. It was usually in the dead of night when everyone else was asleep, and Peter was wide awake.

“Ngh, Peter,” you panted, fingers twisted into his dark locks.

You were completely naked before him, a first, as he swiped his tongue over your wet folds, another first. His own fingers were pressed into your thighs, holding them down in a way that hurt so good. The cool air hit the bite mark on the inside of your left thigh, and you hissed as Peter slid his tongue past your slick walls, tasting every inch of you that he could.

A thin layer of sweat covered your frame, and you realized that you lost track of how long Peter had been alternating between tasting your blood and tasting your lips. His mouth completely covered you, and you shuddered when he sucked on your little bundle of nerves, sharp teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

You could feel your...3rd? 4th? Or was it the 5th climax of the night that you felt approaching? You were so tired, but Peter didn’t seem to have gotten his fill of you, and his lips kissed along your mound before traveling to the space in the crease of your thigh before he swiped his tongue over your thigh itself, the unmarked one. It was dark in the room, and when Peter glanced up at you, dark promises in his eyes, you noted that they almost seemed to glow in the dark, like that of a feline.

He wasted no time before sinking his teeth into your skin again, and you pressed your hand to your mouth to keep from making too much noise. You knew that he’d ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y to soundproof the room, but it was a force of habit by now. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, and that was how you fell asleep that night, with Peter’s face in between your legs, drinking from you in any way he saw fit.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Bucky sarcastically greeted as you walked into the kitchen the next morning.

Steve threw you a sheepish smile, visibly sorry on Bucky’s behalf for his behavior.

“Cut it out, Buck.”

“I’m just acknowledging that the princess has been holed up in her room more often than not as of late. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you went home, but I noticed that you’re still eating my cereal, the only other person who eats the kind I like, so…”

You rolled your eyes as he trailed off, and he reached out to pull on your shirt as you neared.

“What’s with the turtleneck, squirt? I know it’s freezing outside, but in case you haven’t noticed, it’s 77 degrees in here.”

You tensed at his words, and you ignored the way Steve eyed you over his mug.

“I just think I’m coming down with something is all. I’m a little chillier than usual today,” you lied.

He simply hummed, and that was when you finally noticed his attire. Steve too.

“Are you guys going on a mission?”

“You’d know the answer to that if you actually left your room once in a while,” Bucky grumbled, and Steve lightly shoved his shoulder.

“Yeah, the whole team’s heading out. Well...except…” Steve trailed off, and you nodded. “...but Nat and Sam are supposed to be returning from their assignment today, so they’ll be back later.”

You nodded at Steve’s words, not quite liking the way that he was studying you. You hurriedly poured your own cup of coffee, quietly telling them to “be safe” before moving to get out of Steve’s watchful eye.

Hours later found you and Peter on the couch, hardly paying any attention to the movie before you. You had the compound to yourselves, something you looked forward to, but Peter had other ideas than that of what you were thinking.

“You want to...leave?”

You frowned at him, unsure that you heard him right. Peter was facing you with his elbow on the back of the couch, propping his head up as his other hand traced your collarbone.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Mr. Stark...I think he’s getting serious about sending me away for a while. I think he suspects us, but I’m not sure.”

You mulled over his suggestion, unsure of how you felt about it.

“They couldn’t even find me last time. I’d make sure they’d never find us,” he told you.

“I...I don’t know. I mean, I love you, but I’d miss everyone else,” you replied.

When you looked to him, he looked surprised, and his lips parted as he blinked at you.

“...what?”

Your brows drew together.

“What?”

He scooted closer, a slow grin forming on his pink lips.

“You love me?”

You scoffed at him.

“Of course. Peter, I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember,” you finally confessed.

You thought that it would’ve been obvious by now, but Peter just looked as if you told him he’d won a million dollars. Before you could register it, he reached out to pull you into a kiss. It was passionate and full of yearning...and hungry. You wrapped your arms around his neck and moved closer, Peter’s hand pressing into the small of your back. His lips trailed from your own down to your jaw, pressing kisses there and to your neck. You’d changed shirts as soon as everyone had left.

You knew what he wanted, what he needed, and you welcomed it as he pressed his teeth into your skin. A breathy moan climbed out of your throat as he laid you down. Your heart was going haywire in your chest, the realization that Peter returned your feelings finally hitting you. His hands ran over you, brushing over your breasts and down your sides before he hooked them underneath your thighs.

He pressed his bloody lips to your décolletage, nipping at the skin there before they grazed the swell of your breasts. He bit into the flesh that spilled over the top of your shirt, and you trembled beneath him, a loud moan escaping you. He growled into your skin, fingers pressing into your thighs almost painfully. You weren’t sure how long you remained beneath him, lashes fluttering and lips parted as ecstasy clouded your mind, but eventually, you felt yourself fading in a way you had never felt before.

Your vision blurred, and you could feel your heart starting to slow.

“Peter,” you worriedly murmured.

He seemed preoccupied with releasing himself from his jeans, fingers brushing over you as he reached underneath your skirt. You opened your mouth to protest, but all that came out was a choked sound, the sound transforming into a breathy gasp when he thrust into you.

“Peter,” you weakly called.

You could feel yourself fading fast, and Peter’s own breath was harsh as he drank from you, snapping his hips into yours with every thrust. You could faintly hear a door opening, and you wanted to warn him, but you could hardly move, let alone speak. Darkness creeped along the edge of your vision, and the last thing you heard before going under was a feminine scream.

You knew that you were in the infirmary before you even opened your eyes. The steady beep of the monitor next to you told you that whatever condition you had been in was pretty serious. You struggled to open them, but when your eyes finally peeled open, you noticed that the room was empty.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you’re awake,” F.R.I.D.A.Y noted. “I will inform Mr. Stark immediately.”

You cringed, squeezing your eyes shut at the mention of the last superhero you wanted to see. You just knew that you were going to get an earful, and you didn’t really care to hear it. You just wanted to know where Peter was and if he was okay.

Tony burst through the doors a lot sooner than you would have liked, and you avoided his eye. He didn’t say anything, and you knew that he was angry, because when did Tony Stark ever have absolutely nothing to say?

“Are you insane?” he finally wondered, and you sighed.

“Where’s Peter?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he snapped, and you finally looked at him as he stomped towards your bed. “You could’ve died.”

You shrank underneath his cold stare and harsh words, glancing away.

“Do you get that, Y/N? When Nat and Sam got here…”

He trailed off, face reddening as he was no doubt recalling what he’d been told, probably what he’d even seen thanks to F.R.I.D.A.Y. You watched as he swallowed, releasing a breath.

“Any later, and you would’ve been dead,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly told him. “I just wanted to help him.”

He heaved a long sigh, a tired and exasperated sound.

“I know you love him…”

You frowned at that, wondering if the whole damn team knew.

“...but he needs help from people who can help him. Help him to control himself, hone his new skills, help him so that he doesn’t kill you,” Tony finished, and you blinked back tears. “Go home and let us handle Peter. When the time is right, he’ll be able to see you again.”

The tears finally spilled over, and with a shake of his head, Tony left you. After a few more days in the infirmary, and several blood transfusions later, you did as Tony instructed. It felt strange to be back home after spending nearly 2 months at the compound with Peter. As you entered your room, sitting on your bed, you felt silly.

Tony had been right. You had almost died. You recalled the feel of your life literally slipping away as Peter drank from you, too lost in the taste and feel of you to notice that he was losing control. You had only wanted to help him, and you had ended up making things worse. Was Tony right to treat it like an addiction? Had you hindered Peter more than you helped him? You didn’t know. All you knew was that your actions almost led to your death at Peter’s hand, and that Tony’s actions had not.

You didn’t know where Peter was, but you had faith that he was alright. You hoped that Tony didn’t give him too hard of a time for what he’d done, but you knew that was unlikely. Nat, poor Nat, had literally walked in on him feeding from you and fucking you. There was no telling what the poor woman thought, and you hated the idea of them treating Peter like some wild animal that needed to be caged.

It was 3 nights later when you woke up to the feel of fingers ghosting over the side of your face as you slept. It took you a moment to register what was happening, but when you blinked your eyes open, you were surprised to come face to face with Peter as he stood over you.

“P-Peter?”

You struggled to sit up, and you rubbed your eyes, noting the way his own dark ones lingered on your neck.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re getting out of here. C’mon,” he said, reaching for you.

You frowned at him, and you watched his own face fall.

“I don’t...I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you honestly told him.

He frowned at you, and guilt tore through you for more reasons than one.

“Don’t listen to Mr. Stark-.”

“Maybe I should’ve. Maybe...maybe he knew what he was talking about,” you said, cutting him off.

His hand fell to his side, and his dark eyes narrowed on you.

“You’re afraid of me,” he murmured.

“No! No...not really-.”

He cut you off with an angry sigh, and you folded your arms over your chest.

“I almost died, Peter!”

You watched the conflict on his features, brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“...and you would’ve never forgiven yourself...and I feel like it’s my fault…”

Peter stood over you, dressed plainly but darkly, chocolate locks kissing his forehead as he stared at you. He didn’t look happy.

“So you’re taking his side,” he surmised.

“I just think you should hear him out,” you whispered. “We tried it our way...and look what happened.”

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. You sat there, and he stood there, both of you just staring at each other. You watched the way Peter’s jaw clenched, and he suddenly reached out to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a kiss as he neared. You pressed your hands against his chest, but Peter forced his way onto your bed, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of you as he moved his mouth against yours.

“Mm, Peter,” you protested, turning your head away.

“They think I raped you, you know,” he quietly said, the loud sound of tearing fabric filling the room as he ripped your t-shirt straight down the middle.

Your eyes went wide at his words, and he chuckled, the corner of his lips quirking upwards into a smirk.

“Oh, yeah. They think I coerced you with my new abilities or even just flat out bit you and took you anyway I saw fit,” he whispered.

The irony of the situation was not lost on you, and you desperately fought against him. Your underwear was next, and you were no match against Peter’s newfound strength as he batted your hands away, moving to remove his own clothes.

“They don’t know that I had you squirming beneath me, purring and mewling like a desperate kitten.”

His voice was husky, thick with the desire to sink both his teeth and cock into you. He gripped your legs, separating them like it was nothing despite your efforts to keep them closed.

“They think that you’re bad for me…”

It was embarrassingly easy for him to slide into you, your velvet walls giving him a wet welcome. He sighed out as he pressed into you, dark eyes somehow darker.

“...they think I’ve formed some supernatural bond with you, some kind of blood tie…”

A choked moan slipped past your lips as he started to thrust into you, and Peter leaned down to press kisses to the corner of your mouth.

“...and they might be right, but it only cements what we both know.”

His hands pressed into the sheets beside your head, his labored breathing reaching your ears as he pulled back and snapped his hips into yours again and again. Your head was spinning from the way he dragged his cock through your clenching walls, completely unrelenting in his pace. While this technically wasn’t the first time he fucked you, it was the first time you were coherent enough to truly feel what was happening.

“Peter,” you murmured.

His nose brushed against yours with every thrust, and he released a shaky breath.

“...and what do we both know?”

There was a desperation in his eyes that took you by surprise, and your heart clenched.

“Say it...for me…”

You swallowed, lashes fluttering as he slowed down his thrusts.

“I’m yours.”

His own eyes fell closed at the admission, slowly sinking himself into you, basking in the feel of you wrapped around him.

“You gave me your blood...your body…”

He leaned down to trail kisses along your neck, rolling his hips against yours.

“...and you’ll give me your soul. You’re mine in every way a woman possibly can be. In every way a human can be,” he purred, sharp teeth grazing over your warm flesh.

His words made your stomach flutter, walls clenching around him, and just then, your phone buzzed. Like that first night, it was in your sheets somewhere, and the continuous buzzing told you that it was a phone call. You had a guess as to who it could be and what they wanted.

They were looking for Peter.

You looked to him when he paused, watching as his face darkened. He wrapped his hand around your noisy phone before throwing it at the wall, the device shattering upon impact. His dark eyes met yours again, and he kissed you, stealing your breath away as he moved within you again.

“They want to know if I’m with you...if you’re safe…”

You could feel him smiling against your lips, and your nails pressed into his sides, hanging on as he pushed his knees beneath your thighs, widening your legs and forcing a guttural moan from you.

“They think you’re in danger around me...and they’re probably right, but not the kind of danger they’re thinking of.”

One of his hands fisted itself into your hair, pulling your head back, baring your throat to him, and you knew what was coming.

“You don’t know how much I fought with myself that first night...how badly I wanted to tear into you anyway I could,” he whispered, voice strained. “You were all I thought about when I was attacked...when I changed…”

His hips sped up, the sound of slapping skin filling the room as he pistoned into you.

“For your sake, I’m glad you gave yourself to me, because I planned to take you from the very moment I stepped into your bedroom.”

His teeth pressed into your neck, breaking the skin, and your climax washed over you, euphoria clouding your mind and senses as Peter drank from you. His thrusts didn’t stop, and one hand pressed into the headboard above you, blood staining your pillow as the bed shook from the movement of his thrusts. You knew that Peter was far from done for the night, finally claiming what he felt was rightfully his.

tags: @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie @kellyn1604 @sherrybaby14 @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @sapphirescrolls @threeminutesoflife�� @searchforanotherway @mcudarklibrary @ksjksjkv @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

#dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #Dark!Peter #dark peter x reader #peter parker x reader #marvel fanfiction #Dark Fic

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eminems-skittles · 3 years

Text

my sweater [josh lyman x reader]

josh lyman x fem!reader warnings: mentions of not being able to sleep word count: 1.3k a/n: this is so bad idek where i was going with this. but if you have any requests for josh or any tww characters please send them!

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“josh!” donna called down the hallway to catch up with her boss. “we have a problem.”

“what is it this time?” josh sighed exasperated. just as he thought he’d be in the clear to go home before midnight for the first time that week, here was donna most likely telling him he had to stay late again.

“it’s y/n.” donna stated.

“what do you mean? is everything okay?” josh’s annoyed expression shifted to one of worry in less than a second.

“well, she’s fine...i think. i don’t know. she’s just been here later than i have every night this week and she’s here when i get here. i don’t think she’s been home all week,” donna explained as her and josh made their way back to josh’s office.

“and what do you want me to do about it?” he asked, setting his bag on his desk.

“talk to her i guess? find out what’s wrong.” donna pleaded.

“why can’t you do it? you guys are so much closer than we are,” josh sighed.

“that’s not true and you know it. come on josh, do it for me please. she’s still in her office.”

josh remained quiet for a second, mulling over it in his mind. “fine.”

“yay! thank you!” donna said before leaving his office.

josh paced around his office for a few minutes, trying to figure out the best way to approach y/n. he finally worked up a plan just as he saw her quickly speeding past his door. “y/n! wait!”

y/n stumbled at the call of her name. her hair that was haphazardly thrown in a bun was slowly falling down around her face and the sweater she had thrown on in a rush resembled one that josh had not seen in a few months. well it didn’t just resemble it, it was one of his old sweaters that he had let y/n borrow when she got cold on a trip to new york a few months prior.

“oh hey josh,” she mumbled as she scanned the stack of papers she was holding. “anything you need?”

“yeah actually could you come to my office real quick?” josh said, leading the way back into his office.

“what’s up?” y/n asked as she slumped into one of josh’s chairs. she watched as josh opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words. “are you o-”

“is that my sweater?” josh forced out.

“what?”

“is that..is that my sweater?” he inquired softly. y/n looked down at the gray knit sweater in confusion.

“oh, i suppose it is. you can have it back if yo-”

“keep it. it looks good on you,” josh said with a hint of a smile on his face.

“was that all you needed?” y/n asked, a smile present on her face.

“no actually. donna’s worried about you. she thinks you haven’t been home all week.” josh sat on the edge of his desk, facing y/n as he spoke. he took the time to look over her appearance. she had dark circles under her eyes that he was positive weren’t there before. instead of wearing her contacts, her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, sliding .down every couple seconds. another indicator that she probably hadn’t been home in a few days.

“well, she’s right about that,” y/n sighed. “on top of all the work for the reelection, my roommate doesn’t understand that they can’t blast music at 1 am so i haven’t been home in a bit to try and get some peace and quiet.”

“when’s the last time you slept? like got a good amount of sleep.”

“do power naps count?” y/n joked. “but to answer your question, the last time i got a full night was probably last week? i’m not sure.”

“if you want you can crash at my place,” josh said, trying to hide the hope in his voice.

“are you sure?”

“yeah, positive. you can crash in the guest room.”

“oh,” y/n said with a tone of disappointment. “not your room?”

josh’s face turned bright red at y/n’s question. “well, uh, well.”

“relax josh, i was messing with you,” y/n laughed. “i’ll take you up on your offer. i don’t think leo would be very happy if i fell asleep in another meeting.”

(time skip)

“wow,” y/n said as she followed josh into his house.

“what?”

“nothing, it just looks the exact same as the last time i was here,” y/n sighed, a reminiscent smile on her face as she thought of the small get together josh hosted a couple months ago.

“well not much has changed since then. the guest room is right around the corner,” he explained as he lead y/n further into the house. “i’m going to watch some tv for a bit before i go to sleep. you’re welcome to watch with if you want.”

josh silently cursed himself at how nervous he sounded. he’s negotiated bills with congressmen yet he could not figure out a way to easily ask y/n out. the irony was almost enough to make him laugh.

“if it’s the news count me out,” y/n giggled before yawning softly. “i’m going to go put my pajamas on real quick and then i’ll join you, okay?”

“ ‘kay,” josh said, mostly to himself since y/n had already left the room.

a few minutes later, y/n had reemerged from the guest room, clad in josh’s sweater and a pair of sweatpants. josh did a double take when she entered his line of sight. he had seen her in designer gowns yet he could have sworn that this was the most she had ever looked. then again, he had thought that to himself every time he laid eyes on her.

“you okay, lyman?” y/n asked when he continued to wordlessly stare at her. she took a seat on the couch next to him and waited for a response.

“wait? oh-” he coughed awkwardly. “uh yeah, yeah i’m okay. you just...nevermind.” he looked away with a bright pink blush across his face and found himself suddenly interested in whatever crappy reality show was playing on the tv.

“no no,” y/n giggled. she gently put her hand on his cheek and tilted josh’s face so she could see him. she took a deep breath before whispering, “tell me.”

josh took a second to assess their position. he was close enough that he could kiss her if he wanted to, not that he would. he wasn’t even sure if he could work up the courage to brush away the piece of hair that had fallen in front of y/n’s face. he inhaled deeply, thinking ‘here goes nothing,’ before exhaling. “well, you look beautiful right now.”

it was y/n’s turn to blush now. the compliment took her off guard and she quickly took her hand away from josh’s face and brought it to her own to cover the blush coating her cheeks. she took a second before looking back at him. “really?”

josh nodded wordlessly, a big smile ghosting across his features. y/n moved her hands to reveal an equally large smile. suddenly, y/n shivered and brought her arms around herself in an attempt to warm herself up.

“jeez, josh. why is your house the temperature of alaska?” y/n complained.

josh laughed and opened his arms up. “c’mere.”

without hesitation, y/n leaned against josh and let his arms wrap around her. she basked in his warmth and after a few minutes of josh rubbing her back gently, she found herself drifting off to sleep for the first time in a week.

josh soon found himself falling asleep, not bothering to move himself or y/n out of fear of waking her. he wasn’t sure what they were but he was content with the fact that it was his sweater and his arms she had chosen to fall asleep in.

#cassie's masterlist #{ writing }#{ tww }#The West Wing #the west wing x reader #josh lyman x reader #josh lyman #{ tv shows }#masterlist

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thatwritingnerd · 3 years

Note

3 for elliott/sebastian 🥺 @gendercraft

Summary: Sebastian has steadily fallen in love with the resident novelist from the moment he saves him but he would never dare confess such a thing as feelings. He wouldn't want to ruin their new relationship but he doesn't think he can silently pine for Elliott any longer.

Warnings: minor embarrassment, mentions of depression

For the prompt: I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

Word count: 2k

-------------------------------------------

It wasn’t as if Sebastian wanted to make more friends, he already had two and that was enough, right? He would curse his inability to stay away from the beach on the rainiest of days, legs tucked under himself as he sat at the end of the pier, the rain cool in the humid summer day giving some relief to the uncomfortable heat. Curse his incessant need to dwell in his own suffering and despair – and, no, he’s not dramatic, thank you. And, you know what, curse Elliott too.

Elliott and his worrisome nature, his concern and fretting if Sebastian is alright. He’s not. He wasn’t. Wet through, undoubtedly getting a cold, amid a depressive episode. And Elliott, soft, sweet Elliott, holding an umbrella over him, his own long hair dampening and coat soaking from where the wind blows the rain. And Sebastian couldn’t find it in him to deny the man his company, and that’s how he found himself in Elliott’s small and rustic yet homely, warm cabin. Then how he found his friendship starting with the older man.

He had somewhat awkwardly sat there, on the other’s bed, blanket around his bare shoulders, dressed in a pair of sweatpants that he would never have guessed that Elliott would have owned, a cup of green tea in his hands, listening to Elliott hum something whilst his clothing dried and the storm settled.

Maybe, Sebastian thinks, that was the moment he first started to fall in love with Elliott.

And he didn’t stop falling for some time.

Elliott had seemingly integrated himself into his life, at first it was the occasional ‘hello’ at the saloon on a Friday, which sparked questions from Sam and Abigail, or the brief passing conversation at a festival when they were both alone and drawn to the other. Then a meeting which turned into a conversation on the bridge to the beach on a late evening, around the side of the community centre, but the docks were still their favoured place for a chance meeting. Not that Sebastian would tell himself that he went there less to be alone now and more so for a chance at seeing the other man.

Sebastian could not lie to himself, Elliott is an attractive man, and he knows it, that is for sure, he has eyes. But he could not tell a soul. Elliott is refined, put together, well kept, gentlemanly, he is everything Sebastian is not – and Sebastian feels inadequate enough merely from their friendship alone. He is nothing, he’s a loner, a shut in, a fucking nerd who has depressive breakdowns in the rain and needs to be rescued like a damsel in distress.

Rationally, he knows that Elliott and himself couldn’t be like that. Elliott’s standards were probably too high, and for good reason, not to mention their age gap, in a town like this the gossip would spread quicker than wildfire. But that didn’t stop him, it could not stop him, falling in love with Elliott.

He fell in love with his passionate nature, his love for the sea and the sand, the way the side of his hand was always stained with ink, the way his eyes crinkled then shut when he laughed, the way he actually listened to Sebastian, or the way he did all the talking when it was clear that Sebastian did not want to talk, the way it took him almost an hour to get ready on a morning, the way he would always greet anyone with a pleasant smile, the way he made Sebastian feel like he mattered, like he actually mattered to the world, and to Elliott.

Sebastian did not just fall in love with him. Sebastian was in love with him.

The damage had been done. But that did not mean that Elliott had to know, or perhaps he had already figured it out. Sebastian hopes not, as intelligent as Elliott is he himself is more stubborn and emotionally cut-off. He is tempted to shut himself off from the world, from Elliott, physically, it would be so easy to just not leave his room ever again, never step foot on the beach.

He could have. Yet he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Even in the heat of summer, the sand scorching hot and blinding, the sun shining blinding off the turquoise sea, all too hot in his all black ensemble. Just to see him. Sebastian became familiar with the creaking floorboards, the wind against the old windows, the constant smell of sea salt and green tea, the scratch of pen against paper, the keys of the old piano, and the soft, gentleness of Elliott’s voice.

Although he didn’t feel quite at home, on Elliott’s bed with a borrowed, old book in his hands, he felt comfortable despite the nervous thrum of anxiety running through his veins constantly. Every time Elliott dared to look in his direction, to speak to him, to listen to him, it made him nervous, made him blush like a little schoolboy with a crush.

It wasn’t until he truly let Elliott in, pushed down his barriers, that his mind supplied that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one with these sorts of feelings. Maybe they weren’t one sided, and maybe he wasn’t confined to pathetic pining for the rest of his stupid days in this valley.

When he let Elliott talk to him, not merely at him, to him, about things that mattered, about Elliott’s past in the city, about Sebastian’s want to escape but maybe how he may be changing his mind as of late, about Elliott’s fear of failure, about Sebastian’s fear of humiliation. When he let, no, encouraged Elliott to touch him – not like that. But a passing touch on his arm that lingered, a hand on his shoulder as he caressed the keys of Elliott’s piano, the gentle rest of Elliott’s chin against his shoulder as they shared a book, and the friendly hugs that seemed only to lengthen in time over time until Sebastian had no second thoughts of cuddling with the other man.

It was then, once the sun was setting, soft glows of orange and red skimming through the windowpane’s and onto the older man, skin soft and hair aflame under the light. Elliott’s eyes closed, breathing shallow, and Sebastian is unsure if he is still awake, lying next to him, their legs intertwined together, Elliott’s latest literary recommendation laying open against Sebastian’s chest. He doesn’t even think, some innate part of him acting without his own attention, before he brushes smooth strands of hair out of Elliott’s face, fingers stroking over the softness of his cheek.

“You have no idea,” Sebastian whispers, barely a breath being released, “no idea how much you’ve come to mean to me, how much I like you.”

He sighs, letting his hand fall away, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, guilty about touching him, telling him something so… important? Private? Something he maybe should have said to a more conscious Elliott in truth?

“Sebastian?”

Well, fuck.

“I, uh, don’t- yeah.”

He dares to look back at Elliott, eyes bleary and unfocused, attempting to push himself to sit upright but settle for leaning back on an arm behind himself, clearly having been attempting at sleeping at least. And Sebastian, despite himself, thinks that Elliott looks even better like this, mussed and lax, prettier than when he is all dressed up and trying too hard.

“What did you just say?” Elliott asks, voice low and quiet, as if Sebastian will spook if he speaks any louder and, honestly, he might.

“Never mind, forget it.”

Elliott looks hurt, sad and frustrated all at once, and Sebastian feels guilty all over again, flushing out of embarrassment and humiliation, not only at his admission now but at hurting Elliott. Maybe he had been completely wrong, and maybe he had ruined this for himself, for the both of them.

“No, don’t, please,” Elliott mutters out, hesitant and slow in his movement but he reaches out to take the book from Sebastian’s chest, laying it down on his side table, before taking Sebastian’s cool hand in his own, “don’t shut down again, please, let me hear you, don’t get stuck in that head of yours, please, for me, Sebastian.”

And, fuck, if that doesn’t twist on Sebastian’s emotions like nothing else, it hurts and makes him feel sick but giddy at the same time. Who knew emotions were so confusing?

“I- I can’t, not-” he stutters, defensive in his attempts to at least recover what little friendship he may have left with Elliott, but looking at him now, eyes sad and expectant. He sighs, defeated.

“I like you, Elliott, maybe too much, and I didn’t think I could like someone like this, I’ve never… you’re special. You’re just as weird as me, you listen to me, you go out of your way to talk to me. And I like it when you go on your little rants, when you tell me something reminded you of me, every book you recommend I read but not because they’re particularly interesting but because it was you that told me to. You saved me that day on the docks, not just that day but every day, you made me open up more, and I like that, I like who I’m becoming because of you, because I like you.”

It seems to rush out of him mostly as nonsense to himself but by the way Elliott looks at him, intense and enraptured, he is sure he’s making some sort of sense to him. Maybe that’s a bad thing.

“Oh, Sebastian,” Elliott says, thumb running over the backs of his knuckles gently, “how long have you kept this inside of you?”

Sebastian adverts his gaze, glancing down at their hands now intertwined, and he pulls himself up more so to sit crossed legged opposite him.

“Too long.”

“You poor thing, if I had any inclination that you felt the same, I would have told you right away but I… I didn’t want to scare you away, not after I had earned your trust, I could not forgive myself if I lost you over something so silly as my own feelings,” Elliott explains, his own gaze now embarrassed and downward turned.

And Sebastian reminds himself to actively close his mouth from gaping, “wait, you…”

Elliott laughs, a soft, nervous thing.

“Yes, Sebastian, I like you a little too much too.”

Sebastian has half the mind to swat at his upper arm for that, reiterating his previous words.

“Since when?”

Elliott smiles at him, meeting his gaze finally, thumb never ceasing over the pale skin of Sebastian’s hand, “too long.”

Sebastian laughs this time, nervousness dissipating, and maybe it isn’t exactly a dreamy love confession that he thought about in the darkness of night alone, but it’s real and enough for him.

“I think it was that day, on the docks, you helped me, and I think I started to fall for you then.”

Elliott’s smile is nothing short of beautiful, ethereal.

“Then, when you were in my cabin for the first time, wrapped in my blankets, on my bed, you looked so at home. I couldn’t help but invite you back, keep you in my life, after I saw you there, vulnerable, something other than your rough exterior, I wanted more of you.”

And Sebastian can do nothing but smile back.

Things don’t change much. Sebastian makes his way to the docks as usual, rain spitting around him, and Elliott is there, waiting, with an umbrella. He meets him with a chaste, gentle kiss, earning him a warm arm wrapped around his waist and he leans into the touch eagerly.

“Good evening, dearest, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, fondly yet teasing.

He ducks his head to Elliott’s chest, he is warm and feels like home, “missed you, is all.”

Elliott kisses his forehead, “I missed you too, dear.”

#stardew valley #sdv #sebastian/elliott #sdv sebastian #sdv elliott #embarrasment #pining #depression mention #nothing too heavy though promise #love confessions #el writes #thatwritingnerd

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shivroyslut · 3 years

Text

I just listened to the whole Evermore album and I’m now on my second listen so here is Evermore songs I think are destiel related and whether they’re from Dean’s or Cas’ perspective (or both) - add more lyrics/parallels if you like

willow - both

“Wherever you stray I will follow”

champagne problems - okay tbh i dont see this as either of them but that one line...

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door November flush and your flannel cure” - MS SWIFT ??? ARE YOU A HELLER ???? CHEVY, NOVEMBER, AND FLANNEL IN THE SAME SENTENCE ???

gold rush - Cas

“Cause I don't like a gold rush, gold rush; I don't like anticipatin' my face in a red flush; I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch; Everybody wants you; Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you; Walk past, quick brush; I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush; I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush” - yeah this is just Cas simping on Dean for so many seasons

“What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?” - But still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester

‘tis the damn season - both

“There's an ache in you, put there by the ache in me; But if it's all the same to you; It's the same to me” - uhm this is just them fighting every season then making up a few epis later

“I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave” - PURGATORY

“I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay” - THIS IS JUST THE ENTIRE DESTIEL ARC IN THE FIRST HALF OF S15 LMAO

“Now I'm missing your smile, hear me out; We could just ride around; And the road not taken looks real good now” - this is Dean brooding every time Cas dies

tolerate it - Cas

“I sit and watch you; I notice everything you do or don't do”

“I wait by the door like I'm just a kid“

“If it's all in my head tell me now; Tell me I've got it wrong somehow”

“While you were out building other worlds, where was I?” - okay this is dean though

“Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?; I made you my temple, my mural, my sky; Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life” - this is Cas when they are fighting

“Always taking up too much space or time; You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I; Break free and leave us in ruins” - again when Dean is being an idiot and they fight

happiness - Cas

“But there was happiness because of you” - Knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. You changed me.

“Past the blood and bruise; Past the curses and cries; Beyond the terror in the nightfall; Haunted by the look in my eyes; That would've loved you for a lifetime; Leave it all behind” - ms swift are you a Cas girl ??

“All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness” - literally Cas just wanting Dean to forgive him for everything

coney island - Dean

“If I can't relate to you anymore; Then who am I related to?” - every time Dean feels betrayed by Cas but especially in s6 when Cas teams up with Crowley, like my man had so much trust in Cas only for him to be wrong

“Sorry for not making you my centerfold”

“The question pounds my head; What's a lifetime of achievement; If I pushed you to the edge?; But you were too polite to leave me; And do you miss the rogue; Who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?; Will you forgive my soul; When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?” - no offence but this is exactly what went through Dean’s head when he was sitting there crying after Cas got yeeted into the empty

“Over and over; Lost again with no surprises; Disappointments, close your eyes; And it gets colder and colder; When the sun goes down” - Dean mourning every time Cas died after the second time

“And when I got into the accident; The sight that flashed before me was your face; But when I walked up to the podium I think that I forgot to say your name” - uhm Dean seeing Cas as his life flashed before his eyes when he got impaled by the rusty nail and wanted him by his side but the writers were cowards he got caught up in the moment with Sammy and didn’t pray for him to come

“But I think that I forgot to say your name; Over and over” - i just think Dean is hard on himself for not keeping Cas closer to him after Cas died in 15x18

ivy - Dean

“How's one to know?; I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones In a faith forgotten land; In from the snow; Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow; Tarnished but so grand” - I’M THE ONE WHO GRIPPED YOU TIGHT AND RAISED YOU FROM PERDITION

“And the old widow goes to the stone every day; But I don't, I just sit here and wait; Grieving for the living” - Dean just wanting a win (Cas back) in s13

“I wish to know; The fatal flaw that makes you long to be; Magnificently cursed” - you know just Cas being very cursed throughout the whole show, and the fatal flaw is his love for Dean humanity

“I'd live and die for moments that we stole; On begged and borrowed time” - i think this is for both cause Cas’ line “Dean you know I always appreciate our talks and our time together” but Dean definitely feels the same way I mean he made Cas watch all those movies

cowboy like me - both (very destiel)

“Never wanted love; Just a fancy car; Now I'm waiting by the phone; Like I'm sitting in an airport bar” - this is painfully obviously Dean

“Eyes full of stars; Hustling for the good life; Never thought I'd meet you here; It could be love; We could be the way forward; And I know I'll pay for it” - very obvious Cas line

“And the skeletons in both our closets; Plotted hard to fuck this up” - just the universe not wanting them to be together

long story short - Cas

“I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me”

“And I fell from the pedestal; Right down the rabbit hole”

“When I dropped my sword; I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door; And we live in peace; But if someone comes at us, this time, I'm ready” - Cas always coming back and willing to give up everything for Dean

“And he feels like home”

“Now I'm all about you”

marjorie - both (but mainly Dean)

“Never be so kind; You forget to be clever; Never be so clever; You forget to be kind”

“And if I didn't know better; I'd think you were talking to me now” - No I’m not talking to him, *proceeds to talk to and protect each other*

“What died didn't stay dead” - yah

“I should've asked you questions; I should've asked you how to be; Asked you to write it down for me; Should've kept every grocery store receipt; Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me” - Dean keeping the trench coat every time Cas dies

closure - Dean (but a little Cas)

“And seeing the shape of your name; Still spells out pain” - Dean after 15x18 seeing ‘Castiel’ on the table

“It cut deep to know ya, right to the bone”

“Don't treat me like; Some situation that needs to be handled” - can be Cas too

“I'm fine with my spite; And my tears, and my beers and my candles” - his anger stage when hes undergoing his 5 stages of grief after 15x18, and like every time he and Cas fight

“I don't need your closure” - ^

evermore - both ( this song is so destiel make this their fucking theme song)

“Motion capture; Put me in a bad light; I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone; Trying to find the one where I went wrong; Writing letters; Addressed to the fire” - Cas whenever Dean kicks him out and he doesn’t understand why or when Dean just let’s him go; and Dean in purgatory when he realises Cas was hiding from him, when he changed his memory to believe he let go of Cas, when he found out that Cas is the one who let him go. There is honestly so many examples for this line

“And I was catching my breath; Staring out an open window; Catching my death; And I couldn't be sure; I had a feeling so peculiar; That this pain would be for evermore” - Cas when he realises that he is in love with Dean but he can never be with him; and Dean when he thought he left Cas in purgatory and every time Cas died

“Hey December; Guess I'm feeling unmoored; Can't remember; What I used to fight for; I rewind thе tape but all it does is pause; On thе very moment, all was lost; Sending signals; To be double-crossed” - Cas when heaven pushed him away repeatedly and also when Dean pushed him away repeatedly when he was the whole reason he rebelled; and Dean when he just wanted that win in s13 and every other time he had doubt

“Cannot think of all the cost; And the things that will be lost; Oh, can we just get a pause?; To be certain, we'll be tall again; Whether weather be the frost; Or the violence of the dog days; I'm on waves, out being tossed; Is there a line that I could just go cross?” - you know like whenever they feel hopeless; reminds me of the diner scene in s14e14 where they are talking about Michael

“And when I was shipwrecked; I thought of you; In the cracks of light; I dreamed of you; It was real enough; To get me through; I swear you were there” - Cas simping for Dean; Dean after escaping from purgatory seeing Cas everywhere

Anyways these are just my thought and links don’t attack me I’m just out here wasting time on a ship I was obsessed with in 2015 (I mean I am on break from uni and am jobless). Feel free to add more lyrics or parallels I’m pretty sure I missed quite a few. I do acknowledge that the album is definitely not about destiel and about Taylor herself but its just fascinating to find all these lyrical links to Dean and Cas’ relationship.

#destiel #supernatural #spn #taylor swift #evermore #dean winchester #castiel #jackles longcon #jensen ackles #misha collins

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dannypuro · 3 years

Note

Okay but what was the heinous spelling error Enj made 200ish years ago and was it really as bad as he said it was ?

Also I am here to further scream over your fics and flail about how Good they are and how On Point your characterization is and how I am still thinking about them all. All at once. No exceptions

THANk YOU VERY MUCH AND GOOD NIGHT :^D (the nose is there for Grantaire reasons) - boom-goes-the-canon because Tumblr disallows sending asks from side blogs like governments ban personal lives

( Something Telling verse, post-chapter 9 (aka time-zapped Enjolras, modern-era). also THANK YOU!! HELLO!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!! GOOD JOB ON YOUR MOST RECENT FIC I ADORE. to everyone else... send me prompts/questions/thoughts. i shall respond to them. thank u)

Feuilly and Bahorel come over for brunch on a Sunday in December. Grantaire makes a quiche, sets the table all nice, and everything, and then realizes, ten minutes before they’re supposed to arrive, that they ran out of coffee the day before.

“Fuck,” he hisses, as he stares down into the empty bag and wishes that for once in his fucking life he could have just a tiny bit of forethought. “Fuck.”

Enjolras hums from where he sits on the kitchen counter, where he’s been steadily working his way through a truly impressive number of clementines. “Something is wrong?” He asks; he passes Grantaire a piece of clementine, as he says it. (God, Grantaire fucking loves him.)

“Yeah,” he says, but his heart’s not really in it, anymore--it’s hard to keep up any semblance of anger past annoyance when Enjolras is doing things like- like feeding him orange segments, and shit like that. “We- I forgot we’re out of coffee. And Baz and Feuilly’ll be here in, like, a second, and the quiche is still in the oven and I don’t-” he doesn’t have time, and he has never been a shitty brunch host but brunch without coffee is a shitty brunch, and-

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says firmly. He hops down off of the counter, takes a second to frame Grantaire’s face in his hands. “Please do not panic over brunch. I shall go and buy some more coffee.”

Like it’s simple. Fuck, it is simple, and Grantaire loves him, and he’s not going to be a shitty brunch host, and-

“God, I love you,” he says.

Enjolras smiles, leans up for a quick kiss. “I love you, as well. Now, mind your cookery--I shall return before the hour, and all will be well.”

He leaves, and Grantaire repeats it to himself--All will be well--and as soon as he’s done that, there’s a crack of thunder, and it starts pouring, icy and relentless, outside the kitchen window. And. Well. So much for that mantra, then. But oh, God, it’s raining, and Enjolras never takes an umbrella with him, and if he had any sense he’d just turn back and come back to the apartment, damn the coffee, but Grantaire knows him, and he knows that he doesn’t have any sense, most of the time, so he stares out the window and wills the rain to stop before his boyfriend freezes to death.

No such luck. By the time Enjolras gets back, coffee in hand, he’s soaked to the bones, and he’s got an equally-as-sopping Feuilly and Bahorel in tow.

“R!” Bahorel crows. “Found your boy!”

Grantaire sets the quiche down on the table and looks them over. Feuilly’s teeth are chattering. They’re all three of them dripping on his carpet. Enjolras is wearing Grantaire’s hoodie instead of a coat and beaming.

Right. A change of plans, then.

They eat brunch on the couch, once Grantaire’s thrown all of their clothes into the dryer and they’ve changed into some of Grantaire’s spare sweatpants. Of course, Baz and Feuilly borrow his clothes because they need to; Enjolras borrows his clothes because he’s fundamentally ridiculous. (Grantaire loves him so fucking much.)

“You know,” Grantaire says, over couch quiche, despite the fact that he already knows that Enjolras does, in fact, know, “You could have just changed into your own clothes. If you wanted to. Since you live here, and all.”

Enjolras gives him a very, very pointed look. And you know what? Fair.

They eat brunch.

“I did have a question about your essays, actually,” Feuilly says, once they’ve finished the quiche and moved on to coffee and coffee alone. He’s tucked under the same quilt as Enjolras--one of Jehan’s, bright and warm.

Enjolras nods, snuggles back against Grantaire, where Grantaire’s got an arm wrapped around his chest, where he leans up against him in an awkward half-pivot. “Of course,” he says. “Anything you require, easily.”

“Awesome, great,” Feuilly says, with a smile. “What’s lacrity?”

Grantaire can feel Enjolras tense against him, freeze. Which is… not what he was expecting. “You jest,” he manages, eventually, and Grantaire holds him a little tighter, never mind that he doesn’t know why.

Feuilly frowns. “Um. No? I mean, I looked it up, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Enjolras is breathing a little faster, now; he takes Feuilly’s hands in his own. “Feuilly, my dear fellow,” he says, and his voice shakes. “Tell me you jest.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

Feuilly looks just about as confused as Grantaire feels. He reaches into his bag, pulls out a book--Enjolras’s book, a little thing, six essays bound in public-domain paper. He opens it to his bookmark, hands it over. “Lacrity,” he says, and then he reads, “It is only through lacrity and fortitude that the people of this nation might ever be free; it stands testament to the chance of man, then, that itis lacrity and fortitude both which comprise the foundation of the citizen’s heart. It’s in the fifth one?”

Enjolras stares down at the book. He clears his throat. “Alacrity,” he says, very, very softly.

“Uh, yeah,” Bahorel says, from where he sits with an arm thrown over Feuilly’s shoulders. “A lacrity. But, like, what is it?”

A pained noise rises at the back of his throat that Grantaire can feel, up against his chest. “You misunderstand me,” he manages. “I- This is a nightmare.” His heart is beating just a little too fast for Grantaire’s comfort.

“Enj?” he tries. “Are you-”

“Excuse me,” he blurts out. “I- Excuse me.” He’s on his feet in an instant, making off for the bedroom before anyone can stop him. Grantaire’s side feels pretty fucking cold, without him.

Feuilly looks stricken. “I don’t- Did I say something?” Grantaire’s feeling pretty stricken, himself--he doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know what could have gone on in Enjolras’s head that would make him talk to Feuilly with anything other than kindness edging on reverence.

“I’m gonna go see if he’s-” he gestures towards the bedroom. Bahorel and Feuilly nod. He goes.

Enjolras is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands.

Oh, Jesus.

“Enj?” he hazards.

He doesn’t look up. “This is mortifying,” he mumbles into his palms. “I have been personally wronged by every single editor who has ever lain their hands upon my essays.”

Grantaire still doesn’t- doesn’t really know where they’re going, here. He sits down beside him on the bed. “Did-”

“Lacrity,” Enjolras grits out, half frantic, and finally, he turns to face Grantaire. “Lacrity is not a word. It is- It- Alacrity. Which I did not know when I wrote those essays, because I was twenty-two years of age and a fool. And this is something which, despite the fact that he was paid to do so, my editor did not deem necessary to correct!”

Ah.

Um.

Grantaire doesn’t really know that he’s qualified to offer comfort on 200-year-old publishing woes, but fuck, he’ll try. “I’m sure-”

Enjolras holds a hand up to stop him. He stops. “This was bad enough. I was already aware of this injustice. What I cannot abide is the fact that evidently, in the two hundred years since its unfortunate publication, nobody has taken pity enough to correct it! And now Feuilly thinks that I am a fool! Grantaire, this is humiliating!”

He’s looking pretty genuinely distressed; Grantaire can’t bear to do anything but to pull him into a hug, firm and solid. Enjolras, for all his bristle, folds in against his chest. “Feuilly doesn’t think you’re a fool,” he says, into his curls. “Feuilly thinks you’re awesome.”

He lets out a pained groan. “I shall never recover.”

Yeah, okay. Grantaire holds him a little tighter. Only- “Hey, why don’t you care about me or Baz thinking you’re a fool?”

Enjolras snorts a laugh against his chest. “I have personally witnessed Bahorel misspell his own profession. I hold little concern that his regard for me will be impacted.”

Honestly? Fair. “But-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, and he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to Grantaire’s. (Grantaire’s heart thrums.) “We live together. We are courting. If you do not already know that I am a fool, I worry that you never will.”

“You’re not-” he says, on impulse, and then he thinks about, like, actually living with Enjolras, fucking wonderful thing, and he grins. “Well. Maybe a little,” he admits.

Enjolras smiles back, still half-shaky. “Perhaps a little,” he says.

“Feuilly doesn’t think you’re a fool,” Grantaire reminds him, firm. “Feuilly likes you no matter how many typos you made when you were twenty-two.”

He sighs. “Oh, I suppose so.”

Grantaire kisses him, because he can. Enjolras takes a minute to kiss him back, then stands with a sigh.

“I suppose that I had better explain my pitiable situation to Feuilly, then,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

“Guess so,” Grantaire says, and he lets Enjolras tug him to his feet and press a kiss to his cheek, before they go.

#enjoltaire #enjoltaire fanfiction #exr #exr fanfiction #les miserables #something telling #les miserables fanfiction #les mis #writing #Anonymous

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pixie88 · 3 years

Text

Raking up the Past

Chapter 8 - Always the Bridesmaid.

A/N: This chapter is a flash back chapter. I’ve had it in my drafts for 4 days now reproof reading over and over again. It is upsetting I hope it doesn’t trigger anyone. I hope you like it.

If you would like to be ADDED or REMOVED just let me know!

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW & Angst (Euthanasia)

Word Count: 2507

Pairings: Laila x Josh / Laila x Harry

Enjoy!

9 Years Earlier

"That's it? You can't save me? I've just got to wait to die?" Tears start to roll down his face, Laila grasps his hand. He looks up at her, she was his life, they were supposed to grow old together, even get married, he fazed out and doesn't hear what else the doctor has to say. "How long?" his words come out almost as a whisper.

He can tell by the expression on his face that he has months rather than years "It's hard to say Mr. Wilkins...." Josh lets out a little laugh, "Because you know its weeks maybe months at a push?" Josh's tone is bitter "Mr. Wilkins...." Josh gets up from his seat and storms out of the doctors office and rushes through the hospital corridors until he's outside where he can breath again.

He looks around at people walking past him. If they only knew! Why me? What have I done? He thought as he watched them all just getting on with their lives while he was on borrowed time. "Josh?" she grabs his arm breaking him from his thoughts. He turns her eyes are puffy and swollen he was going to leave her, he'd be dead in the ground soon and she would be living her life possibly with someone else.

It broke his heart he wouldn't be the man she got to have kids with even grow old with "Josh, I'm..." she doesn't know what to say. He cups her face "Hey, it's OK," he kisses her lips "How can you say it's OK? It's anything but!" He wraps his arms around his fiancée "Because now I have to live my life to the fullest. Do all the things I keep saying I'm going to do!" he smiles softly at her. She was going to lose him, but she wanted him to do everything he was planning to do with his life.

A few days later, her heart is racing she can't believe he convinced her to do this, well it was more like he guilt tripped her into it "Laila! It's going to be fine! I wouldn't make you do anything that wasn't safe!" he tries to reassure her, but the higher the plane got the less she was convinced "Do you want to go first?" Josh calls over, she didn't, but then she couldn't watch him do it either.

She nods. The quicker I jump the quicker I get my feet on the ground right? She thought. Now she is outside the plane, feet dangling, she's strapped to some stranger's chest "We'll jump after 3! Are you ready?" She nods even though she wasn't ready "1.....2..." they jump at first Laila screams, but then she looks round it's beautiful and amazing.

Her screams fade "Whooooooooo! YES!! THIS IS AWESOME!!!!" She was so glad he had pushed her to do this with him.

A few minutes later she lands firmly on the ground. She is buzzing as she gets unclipped she looks up, watching Josh, who isn't far behind her. As he lands he's beaming "I told you that you would love it, didn't I?" She runs over to him colliding with him "It was amazing!! Thank you," he wraps her tightly in his arms "Thank you for doing it with me!"

They change out of their jumping gear, she's not sure if it's from the jump or the adrenaline, but she is turned on. They sign out and head back to the car "Can I add something to this buckle list?" She smiles at him as they get into the car, "Of course! What do you want to add?" She bites her lip "We need to find a country road" he looks at her puzzled.

She turns on the engine and drives.

She had been driving for half an hour when she found a deserted and secluded layby. She brings the car to a halt, turns off the engine. She looks around you can't see the main road "Laila? Why have we stopped here?" She leans over pulls up the lever from under his seat which slides the seat further back.

She jumps onto his lap, straddling him, she claims his lips with hers as she unclips his seat beat. He gets the hint as she begins to grind her hips with his "Laila, you want to..here?" She takes his hand in hers and guides it into her underwear where he finds she's soaked "Shit baby!" His kiss becomes more fierce, he works against her clit and she starts to unbutton his jeans.

She doesn't want to make love she wants rough, spontaneous sex.

Pulling him free, he pulls her underwear to the side, she guides him to where she needs him most. Thrusting up, he's entered her and she starts to ride him, he grasps a fist full of her hair pulling her head back. His nips her neck "Mark me!" She demands, he doesn't argue he bites and sucks against her neck as she digs her nails into his shoulders through his t-shirt. She starts to ride him harder, he thrusts up pushing deeper into her.

He pulls down the top part of her dress exposing her breast "Make them yours" she moans. He nips and sucks down to her nipple, she pulls his lips back to hers and grasps his lip between her teeth, making him hiss "Damn baby! If I known jumping from a plane got you this hot I would have had us doing it eve...." she rotates her hips shutting him up "Fuck me!" She smirks "I am!!"

"I'm not sure how......oh fuck yes.....longer....oh god baby just like that....I'm going to.....Laila your going to make me come......doing that" her efforts double she grips his shoulders tighter as she draws closer to her own high. "Ohhh....shit baby...fuck yess!" His body jerks and tightens as he hit his climax. She doesn't let up her pace she rides him harder feeling her own high build "Come on baby! Come for me! Let me feel you!" she falls over the edge "Josh!!!"

They both try to catch their breath, Josh smiles "That was something new!" he brushes her hair out of her face. She smirks at him "I love you" he smiles "I love you too, Laila!"

6 Months Later

Josh had gone down hill fast, he managed to get 97% of his bucket list done 3 months after he was told they couldn't do anything. He hadn't left the house for 3 weeks, he was barely able to get out of bed the past week. He hated being like this, Laila was slowly turning into his carer he didn't want that for her or that to be her lasting memory of him.

"You should go!" She shook her head "Josh, you need me here," he sighs, "Laila, my mum will be over soon...go! You need a break and I'm not going anywhere fast! Go and have a few drinks with Nikki let your hair down" He laughs making her smile.

She huffs "Fine..I'll go! But only for as long as your mum can stay for!"

Half an hour later Louise arrives and takes over, he entwines his fingers through hers. He's reluctant to let her go "I can give it a miss if you want?" He puts on a fake smile "No, you go!" He kiss her knuckles before cupping her face, running his thumb over her cheek.

"Are you sure?" She kinda hope he changes his mind, she doesn't feel right having a good time while he's laid up in bed "Yes...now go!" She laughs, "OK!" She turns and he grasps her arm, she turns back to him "Laila....I...I love you! Have fun!" He weakly pulls her towards him, he captures her lips.

His hand is on the nape of her neck, he deepens the kiss. She smirks against his lip "Josh! Your mum is just next door!" He chuckles "I don't care!" the kiss turns more passionate and Laila pulls away.

Josh hasn't been well enough to be with her in that way for the past 6 weeks not that she minded she was just grateful he was here to cuddle her to sleep.

"I love you too! I will see you later," she smiles at him, he nods. She grabs her coat and says goodbye to Louise on her way out.

Nikki has never seen Laila like this before, she's seen her tired, but today she looked exhausted. Being the friend she is, she told her she looked beautiful and held her tight. She could see the pain in her eyes, she needed to make sure, if only for a few hours she forget what was happening at home and just have some fun.

~*~*~*~

Nikki tried to persuade her to have one more drink, but she wasn't having any of it. She headed home as she rounds the corner, she spots the black private ambulance outside their building. Her heart drops before she realises, she runs, but her feet are barely carrying her.

She spots an upset Louise in front of the building's main door "Lou!" She calls out "Lou! What happened?!" She asks her hoping she had got it all wrong. She turns towards Laila as soon as turns in her direction she knows "Laila...he's.....he's gone!"

She collapses to the ground shrieking, "NO! Josh!!" she hysterical.

Louise tries to help her up, but she dead weights "Laila, come on. Let's get you inside darling!" She slowly gets off the ground as Louise helps her up and into the flat.

"What.....happened? He...was...OK when I left!" She asks through the tears, "I was cleaning the flat. I left him by himself for like 30 minutes and when I came back I found the pills and him...." she cuts off.

Laila can't believe it "But he wouldn't do that! Not Josh!" She can't compute he would take his own life. Why would he do that?

Laila gets up and heads toward the bedroom she notices the empty painkiller packets by the bed.

"Louise?" She hears her come up behind her, she turns "Where did those come from?" She points towards the packets.

Louise looks shocked "Erm....I...erm...I guess your medication cabinet?" She shrugs her shoulders "But we never had that many in there!" She's confused "Maybe he has been taking them out stocking them up each time you buy a new packet?" Louise suggested.

"No, I would have noticed! I haven't brought any in weeks!" She knows there is more to the story than she is letting on "Louise, did you bring them here?" She can't believe she's asking this but there isn't any other explanation. Louise looks shocked "What no!!!" But as soon as she says that she knows, her face gave her away!

"LIAR!!" Laila hisses at her, she breaks "OK! I did! Laila! You have to believe me! I didn't want this, but he begged me to help him!" Laila runs to the toilet and Louise chases after her "Laila, I'm sorry! But he couldn't face you turning into his carer. He didn't want you to remember him like that!"

She's hunched over the toilet, wiping her chin. She turns to Louise "GET OUT!" She ordered her "Laila...please!" Her blood boils "I SAID GET OUT!!! GET.......THE.....FUCK....OUT!!!" Laila screams at her.

Not wanting to upset her further Louise gathers her things and leaves, telling her she's sorry as she closes the door.

She collapses on the bathroom floor. He could've had months left! Why would he take his own life knowing it was cut short as it were? These thoughts haunted her for weeks, even months. The only answers she had were what Louise had told her.

Before the funeral, she tried to contact Laila numerous times but had no luck. At the wake she corners her "Laila, how are you?" She little out a laugh "How am I? After you helped my fiancé take his own life? How the fuck do you think I feel?" Louise is a little taken back she knew she was angry still, but she didn't expect this.

"Laila, please you have to believe me, I wouldn't have done it if he didn't beg me!" Laila is just full of hate towards her "Have you told anyone?" She knew there was a reason she wanted to speak to her so badly. But despite what she had done Louise and Steve had lost a son and Naomi a brother as she had lost her fiancé. She believed that the fact Louise would have to live with the fact she helped her son take his own life punishment enough.

"No and I'm not going to I couldn't do that to Steve and Naomi...I take it he doesn't know?" She shook her head "He doesn't know" this somewhat was a relief to Laila knowing she wasn't the only one out of the loop.

"Well, I'm not going to tell anyone but after today I never want to see your face again" Louise is stunned "Laila, we need each other to get through this!' She rolls her eyes at Louise "I don't need you! Your husband and daughter does!" She walks off leaving her stunned.

After that day Laila hadn't seen or heard from her, Steve did reach out a couple of times but after a while they lost contact.

Present Day

"Louise?" She was face to face with this woman she never wanted to see again. "Laila? Who's this?" Harry asks, "Louise" she doesn't elaborate Harry holds out his hand "Sorry Laila must've forgotten her manners, I'm Harry her friend" Louise smiles at him and takes his hand "Hi Harry, I'm Louise....Laila ex fiancé mum"

It clicks!

She had told him a little about Josh not the part Louise played, but he knew as soon as she said ex fiancé she was talking about Josh "Oh! I'm so sorry to hear what happened to your son!" She smiles softly at him "Thank you! How are you Laila?"

She couldn't do this she could stand there and pretend it was all OK even 8 years later. She turns on her heels and storms off in the other direction "Laila! Wait!" She hears Harry call out after her, she gets 3 aisles away before he caught up with her bring her to a stop "Hey! I know it must be hard to see his family but there was no need to be rude"

"Rude??? What like her not telling her son's fiancée he was planning on ending it all earlier than expect with her help!" She didn't mean to blurt it out it but just came out before she could stop it. She hadn't told anyone not her family or friends no one knew until now.

Harry knew now but why did she tell him? He looks at her in shock "What?"

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 9.

@lem-20 @secretaryunpaid @irisofpurple @aussieez @shewillreadyou @khoicesbyk @txemrn

#atb #always the bridesmaid #always the bridesmaid fic #original character #pixie88 original #fictionalstory #laila x josh #harry x laila

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penaltbox · 4 years

Text

say you’ll remember me - ryder donovan

surprise. based off of ‘wildest dreams’ by taylor swift. i don’t know how i wrote this so fast but i really love it so please please let me know what you like, what lines you like, how it was! i appreciate the feedback!

word count: 2.9k

“look at that guy,” you say loudly to your friend, making sure she can hear you over the volume in the bar.

you happen to be pointing as slyly as possible and she follows the direction of your gesture. there’s a few boys standing together, two tall blondes and a slightly shorter boy with brown hair.

she frowns and glances at you, “you need to specify, sweetie. i see three cute boys there.”

you laugh immediately and drop your hand, “the one in the baseball jersey that’s not buttoned up. he’s so tall and so good looking. what are the chances i could flirt with him, you think?”

“if you don’t try you’ll never know!” she smiles, eying up the dark haired boy he’s with, “and get me his friend’s number while you’re at it.”

you nod, giving her a little high five, “pardon me while i go find out if he’s willing to ruin my life for a little while.”

“i’m ryder,” he says when you finally get the guts to introduce yourself. his smile is wicked and practically takes your breath away.

it’s was a joke at first, that you would let him ruin your life, but you’d soon realize over the following months just how true that statement would become. just how much of your life he’d really make an impact on.

—

his lips gently dance along your shoulder as he firmly grabs your hips from where he’s standing behind you despite the fact you definitely were not going anywhere. a lazy smile finds its way to your lips as you turn your head towards him. his wide eyes sparkle a little, most likely with whatever trouble making plan he’s got running through his head.

“can i help you?” you ask, your tone hushed from the proximity and the way your stomach feels like it’s bottoming out every time he makes eye contact.

ryder hums and kisses your shoulder once more, “i can probably think of a lot of ways you could help me out.”

you feel his smirk before you see it, biting your lip at the thought of it taking over that handsome face of his. you lean back comfortably against the boy who had taken up the last two and a half months of your life and look back out at the city below. it wasn’t even supposed to last this long and every night with him felt stolen, like you were just borrowing against time that already wasn’t on your side.

it had been his suggestion to leave town for a night. you’d driven to chicago after his early afternoon class and rented a hotel room that sat high above the windy city. you’d both dressed up far nicer than necessary and agreed to go out for a dinner that was reasonably outside of both your comfort zones.

but you didn’t ask. in fact you rarely did with ryder. everything with him was based on feelings and emotions rather than logic and the future. he was your here and now, not your forever. at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“look at the sunset, rydes,” you glance at him, watching as his tongue darts over his red lips. the ones you had to keep yourself from trying to kiss every moment of being with him.

he tries to fight off a grin as he glances down at you, one hand squeezing your hip as he speaks up, “it’s almost as pretty as you.”

you feel your cheeks flush hot, turning your head away from him in hopes he won’t notice. a finger hooks under your chin and your view is being pulled back to look up at the handsome boy who had invaded your life and sanity.

he opens his mouth to say more, but thinks better of it. instead he turns you towards him and leans down, holding you against him as you raise yourself onto your tiptoes. your arms naturally come up around his shoulders, easily slotting yourself against him.

like always you kiss him slowly at first, almost as if you’re always trying to decide if it’s still a good idea. he’s quick to press you closer to him, gently biting your bottom lip as he pulls away slowly. you leave your eyes closed for a split second longer, your lips still tingling a little from his own. it was amazing how quickly he could get your body to react to him. when you look at him again he’s watching you, waiting for your next reaction.

“we should get to dinner,” you whisper, having to convince yourself as much as him, “if i let you keep going i know we won’t leave.”

ryder laughs softly and nods, opting to kiss your forehead almost too gently, ��you’re not wrong there, baby girl.”

he steps away then, grabbing his suit coat from the end of the bed and slipping it on. you know he’s not meant to be in your life for the long run but in those moments you can’t help but let yourself stare a little longer. you knew it would hurt in the end, but for now you wanted to soak in all the good times with him that you possibly could.

he smirks as he looks back at you and extends his hand out, “coming with me? i thought we just agreed we need to get moving.”

you blush and step forward, grabbing his hand tight, “is this how you want to remember me once things are over? all dolled up as the sun sets in the city?”

“yeah, that’s one way i’ll remember you,” he confirms, but his smile turns a lot softer as he says it.

—

his breathing seems to have evened out, your hand still resting on his back from where it had been gently tracing patterns. you watch it move up and down as you feel his muscles flex underneath his somehow still tanned skin. it was the dead of winter but he was so warm, so familiar by now.

you pull your hand back and sit up, looking around your studio apartment. his sweatpants are at the end of the bed and a pair of his shoes are kicked off to the side. his backpack still sits by the couch and all of it makes you take in a shaky breath.

when had he become so integrated into your world?

you shake your head and slip out of bed, stealing his t-shirt off the floor because of course there’s extras of those around, too. you slip it on and have to force yourself not to take in the scent of his cologne on the worn fabric.

you settle on the couch, staring out at the city lights of madison. your last year of law school was supposed to be a breeze, but instead this tall blond from minnesota with a smile that could steal any girl’s heart had decided he wanted to waste his time with you. if only you’d known then how dangerous it was to let him in.

you easily get lost in your thoughts, something that seemed to happen a lot these days, when you feel the couch dip next to you. you glance to your right despite knowing who it was, and when he pulls your legs over his lap, you don’t fight him.

“why aren’t you in bed?” ryder asks, his voice a little gravelly from sleep. his hand quickly engulfs most of your thigh, something you never thought a man could do.

you let his free hand take your own as you shrug a little, “i just couldn’t sleep. i’ve been thinking a lot, i guess.”

“it’s only the end of january,” he laughs, knowing for him that meant his life was full of chaos that he fully embraced. he’d been the one to bring the chaos into your life. you’d had routine and calm before.

“what does that have to do with how much i’ve been thinking?”

ryder gives you a knowing look, tilting his head back against the wall as his thumb starts to knead circles into the soft skin on the inside of your thigh, “we worry about the future later. much later.”

“what about the fact that your friends still don’t know who you sneak off with?” you ask, but your attention is quickly turning to where his hand is. after your first encounter at the bar you both acted like you didn’t know each other after that. the secrecy of it all built more excitement into things from your perspective.

“i can tell them if you want me to. i’m sure they’d love to meet you again,” he smirks, also noticing your attention has shifted.

“no one has to know what we do,” you reply, still hoping that if you kept your lives separate the eventual ending would be more simple with less strings attached to each other.

he nods, his hand coming around to grip the back of legs and lift them as he turns to kneel on the couch, “you just say the word and you can meet them.”

you go to reply to him, trying to take things seriously, but he’s quick to stand and pick you up bridal style. you grab onto him, letting his name slip from your lips along with a giggle. he did have a knack for getting your mind off of stressful things at just the right time.

you let out a little gasp as he dumps you backwards onto your bed and climbs on as well, leaning over you. his hands quickly work under his shirt you have on, sliding up your sides ever so slowly. his lips move just as slow on your neck and you tip your head to give him more room to work.

his hands move up to tangle in your hair, holding you in just the spot he wants you, “now this… this is definitely one of the ways i’ll remember you. out of breath below me and just beautiful.”

you want to blush, but you know you’ll remember him this way too. he was too handsome, too good at getting you to give into him. he knew you in more ways than you’d like to admit these days. you couldn’t help but wonder if someone else would ever be able to pull the reactions out of you the way he could.

instead of responding properly, you nod and pull him in for a hard kiss that helps you forget about why you weren’t sleeping before. about all the inevitable issues that would come along when your time together was up.

—

you have to say goodbye eventually. you were graduating and he was leaving a year early to go play in vegas. you two had known this was coming for long enough now but you’d both stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

instead you always opted for the same old routine. get so lost in each other you don’t know up from down and treat each other like a lifeline. except now you had to cut that lifeline off and remember how to live without him again.

“ryder, stop. you know this won’t work. i have to go back to philadelphia and keep my dad’s firm going. wisconsin was only supposed to be about law school. you were never supposed to happen,” you say, bottom lip wobbling as you try to convince both of you that this had to happen.

you’re standing at opposite ends of your small kitchen but you already feel miles apart. his arms are crossed and he refuses to look directly at you as you play with the hem of the sweatshirt you’re wearing. you bitterly realize it’s his and it almost makes you want to tear it off but you’d hate to lose another piece of him.

ryder swallows hard, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat, “well guess what, you got a lot more than you planned for and so did i. i didn’t plan on falling for you either, but here we are and you’re about to throw it all away.”

“i’m not throwing it away, ryder! this was always the plan. we were supposed to stick to the plan!”

“fuck your plan! what about our feelings? what about all the nights we spent together? what about the time i held you through your panic attack and you told me how no one had ever done that?” he starts to raise his voice, his arms uncrossing as one hand grips the counter so hard his knuckles turn white.

you feel a couple tears spill over at that memory, “don’t you dare hold that against me, you asshole. and don’t forget who let you fuck them senseless because a goddamn penalty didn’t go your way one night and it cost your team the game.”

you knew you were both delivering low blows and bringing up times you’d fully trusted each other. it was like the only way you’d both be moving on was if you imploded the entire situation first.

“you said you were okay with that,” he says through gritted teeth.

you wipe at a stray tear and pick your chin up a little higher, “and i fucking was. so don’t you act like you were some savior because you held me during a breakdown that i’ve managed on my own so many times before.”

he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, making your blood boil a little. he licks his lips quickly and finally looks over at you. he’s taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down, and you realize you’re doing the same.

“i don’t want to fight with you. i really don’t,” he says, his tone much quieter now. it still has an edge to it though and you know it’s purely from all the emotions coursing through him at that moment. and you know it because it’s happening to you, too.

“i don’t want to either,” you agree, biting the inside of your cheek.

ryder slowly takes a few steps forward, and for the first time since he’d arrived, you don’t back away. he brings a hand up and cups your cheek, wiping at the tears that you couldn’t seem to control. you have to stare directly at his chest because you know you’re not strong enough to look up at him.

“i’ll miss so many things about you,” he says, his tone suddenly even. it’s enough to get you to glance up and you see how soft his expression has turned, “i’ll miss the way it feels to kiss you and feel you hug me tight against you. i’ll miss the way you always made me laugh when schoolwork was stressing me out. i’ll miss the fact you know my chipotle order and always seemed to bring me some at just the right time,”

“i’ll miss the way your body rolls when i hit the right spot. i’ll miss hearing my name slip out of that pretty little mouth of yours when i do something right.”

he bites his lip for a second at the thought before he continues his speech, “i’ll miss how well you know me and how i can be so comfortable around you. i’ll miss your crazy bed head and you always stealing my sweatshirts. i’ll miss having you so close and having someone to pull close at night. i’ll miss trusting someone so much it feels insane and most of all i’m going to miss loving you. but i’m not sure that’ll really stop.”

you can’t help the sob that bubbles out of you then and ryder is quick to turn you and sit you up on the counter. he steps between your legs as you hug him close, wrapping your legs around his waist. you feel like if you let him go he’ll disappear and you’ll fall apart immediately.

he presses a couple kisses to your temple and rubs your back as you cry into his shoulder. the tears fall fast and you wonder how you so royally fucked up and when you fell so in love with this boy.

ryder is patient, much like he’d always been with you, and he waits. he waits until you’ve cried so much you’re pretty sure you can’t even muster another tear. he waits until you pull back and look up at him. he waits until you take a deep breath and then you wonder how long he’d really wait for you in life otherwise.

“i don’t want you to remember us by this fight, by this big blowout when it was finally time to go our own ways. that’s never how i wanted you to remember me,” you sniffle, wiping at your face.

the smirk on his face tells you he’a got a million thoughts racing through his mind in that moment, “oh don’t you worry, i’ve got a lot of good memories to remember you by.”

“i think i have just as many. i don’t even know where to start on thanking you for everything you’ve done. you kept me grounded, you made me live a little when all i had planned to do was study, and you made me feel things i didn’t know were even possible. you’re my wildest dream, ryder donovan.”

he nods then and leans in for one last kiss, “that’s how i want you to remember me.”

#ryder donovan #wisconsin hockey #hockey imagine #my writing #mine #nhl imagine #college hockey fic

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captainscanadian · 4 years

Text

Hope | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 6)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: Just when Bucky had thought he was hopeless, fate had other plans for the two of you.

Word Count: 2800+

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky Barnes x Patient!Reader

Warnings: A little angst, injury & pure dumbassery.

A/N: This fic was my entry for @wkemeup‘s 4K Writing Challenge. I would like to dedicate this part (and all others) to @dramadreamer14 because she just gets me, okay? I DON’T DO TAGLISTS!

As human beings, we all have an inherent need to experience some kind of physical contact with others. This could be a simple handshake, or the tightest hug that lasts a good minute.

In medical school, we were taught that touch deprivation could often lead to an indescribable loneliness among other mental health concerns - including depression, anxiety, sleeplessness and a lack of attachment securities.

Physical touch helps with the release of happy chemicals in our brain, and we all end up becoming a little less hopeless then we were before.

When Ethan and I broke up, I found myself having a hard time sleeping at night. I was constantly tossing and turning through the night, barely getting any sleep and regretting it by the time I made it into morning rounds.

At first I thought it was because the bed was getting cold without Ethan being there. I didn’t miss him; he was a dick and I know I deserved so much better than that cheating bastard. But something just felt so wrong, and I did not know what it was until months later.

What I hadn’t realized though, was that I was just unbelievably touch starved. I was longing to be held in someone’s arms, preferably Ethan’s at the time since the wounds were still fresh. But I was still longing. I needed the attachment security.

Looking back now, I know that I may have had more than one reason for sleeping with Dr. Winston. Some people may assume that I slept with my attending to get in on a surgery, which is partially true though, I won’t deny it. My professional endeavors do take precedence over my personal benefits. But the real reason why I did it was beyond that. I just happened to realize that I was just so fucking touch starved.

Jake knew it too.

The moral of the story though… we all need to be touched, to be held in someone’s arms, to feel loved. I don’t know if what Jake and I have is love. The strings are not really attached. But I think it is safe to say that I no longer feel deprived of touch - all thanks to him.

After all, I guess I’m not as hopeless as I thought I was.

When Rosie Bender had entered her friend’s house that evening, she had half expected to see him to be out and about the house. It came as a surprise to her that Bucky Barnes had even taken a few days off of work in the first place, as she had always assumed that he was a complete workaholic.

But she understood that after what had happened at your ten year reunion last week, he needed to take some time off to come to terms with his own emotions. After all, he hadn’t taken it all that well when she had found him crying in that parking lot after you had driven away with Pietro and Wanda.

Karma, she’d thought it was, because she remembered how she had found you crying the same way in your high school’s parking lot after your final fight in the cafeteria. It served him right for the way he had treated you, but that did not mean she could care less about him. All she could do was offer him some comfort at a time like that, even though she knew that he deserved every bit of it.

Nevertheless, when she entered his home, she had assumed that he would have made use of his time off by taking care of a few chores around the house. He had always been productive with his time.

But instead she was greeted by the house that looked more like a pig sty, while Bucky was passed out on his living room couch with a hardcover copy of Hopeless with Benefits in his hands. The first two books, Hopeless Romantic and Hopelessly in Love, were sitting atop his coffee table, along with several empty bottles of alcohol and take out containers.

“Oh… shit.” She shook her head as she made her way over to wake him up, her eyes filled with pity of all things.

Damn, he was hopeless - no pun intended. Although a part of herself was feeling shitty for not anticipating that Bucky would voluntarily take days off from work and spend his time binge-reading your books, she could not deny that he was a bit more smarter than she had given him credit. Surely, she was aware of what you had told him. He had spit it all out to her after getting a few drinks in his system.

To think that you had told him that your writing had helped you express your emotions and he had taken to the time to read your books because he wanted to feel what you had felt. Hell, that was so fucking romantic.

But she wouldn’t place her bets on you ever coming to realize that. She knew that you had made it clear about what you wanted from him, and she agreed wholeheartedly with your point of view. Perhaps, Bucky was just too late - and he was an idiot.

Rosie was quick to grab her phone and speed dial her girlfriend, noting that he was certainly in need of an intervention. “Hey, babe… I’m at your brother’s.” She frowned at the sight of him. “You need to get over here right now. He’s… he’s hopeless.”

“I can’t believe you flew all the way out here because I drunk dialed you after my high school reunion.” You called out as you poured two cups of coffee before walking out to your porch, handing one of the mugs to your unexpected visitor who had arrived at your doorstep that morning.

“I didn’t come here because you drunk dialed me.” Harry chirped as he turned over to look at you, accepting the mug from you and taking a sip. “I came here because you drunk dialed me and told me that you wanted to sell me the movie rights to your books. Considering that you’ve had me chasing you around for those rights for years, I just wanted to make sure that you were going to hold up to that deal when you were sober.”

You rolled your eyes at his words before shaking your head. “Oh fuck off, Harry.”

“No, really… that’s why I came.”

“Wanda told you, didn’t she?” You sighed as you took a sip of your coffee. “That I cried to her about my ex and his baby.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee. “She mentioned that you said something along the lines of… who gets to have a happy ending.”

“Well, I was drunk.” You admitted, laughing softly. “And I had just given Bucky a piece of my mind. I was bitter about everything.”

“As I said before, rightfully so.” He repeated, leaning against the porch and sighing. “So, if you really were serious about selling me the movie rights, does that mean you’ve finally figured out how it ends? Speaking of happy endings and all...”

You bit down on your bottom lip before shaking your head. “I don’t know how it ends, at least not yet. But I think Hope’s in a good place now. She’s home, and she’s got herself a job at the local hospital. She might be far away from Jake now, but she was doing just fine without him… and she’s surrounded by old friends and certain unwanted memories. She just needs to figure out what she wants.”

“I think she already knows what she wants.” He pointed out with a smirk on his lips. “But she’s just too stubborn to admit it.”

You raised your eyebrow at Harry, shooting him a quick glare.

“Oh come on, you know I’m right.”

“And that’s what I hate about you.” You admitted, because you knew damn well what Hope Anderson wanted.

She might not need it, but she wants it. Just like how you might not need him, but you wanted him too. You wanted him so badly, because you were one hopeless fucking romantic.

As much as you hated to admit it, your writer’s block really was getting the worst of you. Sure, you had figured out what you wanted to write when it came to the plot of the final novel. But getting there was the problem. You just did not know how to get where you wanted to be, figuratively and quite literally speaking.

Having found a hard time writing the scenes between Hope Anderson and her first love, Jason Prescott, which was meant to make up a majority of the novel, you found yourself shutting down your laptop for the umpteenth time that week and retreating to paint the rest of the house.

You had certainly used up the time that you weren’t writing to paint the majority of the interior of the house, and it was safe to say that it looked much more vibrant now that it had been when you had first arrived. But as much as you had transformed the inside of the house, the outside looked just the same. So, you figured that your next mission was to paint the exterior of your childhood home before you get hit by the winter weather.

It was quite ambitious, really. Considering that your experience in house-flipping was quite non-existent, you were quite impressed that you had done something with the place. You had added your personal touches to the house that your mother had owned with pride. Perhaps this really was your way of honouring her.

Nevertheless, you wondered if it was possible to paint the exterior of the house, given that all you had was a few buckets of paint and a ladder that you had borrowed from Nick. Not to mention that there was only one of you. Was this really a one woman’s job?

You were not going to let this discourage you, so you found yourself dressing up in several layers and climbing up the ladder to start your next painting task. What the hell were you doing?

Nick Fury had noticed you drag the ladder out to your driveway after covering up the Porsche, which was why he had found himself watching you in utter disbelief. “Is it just me or have you finally gone bonkers?”

You rolled your eyes at the old man’s words as you continued to apply a coat of primer onto the wall. “I finished up with the inside of the house, so I thought I’d get a head start on the outside.” You responded with a shrug.

“Y/N, should I remind you that it’s the middle of November?” He scolded, crossing his arms against his chest. “Who paints the house in November?!”

“Why? Is there some cardinal rule not to paint a house in November that I don’t know about?”

You knew that the man had a point, but you were also quite stubborn… and bored. It’s not like you had any company, other than Nick.

You hadn’t been returning Rosie Bender’s calls ever since the reunion. Not that you had anything against her. You knew that she had meant well when she had invited you to the reunion, but you could not risk running into Bucky again because of her, knowing that she was dating Becca Barnes, after all.

Pietro and Wanda had left Shelbyville right after your reunion, as they did not plan on staying for Thanksgiving. You understood why they wouldn’t want to stay in this town for so long, neither would you… but what choice did you have in that matter? You had promised yourself that you would not leave town until you finished that bloody novel, and you were quite stubborn about that.

While Harry had paid you a surprise visit the other day, even he had only stayed with you for a few hours. He wanted to get back to Los Angeles and make the arrangements for you to sign off on those movie rights. He seemed very excited that you had come around, to be honest. Hopeless had been his dream project, as he had already had in mind who he wanted to cast as the leads.

“How about Anastasia Belle as our leading lady. I think she’d make a wonderful Hope Anderson.” He had suggested, causing you to raise your eyebrow at him. “I haven’t worked with her in recent years, but we do have history together.”

Anastasia Belle was now a well-known actress in Hollywood, but it was Harry who had casted her as the younger version of his leading lady in the film that gave him his big break.

“She’s like the real life Anna Scott now, isn’t she?”

“Comparing her to Anna Scott is a bit of a stretch.” He admitted. “But I do plan on casting Julia Roberts as the mother… if that tickles her fancy, of course.”

Once again, you hated this man for knowing you so well.

You had been pulled away from your thoughts when you heard the sound of a car pull up to Nick’s driveway, making the man let out a groan.

“I keep telling this kid that I don’t need him to make house calls, but Carol and Maria have got him by the neck.”

You turned over to look towards Nick’s driveway to see Bucky Barnes get out of his Mercedes, dressed in a pair of black jeans, a blue henley, and a bomber jacket. In his hands he held what looked like a medical bag and in his eyes, a twinkling smile as he leaned against his car and looked towards your driveway.

“Good morning, Nick.” He smiled at your beloved next door neighbour, his eyes curiously darting up towards you before he turned back to look at Nick in pure confusion. Why in the world were you painting your house in November?

It’s been a few weeks since he’d last seen you, and you had made yourself very clear that night. You wanted nothing to do with him, so he might as well respect your wishes despite the fact that he was longing so badly to make conversation with you.

He remembered the way you looked that night, in your jeans and your sweater, Your hair and make up looking simple yet beautiful, just like you. He could not deny that you looked gorgeous, in your denim overalls that were stained with paint, and the plaid shirt you had worn over it, he recognized it. It used to belong to your mother.

You were quick to return your gaze toward the wall and continued with your painting. You could care less about his presence, and it seemed that he was here for work. Who cared if he was standing in the driveway that was adjacent to yours, staring up at you as you did your best to avoid his eyes on you. You could feel his eyes on you.

“Dr. Barnes.” The old man cleared his throat, sensing the tension that lingered in the air as you began to paint rather aggressively in hopes of convincing yourself that you did not bother about Bucky being right there.

Nope, you did not care at all. You were just busy painting the outside of your house, and paying attention to whoever was paying a visit to your next door neighbour was none of your business.

But Nick knew you too damn well to know that you were trying to ignore your childhood best friend’s presence in your shared driveway. After all, he had heard the stories of your fallout and your resulting departure from your mother.

“She seems to be doing quite well on her own.” Nick noted. “Let’s head inside, shall we?”

Bucky gave him a nod as he followed him towards his house, but he had barely made it inside when he heard a loud thud that was followed by your shrill scream.

“Y/N!” He was quick to run towards you, seeing that you were now laying on your driveway as the ladder had toppled over.

“OH FUCKING HELL!” You cried in pain, having landed on your ankle. You had felt it twist. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” Your eyes glazed over at the pain, but as you laid there unable to move, you were greeted by the worried doctor who had come to your rescue.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, frowning at the sight of you. “Are you hurt? How are you feeling? Talk to me…”

Perhaps it was his doctor instincts that had made him rush to your aid, but he could not deny that he hated to see you in pain.

“It’s… my ankle.” You winced, your hand clutching tightly onto his and squeezing it in hopes that the pain would go away. “I landed on my ankle and it fucking hurts.”

#kas4kwc #aj writes #hope #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes angst #doctor au #doctor!Bucky

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

I’ll Handle This (6)

In Which Plagg is Annoying

So, my beloved Fiancé really likes Magic: The Gathering. He’s taught me how to play it, and talks about it a lot, but I still don’t really understand it. It’s a complicated game. So this chapter has sections of me purposefully badly explaining the game, sorry if that bothers you lol.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

Adrien awoke curled in a ball. His bed was extremely soft, and he sunk right into it.

Oh, except it was a pillow. He was still in Plagg’s tiny Kwami body. Great.

He yawned and stretched, realizing that he was alone in his bed.

“Plagg?” He asked the room.

There was no answer, but the bathroom door was closed.

Plagg was most likely getting him ready, or his human body, ready for school.

Before Adrien could imagine the worst case scenario, the bathroom door opened, and Plagg emerged.

Adrien stared, and then declared loudly, “NO.”

“Yes!” Said Plagg, flouncing into Adrien’s closet.

“How—why? When?!”

Plagg brought his pre-chosen outfit into the main room, and started to get dressed, carefully slipping the purple tiger striped shirt over his expertly gelled Mohawk.

“Did you not see me buy that ultra super strong hair gel yesterday?”

“I didn’t see anything you bought yesterday,” said Adrien with frustration. “I was in your pocket the whole time, remember?”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat!” He slipped on an over shirt, that was black with orange leopard spots.

“Oh god...”

“You should have been more careful about what you brought home from shoots,” Plagg sang. “Love the leopard spots. Though I’m just a black cat, mixing up my coat on occasion would be fun.”

“I kept that shirt because I thought it was funny, or it would be good for a costume. You can’t honestly wear it!”

Plagg blew him a raspberry. “Oh suck it up buttercup! It’ll be fine!”

Adrien watched with other things on his mind as Plagg finished dressing. Brown pants, rolled up with mismatched argyle socks, and then the same green sunglasses to cover his cat eyes.

“I think I have a photo shoot with Lila after school,” said Adrien.

“And?”

“And you should probably attend it. I know you want to piss off my dad and blow off responsibilities that aren’t Miraculous related, but modeling is my job. I’m still under a contract and I get paid for it. That money goes to my college fund, which I intend to use to pick my own career.”

“What’s one missed shift to the son of the company?”

“A strike against me, and a loss of around a thousand euros.”

Plagg swiveled his head to look at him. “That much? Is Lila making that too?”

“No.” Adrien chuckled. “I am in high demand and so I make more. She makes around 15 euros an hour. That’s why she always drags photoshoots on for so long. Me and some of the other models get paid per gig.”

Plagg scoffed. “That’s stupid.”

“So will you behave for three hours?”

“No,” said Plagg, smoothing his shirt and hair. “But I’ll participate in the shoot and play nice with the photographer. Lila, on the other hand, I have plans for.”

Adrien looked at him warily. “...alright.”

Doing a once-over, Plagg declared, “just one more accessory, the piece de resistance...” he reached into a plastic bag from his shopping yesterday.

Adrien gaped in horror. “NO. NO NO NO!”

—

Gabriel walked from the kitchen back to his office, coffee mug in hand. Dealing with Adrien’s rebellion had been a PR nightmare, but he was able to spin Adrien’s outfit yesterday, as out of character as it was, as merely a phase. A phase which he would grow out of soon, but one that was necessary for Adrien to grow, to explore his own style, to learn fashion in his own mind. The media ate it up, and several articles would be coming out in the next week or so.

Then the boy in question streaked by him in a kaleidoscope of color.

Gabriel sputtered on his coffee, staining his suit with the brown liquid, but not caring a bit.

“Adrien?!” He shouted, beyond horrified. He couldn’t tell what was worse, the patterns? The colors? The hair? NO.

“Where did you get crocs?” Gabriel asked, as Adrien reached the unfortunately unlocked door.

He turned for just a second, long enough to shout. “Ask my butt, old man!” Before the door shut behind him.

Gabriel had to call those magazines back.

—

Plagg arrived at school, drawing the attention of every student mingling there. Some stared in horror, while others held in laughter.

A student passed Plagg and raised a fist. “Nice duds, dude! Stick it to the man!”

Plagg responded with a gleeful grin and matching fist bump.

“Oh my god,” said Nino, as he arrived. “You look amazing.”

“My dad spilled coffee on himself this morning, and the look on his face was totally worth it.”

“God, I wish I could have been there.” Nino sighed.

“It was pretty amazing, not going to lie.”

“Oh, while we have a second...I was hoping to have a sleepover this weekend. Marinette and Alya would come over for the evening, and then leave in time for dude’s night. You in?”

“Just you and me?”

“Yeah, if that’s cool.”

“Absolutely! After school tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Marinette said your schedule was open.”

“Marinette knew that? I didn’t even know that.”

“I think she keeps track of that stuff for class activities.” He cleared his throat, not looking at him. “And for no other reason besides that.”

Plagg chuckled to himself. God, Nino was the worst liar. “I understand. Someone’s got to know my schedule if I don’t.”

“Marinette is the best, after all.” Nino puffed up his chest, doing his damndest to be a good wingman.

Plagg didn’t think he needed to try so hard, but props. “She is the best, isn’t she?”

Nino smiled widely, like he had a secret joke that wouldn’t make sense to anyone.

A pair of arms wound around his own, squeezing tightly like a boa constrictor. “Good morning Adrien!” Lila chirped.

“Morning,” Plagg returned, playing casual in front of Nino.

“I need to talk to you about the photoshoot after school.” She turned to Nino. “Can I borrow your buddy for a minute?”

“You can have him for five minutes.” Nino winked.

Lila giggled, sounding pretty realistic to an untrained ear. “Thanks Nino!” Without waiting for Plagg’s permission, she dragged him away to a sequestered corner of the courtyard.

Before Plagg could even ask what was in her mind, she turned and faced him, expression full of vitriol and rage. It was not a face he’d seen on many mortals.

“Don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do, Adrien.” Her voice was cold, sharp, and harsh.

Adrien shivered in Plagg’s pocket.

“And that would be...?”

“Trying to weasel your way out of our little agreement.”

Plagg blinked, remembering the arrangement they had prepared a while ago. It’s what had gotten Marinette un-expelled. Just schmooze with the brat and she’d leave Marinette alone. But it was very apparent she was ready to take any violation of this agreement as an invitation to jump right back into her conniving ways.

Plagg would hold out for now, play the long game. He had a plan, and if that failed for some unexplainable reason, then he had another one lined up. It was just a matter of finding out what bait Lila would take.

He feigned a gasp, as well as she would, and laid a hand on his chest. “Oh Lila, whatever are you talking about? I’m just having a little disagreement with my dear old dad. It’s nothing against you! Honest!”

She squinted at him. “You’re still on the schedule to model with me later today, so I’m assuming you didn’t actually quit modeling. If you had, this would have turned sour.”

“What do you mean?”

“Modeling is our ‘fun friendship’ activity, and if you try to get out of it, I’m going to assume you don’t care about Marinette after all.” She shrugged.

He laughed, a dark sinister laugh that didn’t belong on his handsome, sweet, cherubic face. “You mortals are just so cute when you think you can win against me.”

The look on Lila’s face was perfect. Part confused, part terrified. “What?”

He spoke with a voice older than time, conjuring magics from the ancient unknowns. “Dos valok th’um krosis!”

“Did...did you just cast a spell on me?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. How do your lips feel?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know, a little—“

“CHAPPED?” Provided Plagg, with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh my god.”

“Do not test me, Lila Rossi. You won’t win.” He gave her a pleasant little smile.

She stared in bewilderment, before chuckling right back. “Boy, you had me for a second.” She pulled out a tube of chapstick and applied some. “Are you trying to psych me out? Cause it’s not going to work.”

“Well darn,” said Plagg with a little snap of his fingers. “Thought my necromancy could spook you off. Well, if that didn’t do it, I guess you really do want to be my friend, no matter how quirky I can be.” He gave a happy little sigh.

Lila was immediately suspicious. “Sure, I want to be your friend...?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but Lila wasn’t convinced.

Unless Adrien really was that naïve.

“Great!” Plagg clapped. “I have to go talk to Marinette, but we’ll hang out at the shoot! It’s going to be so much fun!” And he hurried off.

Lila narrowed her eyes back in his direction. There was definitely fishy about that exchange. She couldn’t very well text Gabriel and say, “there’s something suspicious about your son. He actually wants to be my friend. Also he chapped my lips.” That would be too confusing and send all the wrong messages.

So she resigned to wait until the photoshoot after all. Since, of course, he couldn’t keep up this act for several hours in a row. She could, but she was a professional.

Her musings came to a halt as she heard the wonderful noise of Marinette’s scream. “MY EYES!!”

Lila hurried from her nook to find out what had happened. Had someone sprayed her with mace? Pocket sand?

No. Adrien was merely striking poses in front of her, and she had recoiled in horror.

“Adrien!” She stated, aghast. “How could you?!”

He posed again, butt in her direction. “You like?”

“It’s foul. Are those crocs?!”

“Yep! I contemplated on getting the little ladybug plugs for the holes, but I didn’t really think it was worth it. After all, how often do you look at a man’s feet?”

“In that outfit, it’s going to be too hard to tell what part is the worst.” Her eyes bounced over the competing patterns and made her dizzy. “Well here,” she handed over a hanger covered with a trash bag. “Your sin against fashion has been committed. I’m willing to do more, but don’t attach my name to it.”

Adrien just laughed. “Don’t worry, Pooh Bear, your secret is safe with me.”

Lila’s lips curled in disgust at the nickname. Obviously, she would tell Gabriel that Marinette was enabling his behavior. Maybe she could spin it as her influence all together. Yes, yes, that would work. Two stones and all that.

—

After school, Lila rode with Adrien to the photoshoot.

Boy, if she wanted a taste of what the day would be like, she certainly got it. And she should have taken the chance to run.

��So Nino and I started playing this game with the guys in class,” Adrien had begun, without so much as a greeting. “Have you heard of Magic: The Gathering?”

“...no?”

“Oh okay, so I’ll tell you all about it.”

As a master manipulator, Lila understood the masterful art of conversation. There were several strategies she had developed over the years. Her favorite was ‘talk passionately and allow for natural lulls in explanation so they can ask questions’. It made people feel engaged and kept them coming back for more, while she was perceived as interesting and smart, but also humble.

However, it seemed that Adrien was utilizing the beginners mistake of ‘poorly explain a subject you’re not really passionate about without letting the other person talk’. Like an underpaid substitute teacher filling in for a class they don’t know much about.

“So like, there are these cards with different landscapes on them, and they’re all different based on color, right? So there’s water or islands for blue and mountains and stuff for red, right? And each one is worth mana. And you have to use mana to play a card. Except for lands, I think. You can play those whenever, except you have to draw them, you can’t just go searching through your deck. Unless a card tells you you can.”

Finally, they arrived at the shoot, and Lila nearly fell out of the car in her haste to get away for some peace and quiet, just for a second.

Who knew that boy could talk so much?

—

Plagg and his mohawk were led to the makeup trailer. Thankfully for the hairstylist, it came with a salon sink, so Adrien didn’t have to go home and shower.

“Sorry, Mr. Agreste,” the stylist said as she draped a cape on him. “We have to flatten the mohawk.”

“That’s alright,” Plagg assured with a polite smile. “It served its purpose.”

“It was very well done, honestly,” she said with a laugh. “For not having the sides of your head shaved, that is.”

“I had to work with what I had.”

The stylist just hummed in understanding, as she started to rinse his hair, the gel melting and washing down the drain.

The stylist sighed, and gave a little huff to herself.

Plagg normally wouldn’t care, but if his meddling had inconvenienced someone else’s job, that would reflect poorly on Adrien. So, he asked. “Is everything alright?”

“Umm...” she paused, biting her lip. “Look, we’re friends right?”

Plagg didn’t even know this person’s name. “Of course.”

“Are you close to Miss Rossi? I know you guys are friends...”

“I hate her guts.” Plagg declared with a broad smile.

“Oh good!” She relaxed. “I really really hate working on her. And so does everyone else, and last time she was here, she was just—Ugh, the worst. I got so frustrated because Giuseppe and your father like her, so even if I complained, nothing would happen. Likely, I’m the one that would get in trouble. You remember Alexander, right? The lighting assistant?”

No. Not one bit. “Yeah?”

“Well, she yelled at him one time during a shoot, in the back. Apparently, she wanted coffee and he wouldn’t get it for her, even though that’s soooo not his job. So she complained to Giuseppe and got him fired! Honestly, I don’t know how he didn’t get akumatized over that.”

“I don’t either!” Plagg said, with surprise. “I knew she was a pain, but yikes...”

“I think you’re a really cool kid, Adrien. But she’s going around and telling everyone you got her this job and—“ she sighed. “People are getting resentful.”

Now Plagg was mad. It was immediately apparent that Lila had a ‘if I can’t have them, no one can’ attitude, turning the staff on Adrien if she couldn’t win them over with her outlandish lies. Adrien couldn’t afford having that many enemies. He was too soft.

“Actually...” Plagg began to explain how Lila had wound up with her job, lying to Nathalie and Gorilla to get access to his house, lying to his father to get on his good side, and all the things she did to Marinette, who he took the bullet for to protect. “She means a lot to me,” Plagg said, in regards to Marinette. “So I didn’t mind having to pretend to be Lila’s friend if it meant she could come back to school and not be harassed anymore. It seems that Lila has a loose form of friendship.”

The stylist wiped her eyes. “Oh Adrien, you’ve got such a heart of gold. I’ll set everything straight with the team. Don’t you worry!”

“I actually have a plan, that you might let everyone in on. And I apologize in advance.”

“Lay it on me.”

—

By time Lila was called in to get ready, Plagg had been groomed into a normal looking boy with normal looking hair and clothes. Though normal protocol usually had Lila in hair and make-up alone with the stylists, Plagg sat in a chair nearby, separated from her by a curtain.

“Adrien? Shouldn’t you be out there?”

“Oh it’s okay, I wanted to keep telling you about this game.”

“Oh, well, you shouldn’t keep Giuseppe…”

“He won’t mind. So, there’s a bunch of colors, right? Red, Black, Green, Blue, White, and…one more. I think there’s one more.”

A sigh was heard from the other side of the curtain.

“No, no I was right, there’s only five. But you can combine them. But not like, mix them? It’s like, Blue-Black, and Red-Black. And Green-Blue. And so different colors have different themes, right? And the themes are different based on the set. Oh yeah, there’s different sets and Wizards of the Coast release like, two or three sets a year. I think. Like they had this one that was all about Dinosaurs and pirates. But they usually aren’t that wacky. Unless it’s a joke set. Which that one wasn’t. I can’t remember the name of it right now, but it started with an ‘I’.” And he was off, explaining all he could remember of the game, from what Adrien had told him, to what he had heard while the boys played at school. If he could find a point to elaborate on, he did.

Every once in a while, he’d make eye contact with a staff member, who would in turn grin and give a secret thumbs up.

He started to run out of steam while Lila was in makeup.

Thankfully, one of the technicians with a grudge noticed, and helped him out. “Would you ever play competitively?”

Through the mirror, Plagg could see the lightbulb go off over Lila’s head. “You know, my grandfather was one of the chess masters of the world. He won lots of tournaments, and I’m sure he’d love to give you some pointers if you were interested, Adrien.”

The technician answered for him. “Chess? We’re talking about Magic: The Gathering. Two totally different games. The tournaments are pretty fun too, but I really enjoy playing at pre-releases. They usually only allow you to play with the set you’re buying, so you can’t look at them beforehand…”

Plagg beamed at the guy, thrilled with how quickly he had shut Lila down.

Lila, however, was undeterred. She met the eyes of the female stylist and just shrugged. “Boys, right? So, this weekend—“

“Shh,” the stylist hushed. “I’ve been trying for weeks to learn this game.”

Lila crossed her arms and sat silently for the rest of the session.

Once the models were all dolled up, they were escorted out to the set, and Giuseppe got to work with posing.

Here’s where Lila tried to make up for lost attention.

“Oh Giuseppe! I had such a wonderful idea for the shoot today! Since the gardens are in full bloom—“

“Which reminds me!” Plagg snapped his fingers. “Green-Black combination cards are really unique because they create a bunch of minions. Like, the cards in them have the ability to spam the battlefield with like a bunch of little guys called tokens that take a lot of extra work to get rid of. Well, like, not a ton of extra work, because they only have like one HP, but like, it's more work then you would have had to do. Wait, white, not black. Actually, I think white is the best at tokens, my mistake.”

Despite her best efforts, Lila could not suppress a full body eye roll.

It was exactly what Plagg was waiting for, and he jumped in for the finisher. He turned his sad kitten eyes to her, looking like Puss in Boots from Shrek, and asked, in the most pathetic voice he could muster. “Am I annoying you?”

Lila stared at him, as the staff and Giuseppe looked right at her, to see her response.

“I…I…” she stammered. “N-no, not at all, Adrien. I…love hearing about this game.”

He beamed. “Good! Because I have to tell you about my favorite combination of Blue-black. It’s really high in conditions and making things difficult for the opponents, right?”

Lila’s nostrils flared, but she held back any other sign of frustration. It was remarkable, really.

Plagg was quiet while Giuseppe gave directions, and during the actual shooting, but in between takes, when he didn’t have to be ‘professional’ he filled in the silence with whatever jargon he could find. He was wearing her down.

“Alright,” Giuseppe finally said. “We’re all done with you, Lila. Now it’s just Adrien’s solo shoot. But you can stay if you like.”

Lila was already halfway to the trailers. “I’m so sorry Giuseppe, I have somewhere I have to be this evening, so I’m going to head out. I’ll see everyone next time!” And she practically sprinted off set.

Once she left, Giuseppe gave a loud sigh of relief. “Now let’s get some real work done.”

—

Later that evening, when Adrien and Plagg had returned to the mansion, Adrien sat on the desk as Plagg scrolled online. Homework had been completed with ease, and it was still too early for bed.

“What are you reading?” Adrien asked.

“I’m trying to slog my way through the lore of that video game you like, the one with the Dragons. I have to have more ammunition the next time I deal with Lila. I almost ran out today.”

“Is that what I sound like?”

“What?”

“You today, when you were talking about Magic. Is that what I sound like to you? Do I ramble on?”

Plagg screwed up his lips in thought. “Mmmm, sometimes.”

Adrien hunched in on himself.

“But look. Culture and creative medium has grown astronomically in the last 200 years since I’ve been asleep. I want to know about what’s out there. I like hearing about things that you enjoy. Even if it is annoying sometimes, I still care about you. The reason I pulled this strategy is because Lila likes to talk, and she doesn’t like to listen. Even if I was talking passionately about something I knew a lot about, I doubt she would have cared. I hear how often she interrupts class.”

Adrien hadn’t thought about it like that.

“You know who Pavlov is, right?”

“Uh, the guy that did the experiment with the dog, right? He rang a bell and gave his dog a treat, and eventually the dog came to associate the bell with treats.”

“Precisely. Humans are the same way. Knowing this principle is the easiest way to win people over. You have to make them associate you with good feelings. If you treat people well, be friendly, courteous, and funny, eventually, people will like to be around you. The same works in reverse. If I can associate myself with frustration and annoyance for Lila, she won’t want to be around me. Being straight up mean to her won’t work because she’ll see that as a challenge.”

“So you have to be subtle,” Adrien concluded. “Thats…that’s genius.”

“I know.”

“So you don’t think I’m annoying?”

Plagg rubbed him between the ears. “I only found you annoying when you would complain about Ladybug, your dad, or Lila. But now, in your shoes, I’ve realized how easy it is to get frustrated about these things. But hopefully soon enough, you won’t even have to worry about it.”

Adrien smiled brightly. “Thanks Plagg. I hated this at first…but you really are making some progress.”

“Told you. Now, help me pack. You have your first sleepover tomorrow night.”

“My first sleepover, and I’m going to spend it crammed in a bag!”

#miraculous ladybug #ml #adrien agreste #plagg #I'll handle this #fanfiction #adrienette

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lvllns · 3 years

Text

and i’m feeling colder than i feel is good

the wayhaven chronicles. ~2.5k words. little bit of felix and kincaid, but it’s not the focus. mild book 3 demo spoilers, very brief and nothing plot relevant. this idea has been rattling around in my head since the first chapter of the demo and i finally sat down to write it. detective becomes a vampire au? i guess?

Standing in a shitty rest stop bathroom, Kincaid watches his split knuckles mend and thinks that he should have seen this coming.

—

Three months ago, one month after Murphy’s attack.

Kincaid slumps back against his chair. Scrubs his hands over his face and groans as he leans forward to press his face to his desk. Between the Agency and the station, reports and paperwork have piled up. Stacks that threaten to tumble to the ground at even the slightest touch. He’s trying, really he is, to catch up even the tiniest little bit but it feels like a fruitless endeavor.

Especially when Tina sheepishly slaps another folder down, playfully thwapping it on the back of his skull. “Got more for you.”

“No thanks,” he mumbles with a shake of his head. “I’m not acceptin’ any more paperwork currently.”

Tina laughs. Pats his shoulder before giving it a squeeze. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think the Captain would appreciate that.”

With a frustrated huff, Kincaid sits up, eyes narrowing at the mess all over his workspace. “Why the fuck are there so many reports? The fuck is happening in this sleepy town?” He picks one up. Squints and scoffs as he drops it back down. “Another case of mysteriously dying flowers from someone with a dog.”

“You need a break.”

“I need to retire.”

“You have a few years yet,” Tina says with another reassuring pat to his back. “Ah, you have company.” She winks at him and heads for the door. “You’ll help him relax, right?”

Kincaid looks up from his computer to see Felix walk in, coffee cup and bag from Haley’s in hand.

He grins, bright eyes flashing with mischief, as he rests a hand against his chest in an attempt to look affronted. “In his office Tina?”

“Knew I liked you for a reason!” She taps the middle of his forehead before vanishing into the hallway, shutting the door with a muted click behind her.

Felix settles himself in the chair opposite Kincaid and cocks his head. “You look exhausted.”

“I sleep like shit, you know this.”

He hums. “I do, which is why I brought you these!”

Before Kincaid can react, there’s a steaming cup of coffee in his face, the bag rustling as it settles next to a stack of reports. He plucks the drink from Felix’s hand, letting his touch linger as long as he can before pulling away. The vampire shifts in his seat, grin fading to an honest smile, soft but no less bright. Kincaid takes a deep breath, a rumbling groan escaping him as the smell of coffee overwhelms his senses.

When he takes a sip though, it tastes...off.

His face screws up, nose wrinkling. It’s not bad, something is just a little to the right of normal. It’s like he can feel individual grains of sugar on his tongue. The coffee is more bitter, coating his tongue and throat so heavily it’s almost difficult to swallow.

“What’s wrong?” Felix leans forward, eyebrows knit together.

Kincaid holds the cup in front of him. He shrugs. Takes another sip and it’s better this time, going down smoother. “Nothin’, guess I’m just used to the shitty instant coffee here.” He smiles. “Thank you, Felix. I needed this.”

The shorter man hums. “You’re welcome. I grabbed you a couple of those scones you like too.” Kincaid could kiss him, and he almost does but Felix keeps talking. “I...may have dumped a little too much sugar into your coffee because I know you use a lot but I wasn’t sure how exactly much so.”

Kincaid bursts out laughing.

Writes off the weird texture in his mouth as Felix’s over eager hand.

—

Two months ago, two months after Murphy’s attack.

“Do you smell that?” Kincaid whips his head around, nostrils flaring.

The werewolves are retreating, scrambling away with their teeth bared and hackles raised. Something has them bolting and he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth but he catches a scent on the wind.

Mason looks at him. “Smell what?” His face screws up. “Ugh! The fuck?!”

They both throw their arms over their faces. Kincaid’s breathing goes ragged as he tries to take in oxygen without letting the smell overwhelm him. It’s musky, thick. Reminds him of old fur coats and wet dog. There’s a small part of him that is glad it doesn’t reek of death, but the musty scent isn’t that much better.

Whatever this smell is, it’s hitting him hard. He feels a little dizzy, and a little like he’s going to be sick. When he looks back at Mason, he finds himself being watched already. There’s a knot between Mason’s brows, silver eyes calculating, but he says nothing. Just keeps his own nose pinched shut as he mumbles about the benefits of not having to breathe.

He’s leaning against a tree when the other three make it into the clearing. Felix looks relieved he’s alive, heading straight for him. Kincaid is so busy trying not to pass out as they leave the clearing that he hardly pays attention to what anyone is saying.

Well, until Nate mentions the name of the plant.

“The crown imperial plant?” Kincaid wipes at his face. “That explains the smell,” he mumbles.

Mason’s eyes snap to him again and there’s something there. He makes a smart comment about having two Nates but says nothing else.

“It’s strong,” Nate says apologetically. “Even for humans.”

“It fuckin’ reeks of musty fur,” Kincaid grumbles, arms crossing over his chest.

Now Adam looks at him. Searching and seeking. He feels like he’s being pulled apart and displayed for the team leader to examine at will. Adam suggests they head back to the warehouse, though it takes longer than usual for him to pull his gaze away from Kincaid.

He writes this off as the two of them being annoyed at having another Nate in their midst.

—

One month ago, three months after Murphy’s attack.

Insomnia is an old friend at this point.

Kincaid rarely sleeps longer than three hours at a time, sometimes four if he’s lucky, and that’s on the nights he can even get to sleep. Night after night of shitty sleep, catching an hour here and there, isn’t unusual.

So he thinks nothing of it when he’s running on two hours of sleep for the sixth day in a row. A full coffee cup sits on his desk next to him, though he hasn’t touched it after he took the first sip. It’s too bitter. He’s been using less and less sugar, less creamer, less everything lately because it’s become too cloying. Trying to swallow a mouthful of sweetened coffee is like trying to eat gravel. It sticks in his throat. He didn’t realize he was being obvious about his change in taste until Felix made a comment the other day about not dumping a whole shaker of sugar into his drink.

Easy enough to write off as getting older, the sugar no longer agreeing with his palate like it did when he was in college.

He smells Felix before he sees him. A burst of bright citrus and something else that he can’t place. Kincaid looks up the moment Felix walks through the door to his office.

The vampire hits the brakes. Blinks and smiles. “I was going to sneak up on you.”

Kincaid chuckles. “Good luck, I smelled you coming.”

“What?” Felix appears in front of him, a warm hand on his chin tilting his head back. “You smelled me coming?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice going low and soft as it always does around Felix. “You smell like oranges and lemons.”

“Huh.” The hand falls away from his face. Felix lifts his shirt to his nose and takes a deep inhale.

“Darlin’, what are you doing?” Kincaid chuckles as he speaks, hands moving to rest on the other man’s thighs.

“You said I smelled!”

“Good! You smell good!”

Felix laughs. Leans forward to bury his nose in Kincaid’s hair on the top of his head. “New laundry detergent I think. Maybe. I don’t know, I borrowed some of whatever Nate uses.”

Simple then, to explain that away as a change in routine.

—

Two weeks ago, nearly four months after Murphy’s attack.

That...hasn’t happened before.

Kincaid blinks. Looks down at his hands. Looks up at the training dummy.

Or, what’s left of it.

He’s knocked the head clean off. It went sailing across the room, knocking against the wall. When he swung again, a chunk of the shoulder went flying.

He flexes his hands. Curls them into fists tight enough his knuckles bleed ivory. They haven’t changed. They’re still covered in freckles, a little more tan from all his time outside in the summer sun. Nothing that would explain why he’s just busted up a training dummy that he’s seen Adam hit with no problem.

Curiosity gets the better of him.

With a shake of his head, he squares himself up.

Takes a centering breath.

And swings.

Another head goes flying off the next dummy. He kicks, hard. Knocks the next one right off the metal post holding it upright. He stops then, not wanting to destroy everything in the room. This...doesn’t seem good. His mind starts racing but before he can connect any dots, he hears Adam approaching the room.

Kincaid turns. Faces the other man as he walks in and halts immediately, eyes surveying the damage. Three busted up training dummies and one man who probably looks incredibly confused.

“Did you…?” Adam trails off as he speaks, eyes narrowing.

“Uh, yeah.” Kincaid rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry?”

Adam waves his apology away. “Do not worry about it. I was in here early this morning, I must have weakened them.”

He can feel the sharp, knowing stare of the other man on him but Kincaid can’t bring himself to look his way. Instead, he takes a deep breath and nods.

Easy enough to write that off as well.

—

Present day, a little over four months after Murphy’s attack.

His knuckles just healed.

They were broken and busted, bleeding profusely, and he just watched them knit back together.

“Oh no,” he whispers. Looking up, he catches his reflection in the dirty mirror, wide-eyed and horrified. “Oh no, no way.”

Everything crashes down on him then. He thinks about the mission, the case. How he was quicker than he expected. When one of the Trappers rushed him, he slipped out of the way without a thought, his reflexes sharper than they’ve ever been. He kicked the door open to their busted up hideout, putting a hole in the wall and tearing the door off some of the hinges.

Old building, weak enough for his human strength to help it crumble.

Kincaid takes a ragged breath and jolts when he doesn’t remember the last time he did that voluntarily. The smells in the hideout had been overwhelming. Rot and dust, mold and the coppery tang of blood. He had covered his nose, pinched it shut, and as he thinks about it now, he realizes that he never once opened his mouth to take a breath.

Someone pounds on the bathroom door. “You good cowboy?”

Mason.

His shoulders drop and he presses his forehead against the mirror. “I...I don’t know.”

Silence.

No, not silence. He can hear him walking away. He can hear his heartbeat fade, and another one get stronger as someone new approaches. Kincaid realizes he can hear all of their hearts beating over the rushing in his ears.

And then, ripping him from his spiral, “Kincaid?” The door creaks open as Felix pokes his head in, amber eyes wide with worry. “What’s…” His gaze drops to what should be a mess of torn up flesh. “Um.” Felix goes tense, every muscle in his body tightening up. “Maybe I should get Adam?”

Kincaid can’t pull his focus away from his healed hands as he says, “That’s probably a good idea.”

—

They’re all piled in a tiny hospital room at the facility, Kincaid laying back on the bed with his eyes shut and an arm thrown over his face.

“I’m a right fuckin’ idiot,” he grits out.

“You are not.” Felix shoves his arm, not the one they pulled a ridiculous amount of blood from at least. “I don’t think anyone would expect, well, this.”

“He’s right Cade,” Nate says, voice calm and low. He’s speaking like he’s trying to steady a spooked horse, and really he’s not that far off. “This is certainly nothing any of us expected.”

Kincaid drops his arm to the bed. Stares at the ceiling for a minute before he says, “There were a lot of signs.”

“What?” Adam steps closer, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Food stopped tasting good.” Kincaid sighs as he sits up. “Couldn’t even dump half a cup of sugar into my coffee anymore. The sleep thing, I haven’t slept longer than three hours a night in weeks now.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, feet settling on the floor. “My senses are sharper. I destroyed some of those training dummies.”

“Those are easy enough to write off.” Felix hops up to sit next to him. Leans his head against Kincaid’s shoulder and laces their fingers together.

Nate hums. “They came on gradually?”

“Yeah, little at a time.” Kincaid shifts. Squeezes Felix’s hand. “Not surprising, given how the body makes blood. What I am surprised about, is how Mu—his blood apparently squeezed mine out.”

“We don’t know that you’ve been turned—”

Mason cuts Adam off with, “I think we fucking do.”

Adam growls. “It is possible—”

“What? What’s possible Adam?” Kincaid snaps. “That I’m only half vampire? Maybe I just haven’t fully turned yet, it’s only been four months after all. Maybe some of my own blood is still rattlin’ through my veins yet.”

Kincaid watches him deflate, shoulders slumping. Adam presses a hand to his forehead and sighs, but remains quiet.

“You haven’t taken a breath in twenty minutes,” Mason helpfully supplies.

“Thank you so much, Mason,” Kincaid growls out as he presses the meat of his palms to his eyes. “Where do we go from here?”

“There are...meetings you’ll need to sit through.” Nate grimaces. “Forms to fill out, that kind of thing.”

“Depending on where your abilities settle,” Adam’s voice is rough as he speaks, “you’ll be given training in how to handle the changes you’ve undergone. I would not be surprised if you ended up with hypersenses similar to Mason, or strength similar to mine.”

“What does that mean for us working together?” There’s a flare of anxiety that bubbles in Kincaid’s chest. He doesn’t want to lose this, he realizes. A sour smell floods his nostrils and he recoils. “Fuckin’ hell, is that me?”

Mason chuckles. “That’s fear, cowboy.”

Nate whacks him on the back of the shoulder, giving him a disapproving stare for a moment. He turns to Kincaid and shrugs. “I imagine we’ll continue to work together. There’s no reason to split us up, not when we function so well as a group.”

“Whatever happens,” Felix turns to Kincaid, “we’ll deal with it. You’ve got us to help you.”

Kincaid leans down. Presses a kiss to Felix’s temple and whispers, “Yeah, yeah I do.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #long post #caiti.txt #c: kincaid anderson #writing tag #i did research for this lmao #it takes your body roughly 4 months to replace every red blood cell it has #and we're just gonna go with Supernatural Stuff to explain why vampire blood would completely replace your own blood #but when i say i have been thinking about this for months i mean it #that bit in the demo where the detective smells the plant just latched onto a part of my brain and i'm like 'yeah okay'#so now here we are!#local southern man calls his boyfriend darlin more at 11 #is this edited? sure kind of #anyway i slapped this down in a fucking HAZE that lasted 2 hours while like that by doja cat played on repeat #make of that what you will #if you read all that i love you

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yusuke-of-valla · 3 years

Text

like rats fleeing a sinking ship, pt. 4

Whumptober Alt. 10

Prompt: Nightmares

TW: Mentions of bruises, the interrogation scene, and Shiho’s suicide attempt though the latter two are only mentioned briefly

<-Previous Next->

AO3

Ann pulls herself up into a large tree in Shiho’s backyard, and knocks on Shiho’s window.

She’s done this thousands of times before, but this time she’s shaking as Shiho opens the latch and Ann spills into her room.

“Shiho, I-” Ann starts, but she can’t make out the words.

“Ann? Ann what’s wrong, do you need help?” Shiho asks.

Ann stares at her for a second, a thousand thoughts flying through her mind, before settling on “...you don’t know?”

“Shiho? Is something wrong?” Shiho’s mother calls from downstairs.

“D-don’t let them know I’m here!” Ann whispers quickly.

“Just knocked over some books mom, it’s fine!” Shiho responds.

“Alright, just be careful!”

“I will!”

Ann relaxes a bit, slumping against Shiho’s side.

“I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Ann, take a deep breath for me, alright?” Shiho says, guiding Ann to her bed.

Ann sinks into the bed, and tries to organize her thoughts. The truth is, it all doesn’t even feel real yet. They’re wanted criminals. Not the Phantom Thieves, but them themselves. Ann Takamkai, Ryuji Sakamoto… all of them had their names and faces plastered everywhere.

Ann swallows. “Shiho, do you know about the Phantom Thieves?”

Shiho blinks. “Uh, yeah, of course.”

“I’m one of them. And now the police are after us.”

Shiho stares at Ann. “Oh.” Ann tenses up again, and Shiho quickly turns to her. “Sorry, I’m just surprised— or maybe I’m not. You being a Phantom Thief actually makes a lot of sense, but you can stay here, obviously.”

“Really?”

“Of course! I’m not leaving you to get caught by the police!” Shiho says. “My parents don’t barge into my room or anything, and I’m still being homeschooled while I recover so it’s not like I’ll be leaving you home in the house or anything.”

“Shiho…” Ann wraps her arms around her best friend. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

Shiho grabs an old sleeping bag, a relic that’s survived many of their past sleepovers, and rolls it out for Ann while Ann borrows some of Shiho’s pajamas.

“As long as you’re here, wanna help me with my English homework?” Shiho asks.

“Yeah, sure.”

They go over the homework until Shiho insists Ann go to sleep, so Ann steals a pillow off of Shiho’s bed and curls up in the sleeping bag.

Ann closes her eyes and tries to sleep, but can’t stop thinking about, well, everything.

Makoto had said to avoid using phones before cutting off, so Ann doesn’t know what anyone is doing. None of them were prepared for this, none of them had even considered it an option.

Maybe that was on them though, maybe they should’ve thought about the possibility, but who could blame them? They had just gotten the upper hand after being manipulated for months by Shido and his stupid conspiracy. Now it turns out he had a trump card none of them suspected.

Ann’s thoughts run around for what feels like hours, until even with her eyes closed Ann can tell that Shiho turns off the lights and climbs into the bed.

“Hey, Ann. Trouble sleeping?”

Ann opens her eyes and stares at the dark outline of Shiho. “Yeah, sorry was I bothering you?”

“No. Not at all. Wanna talk about something?”

“...sure. I could use a distraction, honestly.”

Shiho sits up and looks down at Ann. “So… did the Phantom Thieves really kill Okumura?”

“No!” Ann says, sitting up as well. “We didn’t! We were just trying to help and we got framed by Shido.”

Shiho places a hand on her shoulder. “I figured it was something like that. I wasn’t accusing you, I just wanted to know what happened. And I want you to know that even if you had killed him, I’d still help you.”

“Thanks.”

Ann can just barely make out Shiho’s smile in the moonlight. “‘Course. You’d do the same for me.”

“Yeah,” Ann says, laughing a little for the first time all day. “Heck, I’d help you hide the body.”

“Honestly, you’d probably help me commit the crime.

“Totally.”

They settle into silence again, and Ann leans back down on the floor. “What do you think my parents think,” she asks, suddenly.

“Would the news have even reached them?”

“I’m not sure. The rest of the world started to pay attention to the Phantom Thieves after Medjed, but I don’t know how they reacted to the news about Okumura. Wonder if they’re also calling for our heads.”

“Even if they are, I think your parents would help you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You’re their daughter.”

Shiho says it so confidently, Ann can almost believe it. “It’s a nice thought, I guess.”

“Ann, you’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Ann turns over and tries to close her eyes again. “Good night, Shiho.”

Ann is running through Sae’s palace, trying to avoid the shadows at Oracle’s instructions. She slips out one of the back windows. From her perch she can see a bunch of police going after Joker.

She should try to regroup with the others, but can’t help but watch. She winces in sympathy as one of the officers kicks Joker and causes him to fall off the ladder he was climbing.

Except when Joker falls, his mask falls off too, and it isn’t Akira.

It’s Shiho.

Shiho who’s grabbed by the police and dragged away kicking and screaming, and covered with bruises, just like Akira after the interrogation just like Shiho after she jumped…

Ann jolts out of bed. She gets up clumsily and rushes to the bathroom, trying not to throw up. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare, but…

It could still happen. The police could find out where Ann is and storm the house and arrest her and Shiho and Shiho’s parents. She’s putting Shiho in danger by being here. This was a stupid move.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Shiho, is something wrong?” Mr. Suzui asks.

Ann tenses up. “Yeah, I’m fine dad,” Ann whispers, hoping he won’t realize the difference. “Just some trouble sleeping."

“Alright. If something’s wrong, just let your mother or I know.”

“I will, dad.”

Ann hears footsteps moving away from the door and relaxes. Then she meets her own gaze in the mirror.

No.

She can’t put Shiho in danger.

When Shiho wakes up, she immediately looks over to check on Ann. Her heart drops into her stomach to see her gone.

Shiho scrambles out of bed, taking in the fact that Ann’s clothes are gone, and there’s a note on the desk.

Shiho-

Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, but I shouldn’t have come here in the first place. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I can’t risk you getting in trouble because of me.

I hope you’re not too mad. I wish things could be different. Maybe one day we’ll see each other again.

Until then

-Ann

Oh no. Oh no, no no no!

Shiho throws a coat and some shoes on over her pajamas and rushes out the front door, past her parents who are trying to stop her.

She can make out Ann’s footprints against the morning December frost, and they’re heading towards the park, so that’s where Shiho goes too.

She doesn’t want to risk calling out Ann’s name in case all the noise so early alerts the neighbors, but her heart is pounding in her chest.

Finally, Shiho finds Ann on the other side of the park, sitting on a swing with her hoodie pulled low over her head so she doesn’t stick out.

“You’re so stupid.” Shiho says, sitting on the swing next to her.

“Shiho? What are you-”

“You think you can just leave me like that?” Shiho asks. She’s angrier than she wants to be, and she can’t help the tears that roll down her cheeks. “What if something happened to you because you decided to run off in the middle of the night?”

“What if you get arrested? What if cops come to your house? You didn’t see the things they did to Akira, I can’t let that happen to you!”

“So I should be ok if something bad happens to you,” Shiho shoots back. “Ann, you’re my best friend. I couldn’t handle it if something happened to you, especially not after knowing you’re a Phantom Thief. You made Kamoshida confess to everything, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you stopped him from killing himself so he can rot in prison like he deserves. You’ve done so much for me, more than you can even imagine, and then you kept doing it! You kept helping people, people you didn’t even know! You’re the nicest person I know, Ann you’ve got a big heart and you don’t deserve anything that’s happening to you right now. So for once, just this once, will you please let me, help you.” The words spill out and Shiho’s face is flushed as she grips the cold metal of the swings.

“I know the risks of helping you and I want to do it, because you’ve done so much more for me.”

“Shiho…” Ann reaches out and places a hand on Shiho’s shoulder. “You’ve done more for me than you could possibly know. The reason I stood up to Kamoshida, the reason I kept changing hearts afterwards, it’s because of you. You inspired me. If anything, I owe you.”

“Thanks Ann,” Shiho smiles. “Even now you’re the one cheering me up.”

“We’re cheering each other up.”

“Yeah. So c’mon. Let’s head back to the house. It’s kinda cold.”

Ann pulls back at that, and bites her lip.

“I know the risks. Let me handle it.”

“Fine. Yes, let’s go back.”

Shiho takes Ann’s hand, and they walk back to the house. On the way they, run into Shiho’s mother.

“Shiho! Why did you run out like that? And Ann-” Mrs. Suzui’s eyes narrow. “What’s going on.”

“Mom, Ann’s in trouble and she needs our help.”

“She’s a wanted criminal.”

“Mom, you know Ann! You’ve known her for years, you think she’d actually do anything she was accused of?”

Mrs. Suzui looks between the two girls for a minute before sighing. “Fine. Fine, we’ll set something up. I can talk to your father.”

“Thanks mom.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Suzui.”

“Let’s go inside, you girls must be freezing.”

~_~_~

Mr. Suzui brings tea down for everyone as soon as Ann and Shiho finish telling Haru and Morgana their story.

“So now what do we do?” Suzui asks.

“Well, the current plan is to meet at Shido’s Palace a week from today,” Haru says.

“With Ann, that means we have five people,” Morgana points out, “that’s not bad.”

“I’d feel better if we had everyone, though,” Ann says. “No word from the others?”

“We were hoping you’d know where to start with Ryuji. Does he have any family in the city or other friends?” Haru asks.

“I’m not sure who he’d turn to,” Ann says.

“I can go talk to his mom.” Suzui offers. “Or at least check out his apartment.”

“Suzui, we can’t-”

“Call me Shiho, and like I told Ann, I want to help. Ryuji’s a friend of mine too, and out of everyone here, I’m the only one who isn’t a wanted criminal.”

“Hey, what about me?” Morgana asks.

Shiho looks at him. “Well, I’m the only one who isn’t a wanted criminal, and who Ryuji’s mom can understand.”

Ann nods. “If you’re sure about this, Shiho, then yeah. You should do it. If you find him or a clue, you can meet up with Akira and move on from there.”

“It’ll be difficult staying in touch without a phone, but can we agree to meet up at Takemi’s clinic in Yogen-Jaya tomorrow evening? That way we can coordinate everything,” Haru says.

“Sounds like a plan,” Shiho says. “You can count on me, guys. Don’t worry.”

Ann smiles and grabs her hand. “I know we can.”

#alto writes #whumptober2020 #alt.10 #on the run au #ann takamaki #shiho suzui #haru okumura #morgana #wordcount: 1500-2000 #shihoann

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knives-out20 · 4 years

Text

The One With All The Relationships And Surprisingly Good Advice - Chandler Bing x Male!Reader - FRIENDS

Fandom: FRIENDS (1994-2004)

Pairing: Chandler Bing x Male!Reader

Warnings: This Shit Is LONG, Spoilers For Season 3 Episode 19, Fluff,

Notes: This Shit Took All Day To Make, Oh My God. It’s Long Since It’s Literally Every Chandler Scene In That Episode Except For One. But, Uh, Obviously, Enjoy!

"Hello, people who do not live here.”

Phoebe, Ross, Chandler and you turned to the front door of Monica's apartment, to see her standing there, eyebrows raised. “Hi" Phoebe and Ross greeted in unison, Chandler saying "hel-lo" and you merely waved.

"I gave you a key for emergencies" she reminded, hanging up her bag.

"We were out of Doritos" Phoebe told, Chandler and you looking back at the book he was reading, as you shifted on the arm of the sofa he sat in.

"Hey, how'd the date with Mr. Millionaire go?" Ross asked, watching Monica take off her coat.

"'Mr. Millionaire, new from Snooty Playthings'" Chandler teased, altering the pitch of his voice to sound like an infomerical announcer." “Third wife sold separately" he raised his eyebrows, then nodding proudly.

You snickered, lightly pushing his shoulder and looking back to Monica."Seriously, how was it?" You asked.

Monica groaned, walking over. “He's great! I mean, we have such a good time together. He's so funny, and so sweet, and I'm not attracted to him at all!" She exclaimed.

"Still?" Ross then asked.

"No! It's driving me crazy. I mean, in every other way, he's like the perfect guy. He has everything. Plus, he actually has everything.”

Chandler leaned back in his seat, book closed and on his chest. “Life-sized imperial storm troopers from sharper image?" He suggested, head tilted slightly.

"Two." Monica smiled, holding up two fingers.

"Wow." Chandler sat up again, amazed. “Can Joey and I put them on and fight?"

"Why can't I put it on and we fight?" You pouted, turning to Chandler.

"Because you know I'd never wanna hurt you. Joey's my best friend, and he's a real idiot sometimes" Chandler replied, looking up at with with his bright, pretty blue eyes. “Not like you'd ever try to hurt me, anyway.”

You pulled a sturgeon face, "yea, true." You turned back to Monica, ready to ask her another question. But, before you could, Joey came prancing in, singing something.

"Oh mommy, oh daddy, I am a big old baddy!" He cheered, circling the kitchen table."Oh mommy, oh daddy, I am a big old baddy!" Joey repeated, quickly out the door.

Chandler, confused out of his mind, blinked as he turned from Joey, to you, and over to Monica, expecting any reaction or explanation from the woman with the hand on her chest, who had an equal amount of shock on her face.

"I, whole-heartedly, never want to hear Joey say 'daddy' ever again" you stated, raising a finger.

"I guess he must have gotten the part in that play" Ross cleared up, earning an "Oh!" Of realization from Phoebe and you.

"Yea, either that or Gloria Estefan was right- eventually, the rhythm is going to get you" Chandler added, you nodding in agreement.

***

Joey, Phoebe, Monica, Chandler and you all sat around at Central Perk, with the Mr. Millionaire man that Monica recently went on a date with.

"So you're like a zillionaire" Phoebe commented, having you chuckle at that.

"And you're our age, your our age" Chandler squinted, one leg crossed over the other. He had an arm around you, gesturing with that hand as he tried wrapping his head around the fact that Monica's date is richer than rich, but also their age.

"You know what?" Phoebe asked, "you should, like, you should buy a state and then just name it after yourself.”

Monica's date, Pete, scoffed. “Like, Pete Dakota?" He suggested.

Phoebe and Monica laughed. “Yea, or- or Mississipete" Phoebe joked, letting it be Pete's turn to laugh.

"Oh, oh, I got it" Joey pointed at Pete, with an idea. “Pete Chicago.”

Chandler and you exchanged looks. “That's not a state, Joe" Chandler broke it to him, locking eyes with Joey.

"Oh, and Mississipete is?" Joey asked, scoffing.

Chandler, 100% done, turned over to you, looking at you badly concealing a laugh at the look of defeat on his face. “Y'know, (Y/n)'s quite the money man himself" he pointed out.

"Really? What do you do, uh, (Y/n)?" Pete asked, turning to you.

You sucked your teeth, rubbing the back of your neck. “Not myself necessarily, it's- it's my dad, he has this oil company, y'know, uh-”

"Oh, oh, (L/n) North?" Peter asked, you nodding in amazement. “Pretty popular company." After a beat of silence, he announced "I gotta go, so, uh, I'll see you guys later." getting up and out of his seat, going over to the door to grab his coat.

"You're our age!" Chandler repeated, watching Monica follow him.

"So, uh, we still on for tomorrow night?" Pete asked, grabbing his coat and turning to Monica.

"Absolutely" Monica answered, leaving them in tense silence. Until, that is, Monica, out of fear, ruffled his hair and said "now, get out of here, you!" With Joey's, Chandler's, Phoebe's, and your eyes on her. When Pete left, Monica came back over, putting her hands on the arm of the sofa Chandler, Phoebe and you sat on. “Okay, I'm running out of places I can touch him" she forced a smile onto her face. “I mean, is there something wrong with me? I mean, why am I only attracted to guys where there's no future? E-Either they're too old, or they're too young, and then there's Pete, who's- who's...crazy about me, I mean, he's absolutely perfect, and then there's like, zip going on. I mean, seriously, does it sound like there's something wrong with me?" Monica stressed, eyes wide with fear.

"Yea, kinda" Phoebe replied, nodding slightly.

You leaned back, laying on Chandler's chest, who automatically wrapped his arms around you. “Maybe it's because you're rushing into literally every guy you meet, you're trying to make something happen, out of fear. Just go with the flow for a while. I mean, I didn't immediately try to date Chandler when I first met him. I saw he was cute, got to know him, fell for him, 'n' look at us. Perfect stuff takes time, Monnie, c'mon.”

Chandler looked down at you. “You said you didn't think I was cute when we first met".

"Yea, well, I also told you I'm a sucker for floppy hair. You had floppy hair. I thought you'd have put the pieces together by now" you mumbled, smiling up at him.

***

Ross, Chandler, and you were in Chandler's apartment, now. Ross stood glued to the door, looking through the peephole as Chandler and you lay stomach-down on the recliners, holding hands and watching a basketball game on TV.

"Ross, you've got to stop, okay?" Chandler called, making no effort to actually turn and look at him."You can’t just stare through the peephole for three hours!".

"You're gonna get peep-eye!" You added, proud when you heard Chandler giggle and praise you with "nice one, babe.”

"I knew it, I knew it, I always knew she liked him" Ross started. “She'd say no, but here we are, right?" He asked, watching Chandler and you spin around in your seats to face him, "we just broke up first thing she does-"

"You didn't just break up-" Chandler corrected, Ross butting in again.

"Hey, it's been like, three weeks.”

"You slept with somebody three hours after you thought you broke up!" Chandler reminded, gesturing a hand over at him and getting up. “I mean, bullets have left guns slower" he added, helping you up.

Ross shushed him, whispering "here they come, here they come. Oh, if she kisses him goodnight I'm gonna kill myself, I swear. I can't, I can't watch this-" he told, turning to shake his head at Chandler and you, but immediately going back to look through the peephole.

Chandler put his hands on his hips, watching Ross in a disapproving manner as you looped your arms around one of his, holding onto him.

"Come on, date over, date over" Ross silently chanted. “Oh, oh, here we go, she's going in, she's going in-" he giggled, Chandler replying "okay", glad that this would be over. But then Ross' tone changed. “Wait-" he pressed both hands against the door, "he's going in.”

Chandler raised his eyebrows, lowering them as he scoffed and glanced at you.

"He's going in!" Ross repeated, "the door's closed!" He explained, turning to face Chandler and you. “I can't see anything with the door closed!" Ross whined, walking away from Chandler's door.

"And the inventor of the door rests happily in grave" you remarked, earning a quick smile of amusement from Chandler as you both turned around to look at Ross.

"Okay, I have to do something, I mean, I have to- I have to stop it" Ross groaned.

"Stop what?" You asked.

"I don't know! But the- I- I have a feeling that my being there will do it" Ross stuttered."I'll go over, and I'll borrow something...Juice! I need juice!" He declared, going to walk past Chandler, who grabbed him and yelled "no, you can't!"

Chandler pushed you out the way, jumping onto Ross' back as another way of stopping him.

"Look, they must be stopped!" Ross exclaimed, trudging past the fooseball table.

"I am your friend, and I am not gonna let you do this!" Chandler then proclaimed, grabbing onto the table, which he ended up pulling with him as Ross got to the door. “You are surprisingly strong" he looked confused as he said this, almost scared of how strong Ross was. “(Y/n), c'mon, help me, baby!"

You held onto the kitchen counter to stop from falling to the floor from laughing, shaking your head. “Oh, no, no, no, Channy, this is TOO funny!" You cackled as Chandler growled at you, still on Ross' back.

"I need juice" Ross weakly repeated as you calmed down, stepping forward. “People need juice!"

"Look, man..." You started, as Ross repeated what he said while Chandler struggled to finally close the door. “Listen to me!" You called, Chandler's legs walking backwards up the door.

"Juice! They need juice!" Ross cried, one of his own legs on the door, now.

You crossed your arms, watching in bewilderment. “This is so fucking weird to look at" you raised your eyebrows as the two men paused. “Can I please have my boyfriend back- y'know what-" you groaned, pulling Chandler off of Ross and held onto him, keeping your boyfriend close with your arms around his waist. You kissed Chandler's cheek, one of his hands flat on your chest, the other on your shoulder as he looked at Ross like the elder Geller sibling was a madman. “She's moving on, okay? If it's not this guy, it's gonna be somebody else! And unless you're thinking about subletting Chandler's peephole, you are gonna have to get used to the fact that the relationship is over" you explained, banging the counter a 'get used to'. “Okay, man? It's over.” You and Chandler stood in silence, both of you now ready to pounce back onto Ross in case he made a sudden run for it.

Ross sighed. “Yea, okay" he succumbed, "it's just, I miss her so much.”

"I know" you nodded, quickly patting his head.

"You're surprisingly...good at whatever that just was" Chandler mumbled.

"I've had to tell myself similar things in the past, Channy. I'm a natural at this point" you muttered rubbing his side soothingly, kissing his cheek again.

***

Chandler and you sat in his recliners, wearing his loose bath robes over plain shirts. You both faced the TV, then spun the recliners to face each other.

"I don't think this town is big enough for the both of us to relax in" he pointed out, as if the two of you were cowboys about to showdown in some Western movie. He awkwardly raised his fist to his face, lightly blowing it while maintaining eye contact with you. Chandler blinked and rolled his shoulders back then announcing "draw!"

At the same time, you both kicked up the feet of your recliners like cowboys would bring out their guns about now. Chandler and you started to laugh, nodding proudly and heads darting to look towards the door when Joey walked in, slamming it shut behind him.

"We weren't doing anything" Chandler blurted out, eyes wide.

Joeys slammed his bag down on the fooseball table, following his roughly-taken-off coat.

Chandler raised his eyebrows as he got up, offering a hand to help you up as well. “Uh-oh, what did she do now?" He shakily asked.

"Just because she went to Yale drama she thinks she's, like, the greatest actress since..." Joey opened the fridge, "since- since sliced bread" he finished, grabbing a bottle of beer and closing the fridge door.

"Ah, sliced bread" Chandler nodded knowingly.

"A wonderful Lady Macbeth" you nodded along, Chandler and you then giggling and nudging each other.

"God, I just- I hate her. I hate her, with her 'oh, I'm so talented' and 'ooh, I'm so pretty' and 'ooh, I smell so good'" Joey complained, mocking the girl in a weird voice, getting higher with each statement.

Chandler and you shared knowing looks with one another, then turning back to Joey. “I think somebody has a crush on somebody" Chandler teased, a hand on the counter.

"Hey, Chandler, can we please try and stay focused on my problem, here, y’know? Also, no shit you have a crush on (Y/n), you're dating, for crying out loud" Joey groaned, gesturing to himself.

You leaned onto the counter with one hand, your other on your hip. “He’s talking about you, you big, big freak" you insulted, looking at Joey with disbelief.

"Oh." Joey shifted on the spot, looking the both of you up and down in judgement. “Oh- oh, you're out of your mind" he cringed, walking past the two of you.

"Hey, you have done nothing but talk about her for the last forty-eight hours" Chandler followed Joey close behind, stopping at the wooden shelf Joey made once Joey walked into his room. “If you were in a schoolyard, you'd be pulling her pigtails and pushing her down now!"

"Because society has you at a young age that if you're mean to a girl, it means you like her" you added, tilting your head up intelligently. You approached Chandler, who instinctively wrapped an arm around you.

"Oh, yea?" Joey asked, now at the doorway of his room. “Then how come I keep thinking about her in all these sexual scenarios and stuff, huh?" He asked, raising his eyebrows as he pointed at Chandler, like what he said was just the smartest comeback in the world.

When, in reality, it made all three of you furrow your eyebrows in a mix of confusion and disgust.

"Maybe because what you feel is only sexual attraction towards her-?" You suggested, Chandler nodding and mumbling "okay-" to end the conversation.

***

Chandler lay on his back on the long couch of Monica's apartment, half-asleep with you fast asleep on his chest, the book he was reading now over your head like a hat.

"Hey," Phoebe called, instantly waking Chandler up.

He blinked wildly and looked around at where he was, then down at you. Slowly, Chandler picked up the book and set it on the table, using a finger to fix your hair and brush it out of your face. He smiled lovingly, hugging you like a body pillow, or like his arms was your blanket. Chandler gave Phoebe a shaken double-take.

"Why isn't it Spiderman?" She asked. “You know? Like Goldman, Silverman?"

Chandler cautiously adjusted how he lay on the sofa, careful not to wake you up, but to no avail. He pursed his lips, looking down at you apologetically as you groggily opened your eyes. “Ah, sorry, baby, I wasn't trying to wake you up-"

"'S okay, what's up?" You groaned, squinting over at Chandler with a sleepy smile on your face.

"Uh- Uh," Chandler cleared his throat, momentarily rendered speechless whenever you had that sleepy grin on your face. “Phoebe just asked me 'why isn't is Spiderman'. Like Goldman, or Silverman" he repeated. “Anyways, Phoebe, because it isn't- it's not his last name" Chandler answered, turning to Phoebe with furrowed eyebrows.

"It isn't?" Phoebe looked genuinely surprised.

"No. It's not like...Phil Spiderman" he shook his head.

"Yea, if that was the case, it would be 'Chandler Perfectman', not 'Bing'" you sleepily added, Chandler's cheeks flushing.

"He's a spider...man" Chandler explained, ignoring the heat in his face. “You know? Like, uh, like Goldman is a last name, but there is no gold man.”

"Sometimes, last names derive from what your ancestors were. Goldman and Silverman probably mean your ancestors were gold or silver miners, or silversmiths. Spiderman, if this is the case, would mean your ancestors fucked spiders or something" you noted, lazily raising a finger but quickly dropping it.

"Oh, oh, okay" Phoebe nodded, as if she just learned the true, real meaning of life. “There should be a gold-man!" She told, eyes going wide in realization.

Chandler nodded and raised his eyebrows, turning back down to you quickly.

"Hey." Rachel greeted, walking in and closing the door behind her

"Hey, Rachel." Monica smiled.

"Yo, Monica's here?" You asked, lifting your head up and turning towards the kitchen. “Hi, Monica!" You tiredly waved, not catching Chandler gazing at you in adoration.

"Hi, Chandler's boyfriend" Monica teased, waving back. “How was work?" She asked Rachel, turning back over to her.

"Oh, great. Although, I did sit down where there wasn't a chair" Rachel replied, hanging up her bag and walking over.

"By the way, Ross dropped by a box of your stuff" Monica reminded, turning to quickly point at a white box on the table.

"Oh, well, I guess I had that one coming" Rachel sighed, walking into the living room and around the small table. “I'm just gonna throw it out, it's probably just a bunch of shampoo, and-" she stopped talking when she opened the box, finally seeing whatever was inside.

Confused, Monica, Chandler, Phoebe and you all looked over at her, after you quickly reached up to kiss Chandler's neck.

"Something wrong?" Monica asked.

Rachel didn't answer, silently reaching into the box and pulling out a singular, white shirt, which you were just about able to read 'FRANKIE SAYS' on it, not being able to read the last word. Rachel took a deep breath as she stared at it, her hair hiding her smile as he flipped it to read the words on the front. She chuckled blankly, "no, nothing." Rachel turned and walked into her room without saying another word.

You were still confused, so you looked up at Chandler. “Who's Frankie?"

Chandler pursed his lips and dramatically shrugged, mumbling "I don't know.”

***

Chandler and Phoebe sat on the recliners in his apartment, you sitting securely on his lap as Phoebe sat cross-legged and rocked back and fourth in her recliner like a child. “So, uh, what kind of powers would Gold-man have?" Chandler asked, smiling like an excited kid.

"Okay, well, he would turn things to gold" she stated in a straight-forward manner.

"Ooh, ooh, like King Medias from Greek Mythology!" You recalled, fists balling out of joy. You saw the look on Chandler's faced and decided to clear up his confusion by saying "I sorta had a small Greek mythology phase, growing up.”

Chandler nodded, looking back to Phoebe. “What about things that are already gold?" He challenged, eyebrows raising expectantly.

"Ah, his work is done" is all Phoebe returned.Chandler smiled and nodded, adjusting how he sat as he said "okay, let's play my game now.”

"Okay" Phoebe agreed, uncrossing her legs to sit on the chair properly. “Arr, you yellow-bellied, lily-livered...draw!" She called, Chandler and her both pulling up the feet of the recliners.

You giggled as you bounced when Chandler pulled his feet up, your boyfriend sitting up to wrap his arms around you.

#friends #chandler bing #chandler #chandler x male!reader #chandler x male #chandler bing x male!reader #male x male #x male reader #male!reader #male reader

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imbellarosa · 3 years

Text

did someone say they wanted a small, sad SPN 15x20 rewrite (of sorts)?? it’s under the cut. the point of this is to show that they could have made it (mostly) tragic without making it Completely Pointless. this one’s for @queenlokibeth and @treatlouwithkindness who are grieving with me and for @dependsonwhospitching and @belgianreader2 who have been WATCHING me grieve for this fandom they knows nothing about and being the best kind of friends and also for anyone who asked what my writing looked like! this is a bit of an unbeta’d mess but here it is!

They keep going. The road is in front of them, and they keep going, and they don’t stop until they run out of gas. Dean blasts Led Zepplin until his ears hurt, until his throat is raw from shouting the lyrics. He had forgotten that Cas had left his mixtape in the car last time they’d driven out. A trench coat, too, as it had turned out, a clean one. Guess Cas had gotten used to having his shirt ripped too many times to not have a spare handy.

(“Why would he not bring another one,” he had asked about Star Trek once, after Kirk’s shirt had been ripped again.

“Not the point, Cas,” Dean had rolled his eyes and taken a swig of his beer.)

Sam looks at him like he’s worried, talks to him like he thinks Dean might spontaneously combust at any second. Dean tries to not feel offended. It isn’t like Sam’s wrong, but he wishes that they could act like everything was normal, for a second - like they used to, before Demons and Angels and Apocalypses, and trials and falling and flying. Eileen calls on the third day and shatters the illusion. It’s not that Dean isn’t happy to hear from her - of course he is - but it reminds him that he is acutely alone, and that it’s always going to be that way. They make a sharp U-turn, and start driving in the direction of the coordinates Eileen gave them.

They stop in a small town along the way, meet some vamps ( “fuckin’ vamps,” Dean grumbles as he decapitates the last one), and keep moving west. Around Pontiac, Illinois, Sam stops the car and gets out.

“Dean,” he sighs, “what are you planning?”

“What’d’ya mean,” he replies, knowing exactly what he means.

“Really?” Sam looks at him. “You want me to believe that Cas is dead and you’re just - what? You’re just accepting it? That it’s fine?”

“It’s not fine, Sam,” he snaps, then takes a deep breath, and tries again, “it’s not fine. But what do you want me to do? Man, we just went up against God, and we won. Haven’t we learned that every time we play with these big, cosmic pieces that things just get more screwed? We can’t do that again, Sam, Cas wouldn’t want us to do that again. He’d want us - you - to get that apple pie life. So let’s just. Let’s do that for him, okay?”

“And what about you, Dean,” Sam doesn’t quite seem to believe him. Hell, Dean doesn’t really believe himself yet. “What are you gonna do?”

“I dunno,” Dean rubs the back of his neck and looks at the trench coat in the backseat. “I’ll probably go back to the bunker, find a new job. Hit the road for a while” - he glances at Sam, who’s hair is almost long enough to tie into a bun - “you and Eileen could come with, if you want.”

Sam sighs and seems to consider it, but Dean knows what he’s gonna say even before he does. Dean has always known his brother better than himself.

“Nah,” Sam glances at him, then at his phone, and then at the sunset. “I think I’m gonna go try that apple pie life for a while. Or at least get as close to it as two former hunters can get.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Thought you might say that.”

“Hey,” Sam grabs his forearm. “If you ever need anything - help on a case, or a place to stay - anything - just let me know.”

“Yeah,” Dean turns and faces his brother, and it feels like goodbye, even though he knows it isn’t.

They reach Vermont - where Eileen had popped up - and met her in front of a bed and breakfast by a lake. She said that she just...appeared there one day, without a phone or money or a place to go. She’d borrowed the owner’s phone and called Sam as soon as she could, and had done some hustling for starter money. Sam stares at her like she’s a miracle, which, Dean supposes, he is. It’s the second time she’s come back to him, and Dean can see that Sam knows the absolute unlikeliness.

“What. Uh, what happened,” Sam clears his throat and tries to rub the tears out of his eyes. “How did it..how are you here?”

Jack, she signs, he said. He said that everyone should be with their families.

“So, uh,” Sam looks at her like she’s going to disappear any second, “everyone’s...they’re okay?”

Well, she shrugs and smiles, and Sam had missed that mischievous glint in her eye, they’re all probably a bit confused, but we’re ..

”not dead,” she finishes verbally. Dean looks away, frozen like a deer in the headlights, or a boy lost in a crowd.

Sam grabs her and he hugs her and she’s small and slight, bones and edges and he can feel the outline of a gun hidden in waistband and he wonders how and when she got ahold of that, but mostly, he holds her and when he breathes in her hair smells a bit like apples. He doesn’t notice he’s crying until she pulls away and reaches up to wipe his tears.

“It’s okay,” she says, and then signs, I’m okay.

“I missed you,” Sam says, “I just. I missed you.”

I was gone for a week, she signs and rolls her eyes theatrically, what would you do without me?

“Uh,” Sam gives a watery chuckle, “Let’s never find out, okay?”

That’s when Dean clears his throat. It’s not that he doesn’t love his baby brother, that he isn’t over the moon for him, because of course he is, but...

“Everyone’s back,” he clears his throat and checks his phone, “all of you?”

“Dean,” Eileen says, and her voice is kind. Dean thinks that he should learn more sign language. If she has to speak his language, he figures he should learn hers, too. And then he thinks that that sounds like something Cas would have said, and he looks back at Eileen, who’s trying to meet his eyes.

“Is Cas...” Dean trails off, because he can’t ask the question - he knows the answer.

“He gave me a message for you,” she says, and she moves out of Sam’s arms to stand in front of him. “He wanted me to tell you that he’s okay. That Jack pulled him out.”

“So where is he,” Dean growls, turning away. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Sam interpreting, and it strikes him just how much Sam loves this woman - this woman who was one of them, who had fought beside them, who had made her way back to them. He faces her again. “Where” - his voice breaks, and he almost wishes Sam weren’t here to see it - “where’s Cas?”

“He told me,” Eileen continues, signing as she speaks, “he told me to tell you that he meant what he said. He said that he wanted to come back and see you, but that his son needs him. That your son needs him. He said that Jack might be God now, but he’s still his son, and he needs help now more than ever. That maybe God needs family, too, to remind him to be kind. Cas” - Eileen is crying now, too, she can’t help it - “Cas said that you’d understand that. That he’s going to be waiting, and that it’ll be sooner than you expect. He says that he’s gonna see you again, and that he knows. He told me to tell you that he knows what you were gonna say. And that he’s always going to...have his ears on.

“I don’t know what that means,” she finishes with a small shrug. “I’m sorry.”

And so Dean does the only thing he possibly can do. He gathers his sister, and he hugs her, too.

“Yeah,” he says, letting go. “yeah, I get it. Thanks. That, uh. That means a lot to me.”

Sam looks at him with those puppy dog eyes he’d had since he was a baby and Dean waves him away.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he says loudly, “Come on, Sammy, let’s go start the rest of our lives.”

They turn back, and go inside the inn.

“Hey Cas,” Dean whispers into the dark, the moon just a hang nail crescent shape outside his window. A new lunar cycle. He’s got twenty days ‘til werewolf time. He wonders if he’ll ever stop keeping time with monsters. “Eileen says you have your ears on, so. I mean, here’s hoping she’s right. Uh. I get it. Believe me, man, I do, Jack needs you. Hell, one of the last things I told him was that he wasn’t family and I was wrong - I was so wrong. Tell him. Tell him that I miss him, too. That he’s always gonna be my kid, you know? Even if he is all powerful now.

“Um. But. I miss you. I know that you’re up there, and I’ll see you again but that’s gonna be years from now, man, and I just don’t know how to wake up and not see you in the kitchen trying to figure out how the coffee machine works. I don’t know how to watch a movie without looking over to see if you got the joke. Damn. So much for no chick flick moments, huh? Eileen said. She said that you knew and I didn’t have to say anything, but that’s how we got in this mess to begin with, so uh. Here goes, I guess. You gotta know that you’re it for me, man. I’m not as good with words as you are, but at the end of the day, I guess I always kinda thought we were gonna grow old together, you, me, Sam, in the bunker watching bad movies and finding new cases and just...making it up as we go along.

“I thought that one day you’d just...I don’t know. Move in with me, I guess? And that would be that. I thought we had all the time in the world, and then we had no time, and I didn’t - I froze. I’m sorry that I was a coward. I’m sorry that I didn’t say this - any of this - when you were here to hear it. But, uh. Hope you’re hearing it now.”

Somewhere, a bee hums its way back to its hive, singing in tune with a prayer. Somewhere, a boy laughs loudly, looking down at his little brother and thinking I will always keep you safe. Somewhere, a car moves down the interstate, music at full blast, driver high on life. Somewhere, a writer writes, and the world does not change at all. And, outside his window, Dean sees a falling star, and pretends that it’s an angel with a crack in their chassis, making their way down to find someone who loves them. When he falls asleep, he does not dream.

Dean goes back to the bunker. It’s big and empty, but it was Cas’ home, and so it’s his, too. Sam and Eileen go back with him, but he knows they won’t be there for too long.

“This will always be your home, Sammy,” he says when Sam loads his boxes onto an old trailer of Bobby’s, because Dean’s trying to say all the words he feels out loud these days.

“I know, Dean,” Sam says, even if he doesn’t, and then he hugs his brother tightly, not for the last time, but for the last time in this moment, as the people they once were. When they meet again they won’t have grown together, and so they will be strangers, in some ways.

Maybe, Dean thinks, that’s how it’s supposed to be. He watches Sam and Eileen climb into the truck and head North, and he calls them at the end of the day to make sure they haven’t run into trouble.

“You don’t need to come save me yet, Dean,” Sam scoffs, but he’s secretly relieved that they’ll always have this, and so he doesn’t hang up until Eileen shoots him that look that says ‘I’ll murder you if you don’t hurry up’, and he’s more scared of her than Dean, so he hangs up and keeps driving.

Sam doesn’t stop driving until they make their way into Texas, into a small town with a house that sits on a large lot of land, and has a storm cellar in the basement. They raid the local grocery store for all the salt they can find, put rosaries into the water tanks, and then they start unpacking their boxes. Sam thinks that he’s never gonna be out, not really, but he’s not gonna be in either. He needs this for a while - the trees and the long grass and the woman beside him and nothing that goes bump in the night. He sends a quick thank you to Jack and Cas and thinks that maybe they can start to heal.

Dean watches movies on Thursday nights. At first they’re movies that he meant to show Cas but never got around to: Lord of the Rings, When Harry Met Sally, James Bond. Then he gets around to watching those dumb nature documentaries Cas would always put on when he thought no one was paying attention - Dean was always paying attention, and now that he realizes it he just...he feels so damn stupid. But he watches them anyways, because he thinks Cas would have enjoyed it if he’d sat down with him and watched a thing about bees, just once.

“The things I do for you, Cas,” he says out loud every time he picks a new one. “Gotta admit, though, that David Attenborough - he knows what he’s talking about.”

He tries watching a horror movie once, but it hurts, looking at the demons on the screen and remembering Meg and Ruby and Crowley and Lucifer and Michael and Cas. It always comes back to Cas.

“I just miss you, man,” he says to his room, his car, his cup of coffee. He keeps the dog named Miracle, and he thinks that Cas would have liked that, and he takes him on walks every morning and pretends that Cas is with him.

“I got a call from Jody last night,” he says to no one, though he puts headphones on so that people who see him don’t think he’s all sorts of wacko. He could just be on the phone. He wishes he was on the phone. “She says that Claire and Kaia are getting really serious. Says they want to move out and start hunting together, and she wanted to know what I thought of it. Can you believe that, Cas? Told her to give her a bit of space, and remind her that she’s family. You probably would have said it better, but. It’s the best I got. I’m not used to this whole...talking thing yet, okay? Claire’s 21 now, Cas. I feel so old. Maybe I’ll invite Jody and Donna and them for Thanksgiving. Sam and Eileen, too, of course, but we have more than enough space in the bunker.”

Dean will never stop saying ‘we’.

Sam has a kid and names him Dean and Dean cries for hours when he finds out. He calls Claire and tells her to drag her ass over for a visit next month, he knows she and Kaia are busy saving the world, but to not forget about him in the meantime, and she agrees and tells him to get his ass off the phone and enjoy his nephew.

“You’d love this,” Dean tells Cas, “he’s such a good kid. He never cries. Sam and Eileen almost thought something was wrong with him, Sam even took him to a priest to have him checked over, what with the...you know. But nah. He’s a perfectly normal kid - or, as normal as you can be, if you’re Sam’s kid, I guess.”

Dean laughs, then sighs, looking around Sam’s house, how he and Eileen have built a life and then babyproofed it. Sam hasn’t hunted a single monster in over nine months, and the world is still turning, somehow. Ten years ago, he never would have believed it. But now, well. He has faith.

“Tell Jack I said hi,” Dean whispers to Cas. “Tell him I miss him, too, and that this kid is gonna know all about him - you, too, you know. I’m never gonna shut up about you.”

An owl hoots outside of baby Dean’s window, and Dean chooses to believe that it’s Cas laughing at him.

He gets old. Every Christmas, he sets up a small tree, and at the top of it, he puts an angel with a blue tie and a trench coat. He takes up Bobby’s phone banks, and suddenly he’s got Sheriff’s from all over the country asking him if he’s agent “Swift” or “Spears” and every time he hears the names, he smirks and glances upwards and says, “Yeah, hello, who am I speaking to?”

Big Threats pop up, and before long he realizes that he’s built quite the network of hunters to deal with it, that he no longer needs to hit the road himself. So he starts buying up classic cars, and he fixes them up. Chevy’s, BMWs, Fords, you name it, he buys it, then he restores and sells them, and uses the money from the sale to buy the next one. He puts the extra cash back into the network of hunters, making sure they have fakes, supplies, and a safe place to go if they need it. And so, over the years, the bunker becomes a sort of Hunter Hub. A home base.

Sometimes, couples would leave their kids with Dean while they went out on jobs, and he would tell them stories of when he was young. He’d tell them of his brother, who had brought about and then stopped the apocalypse, of the demon who became a friend, about Ellen and Jo and the Roadhouse, how it had been a place like his for people who needed it, he told them about Bobby, the man who raised him and loved him even though they weren’t blood, and he told them about Kevin and Charlie who had been so young and still fought so bravely and taught him so much. He’d show them the postcards that Charlie sent him - was still sending him - from her and Stevie’s world travels. And, of course, he’d tell them about Cas. Always Cas. The angel who saved him from hell, who revolted against heaven for the sake of the whole world (for Dean’s sake, because he loved him), who became a man and kept fighting anyways, though he didn’t know quite how. He told them about Cas and Metatron and Cas and Lucifer and Cas and Naomi and Cas, Cas, Cas, everywhere.

Sometimes, when the children were older, he’d show them pictures to go along with the stories. A copy of the last picture he has of Jo and Ellen, standing there with Bobby and Sam and him and Cas and he tries hard not to think about how its just him and Sam left. He shows them pictures of Cas in a cowboy hat and Jack in stupid sunglasses. He shows them pictures of Sam and Eileen, even though they don’t visit very often.

(”I can’t, Dean,” Sam had said. “I can’t raise my kid how dad raised us. I have to be out.”

“I get that, Sam,” Dean had nodded, “But this is my life. I gotta do this, not just for me.”

“I know,” Sam had said, and then, “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Love you, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

And they had laughed, and Dean would go to their house for Christmas and the New Years and they would go to his for Thanksgiving, and he would meet up with Sam once a month in a small bar in Oklahoma, halfway between Kansas and Texas, and it would be good. Dean would never have believed it, before, but this was...good.)

Dean lives ‘til he’s eighty two, and he never once stops talking to Cas as though he was still around. Sam still prayed, sometimes, but not like that, never like that. Dean, ironically, was the most devout person most people knew. He always said that a parent should have faith in their kid, and as his kid was God, well. He had no choice but to be faithful. When he was older, his neighbors would laugh - what a crazy way of looking at the world! Dean would smile and wave them off and put his headphones in, ‘call’ his partner, and walk his dog.

He dies quietly, one night, and, in the morning, the hunters that had been staying in the bunker find him in his bed, smiling, with an old mixtape on the nightstand. They call Sam, who is an old man himself, and he calls his son (who has kids of his own, Sam can hardly believe it). Dean Jr. (DJ, he’d decided when he was seven, and stuck to it ever since) picks his mom and dad up and takes them to the bunker, where they wrap dean in cloth, build a pyre, and then salt and burn him. A proper hunter’s funeral for a man who never stopped fighting.

Claire and Kaia are there, and they bring their kids. Sam hugs them, and presses the keys to the bunker in Claire’s hand.

“You keep this place up,” he tells her with a smile, “Dean would have wanted that.”

She’s older now, well in her forties - the same age Dean had been when he’d started to run his home like a hostel for hunters - but Sam still sees the eight year old girl who’d loved her dad so much she let an angel possess her. He thinks, our bodies, possessed by light, and then he thinks about Cas properly for the first time in many years. Take care of my brother, he prays, and then turns to Claire and leads her inside. They have pie together.

When Dean opens his eyes, he’s in the bunker. He feels lighter than he has in decades: his back doesn’t ache and his joints don’t creak, and he hears someone bustling around in the kitchen. Probably Claire, he thinks, and then moves to sit up before noticing his own hands. The wrinkles that had become so familiar are gone. As are the permanent grease stains from spending so much time under the hood of a car. His old hunting boots are by the door, and a plaid overshirt is bunched in the corner of the desk, like it had landed there when he’d tossed it off the night before. But...he was pretty sure he didn’t own that shirt anymore. He can hear a radio crackling from the living room, playing Ramble On. He hasn’t listened to that song since...well. In a long time.

Slowly, he makes his way down to the kitchen, and stops dead when he reaches the door.

“I,” he starts, and his voice is young and strong and nothing like he remembers it being when he went to bed.

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, and then the bacon catches fire.

“Woah,” Dean exclaims, rushing over and crowding the stove - it used to be like that, he remembers, between cases - Cas never could figure out how to cook and Dean would always end up shooing him out of the kitchen. Can’t have you killin’ us here, Cas, he would say, and finish the meal for both of them. Then they would sit, have a beer, and not say much of anything at all. Dean had almost forgotten. He turns down the stove, tosses the burnt bacon, and clears his throat. “Well, guess it doesn’t matter if you burn the food here, ‘cuz I’m guessing you can’t kill us.”

“No,” Cas agrees, looking very much as lost and disbelieving as Dean feels. “We’re already dead - or, you are. My condolences.”

“Nah,” Dean huffs a laugh, “it’s okay. My life was pretty good, you know? But it was probably my time - way past it, even.”

“Your life was remarkable,” Cas looks at him solemnly. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You could hear me?”

“Were you not certain of that,” Cas raises his eyebrows.

“I had faith,” Dean hip checks him, and smiles. “Thanks for listening.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” Cas says softly.

“Jack needed you, I get that. And look,” Dean catches his eye and grins, “here we are anyways. Not like death ever stopped us.”

They cook in silence for a moment.

“How long has it been, for you,” Dean asks him.

“A week,” Cas shrugs and looks away. “Maybe two. Time moves differently here.”

“It was forty years, for me,” Dean says.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. My life....it was good, Cas. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but I did alright. And I was never alone. I had family. I had you.”

“Well,” Cas catches his hand and pulls it away from the new pan of eggs, “you certainly have me now.”

The second pan of eggs burns, too.

#supernatural #15x20 #dean whinchester #no spoilers because i completely started over there haha #this isn't the happiest ending but this is more the ending i expected from them #so there you have it this is what i thought i was gonna get and then i didn't and id thought about it so much i decided to write it myself #maybe i'll put it up on ao3 who knows #i write sometimes #thats my new writing tag #SOMETIMES being the operative word #if i put this on ao3 i'll likely expand it a bit #but for right now this is 4.3k words that are all better than the finale even though no one has read this over for me lmao

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bechloe-trash · 3 years

Text

I don’t really write but here we go.....

@unlikelysublimenightmare

‘Tis the damn season’

Beca isn’t sure if it’s all the pressure of the record label or if it’s the feeling of missing someone special.

Beca sits back in her office chair finally taking a break from the Christmas album, that Dj Kalid and Theo wanted produced by December 24th (which is finally completed). She pulls out her phone and opens Instagram, the first thing she sees is a post that Chloe just posted an hour ago. She sighs, and wonder if she’s dating the guy in the photos or if it’s a close friend. She knows she shouldn’t care or worry, but truth be told she does. She wants to be the one in that picture with her hand around Chloe’s waist.

If Beca was honest she low key hates her life right now. Having to be “dating” the most popular male artist, gets old real quick. Every magazine, paparazzi, and fan wants pictures of the “hottest celeb couple.” She hates that she can’t just be left alone in the dating scene. Like why does she “have to” have a boyfriend. Her heart belongs to one person. And that one person Is back in their home town; LA.

She says her goodbyes to everyone at the record label, on her way out. Beca looks at her phone, it’s 4:45. She starts to head to her house, but stops by the local coffee shop, to grab a cup. She makes it in the door, starting to put away her coat. She pulls her phone out to triple check her plane ticket. She texts her mom, asking if there is anything she needs to bring for the Christmas party. Then sets an alarm for 5:30am, before making dinner and settling in for the night

She can’t sleep. Maybe it’s the idea she’s excited to be able to see her family for the first time in 2 years. Or maybe it’s the anxiety, she hopes the Christmas album is a hit. Either way she can’t sleep. Tossing and turning. Right when she was finally able to get lick of sleep.... *beep* * beep* * beep* “ugh” was all she mumbled before she started to drag herself out of bed. It’s too early, but she knows it’ll be worth it.

“ All right passengers we’ve made it to L.A please grab all belongings and exit neatly .” the flight attendant announced. Beca grabbed her suit case from the over head and got off the plane. She got an uber, and told the Uber driver to drive her to the address that she gave him. *knock* knock* Beca knocked on the door before entering her mother’s house. “I’m home” Beca said as she started to head towards the stairs that leads to her childhood bedroom. “ when you get settled, come with me to the coffee shop” Danelle called to her daughter.

They walked to the coffee shop, that was only a few streets away. Luckily L.A. is still fairly warm in the winter, compared to New York. Beca and her mother walked up to the counter to order. “ I’ll have a iced vanilla latte” Danelle said to the barista. “I’ll have a -“. “She’ll have black coffee with 2 spoons of sugar” said she person behind her. Beca turned her head around to be meet with a beautiful pair of blue eyes. “Chloe!!” Beca yelled as she ran up to hug Chloe. This is the first time she’s seen Chloe in person since the USO tour. Yea, they’ve keep up with each other, they have Skyped, text,etc. But to see Chloe in person is a whole different feeling. “ why are here?” Chloe asked as she pulled back from the hug. “I’m here to visit mom, actually got the next 3 days off” “Hi, mom” Chloe said while waving to Danelle. “ Hi, Chloe nice to see you again sweetie.” Danelle said. They sat around and talked for a bit before Beca asked; “Chloe would you like to come to our Christmas party?” “I’d love to come to you’re Christmas party”

Later that night Beca and Chloe where catching up, while drinking spiked eggnog. “ so who’s that guy that’s been a couple of your Instagram post lately?” Beca casually asks “ he’s my cousin, but the real question is how you and your boyfriend?” Chloe asked with her eyebrow cocked. “ he’s actually not my boyfriend, Theo said it’ll make it “better” for my fam.” “Oh” was all that Chloe had managed to say. “Sooo... do you have a boyfriend?” Beca asked nonchalant. “Ha, does it look like I have a boyfriend, each day that passes the more gay I realize I am” Chloe said. Chloe’s eyes got big, she didn’t mean to blabber out loud, damn the spicked egg nog. “Oh ok, so I guess my second question would be do you have a girlfriend¿?” Asked puzzled as hell. She can’t tell if it’s to the egg nog or the food coma she’s in, but she feels some type of way. “No” was all Chloe said. Trying to move on from the subject; “ I have a Christmas album coming out on Christmas, and one song is definitely something else..”

“Hey it’s getting late, you don’t need to be out at this time, come crash in my bed with me, like we used to do back in our old apartment.” Beca suggested as she reached her hand out to help Chloe up off the floor. “ ooo sleep over !!” Chloe squealed “shhhhh everyone is asleep” Beca said in a strained whisper. They made their way to Beca’s bed room, once entered Beca feel face first into the bed. “ Can I borrow some pajamas?” “Mm hmm” was all Beca mumbled out. Chloe changed then told Beca to scoot over. Beca was on the bridge of falling alsleep, when Chloe asked a question. “ why don’t date someone, I mean someone real, and not a fake relationship?” “ I’ve been waiting for someone, I’ve liked this person for a good while now, but I don’t think it’ll work out so..” Beca said trying not to sound disappointed. Chloe’s heart sank, but proceeded to ask Beca why doesn’t she shoot her shot. Chloe knows it wrong to have a crush on Beca, so she just keeps to herself. “ I don’t want to ruin what I already have, and the worst that could happen would crush me” Beca said with a sigh. “ I’d say just go for it, i mean you’d never know till you try” Chloe suggests.

It’s Christmas Day,and a couple of days have pasted, and Beca can’t stop thinking about what Chloe had said about shooting her shot. She texted Chloe to come over , because she has a present for her. Beca opens the door for Chloe and just stops. This is it, now or never Mitchell. Beca looked up and Chloe’s eyes caught the sight of the mistletoe. Before Chloe could make a joke, Beca’s lips where on hers. Beca brought her hands to cup Chloe’s face. Chloe’s lips where the softest thing in the world, Beca thought to her self. They released their kiss slowly. Looked Chloe in the eyes with tears in her eyes. “Merry Christmas Chloe, I have a second present for you.” Beca quickly went under to tree to retrieve the gift. Chloe opened the gift to find a Cd. Not just any Cd, Beca’s Christmas album. “Wow” Chloe said still surprised by the kiss. “ go to song number 4 ‘Tis the damn season’ and listen and come back to me once you listen to it, and know how I felt that night of the USO tour..” Beca said as she disappeared into the other room. 4 mins later Chloe came into a the room grabbing Beca and holding her tight. “ I’m so sorry I made you feel like that. I don’t want to call you babe for the weekend, I want to call you babe till the end of time.” Chloe said before pulling Beca into a deep passionate kiss. “Merry Christmas babe” Beca said before capturing chloes lips once again.

The end !!!

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch prefect 2 #bechloe #pitch perfect 3 #taylor swift #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe oneshot #soft

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter seven: the wedding

“it’s a nice day for a black wedding. it’s a nice day to start again!” -”black wedding”, in this moment

Joey held the car door for Sam once they had posted up before the big church on the corner, across the street from an ice cream parlor. It was a large white steeple with stained glass windows more vast than anything Sam had seen at the school: the spire up top shone high and bright in the hazy midday sun. Just another beautiful day in the neighborhood, and the neighborhood consisted of Rhode Island, and it would be a true steampunk wedding.

She recalled everything Aurora had told her during dress rehearsal the day before, but she wondered if she could carry it out well enough for her, especially since they had to hurry back to the hotel and help out with all the band equipment. It was the only show she was to make so far, given finals for spring term took place right when they toured in upstate New York and in New Jersey. But she vowed to follow them on a few dates elsewhere in the country.

If all else fails, Sam thought about asking Zelda if she could be manager to the Cherry Suicides and Stormtroopers of Death, that is if the latter did something further than the one album.

She kept her sunglasses on over her face to better add to her maid of honor outfit, while Joey had put on a small tuxedo that he borrowed from one of his old hockey friends. She also had put a yellow tulip pin on the bolero in honor of Cliff.

Sam asked him why he still hadn't dry cleaned his other tuxedo when Anthrax had a month off between the release of the new album and the official start of the new tour.

“I told ya—it's a bitch to get to the dry cleaners,” he explained, flustered. “I've also had shit to do, too.”

“I'm gonna need you to watch your mouth, Joseph,” she commanded. “There's gonna be a few kids here—Aurora's an only child but she has a cousin and he has three little ones with him.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure—I'll stay away from the booze, too.”

“Okay, good.” She rested a hand on his back, and they walked up the steps in unison to the front door. They stepped inside of the large spacious church: the ceiling hung high over their heads in those strong wooden rafters; right above the rafters was a portrait of the madonna and several cherub. On the far side of the room was the altar as well as a big black Latin cross upon the wall. They strode towards the cross in awed silence, given the sheer size of the church.

“If I didn't know better,” Joey started, and his voice echoed over the pews and the vast floor, “I'd swear they were Catholic.”

“Emile is,” Sam recalled, “I guess Aurora wanted it outside by the harbor but he was like 'no, we need to have it in a church! It's for my faith!' and so they compromised on it. The wedding is here in this church while the reception is by the harbor itself.”

“And then we've got the show tonight,” he added.

“Right, we've got the Anthrax, Testament, and Cherry Suicides shows tonight—which means the bride and groom better get here soon so we all can get there quick enough.” Sam nibbled on her bottom lip when she saw that they were the only ones there for the time being. They had left their room rather early, given the wedding itself was at three.

She also thought about that show that night. She hoped things would not be so awkward between Joey and Alex, and also between Zelda and Louie, and yet hope could only get her so far. Things needed to play out and she knew that she need not be in control of it all. Joey gave his black curls a little toss back with the back of his hand.

“So where do I sit?” he asked her once they reached the front of the church and right beneath that tall cross on the wall.

“I think you guys sit up here, up front—you being high up on the guest list of course. Aurora went over it with me yesterday, but I can't remember if it's the right or the left side—”

“Oh, here we are,” he pointed out the little paper sign on the pew on the left side: on the front, in Aurora's neat penmanship, it read “reserved for ANTHRAX and METALLICA”. He stooped over a bit to pick it off of the heavy dark polished wood.

“Kirk and Rebecca aren't gonna be here, you said?” he asked her with a glance over his shoulder.

“Nope. They've got things to worry about on their end.”

“Huh. Well, I call dibs on this spot on the bench closest to the altar.”

“I think her dad sits there,” Sam recalled as she lingered behind him. “Her mom probably does, too.”

“Damn. Well, it makes sense.”

Right as the words left his lips, the front door of the church opened and Belinda poked her blonde head inside of the church.

“You guys doin' it silly in the middle of a church?” she called out; and Sam noticed she stood right behind Joey as he was stooped over.

“Yeah, you wish,” he retorted with his index fingers above the crown of his head, and that brought a laugh out of both girls.

Within time, Marla showed up with her iridescent hair bright and shiny and even more colorful from the stained glass windows around them. Given she was the maid of honor, Sam whisked them behind the altar and to the small cozy room where Aurora had told them to meet up at, and so they could help her out with the dress and the bouquets. The other guests took their places in the church outside, including Aurora's parents, both of whom had flown in from San Diego bright and early. Sam poked her head out to see them for herself and their short little statures next to the towering giants of Frank and Charlie; Mr. Young wore a red and black suit and a dark red velvet hat upon his head, while Mrs. Young had done her inky black hair into a beehive style upon the crown of her head.

“Aurora, your parents are here,” Sam told her, “and they look so cute next to Charlie!”

Frank bent down towards Mrs. Young and gave her a smile, and she nodded at him in response.

The door on the other side of the room there swung open and Alex almost stumbled inside, wrapped up in that full suit: his jet black hair sprawled over his shoulder like the tentacles of an octopus. She had no idea if it was her eyes fooling her, but she swore that black hair dye was wearing off: the little pearl of white was returning just in time for the summer months and the heart of that big extensive tour. He left the top two buttons of his silk shirt undone so the Star of David glimmered under the soft ceiling lights.

“And there's our man,” Belinda announced.

“I wondering when you'd get here,” Aurora told him.

“Testament's van is having some moments,” he told her, out of breath: he took off that ring so his hands didn't stand out so much to Sam when he adjusted the lapels of his coat. He gave his hair a slight toss back with a flick of his head and the ceiling light shone into those deep eyes. His otherwise milky skin had a slight rosy bloom to it.

“Are you warm?” Aurora asked him as Marla adjusted the dark veil upon her head.

“Kinda,” he replied. “It's not as bad as I was suspecting out there.” He then stood there with his hands pressed to his hips, and he sighed through his nose. Even though he always looked serious, his gaze fell to the floor and those dark eyebrows sternly knitted together.

“What's wrong?” Marla asked him.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, you look like something's bothering you,” Sam added.

“I'm just—nervous,” he confessed. “Because I'm the bridesman. I know I shouldn't say that because I'm just in the party and not the one at the altar but it's still reason for concern.”

“Why, 'cause you're hanging with a bunch of girls?”Aurora fixed the lace gloves on her hands; she had put a turquoise bracelet on over her left wrist, on top of the glove. He pursed his lips but he never replied to that. “Alex, what you're doing for me is so sweet. I can't thank you anymore for it, especially after Zelda and Rebecca both couldn't do it.”

He showed her a small smile in response to that.

“Yeah, if someone gives you hell for being in the bridal party, then to hell with them,” Belinda assured him.

“Thank you, ladies, that's—that's real nice of you,” he said in a soft voice.

Aurora then ran her hands down the front of her corset.

“Okay, something old—that would be my shoes—” She lifted her skirt and showed off the black leather flats on her feet. “—these were my mother's shoes when she and my dad married in Seoul. It's also the only thing traditionally Korean here. Something new, that would be the dress and the veil. Something blue, that would be my bracelet—something borrowed, though.”

Belinda reached behind her head to undo her snake pendant, but Sam unbuttoned the yellow tulip pin on the bolero and stuck it onto the front of Aurora's dress, right above the corset. She gasped at the sight of it.

“Perfect,” Alex declared as he rubbed his hands together.

“Yes—it is!” Aurora brought a hand to her mouth and then Sam put her arms around her. “Thank you,” she whispered into her ear.

“Let's do this,” Sam told her, and Aurora reached for the first of the bouquets. “So we go around the hallway here and make our way to the door and we meet up with the groomsmen.”

Each of the bouquets consisted of white and bright pink carnations and white and pink lilies. Sam led the way with Emile's best man linked elbows with her; Alex, Marla, and Belinda followed suit right behind her with the rest of the grooms. They strode down the aisle together, past the pews and the matching bouquets of white and pink carnations and lilies, and towards Emile, who was wrapped in an all black double breasted suit complete with a silver chain in his pocket and a top hat upon his head, and the priest at the altar.

It was really happening. Something that felt so surreal and right out of a dream was unfolding right before her very eyes.

She stood closest to the altar and she peered out at the small silent audience as they congregated in only a small part of the church. Scott, Frank, Charlie, the Dans, James, and Lars all sat in the row closest to the altar; Joey and one of his old hockey friends took to the row behind them.

Alex stood right next to Sam with that bouquet in his hands. On the other side of the aisle was Chuck, Eric, Greg, and Louie; Zelda was nowhere to be seen. But Chuck nodded at him and gave him a thumbs up, and Alex raised his eyebrows at him. Because the church was so big, they could hear every cough, every creak in the walls, and every voice no matter how low.

“He looks like a sissy,” the guy next to Joey whispered; and Joey asked him something.

“Alex—at least that's what I think his name is—” And then his words slurred.

Joey shrugged his shoulders with a straight face. “Pink and girliness? That's not what we're about.”

Alex sighed through his nose. That was his worry after all.

“It's okay—don't let him get to you,” Marla assured him in a low voice. “He's just—had a couple is all.”

“Who, Joey?” Belinda asked her.

“No, the other guy,” she replied.

Aurora stood at the far end of the aisle with her father linked arms with her. Everyone in the pews stood in her honor. Alex bowed his head and closed his eyes; Sam looked over at his serene face as the church organ played that wedding song. His lanky fingers cradled the bouquet but she noticed them flinching a bit every so often.

A born guitar player.

The guy in front of them giggled at him. But Alex kept his head bowed long enough to faze him out. Sam looked back over to the other side of the aisle, at Aurora's mother and her cousin, who indeed had three young children next to him. At least they were over there, away from the drunk guy.

But she wondered as to how much Joey was resisting from a drink himself, especially with the frazzled look on his face. Mr. Young brought Aurora to the altar and then he kissed the back of her hand before he let her go to Emile; he shook his hand and Emile said something to her.

Sam held the bouquet down to her waist as the priest talked for what felt like an eternity. She thought about what Joey had said to her at Kirk and Rebecca's wedding: indeed, when she looked down at him, she could see a twinkle in his eye. She wondered what he was thinking as Emile vowed to care for Aurora through sickness and through health, until death do they part. Aurora returned the favor without a shred of hesitation. They put the rings on each other's hands: Emile with the silver band and Aurora with a shiny silver and diamond one.

“I pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Young-St. Vitus—you may now kiss the bride.”

Alex closed his eyes again as Emile put his arms around Aurora and they embraced in a single kiss. When they left the altar, the bridal party linked arms right behind them and they made their way outside to the bright afternoon sun.

“Alright, ya'll, so the reception is about two blocks from here,” Emile told them as he adjusted the brim of his hat. “Big ol' grassy area with a good view of the ocean.”

“We can walk there or we can make a bee line towards it,” Aurora added.

“I think we can walk,” Marla told them. “It's not like it's sweltering out anyways.”

Sam felt a tap on her shoulder right then, and she turned to find Joey right behind her, and her face lit up at the sight of him.

“So we walkin'?” he asked her in a low voice.

“I think we are.”

“I got the keys anyway.”

She dared not tell him about the guy next to him, and for all she knew, he had bowed out behind the church to throw up, and she didn't care, either. Joey need not another trigger like that to get him to drink again.

Aurora and Emile led the way down to the corner and around the bend: at the far end of the block was a cul de sac as well as that grassy area in question. Beyond that was a sliver of a view of the glimmering Atlantic Ocean. Emile held onto his hat with one hand while he held onto Aurora's shoulder with the other. Sam still had an odd feeling about them, especially since he never mentioned his previous wife once, or if things had been finalized between them before. There was only so much to know about them, and thus she dared not mention it to anyone. Her best friend had just gotten married.

Her best friend had just gotten married, and she couldn't even hold onto a boyfriend for herself.

The cool ocean breeze swelled up and pushed Aurora's long skirt up a bit.

“Easy there!” Joey cracked.

“I feel like I'm about to sail away,” she told him with a glimpse over her shoulder.

“Come sail away! Come sail away!” Joey sang out, and Emile peered back at him.

“Nice voice you got there, son!”

“Joey doesn't mess around you know,” Aurora told him.

“Just put out an album with that voice, too,” Sam added.

“The hell I did.” Joey looked behind him, and she knew he was looking for that drunk friend. Behind her was Marla and Belinda, and Alex lingered somewhere back there with Testament. She wondered about those kids in particular, and if Aurora's cousin knew that there was a drunk guy in the audience.

Soon, they reached the grassy area and she spotted a row of tables, including an empty one underneath the tree closest to them. Across from that stood the table with the wedding cake, a three tiered cake with black and white frosting and little pink and white roses decorated around it in that rich frosting. On the top tier were those little mannequins of Aurora and Emile: she was small and petite compared to his big and heavy stature.

Sam never realized how hungry she was until they sliced into that cake in front of everybody. Greg and Alex stood before her with eager looks on their faces.

“I am so hungry right now,” Greg confessed as Aurora handed out slices to everyone.

“Plenty for everyone and then some,” Emile told him, and he handed Sam a big slice of cake, complete with a rose on top. “For the maid of honor.”

“Thank you, my dear landlord,” she retorted to him.

“You know what? Just for being well behaved and so hard working, the next month's rent is on me.”

“Aw!” Her face lit up at that.

“Aw, man, I gotta move into where Sam's livin' at,” Louie called out from the back and everyone laughed out loud at that. Sam took the slice of cake to the table on the right, where the bridal party was instructed to be seated at. She took the spot closest to the cake table and she waited for Marla, Belinda, and Alex to join her; she had no idea if Aurora and Emile were going to be right next to her, but once the rest of the bridal party took their spots, she dug right into the cake.

“Oh, man, that's good cake,” Alex remarked.

“Courtesy of the Cherry Suicides,” Aurora told him as she handed out a slice to Joey.

“They made this?!” He gaped at her.

“No, it's from the best bakery in Narragansett—according to them anyways.”

“I see. I'll buy it, too—I need like a glass of milk with this.”

“Nice big frosty glass of milk,” Marla added.

“Where are those girls, anyway?” Sam asked her.

“They had to get to the venue,” Aurora replied as she adjusted her skirt, “Zelda called me yesterday and said there was no way they were gonna make it because of their own rehearsal. So I said, 'that's okay! Do what you have to do, and you'll be here in spirit.'”

Joey took his seat on the grass in front of Sam, which brought a chuckle out of her.

“What're you doing?” she asked him.

“I'm your date, remember?”

“At least get a chair, Joey,” Belinda laughed along with her.

“Nah, I'm good,” he assured her, and he showed Alex a fleeting glimpse. Sam returned to her cake and relished every bite of the chocolate inside, and of the black and white frosting on the outside; then there was that lovely oceanic breeze. She had been so acquainted with New York and with the Pacific Ocean that to feel the whispers of the Atlantic on her face was a world of its own.

Once she finished the rest of the frosting rose, she brought a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.

“Here, I'll take that—” Joey offered her, and she opened her eyes to find his hand on the rim of the paper plate. She showed him a smile as he stepped towards a nearby trash can. Alex also had finished his cake, and then he waved at Greg; he hurried around them faster than those three children around the Young family table. Aurora's face was flushed from all the excitement but she smiled the whole entire time, and even more so when one of those kids came up to her.

“So show later tonight,” Marla proclaimed.

“Yup—the girls go on first, then Anthrax and Testament,” Sam recalled.

“Ooh, Anthrax between Zelda and Louie,” Belinda remarked.

“I might be there tonight, to be honest,” Marla told them.

“Really?” Sam raised her eyebrows at her.

“Yeah, I might as well. That album probably never would have sounded like it does if not for me and Charlie.”

“Wow—”

Sam was cut off by the sight of Joey darting past the table and towards Testament.

“Oh, no,” Belinda groaned.

“What the—”

Before anyone could say anything, Joey shouted something and it took Sam a few seconds to realize he yelled at Alex. He held his arm back.

Joey punched him right in the nose, and Alex fell backwards onto the empty table. The Young family stopped right in their tracks. Emile hurried over to them. And even though Alex wasn't very big, the legs buckled and the table collapsed underneath him. Joey lunged for him but Charlie and Scott grabbed him from behind.

“JOEY!” Sam shrieked as she climbed to her feet.

“Joey! Joey! It's not worth it!” Charlie exclaimed. “It's not worth it, man! It's not worth it!”

Joey tried to break free from their grip but Charlie in particular was too strong. Frank and James both joined in from behind and dragged him away from Alex.

“Get him out of here—get him out of here—” Chuck commanded them.

Alex groaned from the pain in his nose and from landing on the table and the grass, and Marla knelt down next to him. Sam and Belinda stood behind her.

“Shit—fuck, are you okay?” she gently asked him.

“You alright, Alex?” Chuck joined in; Marla extended her hand for him and she and Chuck helped him off of the grass. She almost lost her balance but she caught herself on the broken edge of the table.

“I think so—god, he really got me hard there.” Alex sat upright and Sam peered over Marla's head: his nose was bright red but it looked to be about it.

“I'm not bleeding, am I?” he asked them with a sniffle.

“No,” Marla assured him, “but does it feel like something's broken, though?”

“I don't think so,” he confessed as he held a hand to the tip of his nose. His legs shook like those on a newborn foal but he looked as though he was ready to start another fight with Joey.

“What was that all about?” Emile asked him, but Sam turned away to see where Joey had gone off to. A sinking feeling emerged in the pit of her stomach as she looked beyond the Young family and the blushing Aurora, to the trees. She spotted Charlie and Joey near the edge of the slope.

She held up her skirt and then bowed past everyone to see what was going on. Even with those three kids there, she could overhear Joey swearing like a sailor.

“Charlie, that fucking kid gave me the finger!” he said once she came within earshot, and she stopped right in her tracks. “I swear by it, man! I fucking swear by it!” On one hand, she wanted to curse out Joey for cursing in front of three children, but then again, she wondered exactly what happened there.

She turned back into the direction of the bridal party, but she noticed Marla helped Alex to a different table, far away from the main area, almost around the corner of a tall willow tree. Even from a distance, he grimaced from the pain and kept the back of his hand pressed to his nose. Marla asked him something and he nodded his head at her. He was alone at the table as Belinda went over to the Young table to talk to Aurora.

He raised his gaze to Sam and he frowned at her, still with his thumb pressed to the side of his nose.

“Why'd you give him the finger?” Sam demanded.

“What? I didn't!” Alex insisted with a wave of a hand. “I was just talking to Greg and I pointed my thumb upwards while I was telling him about the volume on the amps. He must've mistook it for something else.”

“I was standing right next to him when it happened,” she pointed out. “It looked like the middle finger, Alex.”

“Hey, why're you defending him? He pushed me and then he punched me! Both times you defended him.”

“Because Joey is my friend,” she declared. “And I'm trying to help him and get him out of old habits. And I don't need you flipping him off and getting him riled up because when he gets riled up, he drinks.”

He paused for a second: those deep eyes stared hard and cold into her.

“He drinks, Alex. He drinks. And he gets triggered by these things.”

“I did not flip him off,” he said through gritted teeth. She shook her head and closed her eyes in frustration.

“Just—stay right there,” she ordered with a wave of her hand. “I'll handle it.”

“I didn't flip him off, Samantha,” he repeated as she walked away. She headed back towards the main area but the last thing she needed to do was speak to anyone about anything that had happened. She rounded the corner of the trees and, careful not to bring any attention to herself, she slunk across the grass to the table with the wedding cake. She hoped Aurora wouldn't mind her taking a second slice for herself when she spotted Joey's black curls over by the far edge of the grass. Charlie had gone, but he sat there in the sun with his back towards her: even from a distance, she could see the split down his back. The punch to Alex's face did a number on that suit as well.

She walked towards him but once she left the shade, she hesitated right behind him. At least Aurora and Emile refused alcohol there, but she could sense it with him. He was craving it. Her mind fell blank, especially since she hadn't dealt with this sort of problem before. He wished for it.

She took a promise to get him away from it, and Belinda did, too. The only hope right then was that he wouldn't take the car and search for a drink. He did have the car keys on him.

But then she had an idea.

She sighed through her nose again, and she ambled the rest of the way across the grass. She tapped on his shoulder and he lifted his gaze from the shores down below up towards her. He squinted his brown eyes in the bright sunlight at her.

“Hey,” she gently greeted him.

“Hey,” he echoed her in a low voice.

“How're you feeling?”

He shrugged his shoulders and grimaced.

“Do you have the car keys?” she asked him.

“What you need the car for?”

“I want to get you something. You know, to cheer you up.”

“I really want a drink,” he confessed, “and I don't mean booze, either.”

“Okay. I'll do that for you.” He reached into his coat pocket for the car key, but she wasn't willing to leave right away. Instead, she strode past that table where Alex was seated at and she scowled at him.

“I did not flip him off,” he said a third time, and that time he said it in a terse tone of voice.

“Go sit over there,” she ordered again and she gestured to the far side of the grass, back towards the bridal party.

“Why?” He showed her a slight smirk.

“Because you're annoying and I don't want you here when I get back.”

“I'm annoying, is that what you said?”

She fumed at him, but then his smirk went away. And he shook his head. “Wow,” he muttered, and he stepped away from there. He kept his thumb pressed to the side of his nose all the while. But she rolled her eyes at him and she kept on walking towards the far side of the grass, where she reached the street. She spotted the spire on the church and she knew the cars were near there.

But then again, there was that little ice cream parlor across the street. She held onto her skirt as she crossed the dark pavement, and she did have some change in her pocket, enough for a drink of water for the both of them, although she knew there were plenty of drinks back at the reception. Just so long as it got her away from there for a bit. She couldn't believe Alex had done that, and she had lied to him, too: she had no idea what he was doing over there by Greg. For all she knew, Joey was telling the truth that time.

She returned to the grassy area with two cups of water for the two of them. Joey still sulked there with his back to her, but she hovered next to him.

“Wanna go sit at a table?” she offered him.

“Sure, why not.”

He stood up, and his jacket tore a bit more at the back, and he followed her back to that table on the far side of the grass. Scott's big Queens accent caught her ear right then, but she couldn't hear what he was saying.

“By the way, who was that guy who was with you earlier?” she asked him.

“The guy I borrowed the suit from—and yeah, he was pretty hammered. I tried my best to get him to cool his jets, but once the bride and groom left, he made a run for it outside. After we sit here for a bit, I'll go see if I can find 'em.”

“—Marge and I are getting married, too—” Scott proclaimed right then, to which Joey groaned. They walked right past the Young table at that moment.

“Fu—”

“Joey, watch your mouth,” Sam cut him off, and they kept on walking towards the table. He plopped down hard in that one spot under the tree and he shook his head.

“Frick, frick, frick, frick,” he stammered.

“What?”

“So many freaking weddings, I freaking swear to freaking god—frick!”

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