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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 6 months

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Fight Me, Love Me, Save Me Pt. 2

This will fill the Broken Promises square on my @jacklesversebingo card.

Summary: A series in three parts exploring Y/N's and Dean's relationship from bickering children, to love and broken promises, to a plea for salvation.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Some light smut. Mostly just making out. Kissing, fondling, etc. Some angst, lots of fighting, cause it's them. Also brief scene involving threatening behavior from a creep. Nothing explicit.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 4,398

A/N: So this series will fill the last three squares on my bingo card. This part covers "It's Mine, and you can't have it." Part two will cover Broken Promises, (Nov 12) and part three will be for the Isolated/Trapped square. (Nov 19)

I hope you enjoy!! If you do, please remember to like, reblog and/or comment. Means the world to us writers! ❤️

Read Part 1 Here

The dividers included here were created by @talesmaniac89

The first year of dating for Dean and Y/N was a rollercoaster. For the first month or so, they tiptoed around each other. They knew their relationship had obviously changed but they weren’t sure about the parameters of what it was now. So, they were both extra polite to each other, terrified that they were gonna ruin this new thing, and possibly everything that came before it. Y/N didn’t want to finally realize Dean was her best friend one day, only to lose him completely the next.

So they circled around each other, sniffing at the air for warning signs. Their first fight came about a month and a half in.

They were living in Omaha, Nebraska for the time being. It was fairly centralized and their dads were using it as a bit of a home base for a while. Y/N was hoping she’d be lucky and they’d stay until she graduated so she wouldn’t have to change schools one more time.

They were renting an apartment together, and it was a nice change from motels and life on the road, but the apartment was tiny. It was only a one bedroom, and they’d turned that bedroom into a kind of weapons/training room. So they all slept in cots on the floor in the living room. It wasn’t ideal, but it still felt more like a home than a motel did.

One evening, Y/N was studying late at the library, determined to graduate on time and with a good GPA, regardless of her constantly revolving education. So, she’d deserted the noisy apartment and headed for some peace and quiet. John and her dad had been arguing about an old hunt, and Sam and Dean had discovered a bunch of old board games, deserted in the hallway closet. They’d found Jenga and had started out playing the game as it was intended to be played, which was loud enough. But it quickly devolved into them simply smashing down everything the other one built and then fighting about it.

She’d called out her intention to go to the library a few blocks down, and had been greeted by four male grunts in response.

Sometimes being the only female of the group was frustrating.

After a couple of hours at the library, Y/N was satisfied she had a handle on her history essay, and packed up to leave. As she put her things into her backpack, she noticed an older guy, maybe in his early fifties, in a hoodie and heavy canvas jacket watching her. It was slightly unnerving, but she just added him to the list of pervy dudes she’d encountered in her life, and left the library.

As she walked outside she saw that it had begun snowing, and it was much darker than she’d expected; she still wasn’t used to the darker days of early winter. As she walked, she pulled her thin, inadequate jacket tighter, and crossed her arms. There was something a little eerie, about the gray-black sky and the snow-muffled sounds around her.

She picked up her pace.

When she was about a block away from home, she heard the snow crunch behind her and suddenly the pervy guy was standing beside her. She jumped and yelped and the guy just laughed.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, honey. You should be careful wandering off places on your own though.” He grinned yellow teeth at her. “Someone as pretty as you could give folks ideas.”

Her fear of this man angered her and her ornery nature spoke before she could think better of it. “Oh really,” she scoffed, “and just what would those ‘folks’ be thinking?”

He didn’t like her attitude, and he scowled. His voice was low and definitely threatening as he leaned closer to her, invading her personal space and making her curl her lip in disgust.

“They could be thinking you were out here alone, lookin’ for trouble. Maybe hintin’ to folks you’re after a good time.”

Y/N felt her heart start to race as the silence and alone-ness of her situation hit her and she realized just how vulnerable she was. She started running through all of her training, just where to kick, just what vulnerable spots to target.

But thankfully, after one more lingering scan of her body, the man decided to move on, leaving her shivering, but not even noticing the cold anymore.

She double-timed it back to the apartment and ran through the door, locking it quickly behind herself. She jumped when Dean spoke.

“There you are.” He said as he approached. When she jumped and spun to face him, he held his hands up in a sign of surrender. “Whoa, easy there sweetheart.”

He saw her fear and quickly closed the distance between them, grabbing hold of her upper arms. “What happened?”

Y/N shook her head, feeling silly now for letting one old creepy guy scare her so badly. “No, nothing.” She said, looking around at the empty room. “Where is everyone else?”

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “They just left on a burger run. But it’s clearly not nothing. You flew in here like a bat outta hell, and you’re terrified.” He said with a frown.

Y/N stepped out his hands and shook her head again. “Seriously, it’s fine.” When Dean just folded his arms and continued to stare at her, she shrugged. “Look, it wasn’t anything, okay? Just - a creepy guy got a little close and gave me the jeebs, okay?”

Predictably Dean’s jaw tensed and he immediately reached for his jacket. “What does he look like?” He said as he shrugged it on. Y/N marched up to him and yanked the jacket back down his arms.

“You are not going out there after him.” Dean wrestled his jacket away from her and started putting it back on. “Dean, listen to me. What the hell is the plan here? Even if you could find him, which you won’t, what are you going to say to him?”

Dean scowled down at her. “I’m not gonna SAY anything. I think a bloody nose will speak volumes.”

Y/N rushed to stand between him and the door. “Don’t be ridiculous. He didn’t do anything to me.”

Dean scoffed. “You came in here terrified, Y/N. Now that doesn’t happen because of nothing.”

Y/N shook her head. “Look, it was just stupid of me okay? I panicked. He was just being gross, and he said that…” She waved away the memory of his predatory look. “I overreacted.”

Dean’s voice was dark and deadly. “Bullshit. You don’t overreact about stuff like this. This guy was obviously trash.” When Y/N shrugged her acquiescence, Dean sighed and then frowned at her again. “What the hell were you doing walking around in the dark, alone, anyway? What were you thinking? You should’ve called me to come pick you up.”

Y/N felt her hackles rise at his scolding tone. “I didn’t need you to pick me up, it’s like four blocks away.”

“Well, obviously you did, because some creep came after you.”

Y/N gritted her teeth. “And that’s my fault now?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s your fault the guy’s a creep, but you should’ve known better than to walk home alone in the dark.”

“Screw you, Winchester!” Y/N exploded, all her pent up fear and adrenaline rushing forth. “I should be able to walk four fucking blocks without some disgusting mouth breather thinking he can come after me, thinking he has the right to…to…and then to tell me ‘people were gonna get ideas’ about me? Is that what this is, Dean? Does me having the audacity to walk four blocks without a goddamn escort make you believe I’m game for anything? That it must mean I wanna be thrown down for a roll in the snow?”

She was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. Tears started to fall and she dashed them away instantly. Nothing frustrated her more than the fact that anger and fury made her cry.

Dean was staring at her, looking a little shell-shocked. She stomped past him and slammed herself into the bathroom. She didn’t come out until she heard everyone else get back. She and Dean didn’t talk over supper; if anyone noticed their silence, they never mentioned it.

Hours later Y/N was laying in the dark listening to the men around her snoring and she sighed and stood up, walking carefully through the narrow path of cots. She threw on her jacket and shoes and stepped outside. She needed fresh air.

She wasn’t outside very long when Dean stepped outside to join her. He didn’t say anything, just breathed into his hands in an attempt to warm them up.

Y/N shot a look his way. “You out here to make sure I have a suitable chaperone?”

Dean sighed and then reached for her hand; she let him take it. He nodded his head sideways. “Come on, let’s warm up.” He tugged her towards the Impala and she followed.

Dean slipped into the front seat to turn on the car, running the heater and putting the radio on low, but then he climbed into the back seat, beckoning Y/N to join him. She slid into the seat, but sat apart from him, slightly rigid. She felt awkward and unsure. They’d fought - what happened now?

Dean was silent for a while too, until he finally let out a little puff of air and a laugh, shaking his head.

Y/N looked at him warily. “What’s so funny?”

Dean shrugged, and shot her a heart melting smile. “I’ve never apologized to you after fighting with you, I kind of don’t know how. In the past we never apologized for pissing each other off, we just scowled at each other for a few hours and then got burgers.”

Y/N couldn’t help a small smile. “I mean, I could eat.”

Dean laughed again, and pulled her close to him as the tension between them dissolved away. “I really am sorry though, sweetheart. I never meant to make it seem like I thought it was your fault some jackass acted like a pig towards you. I just…” He hesitated before continuing. “Well, I panicked a bit at the idea of you being alone and vulnerable. But, you’re right, doesn’t mean you need a bodyguard. Hell, I know you could have kicked his ass.”

Y/N smiled up at him, but her voice was a little shaky. “Maybe, but you’re right too. In that moment I felt really vulnerable. In spite of all my training, in spite of everything, he really scared me.” She snuggled herself deeper into Dean’s side and he held her tighter. “And that made me really angry, which I sort of took out on you. Sorry.”

Dean shrugged, jostling her slightly. “Nah, I deserved it.”

She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his warm chest. They stayed like that for a long time, just savoring the happiness of making it through their first fight intact. They didn’t realize (but probably should have) that it was going to be the first fight of many.

Both Y/N and Dean were incredibly stubborn, with quick tempers, and strong emotions. That often led to arguments, which sometimes led to all out fights.

One of the things they fought about was what Y/N was going to do after she graduated. She was up in the air about her next move, and Dean was horrified by the idea of her living across the country, and going about her life every day without him, and far worse was the idea of him having to live every day without her. He tried to get that across to her but it never came out right, and she always accused him of trying to tell her what to do with her life, trying to hold her down.

They had a few knock down, drag out fights over that subject, before Y/N made the decision to wait on college at least for now. She wasn’t really sure what she wanted to do with her life anyway, so for now at least, she was a hunter. But she wasn't sure if that was what she wanted forever. Their fathers made it seem as though that was their only choice, and she knew Dean believed that, but she and Sam weren't so sure.

For the time being though, she was satisfied to keep traveling and hunting, spending all her free time with Dean, fighting and making up.

The making up was worth the fights.

For the most part, Sam and their dads stayed clear of them when they were in battle mode. They’d all been thrown for a loop when they found out Dean and Y/N were dating. When they told their dads, at first the two men weren’t thrilled. But eventually they settled for telling them to just make sure not to let it affect the team.

But poor Sam on the other hand, found out about them in a much more visceral way - by walking in on them, locked in a heated embrace, in the motel room one day, only a few days after they started dating.

"What the hell?" Sam exclaimed loudly as Dean and Y/N leapt apart. Sam's face wore a look of deep disgust.

Dean grinned and shrugged, pulling a blushing Y/N back into his arms.

"Sorry, little brother, but it's true. Y/N couldn't resist me any longer."

Sam made a retching noise, and Y/N elbowed Dean in the ribs. "Sorry if it's weird, Sam, we probably should have told you."

Sam's expression was still disbelieving and slightly horrified but he shrugged slowly.

"Whatever. Just…" He held up a hand and his voice was pleading. "Never make out around me. Please! And for God's sake, learn to lock a door."

"What good would that do?" Dean called after him as he walked away. "You have a key!"

***

They celebrated their one year anniversary the fall after Y/N graduated. Dean took her out to a nice dinner. He had to wear a jacket and tie, and he fidgeted in it all evening, but he wanted to spoil Y/N a bit, so he just dealt with it.

After dinner though, he chucked his suit jacket in the backseat, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves before climbing behind the wheel and taking them for a long drive. They listened to music and Y/N even forced Dean to sit through a few of the sappy love songs she’d put together on a mixed tape. He scowled the whole time, but he held her hand and pulled her closer to him on the seat.

Finally, not long before midnight, he pulled down a deserted road and then off the road into an abandoned field. He put the car in park and cut the engine, leaving the radio playing softly in the background.

Y/N shot him a knowing smile and her voice was coy when she spoke. “And what, pray tell, are we doing here?”

Dean shrugged and put on an innocent face. “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking maybe we could, uh…play some games…twenty questions? I spy?”

Y/N stifled her laugh to nod solemnly. “Right. Okay, I’ll start. I spy…a big fat liar.”

Dean grabbed his chest as though mortally wounded. “Ugh! I spy my very injured heart.”

Y/N laughed softly. “That’s really not the way you play the game.”

Dean dropped his hands from his broken heart and turned towards her. “No? K, then twenty questions.” He picked up her hand and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. His emerald green gaze bore into hers and she felt butterflies start fluttering in her lower belly.

His voice was low, and rich, and smooth as he asked, “What am I thinking about right now?”

Y/N felt her cheeks flame as she read his intentions, plain as day, in the heated look that spread across his face.

She laughed breathlessly and corrected him. “That’s not how you play that game either. You’re supposed to pick a person, place or thing, and then I have to guess it.”

Dean nodded. “Ah, I see.” He responded, as though this was all new information. “Okay, then I pick person. Guess WHO I'm thinking about right now.”

Y/N bit her lip and closed an eye as though she was thinking hard. “Hmm…is she…bigger than a breadbox?” She asked and grinned.

“Barely.” Dean answered with a chuckle, just before he lifted her easily into his lap, making her gasp in surprise.

She settled herself on his thighs, wiggling against him and eliciting a groan from Dean. She knew the cause of it and grinned devilishly. She asked her next question as she played with his tie. “Do I know her?”

“Hmph.” Dean grunted. “The answer to that is very philosophical.”

Y/N looked up at him through her lashes. “It has to be yes or no answers.”

“20 Questions is no fun. Let's go back to I Spy.” Dean said as he began trailing his thumb across Y/N's bottom lip. “I spy, a pair of lips I really wanna kiss.”

He brushed his lips across hers like a breath. She sighed and chuckled. “You really suck at these games.” Her gaze was mischievous as Dean looked into her eyes.

He shrugged and plunged his hand into her hair. “Fine, I give up. I lose.” He said before covering her mouth with his, sucking the breath from her body.

He pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers. “Wow.” Y/N said breathlessly. “You letting me win, that's a first.”

Dean grinned. “Well, I think we both win, actually.” His grin faded into something softer, and he shifted away from her and lowered his thick lashes, hiding his bright green orbs from view

“And I think maybe…this might be a night to talk about…firsts.”

They were both silent a moment before Dean looked back at her. His gaze was earnest and he was quick to reassure her.

“I'm not saying we have to do anything or…anything. Just…we should probably talk about it.” He bit his lip and shot her a worried look. “I mean, dontcha think?”

Y/N thought of how far they'd gone recently, spurned on by incredible heat and passion, and an endless need to get closer, ever closer to each other. But they always stopped themselves, pulling away from each other with extreme difficulty.

She nodded at Dean; yes, they should definitely talk about it.

Yet both of them stayed quiet. Finally Y/N just reached up and kissed him again, pushing her fingers through his short hair to grasp the back of his head and press him tighter against her.

He licked her lips open and she whimpered slightly. They traded breaths, and tasted each other thoroughly. Dean's hand slid up from her waist to slide under her blouse and trace along the top of her bra. He moved his mouth down the column of her throat and Y/N leaned back to give him easier access.

When she did so, however, her back bumped into the horn, making them both jump and then start laughing. Y/N buried her face in Dean's neck and tried to catch her breath.

Dean pulled her hand up and kissed her palm. “Maybe we should continue this conversation in the back seat?”

Y/N nodded shyly.

She slid off of his lap and then followed him outside as he opened the back door. He went to the trunk and before they got in, he laid down a soft wool blanket that's smelled just a bit like metal and car oil.

Dean scooted all the way over to lean against the passenger side door, pulling Y/N back into his lap.

After a minute he cleared his throat. “K, before we go get distracted again, we're gonna talk, yeah?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, talk.” There was a beat pause. “I think we should have sex.”

Dean's eyes widened at the blunt suggestion. “Like…now?” He asked, his words a little strangled.

Y/N laughed. “Yes, now. Given how rarely we're alone together, if we don't do it now, we may have to wait another entire year.”

Dean chuckled but looked hesitant. “Y/N I don't want you to feel like we're on some kind of schedule here. I mean -”

Y/N interrupted him. “No, Dean. I just mean, I don't wanna…I mean, I can't wait anymore.”

She reached up and ran her hand down his cheek. “I want you, and I’m…I'm ready.”

Dean clasped her hand on his cheek and pulled her fingers to his lips, kissing each tip. “Me too, sweetheart. Been ready for a long time in fact.”

Y/N smiled shyly and stretched up to kiss the corner of his jaw, cut square and as sharp as glass. Dean curled in on her, unbuttoning the first few buttons on her blouse and pushing it off her shoulder so he could kiss her there. His teeth scraped delicately across her skin.

Y/N gasped and shuddered. Dean pulled back to look down at her. He brushed the wispy tendrils of hair off her face as he studied her flushed cheeks and shallow breathing.

When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he smiled at her and spoke, slightly hesitant.

“Are you scared?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, not scared. Just,” she ducked her head, “just nervous I guess.” She met his gaze again. “It's a big deal, you know?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

Y/N bit her lip before licking them. “You've…um…you've done it. Before. Right?”

Dean looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, then. “How many girls?”

Dean scowled and cleared his throat. “Y/N let's…I don't wanna talk about this. We don't have to talk about this.”

Y/N shifted slightly in his lap again and Dean hissed and clenched his jaw against the movement as she responded. “Come on. You were there in the same health class as me, listening to Coach Ginter tell us we need to know about our partner's sexual history.”

“Y/N.”

“Come on.” She urged him. “I wanna know. It's the responsible thing to do. You know about all zero of my former partners."

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes slightly. “Okay, if I tell you, you're not gonna freak out?”

“No, of course not.”

“Promise?”

It was Y/N's turn for an eye roll. “Yes, I promise.”

Dean breathed out through his nose and was quiet a moment. “Five.”

Y/N's eyes widened. “You've had sex five times?”

Dean shook his head. “No, five girls. I've had sex lots of times.”

He seemed to catch his mistake and and shook his head dismissively. “But they don't matter.”

But Y/N wasn't listening. “Who were they?”

Dean sat up straight. “Uh uh. We're not doing that.”

Y/N raised her voice slightly and slid off Dean's lap to sit on the seat. “Doing what? This is the proper thing to do. Coach Ginter said that we-”

“Jesus Christ!”Dean barked out and then let out a thoroughly exasperated laugh. “Would you stop bringing up the image of Coach Ginter is his fucking short shorts and sweat-stained white t-shirts. It's really killing the vibe here.”

Y/N wasn't laughing. “The only thing killing the vibe is the fact that you won't tell me who the scores of women were that you slept with.”

Dean frowned. “Not scores. Five.” He held up a hand full of fingers. “Five.”

“Okay, then who were they?”

Dean dropped his head into his hand. “Y/N!” He growled.

“Just tell me.” Y/N said, in what was clearly a forced calm. “It's no big deal, I'm just curious.”

Dean sighed deeply before looking back at her. “You have to promise, swear!” He said with a raised finger. “That you're not gonna get mad.”

Y/N was shaking her head before he finished. “Of course not.”

“Say ‘I promise’.”

“I promise.” Y/N said, hand over heart.

After a minute Dean took a deep breath. “Tracey Reeves. She was my first.”

The name rang a bell, and Y/N squinted, searching her memory, and then it dawned on her and her face became slack with shock, quickly followed by outrage.

“Tracey REEVES!! You mean that sadistic bitch who tortured me at the start of our freshman year?”

Dean scoffed. “Come on! It was initiation! All the seniors were torturing freshman! I got tortured too! It was just hazing. I mean, it wasn't that bad, for god's sake it was a fucking school event. The principal was there!"

Y/N pouted. “Yeah well, your little sweetie pie dumped that jar of mayonnaise on my head with just a bit too much glee.”

Dean rolled his eyes and then Y/N held a hand up. “Wait, wait. We left there before Halloween. So…” Her eyes got big. “You lost your virginity when you were fourteen?” Her voice was all disbelief.

Dean's jaw clenched. “Is this judgment?”

Y/N looked away and shook her head. “Who else?”

Dean growled again. “Ugh! Y/N, come on!”

“Who?!”

“You don't know three of them, k? You never met them.”

Y/N did quick math. “And the fifth one? Who was she?”

Dean stared at her, and Y/N could tell he was frustrated beyond belief, but her stubbornness wouldn't let her stop. She stared defiantly at him, waiting for him to answer.

He shook his head and spoke quietly. “You still promising to not get mad?” He said sarcastically.

“I'm not mad.” Y/N insisted.

Dean rolled his eyes and mumbled out his answer. “Sam's tutor, Casey.”

Y/N felt her heart stop. “She's…she was tutoring Sam when we got together.”

Dean stepped on the end of her sentence. “It was before that. Before we got together.”

Y/N squeezed her hands into balls with white knuckles. “How long before?”

“Who cares?” Dean shouted defensively. “The only thing that matters is the ‘before’ part!”

But Y/N was barely listening. She was doing more math. “She was only tutoring Sam for like a week before we started dating.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mumbled, “You have the fucking memory of an elephant.”

When Y/N just kept staring at him he heaved a sigh and spoke angrily. “Fine, yes, it was three or four days before we got together.”

Y/N felt her heart begin to hurt. “You said, but you said you liked me then. You said, you’ve liked me since we were kids.”

“I did!” Dean said vehemently, and then amended his words. “I have! I do!”

“But that whole week leading up to us getting together, you said you knew I was jealous, you knew I was interested.”

“No, I said, I HOPED you might be interested. I didn't know anything for sure.”

“And you couldn't wait to find out?!” Y/N asked near tears. “You just slept with some other girl and then three days later started kissing me? What did Casey think about this? I mean she came over at least four or five more times after that. Did you, uh, decide to go for a second round just to say goodbye?”

Dean's face became immobile and expressionless but his eyes were hurt and hard. “If you actually think that, think I'd do that, what the fuck are you doing here with me? Why are you with me at all?”

“I don't know!” Y/N shouted, her temper exploding. “Maybe if I'd known I was dating some kind of man-whore I wouldn't be here!”

Her temper tried to blind her to the way Dean flinched at her words, but she saw it, and it sat heavy in her heart. But her chest was heaving and her eyes burned and she refused to apologize.

Dean didn't say anything. He just opened the door and walked out to get to the driver's seat. Y/N stayed in the back. He started up the car and drove them all the way home in silence.

The night that had started with so much promise and excitement, had been shattered; promises made and broken. But the broken promise of them - what they almost were - that was what cut Y/N the most.

This fight felt different. It felt final, dark. Jealousy and hurt feelings, anger and resentment festered between them.

For days that turned into weeks they avoided each other as much as possible. Dean was gone all the time, and it ripped Y/N's heart out to think of where he might be spending his time.

She wanted to say sorry, wanted the fight to just melt away between them as they always had before. They'd been so close to something permanent, something binding between them, and now it was ruptured, leaving a crater between them.

She didn't know how to cross it.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu @jackles010378

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26 @slut-for-evans-stan

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous @k-slla @stoneyggirl2

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester series

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sucker-for-sniffles · 1 month

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Did someone order a loyal knight with a bad cold and his prince who loves him dearly trying to get him to rest for once in his life? Here’s 4k words of that, please enjoy these guys who barged into my head and won’t leave

—

As if negotiations in Halfford hadn’t gone poorly enough, Prince Robin thought, bouncing about uncomfortably in the back of his carriage, Sir Harper had started to catch cold a couple days into the journey home. Off of the Duke’s snot-nosed son, Robin had no doubt. The brat practically hung off Harper’s shirt all week, as if he were a fawning child rather than a man hardly any younger than Harper.

Harper made his ailment utterly unobtrusive, as always, his service unfailing. Any other company might not have realized he was ill at all. But Robin knew him too well to miss the edge of fatigue to his practiced smile, the soft sighs when he didn’t realize Robin was listening, the sneezes muffled into his cape just too often to pass off as coincidence.

And Robin knew him too well to say anything. Harper blamed himself for the disaster this trip had become, even if he didn’t want Robin to see as much. As if he ought to have prevented the storm that stalled them four days on the way to Halfford, or Duke Edward’s foul mood at the delay. With Harper on edge as he was, Robin didn’t have the words to ask after him without Harper taking it as a critique. He blamed his friend’s father for that. The old bastard was just the sort to wield “are you quite well?” as a blunt weapon.

Robin was in far too sour a mood for tact. On another day, he would walk beside the carriage and talk with Harper, but given the circumstances, he was better off sulking with the luggage. Even if he wound up with a bruise or two, he didn’t have to try so hard to bite his tongue with the creaks and clangs of the cart on the uneven road making conversation difficult already.

“It’s getting dark,” Harper called back. There was a fresh rasp to his voice accompanying the mounting congestion that marred his m’s and n’s. The poor man ought not to shout so. “If we press, we may reach an inn not long after sundown, but…”

“Let’s camp here.” Robin shifted carefully, extracting himself from the corner of the cart he’d wedged himself into. He didn’t want Harper doing any pressing.

“Very well, my lord.” A note of relief in Harper’s voice, well-masked but perceptible. The cart rumbled to a stop and creaked loudly as Harper stepped down from the driver’s seat.

Robin followed suit and crawled from the back of the cart, stretching out stiff and aching limbs. He really did prefer to walk. He circled around, intending to offer help, but paused when he saw Harper seize a fistful of his cape and bring it close to his face. His shoulders rose with his breath, once, twice—

Harper ducked into a rough, throaty sneeze, muffled harshly by the thick wool of his cape.

“Bless you.” Even that much, Robin worried would be unwelcome.

“Ah—tha’k you.” Harper dragged his cape roughly under his nose and sniffed with a determined finality. He smiled. “I am glad to see you in one piece after being tossed about like a sack of flour. What draws you to ride in the cart on roads like this, I can’t understand.” He set to unyoking the horses, leaving Robin to trail uselessly behind him.

“It isn’t so bad without armor clanging about you.” Robin rubbed his arms.

“Hah.” Harper lifted the yoke from the horses’ shoulders, a quick flash of pain crossing his face when the weight settled in his right arm. Was his shoulder bothering him, too? It was awfully cold this far north. “There’s no need to lie to me, my lord. I only wish I could give you privacy with a little more comfort.”

Robin huffed a laugh. “Alas, you are no magician. I am merely grateful my father didn’t insist on sending an entourage after us.” And he was, truly, whatever Harper might have thought. It isn’t as if thirty men could have fought off a storm that Harper couldn’t.

“Your father’s men don’t know how to leave you well enough alone,” Harper agreed, but Robin didn’t miss the doubt that flickered across his face. He set down the yoke and glanced at Robin. “Are you warm enough? The cold comes on quickly out here.”

Robin dropped his hands from his arms. “Perhaps not.” The wind was beginning to creep through the linen of his shirt without the canvas walls of the cart to block it.

“Allow me to fetch your cloak.” Harper strode past before Robin could insist on fetching his cloak himself. It was likely best to let him help, anyhow. If small, unneeded favors were what he needed to prove himself, there was no reason to protest.

Harper returned promptly with Robin’s favorite travel cloak over one arm—a thick red one, almost long enough to drag on the ground, made when Robin was young enough that there was hope he’d grow taller. “I hope you are well, my lord,” he said, fastening the cloak over Robin’s shoulders.

It took Robin a moment to process the question. “I—am. For the most part.”

Harper smiled, honest despite the tired weight to it. “I’m glad. It can be hard to tell, when you draw away from me, when I should start to worry. I hope you will never feel lonely when I am with you.”

And he squeezed Robin’s shoulder and returned to the back of the cart like he hadn’t just stung Robin senseless. He’d made Harper worry for him all this time. Since they first arrived in Halfford, no doubt, and Robin had spent every evening too exhausted by the Duke’s temper to do more than sulk in his guest room and tell Harper to explore the city without him. Harper understood, as Harper always understood, but it was hardly any wonder he’d gotten tense. Robin could be a dense little brat sometimes, he thought bitterly.

A wrenching, tightly muffled sneeze pulled Robin back to himself. He moved around to the back of the cart, where Harper had paused in tying down the rear flap to press his fingers to his temples, exhaustion written plainly on his face. The red cast of his nose was no longer faint, and the poor thing was starting to swell under Harper’s rough treatment.

“Bless you,” Robin said, anxiety creeping foolishly up his neck. Talking to Harper ought to be the easiest thing in the world. Damn this trip, damn Duke Edward, and damn Robin’s own idiocy.

The exhaustion all but vanished from Harper’s expression as he looked up and gave a quick thanks, carrying on with the canvas.

Robin twisted the edge of his cloak between his fingers and dared to ask, “Sir Harper, are you well?”

Harper paused his work for just a moment, too briefly to be noticed by anyone paying the slightest bit less attention than Robin. “I may have caught a chill back in Halfford,” he admitted, his tone carefully flat. “Do not concern yourself, my lord.”

“I shall concern myself if I like,” Robin said before he could think better of it.

Harper pulled a rope taught with a fair bit more force than seemed necessary and barked a laugh. “Of course, my lord.” He sniffed, sharp and wet, and tied off the rope, securing the canvas flap over the open back of the cart. He climbed inside without another word and started shifting things around, laying out their bedrolls and moving fallen luggage aside.

Robin sighed and leaned against the cart, pulling his cloak tight around himself. He’d misstepped already. A cold. What an absurdly unremarkable, temporary affliction to regret. As if anybody could think less of Harper for such a thing. For falling ill, for bowing to the weather. Robin could think of a few sharp words for Harper’s father, though he doubted they would do any good.

He watched the darkening sky as Harper bustled around in the cart. Some clouds were forming to the east—might it rain? The roads would be hell tomorrow if it did. Perhaps they ought to have pushed on to the inn after all.

“Does it look like rain to you?” Robin asked as Harper emerged from the carriage. He’d stripped his cape, tabard, and heavy mail, leaving him in trousers and a tunic with his sword tied around his waist.

Harper glanced up to the east, briefly pressing a gloved knuckle under his nose. “Ah—yes, most likely.” He smiled. “Worry not, my lord. You will stay quite dry in the cart.”

Robin bit his lip. “Yes, but the roads will—I will stay dry?”

“We will.” Harper sniffled and laid a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Worry not. I am hardly infirm. I shall handle the roads tomorrow, whatever condition they may be in.”

“Of course you shall.” Robin sighed, studying Harper’s face, the faint lines of exhaustion his best efforts can’t erase. “I do not doubt your capability, but…it has been a long journey.”

“It has.” Harper squeezed Robin’s shoulder briefly and let go, looking away. Was Robin staring? “Rest in the cart. I will take care of camp and fetch you when there is dinner.”

That isn’t what Robin meant at all, but already Harper was striding away towards the horses. Robin followed him, almost jogging to keep up with his long, quick steps. “No. I will accompany you.”

“No need.” Harper didn’t slow, nor turn to Robin. “You are exhausted. Rest for tomorrow.” There was a clipped insistence to his tone so uncharacteristic that Robin was almost hurt until Harper brought both hands to his face and smothered a sneeze that seemed to tear through him and take a piece with it, leaving him staggered slightly with a few short, harshly constrained coughs.

“Bless you, Sir.” Robin took the opportunity to overtake Harper and reach the horses first. Of course—poor Harper hadn’t had a moment’s privacy since they’d left Halfford. If Robin couldn’t convince him to let his guard down before him, he could at least give him a few moments alone. “I assure you, I am quite capable of watering the horses myself. We shall both to bed sooner if I help.” He took both horses’ leads without waiting for a response and clicked at them to follow.

“…very well, my lord.” If Harper was trying to disguise the relief in his voice, he didn’t manage it very well. He sniffed thickly and dropped his hands from his face. “The river is a short way south of here.” He pointed, but Robin could hear the rushing water already.

Robin nodded. “I shall return soon.”

And he led the horses off. This was absurd. Why should the two of them play these games even when alone? Harper’s father was not here to scold him, nor anybody who might report to him or the King. Why should decorum prevent Robin from speaking frankly with his dearest friend? He ought to order Harper to rest as much as he was able.

The river was further than Robin anticipated, and by the time he returned night had all but fallen, the air damp and bitterly cold, and the rain clouds in the east were unmistakably nearer. At least he was able to spare Harper the trek—the fool would have left without his cloak—but he was relieved nonetheless to see a fire roaring already by the time he returned, a steaming pot hung over it. He secured the horses and joined Harper beside it on a fallen log, noting with pleasure that Harper had remembered himself and donned a cloak.

“Back at last, my lord?” Harper smiled at Robin as he sat down, a touch of mischief in his expression. “I had forgotten how much longer a walk can be on shorter legs.”

Robin shoved his shoulder, gasping in mock offense. “You know perfectly well how quickly I walk.”

“How slowly.” Harper’s grin flashed into a grimace and he turned away from Robin, lifting a fistful of his cloak to his face. His breath wavered perilously for a moment, and he crumpled, smothering a heavy sneeze into the fabric.

“Bless you.” He sounded worse, Robin thought.

Harper coughed roughly before recovering his breath. “Hah. Tha’k you.” An attempt at sniffling audibly caught in stuffed-shut sinuses and Harper cleared his throat, such an unmistakeably unwell sound that Robin wanted to drag him to the cart to sleep and damn his feelings on the matter.

“What do you think of breaking into that mead the Duke refused?” he said instead. “My father won’t expect it back, and it seems a fine night to warm ourselves up.” And perhaps a bit of drink would help ease Harper’s nerves.

“If you’d like.” Harper tipped the pot over the fire towards him with a ladle, his other hand keeping the hem of his cloak pressed under his nose. “Though I hope you don’t need drink to find my company tolerable.”

Robin laughed. “Simply unbearable, being alone with the likes of you. It’s near enough to make me miss Duke Edward’s hospitality.” He stood and brushed dirt from the back of his cloak. “I simply can’t face a sober evening with company who prefers me to a horse’s ass.”

That earned a huff of laughter from Harper. “I’ve been looking at a horse’s ass all day. You’re a far better sight.”

“He doesn’t mean it, Dapple,” Robin called to the horse in question, who flicked an ear in utter disinterest. He patted her side on his way back to the cart.

It was dark inside the cart with the rear flap blocking out the firelight, but it was easy enough to find the mead, bundled up in a spare cloth and tied to the side of the cart to ensure it didn’t bounce around and break. There ought to be some handkerchiefs about, too. Robin recalled seeing a couple at the bottom of his bag, so he took a moment to dig them out.

When he returned to the campfire, Harper had taken the pot off the fire and was doling out stew to travel bowls. Robin offered a handkerchief without a word.

Harper took it with a nod of thanks and swiped quickly under his nose, though by the sound of things that wasn’t nearly enough.

The stew was fine enough, good for being scrounged together from diminishing fresh supplies. Harper called it a last proper meal before returning to dried meat and stale crackers. The mead was better. Robin’s father wasn’t one to spare expenses when it came to obsequious gifts.

“The one gift the Duke’s given us,” Robin said after the two were halfway through the bottle.

Harper snorted. “His generosity shall not go unremembered.” He took a swig from the bottle, then passed it urgently back to Robin. “Pardon—” His breath caught and he twisted away from Robin, though the sneeze seemed to toy with him, keeping his breath hitching uncertainly for several seconds before tearing out of him with a vocal desperation that almost startled Robin.

“Bless you.”

“Ngh.” Belatedly, Harper lifted the handkerchief to his face and blew his nose hard, though, by the sound of it, not to much effect. “Blast this cold.”

He must have been feeling calmer if he was complaining, Robin noted with pleasure. Though whether that was thanks to the mead or to dinner and company, he couldn’t guess. “Poor thing,” he said as lightly as he could manage, rubbing Harper’s shoulder.

Harper huffed, with laughter or irritation. “You needn’t tease me, my lord.”

“I’m not!” With feigned offense, Robin set the bottle on the ground to fold his arms. Harper picked it idly back up. “Can’t a man express his sympathies for a friend?”

“Of course, my lord.” Harper took another swig. “But as I’ve said, you need not worry.”

“Need not worry, need not worry!” However much the mead was touching Harper, Robin was feeling a touch bolder. “Perhaps I want to worry, Har. You aren’t acting like yourself.”

Harper grinned, visibly biting back a laugh. “You’re acting plenty like yourself.” Robin squinted. “Fussy and overprotective.”

Robin scoffed, almost offended. “Overprotective! Says Sir ‘rest in the cart while I do the work of thirty men!’”

“Thirty men!” Harper laughed properly at that until his breath caught in his throat and pulled him double in a coughing fit. “Thirty, Robin, really?” he croaked as soon as his breath allowed.

“My father would send thirty.”

Harper drank again, calming the cough. “Your father really is overprotective.”

Robin could hardly argue with that. He shifted closer and leaned into Harper’s side. “Honestly, what’s the matter?”

“You got me drunk so I’d admit I don’t feel well,” Harper said, vaguely impressed. “Conniving bastard.” But he leaned back into Robin’s touch.

“Answer me, Harper.” Robin let a smidge of princely authority into his tone. “You aren’t usually so…”

He searched for the word, but Harper gave a stuffy, defeated little sigh and sank deeper into Robin’s side. “Your father will have my head when we reach home.”

Robin scoffed. “Like hell.”

“He will.” Harper sniffed and pressed the handkerchief beneath his nose with some force. “You’ve been miserable on this trip—don’t lie to me; you have been—and it is my job t-to—oh, hell—” He leaned away from Robin and crushed a sneeze into his handkerchief, sharp and rough and furious.

“Bless you. I don’t give a damn about your job.” Maybe Robin oughtn’t to have drank. It made it awfully difficult to shut his mouth. “I only care that my friend is ill and you won’t let him rest.”

“I give a damn.” Harper didn’t snap, but the edge to his tone suggested he might have were Robin anybody else. “I haven’t got the luxury of only being your friend.” But he leaned back into Robin’s shoulder nonetheless.

Robin bit down the first words on his tongue, Your father said something to you. Dragging up that old argument could hardly do good. “I’d be happy to see you rest,” he said instead.

“Hah.” Harper swiped beneath his nose. “Less so to see the cart uncovered, dinner unmade, fire unlit…”

“I could have done any of that myself,” Robin insisted.

“And then what use would I be?” Harper’s tone might have sounded playful to someone else, but Robin heard the subtle frailty in the words.

A drop of rain splashed on Robin’s cheek. He put up a hand to feel for more.

“Right.” Harper sat up and pulled Robin’s hood over his head, smiling. As if Robin is the one needed reassuring. “Go stay dry in the cart. I will join you within a half-hour.”

Robin could have argued. A better friend might have. But Harper was rarely so insistent unless he was right, even if Robin couldn’t see it. “I’ll come looking if you’re late,” he said instead.

Harper laughed. “Nonsense, my lord. We don’t need you catching cold, too.” He stood and offered Robin a hand up.

Robin took it. “Then be with me in a half-hour.” The longer he ran his mouth, the longer Harper would be out in the rain, so he nodded goodbye and headed for the cart.

Inside the cart, he lit his fire-light and left it near the entrance, providing paltry light for Robin but, he hoped, a signal for Harper in case the rain put out the campfire. It wasn’t as if he needed to see much to strip off his cloak and boots and crawl under the blankets Harper had laid out.

The rain picked up quickly, and wind along with it. Robin pulled a pillow over his head, trying to block out the roar of the rain hitting canvas and with it the thought of poor Harper caught outside in this misery.

He had no way to tell the time, but he trusted despite his threat that it really had been less than a half-hour when Harper returned. He heard splashing, heavy footsteps drawing closer, then a creak of the cart as Harper started to step up. A pause, then a wet, wrenching sneeze, half drowned out by the rain hitting canvas but for once not muffled. And then another, ripe with exhausted frustration. Harper cursed, gave his nose a quick, rough blow, and climbed into the cart.

“Bless you.” Robin took the pillow off his head and rolled onto his back. “It sounds miserable out there.” As close to you sound miserable as Harper was likely to accept.

“Hah. S’pose so.” Harper turned out the fire-light and tossed it back to Robin, who fumbled it in the unexpected dark. “Were you frightened without me?”

Robin grumbled. “Oh, terribly. I’m a grown man; I’m not afraid of the rain any longer.”

Harper laughed, still shuffling around the cart to get out of his boots and cloak. “And here I thought you needed me.”

Robin lifted up the blankets to his right—prematurely, he realized when the unexpectedly cold air made him shiver. “All right, then. Get under here and protect me from the wind, Sir Necessary.”

To Robin’s relief, that drew more laughter from Harper, until it broke into a couple coughs. “Of course, my lord,” he said, a bit raspy, and slid under the blankets beside Robin.

He was keeping weight off his right arm, Robin noticed. So his shoulder was acting up. Robin waited for him to settle, then moved himself onto Harper’s good shoulder, pinning him down, and tucked the blanket gently over the other before Harper could protest.

Harper laughed softly and looped his arm around Robin’s waist. “You’re fretting.”

“Will you deny me that?”

“I will deny you nothing, my lord,” Harper said with that note of amusement that always left Robin torn between affection and indignation.

He settled on responding with a haughty sniff and pulling the pillow under Harper’s head. “Then tell me what you would have of me.”

Harper’s answer was as quick as predictable. “Nothing, my lord.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Robin settled his head on Harper’s chest and hooked a leg over Harper’s, drawing him close to share their warmth. Harper’s clothes were damp, and he shivered slightly beneath them. All the more reason to cling to him. “I know you hate to be alone when you’re unwell, but you’re hearing anything more than ‘bless you’ as a slight against your honor. Tell me how to care for you.”

Harper sniffed. “It is not your responsibility to—”

“Why did we come out here alone just to act like your father is listening?” Robin bit his tongue, regretting the words as soon as they passed his lips.

He might not have heard Harper’s breath catch without his ear pressed to his chest, but the sound made him want to shrivel up where he lay. “Oh, hell, Har, I—”

Harper twisted his head away from Robin into a vicious, half-stifled sneeze.

Oh. “Bless you. I’m sorry.”

Harper sniffed hard and brought up his right hand to scrub beneath his nose. “Tha’k you.” He sucked his teeth, absently rubbing a thumb on Robin’s back. When he spoke, it was hardly more than a hoarse whisper, as if asking quietly were less offensive: “Will you ride beside me tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Robin could feel the tension leave Harper. “I ought to have done so from the beginning.”

“You needed space.”

“And you needed company.” Robin shifted, pulling Harper in tighter. He’d stopped shivering. “I wish you’d asked for it sooner.” Harper started to speak, but Robin added, “I know you think you can’t, but I wish you would.”

Harper chuckled softly. “Truly, Robin, you worry too much.”

“Only as you refuse to take proper care of yourself,” Robin protested. “Get some sleep, now.”

“At your pleasure, my lord,” Harper teased, but he relaxed beneath Robin and, soon enough, drifted off to sleep.

#bloop #blep #snz ocs #this is attempt FOUR at this fucking fic because they kept developing in my brain so that the beginning of the fic was ooc #by the time I got to the end #they were SUPPOSED to be one-off characters just for this fic. but now they won’t leave my brain and unfortunately I’m obsessed with them

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writings-of-a-demigod · 9 months

Text

Opportunity of a lifetime (Mission Impossible)

plot: you being a thief crossing roads with Ethan Hunt and leaving an impression on him so he recruits you to IMF.

characters: Ethan Hunt x reader + Benji Dunn x reader + Luther x reader

a/n: first one shot to post. sorry if there are any mistakes point them out to me so I can fix them.

*gif doesn't belong to me*

Growing up as an orphan was hard but you were tough. Since you’re an orphan you played and stayed outside most of the time and did pick up a skill or two. And you kept practicing picking locks and pockets, you were getting pretty good, the things any money you got from people were a great price.

Until one day you pick pocket the wrong person, it was just wrong person wrong time. Well, that’s what you thought but that man saw your potentials, so he took you under his wing trained and shaped you to be the perfect thief. And that training included incredible gymnastics skills, hand to hand combat due to excellent upper body strength and acrobatics. After that he sat you out in the world his thief, his legacy. You did so wonderful on your own and even gained a name for yourself in this game.

That tracks up to now: There you were in the middle of a job planning to retrieve an item for a buyer from Brij Nath’s private gallery and the party was your way in. You’ve done jobs like that a thousand of times, so it was an easy one; go in disable the system making it think it’s a glitch then replace the painting with a fake one and get out so easy so boring but the pay was worth it. What you didn’t plan was to get caught.

“Who’s that?” asked Benji using the comms.

“I don’t know but I intend to find out.” Ethan glance at you when you first entered the party. Didn’t really think much of you just a regular person but he was proved wrong when he saw you sneaking into one of the rooms that were off-limits. He got curious and followed you while still checking with Jane she can handle herself for now.

That lead to this moment Ethan had a tight grip on your arm staring at you with an intense gaze “Who are you?” he asked.

“You think I’m going tell you that?” you raised your eyebrow.

He sighed “I guess not.”

Before he could get another word out you managed to grab his wrist then turn your body to get his hand off you, delivering a strong kick to his ribs then went for a punch but he managed to block your punch. You tried to shake this man off you by fighting so you can make a run for it but he was good at fighting ‘Who is this guy?” until you saw your opening when you got to handcuff him to the door handler. He didn’t realize until he heard it and looked down to see the handcuff. He then looked at you with raised eyebrow “Seriously?” you just shrugged “It’s working just fine right now.” You turned around got the painting, made it to your exit at the widow then faced him again seeing how he’s trying to unlock to handcuff “Hope to never see you again” winking at him then jumped.

~~~~~~ skipping time to a couple of months after ~~~~~

Benji made an id after searching for too long with the help of Ethan then finally found out who you are, he was busy with other things not his fault though. There they were at Benji’s desk, Benji’s eyes glued to the screen Luther standing behind him leaning on his chair while Ethan was pacing the floor.

“Oh my!” Benji’s voice broke the silence, Ethan turns around to face the two of them reading everything they can find about you.

“Ethan are you sure you want this person to join the IMF? Because wow!” Benji spoke first.

“Let’s me see” Ethan went to stand next to Luther to get a look at the screen.

“Yep, that’s them” Ethan looked at the picture of you on the screen then read the files. You defiantly made a name for yourself. As a thief you stole all kind of things and it was impressive how good you are but never killed anyone not a killer.

“That’s a long list.” Spoke Luther after reading the files they have on you. “Looks like they really left an impression on you if you’re thinking of recruiting them.”

“But are you seriously still thinking about it?” Benji took his eyes off the screen to stare at Ethan.

“Yes Benji. I want them on this team.”

“And how are you supposed to get them to meet with you? And how are you going to trust them or then trusting us?” Benji was seriously questioning his friend decision on this. And he had all the rights to do that, you being on the team when you’ve been working solo for almost all your life is going to be hard and having people to trust you when you met in the most unconvincing situation was completely something else. How are you going to have their backs in the future should you actually work with them on missions?

“And how are you planning to do that?” Luther straightens up and turn to get a better look at Ethan.

He smiled at him “Easy one of you is going to pretend to be a client that needs a job to be done.”

Benji rolled his eyes “Of course it’s that easy. Like they’re not going to check the background of the client.”

“So which one of us do you want to be the client?” Luther asked Ethan.

There you were checking your watch to meet with the new client. You did everything checking background, activities across everything. Even though you did shady business you don’t want to be caught dealing with shady people or being set up to take the fall for something that might or did happen. You were taught way better to fall for that. Your mentor wouldn’t forgive you for it. The client sat up the place for the meeting and to make sure you had access to all cameras close by to alarm you if you see a bogie on your tail. And just on time the client showed up as promised. You enter the tunnel knowing full well that if this thing goes south you got a way out.

“Good evening are you Y/n?” he asked.

You looked him over, a man with a nice navy Armani suit, tie and cuffs. Expensive cuffs always a good sign to good payout for when the job is done. Ginger hair slicked back with think black frame glasses.

“You got that right. What can I do for you mister Smith?” you showed him a smile to ease him. He looked a little nervous.

“Well I’ve contacted you for a job and apparently you’re the one to go to for that.” He nodded at you.

“I take full price before the job is done and an extra after especially if it coasted me trouble.” You told him.

“I bet you do.” He chuckled a little “But I’m not the one who wants to hire you.” He waved his hand.

With your confuse expression someone walked out of the shadow and stood next to mister Smith. He looked directly at you and you recognized him, it was that man the same man you left handcuffed in Nath’s party. You sensed someone walking behind you, turning your head you saw this big man standing in your way out of the tunnel. Turning your attention to the men standing before you.

“So you found me? Want me to congratulate you? Who are you anyway? And did you hire me to do a job or you wanted to arrest me?” You asked.

“Not really. I’m not here to arrest you.” He took small steps towards you with his hands raised “And I’m not a cop or a fed either. My name is Ethan Hunt and I want to offer you an opportunity of a lifetime.”

You raised your eyebrow at him ‘so he’s not a cop. What does he want anyway?’ you nodded at him “Well go on.”

“I read your files, consider me impressed and you are exactly what I need on my team.” He told you.

“You’re kidding right?”

The man behind you spoke “No he’s not.” You turned your head to look at him “He’s really impressed with you and what you do.” He smiled at you.

After listening to Ethan’s offer you took a moment to process what he’s saying to you. It was a lot to take it but you would be lying if that didn’t excited you. This opportunity was gold, so what if you’re doing it to save the world and you could die a horrible death and no one would know what you did. That wasn’t any different from what you are doing now beside you did think this what you were doing got boring with time. So you had no other choice but to accept.

“I accept.” You said it while looking at him “But I got to warn you I’m not very good at teamwork.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He smiled and offered his hand to shake yours. After you shook on it, he said “Welcome to the team.”

“I’m Luther.” He shook your hand after Ethan while smiling at you, so you smiled back.

The last one was mister Smith, he was hesitant but you shook his hand “Benji” he said.

“Why do you look sad dude? I’m joining the team.” You smiled at him while walking with him.

Ethan and Luther were walking in front of you two “He had second thoughts about you joining us.” They laughed.

You turned to Benji “Don’t worry I’m not going to rob you while you’re sleeping.”

He turned his head so fast to look at you “You’re thinking about doing that?” he said in a panicked voice.

But you just laughed.

#writings-of-a-demigod #mission impossible #Impossible mission force #ethan hunt #benji dunn #luther stickell #ethan hunt x reader #benji dunn x reader #luther stickell x reader #mission impossible imagines

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mercedesvince · 1 year

Note

Could you do Wendy Testaburger, Ramona Flowers, Kim Pine and Knives Chau (separate) with Male!Reader who is incredible stupid and often does stuff that nearly gets him killed but always manages to survive by luck and convenience every time.

Thanks and have a nice day

Yes, I hope you enjoy :)

Wendy Testaburger x Male Reader (South Park)

Ramona Flowers x Male Reader (Scott Pilgrim vs. The world)

Kim Pine x Male Reader (Scott Pilgrim vs. The world)

Knives Chau x Male Reader (Scott Pilgrim vs. The world)

Wendy Testaburger

•For a short time, she figured you simply just liked the thrill and adrenaline, she could not wrap her head around the fact that you really did not understand what you were doing

•Always keeping an eye on you whenever you two were together

•Sometimes you really did confuse her as to why you did what you did

•Worried about you whenever you were not with her and she knew you were out doing something or on a trip

•There have been a few times where she panicked due to seeing you face a near death experience, but seeing you nearly miss something swinging at your head or land on top of you convinced her that something had to be protecting you

•Luck was truly on your side

•She would reprimand you a lot after and explain about how what you did was stupid and you could have died

•Would get annoyed a bit from having to grab your shirt and pull you back from things on multiple occasions

•But at the end of the day she still cared a lot about you and would always look out for you

•She holds your hand tightly when walking in crowded places or crossing roads

•She would try and teach or tutor you just to get your smarts up as to not put you into as many dangerous situations

•It worked sometimes, as before you would do something you would remember what you and Wendy went over

•This worked a handful of times and stopped you from eating, drinking or touching something that could have real hurt or killed you

•You make sure to let Wendy know how much you appreciate her caring and looking out for you :)

Ramona Flowers

•She was impressed the first few times she saw you dodge death

•As you guys continued going out, she realized it wasn’t anything skillful or talent that allowed you to get out of so many dangerous situations, just pure luck and coincidence

•She would laugh at some of your stupid comments, even after she realized you were not just joking

•Still, Ramona worried about you

•Would stick up for you in certain situations or keep a close eye on you every time you guys did something that was considered risky

•If you had to fight her ex’s, she would worry about how you might not realize how serious the situation was and get yourself killed, but you always pulled through

•Eventually, Ramona sat down a few times with you and had a few conversations about how you need to be more careful

•Keeping that in mind, you would start thinking things through before you acted, remembering Ramona’s words

•But even then, you still continued your streak of surviving danger

•She will ask every now and then about past experiences that involved you and your near death experiences before you met her

•Some of them were funny and she laughed, but others were just really concerning

•At the end of the day she is still happy that you are here and with her

Kim Pine

•Rolled her eyes at you the first couple times

•called you stupid or a few other names after

•Soon grew extremely concerned

•Kim was concerned as to why you would put yourself in so much danger, but soon she realized that you did not even know why

•Keeps you close by and always keeps an eye on you

•If you are not in Sex Bob-Omb, she is always looking for you in the crowd during breaks in there performance, keeping an eye on you

•If you are a part of the band she still keeps an eye on you making sure you do not do anything stupid on stage

•You have a tendency of doing cool things on stage (even if you do not really know what you are doing), but some do end up putting you in danger, like the first few times you almost fell off the stage

•She will laugh at some of the stupid things you say and do, but will also make sure you know when it is just too much

•She does not usually admit it, but you do scare her sometimes, she wonders if some day she will meet up with you, but your luck of avoiding death would have run out

•She has gotten mad a few times because of how dumb some things you have done are, she says it should be common sense to everyone not to do that

•Kim of course cares about you, and if you do ever end up getting hurt she is always there to help you out, even if her mood is sour

•She realizes you like her drum playing, so sometimes she will play for you just to entrance you so you do not get the chance to do anything stupid, dangerous, or risky

•If somethings around that she believes may put you in danger, she will try to distract you to keep you away from it, it always works

•She knows you are very capable of everything, but she can not help and wonder how you even manage to accomplish basic things without getting yourself killed

•Every time she sees you, she is glad that you are alive and well

•Even if you are not the brightest, she still is very happy to have you as her boyfriend

Knives Chau

•The first time Knives saw you escape death right in front of her, she thought you were super cool, She fan-girled over you and how cool it was that you did that completely unfazed

•The next few times, concern bubbles up in her, and she begins to ask you questions of “are you hurt?” and “woah how did you do that? are you sure you are ok?”

•Even if you answered Knives questions saying you were fine, she would still be concerned about your state and stick by you till she was sure you were alright

•One can only take seeing a loved one in danger so many times, she decided to ask you why you do so many risky and close to death stunts

•When you answered by “what do you mean?” she realized that maybe you did not have a clue about how dangerous your life can be

•If you go to the same school as her, she would have seen you and any of your friends pulling off stupid stunts, but she just assumed you were boys being boys

•But after a while she would catch on that you just did not have a ton of common sense compared to most people

•She still loved you the same, but would make sure to tell you when you guys would face something risky

•If you ever got made fun of for being a bit dumb, she would make sure to stick up for you

•Knives sticks by you making sure no one makes fun of you and keeps you safe

•She is so happy that you are her boyfriend, she swears she will always be there to save you from trouble

•You really are lucky, as now besides your large amount of luck you have knives to keep you safe

•She is also very willing to tutor you on anything you need help with, or explain how something works, or why it could kill you

•Does not usually get mad at you, just makes sure you always know what you are getting yourself into

•Even if you get yourself into risky situations, Knives loves the adrenaline rush she gets when she is with you sometimes

•You guys are really great together and have tons of fun memories

•She could not ask for a better guy

#south park x male reader #south park #wendy testaburger #wendy testaburger x reader #wendy testaburger x male reader #scott pilgrim vs the world #ramona flowers #Ramona flowers x male reader #kim pine #kim pine x male reader #knives chau #knives chau x male reader

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hide-in-imagination · 14 days

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"Roads That Cross... with a Phone Call"

You can read the previous chapters here: (1),(2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18), (19), (20), (21), (22), (23), (24), (25), (26), (27), (28), (29), (30)

I only needed a solar eclipse to update! Yay!

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The next day, Simón left two more marks on Ámbar’s chest.

It was during lunchtime, which was rare because, usually, after a night like that, they didn’t need to satiate any more urges so soon after. But the pause in activity had been felt by both of them, and now that they could do it again, they didn’t seem to want to wait at all.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” Ámbar breathed between kisses and hurried hands, yanking off his clothes with the same urgency as her tone of voice. “I can’t concentrate on anything.”

Simón groaned and held her against his body, and then he gave her what she wanted and fucked her into the mattress.

There was something so satisfying about reducing such a strong force of nature like Ámbar into a gasping, whining mess with just a few bucks of his hips. She always had a witty comeback at the ready, an ironic comment aimed at whoever talked to her, but when she was like this, with him, she felt so much that Simón could leave her speaking in tongues.

It filled him with pride. It incited him to give more.

After, when they were dressing back up to grab something to eat (Simón shouldn’t have unraveled her for as long as he did, now they’d have to eat fast if they didn’t want to go over their lunch hour, but he’d missed this) Ámbar saw the new hickeys on her breasts and laughed, saying she didn’t know he had this side of him.

Honestly, Simón didn’t know either. It took seeing Ámbar wearing nothing but his shirt for him to realize just how much he liked it, and he couldn’t deny the surge of primal satisfaction upon seeing the marks on Ámbar’s breasts and neck. It looked sexy. She looked his.

Luckily, Ámbar said she didn’t mind, as long as they were few and nowhere visible, and as long as he allowed her to mark him too. Simón had no issue with that. In fact, part of him wanted her to leave the most obvious love bite on his neck and then have her show her own ones too just so he could flaunt them in front of Benicio like— See? We’re very happy together, stop being a pest.

But that would be petty of him, and he would feel bad using Ámbar like that, as if she were an object he wanted to show off. He felt a little disgusting just for thinking about it, so Simón pushed the urge down, down, down, until he could barely feel it at all. Besides, his imagination-self was way more shameless than he actually was. If Simón really walked around with a hickey on his neck, he’d die of embarrassment.

There was nothing to prove anyway. Benicio could’ve been bluffing when he spoke about that spot on Ámbar’s neck—A lucky guess. But even if he wasn’t, it didn’t matter. Ámbar chose Simón. Perhaps they’d been seeing each other less than usual the past few days, but every morning without fail they had breakfast together, and when the time came for Simón to leave, instead of saying goodbye, they always said: ‘I love you.’

“Have a nice day, I love you.”

“See you later, I love you.”

“I’m running late, gotta go, love you.”

I love you, I love you, I love you. That was the one thing important.

Throughout the next few days, they saw each other a little more actually, which came as a pleasant surprise to Simón. A couple of official, Manager things required Ámbar’s presence in the Roller, starting with the arrival of the new hires Ámbar had been requesting from Vidia for a while. They were three part-timers who would be taking over the weekends from now on so that Pedro, Eric, and Simón himself, could rest: two girls who would be in charge of the cafeteria, Cata (or Cat for short) and Rae, and one guy who would be the rink assistant and in charge of the lockers, called Alex.

Ámbar introduced them all personally on their first day of training. She told the girls and Alex that Eric, Pedro, and Simón would be in charge of showing them the ropes around the Roller, while she also managed to, somehow, slip into conversation, twice, that both Simón and Pedro were in a committed relationship. Very much taken. Not single.

She said it all with a smile and it was very smooth, but Simón still had a hard time refraining from laughing. Personally, he didn’t think it was necessary to point that out considering they would only be training the girls for a couple of days and then they’d never see them again unless they visited the Roller in their free time, but Ámbar apparently still felt the need to draw that line in the sand.

To be honest, it made Simón feel pretty good. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one with a bit of a territorial streak in the relationship.

The second reason Ámbar started visiting the Roller more was to personally supervise the last few arrangements for the Day of the Dead party. There were some led light signs that needed to be installed on the walls, spotlights for the ceiling and stuff like that, so Ámbar had to be there to give directions to the handymen responsible for it. Some decorations had to be done by hand too, and while Ámbar could make some of them at home, oftentimes it was more practical to just do them at the Roller.

Simón was happy to see Ámbar more, no matter how briefly. When she first started working on the decorations, he offered to help, but she told him to just worry about his own work, that she got it covered. Simón still helped her bring a table to the rink, one wide enough for her to put all of the materials on top of it and work on her crafts comfortably, and also carried any bags she needed to move from one place to another— There was no way he’d let her do all of that herself when he had a good pair of arms.

On a good day, they walked back home after work together like they used to, Ámbar’s hand in his, her snuggling up to his side to fend off the cold.

“How do you think the new guys have been adapting to the Roller?” Ámbar asked him conversationally, turning to look at him. “I mean, I asked them, obviously, they said they were fine, but with me being the manager maybe they don’t feel as comfortable talking to me as they do with you.”

Simón smiled. People could say whatever they wanted about Ámbar, but she was actually thoughtful, and ever since she’d become manager of the Roller, she’d been doing a great job at it. He would already put her leaguesover La Generala.

“They’ve been doing great,” he replied. “Alex is amazing at rollerskating, which is very lucky because that was the only thing Eric couldn’t teach him.” The two laughed at that. “The rest, he’d been picking it up nicely. Same thing with the girls. They both had experience working at places like this before, so it’s been easy for them to get the hand of making the beverages and working the register…”

“Oh that’s right, didn’t they both work at a coffee shop before this?” It must have been on their resumes, or maybe Ámbar talked about it with them when they met, before she introduced them to everyone. “Not like the same coffee shop but, you know.”

“Yeah.” Rae and Cat had told him that too. “Actually, I think they bonded over that and they’re starting to become friends.”

“That’s good.” Ámbar smiled. She looked to the side. “As long as they don’t get too distracted and do their job, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Simón laughed. Yeah, the boss position fit her well. Maybe she wouldn’t work at the Roller forever, but he could totally see her leading, with good ideas and consideration. “You know, I actually worked at a coffee shop too,” he mentioned.

Her eyes focused on him with a curious glint. “Really?”

“Yeah, back when I was sixteen. Then I started at Foodger Wheels when I turned 17. Then when Luna turned 16, she joined me at Foodger Wheels, and, well, you know the rest of the story.”

Ámbar leaned her head back a little, looking at him with slightly wide eyes. “Wow, I didn’t know you worked at Foodger Wheels too,” she said with disbelief. “So, that means that day it could’ve been you delivering my food instead of Luna?”

“Oh.” It was Simón’s turn to be surprised. “I had never thought of that— You’re right.” He huffed out a laugh. “How crazy.” He looked to the city in front of him, imagining how that could’ve been. “Do you think anything would’ve turned out different if it had been me instead of Luna?” He asked Ámbar.

“Well, maybe it would’ve helped to get me into your good graces if you hadn’t first known me as the girl who threw your best friend into the pool,” she said.

Simón burst out a laugh. “Oh my god, I had forgotten about that.” It seemed like a lifetime ago.

His gaze centered on Ámbar and his heart melted at how far they’d come since then. He brought their joined hands over her head and wrapped his arm around her in a fluid movement they had done dozens of times.

“Maybe I would’ve fallen irrevocably in love with you at first sight and never even questioned my friendship with Luna,” he told her, smiling down at her.

Ámbar’s lips ticked in that way that meant she was holding back from smiling. “I mean, I am that pretty,” she agreed, making him laugh and place a kiss on her temple. Ámbar’s giggle finally broke free after that. “But I think just knowing I had a boyfriend you would’ve forgotten about me,” she said. “Too much of a mess. I can’t see you wanting to get in the middle of that.”

Right, back then Ámbar and Matteo had been dating for a while. They were the ‘it couple’ of the Roller. If Simón had fallen for Ámbar back then, he surely would’ve had a very bad time, kind of like Luna did when she was falling for Matteo.

It certainly wasn’t a position he would’ve liked to be in. But Ámbar was wrong in thinking he could’ve just forgotten about her so easily. Simón hadn’t been able to do that ever since last year, ever since he first started falling in love with her. He couldn’t imagine how he’d manage to do so.

“Honestly, I’m glad you didn’t fall for me back then,” Ámbar said, looking to the front. “I would have not treated you right.”

She tried to make it sound funny but he could catch the self-deprecating edge in her voice. Her gaze lowered to her feet. “Well.” Her voice turned shyer. “Even now I’m not sure if I’m doing so great.”

Gently, Simón brought them to a stop. “Hey.” He squeezed her softly against his side, and when she turned to face him, he smiled at her lovingly. “You make me very happy. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Ámbar looked between his eyes and then her mouth curled into a smile, just as loving. “I love you.”

Simón gave her a short kiss. “I love you too.”

That was the one thing that mattered.

*********************

Another day, another 300 decorations Ámbar had to do.

She left the house that morning with Simón, choosing to work in the Roller that day. She had a box of unfinished flower garlands in her room, but she had many masks and posters at the Roller that she had started to paint and she wanted to finish those first, before anything happened to them and the paint smeared and she had to do them all over again.

If anyone had told her a year ago that she’d be doing all this craftmanship, ever, Ámbar would have either laughed very loudly or asked what millionaire sum they were paying her because there was no way she would do that otherwise.

As it turned out, some people were worth more than any sum of money, and Ámbar would personally paint hundreds of skull decorations if it meant making Simón happy. In fact, it wasn’t so bad. The artistry was rather relaxing if she just focused on the task at hand and didn’t think about how many other little trinkets she had to finish before the big day.

Maybe she would have to ask for help after all. Especially considering these were all decorations for a tradition she had never celebrated, meaning she wasn’t even sure if she was doing them correctly.

In a moment of distraction, she accidentally bumped one of the paint bottles with her arm, tipping it over and causing its contents to start dripping over the table.

“Shit.”

Ámbar hurried to pick up the bottle and place it straight on the table again. She reached for her purse and pulled out the pack of tissues she always carried with her to wipe off the damage. Thankfully, she was quick enough that the paint didn’t spread too much, so the decorations were safe and she didn’t stain the rink either. The same thing couldn’t be said about her fingers though. She hadn’t really thought about that in her hurry to protect all her precious hours of work.

The tissues helped with most of it but she couldn’t get all of the paint off her skin. Ámbar didn’t want to risk staining the decorations with her fingers, so she left the rink and walked toward the dressing room. A make-up remover wipe would definitely do the trick.

It didn’t occur to her to knock because she didn’t expect anyone to be there when she pulled the door open.

She certainly wasn’t expecting to find Delfi and Pedro making out when she did.

The couple sprung apart instantly when they heard her come in and whirled around to find Ámbar at the door. They stood there frozen, their backs to the mirrors and their wide eyes fixed on her as growing embarrassment flooded their features.

Ámbar maintained a poker face, staring back in complete silence.

Her eyes centered on Pedro.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he blabbered hastily.

She arched a brow.

“I mean, it is, but it’s not— I’m— I only took a short break, all the tables already have their food, I’m waiting— Please don’t fire me.”

Pedro, as it seemed, gave up on trying to salvage the situation and just begged.

Ámbar kept her voice and gaze even. “Pedro.”

“Yes.”

“Get back to work.”

The boy nodded energetically. “Yes. Of course, Ámbar. Right away.”

With his head down, Pedro sped out of the room as if his life depended on it. The door closed behind his back and Ámbar and Delfi were left alone. Their eyes found each other, and they kept each other’s gaze for a long second.

Ámbar couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing.

Delfi still looked embarrassed but she started laughing too, catching it from Ámbar, and just like that, all the previous tension totally vanished.

“Oh my god, you should’ve seen your faces—I should’ve taken a picture!” Ámbar rejoiced. It had been priceless. “I see you two totally made up from your fight,” she said to Delfi, giving her a teasing smirk. “As a person, I love it, but as the manager of this place, I need to make sure that kissing is the only thing you two have done in here.”

Delfi blushed furiously. “Of course! Are you insane? I would never do more right here in public!”

Ámbar laughed at her flustered state and raised her hands placatingly. “Okay, okay, it was just a question.” She let her hands drop. Her smile turned more genuine. “Good for you though. You both seem happy.”

Delfi smiled with that distinctive softness pertaining to being in love. “We are. Very much.” Then, either for the sake of being polite or maybe to draw attention elsewhere, she brought the topic around to Ámbar. “How about you? How are things going with Simón?”

Well, we don’t secretly make out at the Roller, but we do much worse at the mansion when no one’s around. Or should I say better?

“Mmm, you know how couples sometimes watch TV shows together?” Ámbar said instead of that— Too much information. Delfi nodded. “Well, my boyfriend is making me watch all Marvel movies in chronological order,” she shared flatly. There truly was a lot of time for leisure when one got their period— Who would’ve thought?

“Hey, at least those are entertaining,” Delfi said. “My cinema teachers at my university make us watch 3-hour-long, black-and-white films in which nothing happens— And they swoon like it’s the best thing ever!” She complained with disbelief.

Ámbar grimaced. “That sounds awful.”

“It is. How I wish I could be staring at Chris Evans’ back instead.”

“Oh yeah, nice view,” Ámbar had to agree. “He’s not my favorite though— Too goody-goody.”

“Says the girl that’s dating Simón.”

Ámbar gave her a dry look.

“Is it Thor then?” Delfi asked curiously. “Chris Hemsworth is hot too. Or Antman. He’s dorky; maybe it reminds you of Simón.”

“Why does it have to be like Simón?” Ámbar protested, and kept talking before Delfi could make another joke at her expense. “For your information, my favorite’s Iron Man. He gets so much shit for being— What? Proud? He’s the smartest man alive and a multimillionaire— He has reasons to be proud. If I were him, I wouldn’t even help those idiots; fend for yourselves.”

“It’s cute the mentor-like relationship he has with Spiderman though,” Delfi said, and immediately started breaking down. “Oh my god, when I watched Infinity War, you have no idea how much I—”

“Ssshh! Don’t tell me, we haven’t gotten to that one yet,” Ámbar stopped her, raising her hands.

Delfi’s brows ticked up. A teasing smile formed on her lips. “Ah, so you do like them.”

Ámbar shrugged and focused her attention on pulling some nonexistent lint out from her sweater. “I like that Simón likes them.”

When she looked up, Delfi’s smile had grown into a shit-eating grin.

Feeling a surge of embarrassment, Ámbar straightened her back and hid it behind a scoff.

“Why am I still talking to you?” She moved toward the mirrors. “I came here to do something much more important, and I have plenty more important things to do. If you’ll excuse me.”

Ámbar sat in front of one of the mirrors and rummaged through the drawers until she found a package of makeup remover wipes.

As she pulled one out, she caught Delfi’s reflection on her peripheral vision, staring at her. “You know, you really are different now,” she commented.

Ámbar glanced at her through the mirror before refocusing on wiping her hands. “Is that bad?”

“No,” Delfi said light-heartedly. “I like this Ámbar better. Less bossy and easier to tease.”

Ámbar sent her a look, but the small curl to her lips betrayed she wasn’t entirely mad at this playful dynamic. It felt nice to just have some unserious conversation with someone once in a while— other than her boyfriend, obviously.

She had just finished cleaning her fingers when Delfi spoke once more.

“Jazmín told me you apologized to her the other day.”

Ámbar tried not to show her disappointment at losing the levity of the conversation so quickly. Peaceful moments never lasted very long for her. It seemed like something always had to remind her of her old transgressions (or her current ones, which she refused to think about.)

She dropped the used wipe into the trashcan next to her and replied with tranquility. “It was the right thing to do.”

She could’ve left it at that, but given the opportunity, Ámbar turned around in the chair to look at Delfi directly. “But I’m not expecting you two to go back to being my minions or anything, don’t worry,” she clarified. “I’m just slowly, little by little, tying up loose ends.” It was all she could do.

She couldn’t go back in time and change the things she did. All she could do was apologize, and be better in the future. Before, her concept of ‘better’ only meant succeeding in all aspects of her life, no matter the cost. Now, she understood all the damage she had inflicted, onto others and herself, for thinking that way.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t like to be your minion again,” Delfi said, with clear disdain forthat idea. No one would want to be in that position, Ámbar thought with some guilt.

A playful expression showed up on Delfi’s face. “But maaaybe I could be your friend.”

Ámbar had to do a double-take. She stared at Delfi, trying to discern if she was only making a joke, but she looked sincere. Something warm and bright fluttered weakly in Ámbar’s chest— Hope.

“Really?”

Delfi showed her a small smile. “I think you’ve really changed. And, if we ignore all the awful things, we did have some very good moments throughout all those years of friendship. Plus,” she added with that playful lilt again, “I’ve noticed that the only people you talk to lately are either Simón, Ramiro, or the rest of the guys that live at your house— I think you’re in desperate need of a girl view.”

The fluttering was no longer a tentative thing but the mighty upward flight of a bird through the sky. A smile grew on Ámbar’s lips and she rose from her chair, hesitating only for a moment before going for a hug, and to her utter relief, Delfi hugged her back, just like in the old days, but better.

“Thank you,” Ámbar told her over her shoulder, eyes closed to capture this moment, this proof that not all her bridges were burned.

She could hear Delfi’s smile in her voice as she answered. “You’re welcome, girl.”

****************

The raucous of many voices talking and laughing all at the same time permeated the locker room as the Roller Team tied up their rollerskates for another training session.

There weren’t enough benches in the place, so everyone took turns to put their skates on. Simón had been the first one to enter the lockers, so he gave his spot over to Jim and was then the first to slide out.

He was excited about rollerskating, of course, but the truth was that his main motivation to arrive before everyone else was the dazzling blonde standing on one corner of the rink, surrounded by an assortment of flowers and skull decorations in different colors, almost as vibrant as her, but not quite.

Ámbar heard him roll near, so she spun on her feet, and a smile blossomed on her lips when she saw it was him. Simón felt his heart do a happy dance and thought of how lucky he was to have her, not for the first time. Having the person you love love you back had to be the most magical thing anyone could ever experience. Having said person also throw a party for you just to gift you a little piece of home had to be a bonus not many received, and one Simón was incredibly grateful for.

Sure, their relationship wasn’t perfect— not by a long shot. There were a lot of things that worried him. Things he wished that could be better. But in the quiet moments, Simón was simply in awe of just how in love he was with this girl.

“You’re kidding,” Ámbar said with a happy sparkle in her eyes. “I was just about to call you, how did you know?”

If he hadn’t been already, that would’ve made Simón smile. “I don’t know, I guess we’re connected.” At least I’d like to think we are.

He pointed down to his skates. “Also, it’s time for our training session.”

Ámbar’s eyes widened. “Oh, is it that time already?” She checked her phone and, upon confirming this, pocketed it quickly. “Sorry, time flew by. Before I go, real quick— I changed my mind.” She looked at him with a slightly chagrined expression. “Could you help me with all of this? I’m sure you know a hell lot more than I do and—” The rest of the guys started filling the rink right that second. Ámbar looked behind Simón and called out to them. “Please stay clear of this corner!” She gestured to her table. “I’m working on all this stuff and I wouldn’t want them to tear or anything.”

His friends made different sounds of agreement. Simón turned to face Ámbar again. “Sure, I’ll help you with the decorations, no problem.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m just kinda lost with all these skeletons and things.”

“Well, you don’t have to fret anymore because the bestMexican boyfriend in the world has at least a million ideas for you,” Simón declared playfully.

Ámbar’s brows ticked up with interest. “Really? A million ideas? Well, I sure have to find him now and get him to help me. You know where I can find him?”

Simón placed one hand on the table behind her and leaned in closer, answering her little smirk with one of his own. “Well…”

Juliana clapped her hands loudly from the middle of the rink. “Alright, alright! Time for practice!”

“Yeah, let each other breathe for a moment, you guys!” Matteo yelled at them.

Simón pulled away from Ámbar and looked at the other boy. “Envy is bad for you, Matteo!”

The rest of his friends started to tease Matteo. Simón turned back to his girlfriend with a smile. “See you at the mansion?”

Ámbar nodded. Simón gave her one quick peck before skating away to join his team with the initial warmups. He watched from afar as Ámbar walked away from the rink.

Simón wished she didn’t have to. He missed having Ámbar as his skating partner, the days when she was on the team and they were all friends. He knew that a lot had happened, and Ámbar had only stopped being a Red Shark some time ago, so it wasn’t as easy as just inviting her back, but he wished he could. He didn’t know how everyone would react if he did though. He’d like to believe they wouldn’t be completely opposed to it, but that wasn’t the same as liking the idea, and Simón would hate himself if he put Ámbar through an uncomfortable situation like that. He didn’t want there to be a them with her just existingon the sidelines. (Although he understood that it was her who first created that divide.)

In summary, he just had to be patient, as with all things Ámbar-related.

That was fine by him. After all, he was convinced that she was worth it.

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

Hours later, after everyone had already had dinner and the oldest went to sleep, Simón found himself with the guys in the storage room. They’d been showing Matteo some new songs they had created for the Roller Band, and he even helped them finish some of them, coming up with some brilliant ideas that made Simón and Pedro’s eyes sparkle and their hands play the instruments more enthusiastically.

(Simón refrained, once again, from just asking him if he wanted to be part of the band. While he would love that, Matteo had his solo career dreams, and that was totally okay— Simón wouldn’t want him to accept just out of a sense of comradery for them, or pity, and then regret it later.)

Now, after all of that, it had gotten late (and Simón had some arms to return to), so Pedro had risen from his seat behind the drums, and Matteo and Simón were putting their guitars away, disconnecting cables, and all that stuff.

It was just the usual until Matteo made a joke about how “If you wanted to, you guys could be a Christian Rock duo and call yourselves ‘The Apostles’, what with those names you’ve got” and Simón rolled his eyes.

He was about to point out how ‘Matteo’ was also an apostle’s name when Pedro jolted suddenly and grabbed Matteo’s shoulder.

“There! Did you see that? I told you!” Pedro exclaimed, amused, and pointing at Simón for some reason.

Matteo let out a laugh, joining Pedro’s amusement. “Oh my god, you were right!”

Simón looked at them a little self-consciously. “What? What is it?”

Pedro looked at him with a teasing smile. “Ámbar’s rubbing off on you, man. You roll your eyes just like her now.”

Simón wrinkled his brows, bemused.

“Doesn’t everyone roll their eyes sometimes?”

“Not like that they don’t,” Matteo countered. He pointed at him. “That is a registered trademark of Ámbar Smith.”

Even though they were making fun of him, the notion made Simón feel all warm inside.

A little laugh escaped his lips. “Well, maybe. I mean, we spend a lot of time together.”

“We know,” Pedro said dryly.

“Yeah, you smell like flowers now, dude,” Matteo said, “I think everyone knows.”

“Actually, I’m surprised Luna’s dad hasn’t told you anything yet,” Pedro said.

“I think he’s pretending not to notice for the sake of his mental health,” Matteo theorized.

Simón frowned a little. He knew he was bound to smell a little like Ámbar when they started sharing bathroom products, but he didn’t think it was that noticeable— He still used his own deodorant and wore cologne some days. He tried bringing his arm up to his nose to see if he could catch a whiff of ‘flowers’, as his friends said, on his skin, but of course, it being his own body, he couldn’t really smell anything because his nose was used to it.

“Maybe I should start using my own products,” Simón thought out loud. He liked knowing he smelled a little like Ámbar (it felt like they were married, which was silly and insane, of course, therefore that thought only lived in the most profound level of his subconscious) but maybe parading around that they shared the same shower when he was supposed to have his own room wasn’t the best idea.

“I mean, considering whatever Ámbar uses is probably more expensive than what you earn in a whole week, yeah, maybe,” Matteo said.

Oh. He… hadn’t thought about that.

“Anyway, we were talking about your new music career,” Matteo continued. “Should I help you two replace all mentions of ‘girls’ in your songs with ‘Jesus’?”

Simón and Pedro laughed out loud.

“Absolutely not.”

*************************

Ámbar was about to change into her pajamas and get into bed when she realized she couldn’t find her Scotch tape anywhere.

It wasn’t like it was a terrible thing. She could easily buy another one. But she liked to be organized, so she decided to go downstairs and check the living room in case she’d dropped it when she was working on the decorations earlier. If it wasn’t there, then she’d consider it lost and buy another one, because she was sure she still had it at the Roller.

Ámbar walked through the hallways and down the stairs trying to make as little noise as possible in case someone was already sleeping. The lights were off in the living room, but there was enough light coming from the garden lighting outside that it wasn’t hard to see. It wasn’t enough to find a tiny clear tape on the carpet though, so Ámbar turned on a table lamp, and when that wasn’t enough, pulled out her phone and used its flashlight as well.

Finally, she found the little roll of tape underneath the sofa. She must have kicked it under there by mistake earlier. She put it in her pants pocket, and she had just turned off the flashlight on her phone when the device started ringing, startling her a little.

It was the loud sound against the otherwise silent house, the lightning panic of ‘shoot, I’m going to wake up someone’ that reflectively crossed her mind. She would’ve gotten over it as quickly as it happened if it had been any other number calling her on the phone. But as she read the caller’s ID, Ámbar’s nervousness didn’t settle down— It was heightened.

‘Vanessa’

Maybe it was the suddenness of it— That she took her by surprise. Maybe it was her brain urging her to quiet the noise as soon as possible. Maybe it was the mix of curiosity and worry at having her godmother call her at this hour. Maybe, under different circumstances, Ámbar would’ve thought about it twice before answering the call.

But the fact of the matter was, she did.

“Hello?”

“Ámbar.” Sharon’s voice came through with its usual mix of impassiveness and undercurrent firmness. “I hope you’ve gotten over your little tantrum because I need your help. It’s important.”

The ball of anxiety grew in Ámbar’s chest, along with confusion. “My help? With what?”

“I need to get inside the mansion,” Sharon said without preamble. “I can take care of the guards at the entrance, but I need you to make sure that no one crosses my path while I go in and out of my room. I’ll go at night, when it’s less likely someone will see me.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Get inside the mansion— Are you insane?” Her voice almost rose for a moment and Ámbar had to remind herself to keep speaking quietly. If anyone heard her, it would be incredibly bad— But what her godmother was saying was even worse. “Wasn’t it enough with last time?” She demanded with outrage. “I thought you had understood that it’s not a good idea— You’re going to get caught.”

“Not if I have a good lookout, which is why I need you. You’re the only one I can trust, Ámbar.”

Ámbar shook her head. That was always Sharon’s technique— Try and pull at Ámbar’s heartstrings when she needed something from her. But Ámbar had done this dance too many times. She knew how it ended.

“No,” she replied, firmly. “I am not going to help you. Why are you even asking me? Ask Rey or Maggie—they are your little toy soldiers, don’t pull me into your crazy ideas.” I have too much to lose.

The mild softness in Sharon’s voice vanished as fast as it had appeared. “Rey got me the key for the chest four days ago, but since then, he’s been reluctant to cooperate with me and I can’t enter the house without help from the inside, it’s too risky,” she explained with evident frustration. “It must be Maggie’s influence, no doubt. That woman only causes trouble.”

Good job, Maggie, Ámbar thought with some relief.

“Or maybe Rey doesn’t want to help you because he knows as well as I do that this is a bad idea,” she emphasized. “What even is in that chest that you want it so much?”

“That’s none of your business,” Sharon retorted immediately. “Just help me get inside to retrieve what’s mine and I promise that I won’t step on that house again. Not until I have gotten rid of those pests who took it from me in the first place, of course,” she added.

Ámbar closed her eyes. How could she not see? No one took anything from her— She was the one who alienated herself from her family for trying to hide the truth. Was accepting the reality that Luna was the heir to the Benson fortune so impossible for her that she was willing to destroy everything in order to avoid it? Destroy herself?

“You need to stop this, godmother.” Ámbar tried to infuse strength into her words but her emotions filtered in, making it sound like begging. “What you’re doing is wrong. Not only is it wrong, it’s dangerous— I’m worried that something might happen to you. Please stop this before it’s too late.”

“If it really worried you that much, you would help me,” Sharon said. “The sooner I get what I want, the sooner all of this will be over— You know that, Ámbar.”

“The Valente don’t deserve this,” Ámbar said. “They’re good people. And if you don’t want to think about them, think about Grandpa— He is your father. He almost had a heart attack the last time something happened, imagine if something terrible happened to him— Would you really be able to live with that?”

“My father made his own decisions, including siding with those newcomers who took everything from us, so whatever happens to him will be exclusively his responsibility.”

Ámbar shook her head in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.” Was she really that far gone? Did she not care about anything?

Am I wasting my time? Ámbar thought with sudden, terrifying despair. Is there no way to fix this?

“I’m very serious,” Sharon declared. “So think very carefully if you want to keep siding with that family.”

Ámbar swallowed a groan of frustration. “You don’t understand, it’s not about sides. I just want—”

The sound of footsteps coming from behind her made Ámbar’s heart jump to her throat.

Rapidly, she hung up and turned around, trying to not seem too suspicious.

The fist in her chest tightened when she saw it was Simón who had come in through the kitchen door— out of all possible people— and, judging by the curious look he was casting her way, he had definitely caught her talking on the phone.

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

“I thought you’d be in bed,” he said. “Why did you hang up so fast? Who was it?”

Ámbar tried to think through the buzz of panic in her head. “Yeah, um, I forgot something down here so I came to find it,” she said. Her mouth felt dry. “I did, so, it’s all good.”

Simón made a noise of understanding but the wrinkle between his brows remained. “And the call?”

“No one,” Ámbar responded instinctively. Fuck, she was so stupid— of course it couldn’t be no one! “I mean, no one as in nothing important, don’t mind it,” she tried to dismiss it.

Simón let out a laugh. “If you really told me you were talking to no one, I would be worried that you’ve been stuck inside this house so long it has started to affect you and you hear voices now,” he joked.

Ámbar forced a weak laugh out of her in response. “Yeah, no, it was… Emilia,” she came up with. “She was just calling to annoy me, so I cut her off. But it was nothing, really.”

The amusement left Simón’s expression and he became serious. “Do you want me to talk to her?” He offered. “I’ll talk to her,” he decided before she could speak. “It’s not fair that she’s harassing you after they kicked you off the team. What does she think she’s doing?”

Ámbar’s eyes widened slightly. “Nonono, leave it, really, I can handle her,” she assured him, trying to seem as unbothered as possible while fear gripped her senses. “It’s not like it bothers me anyway, it’s her time she’s wasting, not mine.”

“You sure?”

Ámbar nodded immediately, eager to put the topic to rest. Simón, too good to just let it go, walked toward her with a slightly saddened expression and held her hands in his. “We shouldn’t have even invited her to sing with us at the Roller Jam,” he said with some bite. “I know why you suggested it, but if she’s still bothering you even after you tried to do something nice for her, then she’s not worth it.”

He was so aggrieved for her sake and it only made Ámbar feel worse. He only wanted her to be treated fairly, kindly— He wanted to defend her from what could bring her harm. And in the meantime, what was she doing? Sinking in a sea of lies and drowning others with her in order to maintain them.

I’m the harm and he doesn’t know it.

“I just thought it was fair. And who knows? Maybe she just needs time,” she attempted to defend Emilia in order to salvage her conscience. “But whatever— I don’t have time to think about Emilia or anything of the sort, it really doesn’t matter,” she said fast and dismissively. She squeezed his hands and smiled. “Let’s just go upstairs, okay?”

Ámbar turned off the lamp and they went up to her room hand in hand. The darkness gave her an excuse to not look him in the face.

The warmth of Simón’s hand felt suffocating against her own, as if it burned her skin— holy water on the worst sinner. Ámbar felt disgusting. She didn’t deserve this hand.

But she was not going to let it go. She held it tighter. She held him tighter.

She was not letting Simón go.

Ever.

******************

The next morning, Ámbar woke up before him, as she usually did, but Simón convinced her to stay in bed and sleep some more. They’d had a long night last night (Ámbar had been inspired, running her hands and mouth all over his body, and he had no desire to say no) but more than that, she’d been visibly tired lately with all the preparations for the Roller Jam, and she deserved the rest.

“It won’t kill you to sleep in one day; take the morning off.”

His stubborn girl was still sitting up and rubbing at her eyes, trying to wake up even though she was clearly exhausted. “I can’t do that, I’m supposed to be working.”

“I won’t tell Vidia if you won’t.”

Ámbar gave him a disapproving look and pouted, and she looked absolutely adorable with her disheveled hair and sleepy eyes.

Simón kissed her pout. “Seriously, just sleep two more hours, it’ll be okay.”

Ámbar closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the pillow. “Mmm, but I like having breakfast with you,” she murmured.

Simón smiled and tucked some hair away from her face. “Me too. So, sleep so that we can do that tomorrow.”

Ámbar hummed again and snuggled under the covers. There might have been an ‘okay’ there somewhere but it was too muffled and sleepy to tell.

Simón leaned down to drop a kiss on the top of her head before getting up. “I love you.”

“Luv u,” Ámbar mumbled, and by the time Simón walked out of the room, she was out like a light.

The rest of Simón’s morning went on as normal, with him walking to the Roller with Pedro, starting his workday, and supervising the new part-timers while they learned the ropes in the cafeteria.

The first few days of this last activity had felt like double work for Simón and Pedro because they had to train the new girls in addition to keeping up with all their usual duties, so it was a lot. Alex, the new rink assistant, had been easier: He already had rollerskating experience, so all they had to do was show him how the rental system in the lockers worked and teach him about safety precautions in the rink and what to do in case of any accidents— stuff like that. Eric, being the full-time rink assistant, took over most of his training, so Simón and Pedro only had to worry about the cafeteria.

‘Only’ was an understatement, of course— It was the hardest part. But by now, Cata and Rae had gotten a pretty good hang of things— Simón hadn’t lied when he said to Ámbar that they learned things quickly— so he felt way more at ease. Actually, he hadn’t felt this relaxed while working since the days when Nico was still with them. Four people worked better than two, after all. He would miss the girls once they started working on their own on the weekends, and he was sure Pedro shared the sentiment, but in exchange for that, they’d finally get to have their weekends free like the rest of the world, so really, they couldn’t complain.

He brought two hamburgers over to table 4 and then there was a small lull in activity as all the customers enjoyed their food and joyful conversation. Simón took the opportunity to go to the lockers and see how Eric and Alex were doing. Just as a friendly visit, mostly, but if he was being honest, he did have another agenda.

He’d been thinking for the past few days how great it’d be if Alex happened to play an instrument and wanted to join the Roller Band. Simón didn’t want to get his hopes up, but they could finally be a band again! Alex seemed like a very nice guy from the interactions Simón’d had with him until now, and Eric felt comfortable around him, which said a lot because he was usually nervous around new people, so really, what was there to lose in asking?

Unfortunately, when the three of them got talking and Simón subtly brought the topic up, he came to find out that, while Alex loved music, he had absolutely no ability for it.

Simón hid the disappointment he felt. Of course finding a new member wasn’t going to be that easy. Looking at it objectively, it would have been an unbelievable stroke of luck if Alex turned out to be the solution to all their problems. Not because Simón got to the Roller and was a perfect fit for the band meant that everyone who arrived would be as well.

Maybe Eric could join if he weren’t so shy, Simón thought.He’d been great at Nico’s farewell party. But Simón wasn’t going to force him out of his shell just for his own gain.

The idea of the Christian Rock duo was starting to sound appealing.

They were still talking when someone else walked into the room. There was a minimal pause, almost imperceptible, as the three of them glanced to the side to check if it was someone in need of assistance, but it was just Emilia, who walked toward her locker without even looking at them.

Eric and Alex continued talking, but Simón didn’t. He stayed staring at Emilia, feeling a spark of anger flare inside of him as he remembered last night.

He simply couldn’t understand it. Ámbar was breaking her back organizing an event that everyone could enjoy, that she invited Emilia to participate in as an olive branch, and Emilia repaid that good faith by calling Ámbar just to mess with her? How could anyone be so ungrateful?

Simón couldn’t even be sure this was the first time something like this had happened. Ámbar had a tendency of wanting to deal with everything herself— The prime example of that being that she told Simón not to worry about it, that she could handle Emilia— So who knew how long this had been going on.

Emilia put her skates away and walked out of the lockers as quietly as she had come. Simón tightened his fists. Yes, Ámbar could deal with Emilia— Simón had no doubt that she could handle almost anything if she put her mind to it. But it wasn’t fair that this was happening, and Ámbar didn’t have todeal with everything alone— She had him now. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to allow something like this to keep happening without doing anything about it.

Simón said a quick bye to the guys and walked out right after her.

In the hallway, he threw a quick look around in search for Benicio, because wherever Emilia was, Benicio was always close by. Simón found him still at the rink, rollerskating by himself. Good. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with both at the same time.

Emilia was already crossing the front door by the time he brought his gaze back to her. Simón hurried after her, walked out of the Roller too, and stood in her path, causing her to stop.

“I need to speak with you.”

Emilia blinked, both in surprise and confusion. “With me? What, is there another event you want me to sing at?” She joked. “I’m very sorry but you’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow—I gotta get to work.”

She tried to pass by him but Simón blocked her way.

“No, it’s not about that. And you know what? If we had known this is what your response would be, we never would’ve invited you,” he spat her way. “I mean, Ámbar wanted to invite you as a kind gesture, she was trying to put an ending to all the fighting so you could be a part of something nice for once, and this is how you repay her? Calling her up just to annoy her? It isn’t enough for you to be so unfriendly to everyone in their presence, you had to bother her during her free time too?”

Emilia wrinkled her face. “What are you talking about?”

“Last night, when you called Ámbar on her cellphone to harass her,” Simón stated in no uncertain terms.

Emilia’s eyes narrowed in a glare. “I haven’t called your little girlfriend since she sucked face with you. She became a loser by association.”

“Don’t lie, Emilia. Ámbar told me.”

“I’m not lying,” Emilia protested. “Here, you wanna see?” She pulled out her phone and offered it to him. “Check my phone’s call history. You won’t find Ámbar’s name anywhere.”

Simón hesitated for a moment. Something inside him rose in alarm, not allowing him to move. He took the phone and tried to quiet it. Emilia was just pretending to be offended, that was all.

She unlocked the phone right in front of his eyes, which again unnerved him due to the confidence of the gesture, but he carried on. He just had to prove she was lying. He tapped out of Instagram, the last app she’d been using, apparently, and went to the home page to find the Phone app. He went to the call history and started scrolling down.

He checked the names, the dates on the list, checked again.

Nothing. Ámbar’s name was nowhere to be found.

It must have shown on his face, the way his stomach started coiling into knots, because he heard Emilia’s annoyed vindication. “See? I told you. I don’t even remember when was the last time I called Ámbar. It should show up there somewhere. Has it been a month maybe?”

She was just thinking out loud, unpreoccupied now that she’d been proven right. Meanwhile, Simón was struggling to keep his nervous system under control.

It can’t be.

“You could’ve deleted it,” he told her, looking up from the treacherous list on that stupid device.

Emilia, arms crossed in front of her chest, seemed unamused by the accusation. “Yeah, because I see the future and I knew you were going to want to see it,” she said ironically. She rolled her eyes. “Please, Simón, don’t fool yourself. Ámbar lied to you. And, I mean, why are you even surprised? It’s Ámbar. Lying is what she does best.”

No.

It can’t be.

“Look,” Emilia deflated, uncrossing her arms and looking at him with something akin to pity, “from one Mexican to another, I think you should stay away from her. You’re too goody-goody, and Ámbar… well, there’s a reason why we used to be friends.”

A slight tremor was taking over Simón’s limbs. He couldn’t even look at Emilia. He couldn’t look at anyone.

“Now if you excuse me,” she took her phone from his hands, “I’m gonna go.” Emilia took a couple steps before stopping. “And tell your girlfriend that if she wants to do right by me or whatever then she shouldn’t go around sullying my name with false accusations.” She walked away. “See ya, Simón.”

Even after she was long gone, Simón remained unmoving. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his ears.

Ámbar lied to me.

He tried to slow down his breathing, swallow the pulse in his throat, but the pain in his chest didn’t go away.

This couldn’t be. There had to be some explanation. There had to be.

Calm down. He could hardly hear his thoughts through the blaring of his heartbeat. It’s just a phone call. It’s not a big deal. This isn’t like last year. It isn’t—

But if it’s not a big deal, then why did she—?

Simón breathed in and out, hard.

All around him, his world started crumbling down.

…

#simbar #simbar fic #simbar fanfic #soy luna fanfiction #soy luna #My Writing #roads that cross #at long last

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prisonprocess · 1 year

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What’s Best About—Prison?

14.

Mike D. says:

I’m Mike, but everybody called me Mikey. I was always the cute adorable one. The one that the teachers liked, but also the other students, the other frat bros, the other interns, the other new attorneys in the firm. The kinda guy that people call Mikey gets protected by a lot of shiny glass walls. He’s always on the right side of the boss’s smile, the professor’s recommendation, the bartender’s “hey dude!” Not to mention the annual statements on his trust fund. When you’re Mikey, your ride is so easy, you barely feel the road.

Example: I used to sit at my desk in the Bancock Building and look out through my big glass window onto the street. And what did I see? In the summer I saw young professionals like me with their teal shirts clinging to their chests, not really sweaty, just trotting lightly along from Latte Lottie’s to their climate controlled offices. In the winter I saw young professionals like me in their Barmani topcoats and their squeaky new North Nook boots, stomping proudly through the snow to their climate controlled offices. And that’s what I saw. I was surrounded by them; I was living in a world of Mikeys.

The Mikeys never noticed the non-Mikeys, the dudes that slowly mopped up the snow that the Mikeys tracked into the subway, the dudes that wandered into the office in their ugly little workie suits with their ugly names on their chests (“Tony” and “Jose” and “Mike”), the dudes that emptied the trash and fixed the A/C whenever the Mikeys complained that the temperature had reached 72 degrees. But I noticed. The muscles on the Mikeys came from the gym, not from Work. The suits they wore might be expensive, but they wouldn’t keep the cold out. The non-Mikeys were hard and solid. They did the work. They filled their suits. They’d been put in uniform because guys like me needed to know what they were, and avoid them. If the Mikeys crossed a line, they’d be given a Less than Favorable evaluation in the firm. If the non-Mikeys crossed a line, they’d be living in a cellblock, someplace, for the rest of their lives.

The important thing was not to get confused. You’re making half a million a year. Brevard and you have your townhouse in Hoboken. And your three dogs. And your friends who come for meats and treats on the weekend. If you keep being who you are, you’ll be living in the Hamptons and commuting to your office in Washington. You’ll spend time in Geneva. You’ll do interviews. Your friend Matt is already assistant to the undersecretary. He’ll help you to become the same.

So OK, I see the difference. Which did I want to be? The default position was, take another meeting, take another lunch. The challenge was, can I live in a cage?

Finally I decided. It wasn’t hard for me to figure out how to do a crime. The hard part was getting cuffed and pulled out of my office while all the shits who wanted my job were sending up waves of ooh’s and ahh’s. Then there was the jail and the plea and the sentence and the bumpy ride to prison, chained to another shit-ass con. But yeah, that happened.

And now I’m Mick. I’m one a the cons they drag outta the Pen when there’s a big snowfall on the streets in some important place, such as (guess where!) the streets around my former office. They truck us in, and we spend the day slingin snow in our pretty orange striped suits. Just so nobody thinks we’re human, right? It’s somethin the Mikeys slow down to watch. Sometimes the same Mikeys I knew in the office. And yeah, it’s interesting . . . And, I dunno, embarrassing, I guess. They recognize. They point. They laugh. They’re wearin a couple thousand dollars of office clothes, and all I got is 19.95 of convict stripes. They’re the men. I’m the monkey. But I gotta smile on my face.

Note: All stories by prisonprocess are purely fictional and have no relation to real persons of any kind.

#uniform #stripes #transformation #hard labor #labor details

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marleyin · 2 years

Text

III. WHATS YOUR PROBLEM?

S.H. x Hopper! Fem! Reader

[EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE series masterlist]

Here’s the playlist I made for this fic the other day!

As you guys get to Steve’s place, you can see another car parked on the road next to Steve’s house. Praying that it isn’t Tommy or Carol you take in a deep breath. Stepping out the car, the three of you walk over towards the front door.

Ringing the doorbell Steve then opens the door. “Hello ladie- Y/n?” Steve asks in confusion, knowing that he didn’t invite you. “Nancy asked me to be here…” your eyes divert from Steve to Tommy and Carol who were sitting in the living room staring at you. You take a deep breath and look at Nancy. “Nance, you didn’t tell me they were gonna be here?” You say to her, but honestly you should have known that they were gonna be here. “Oh- I thought if I told you they were gonna be here you wouldn’t want to come?” she says turning to you. Putting your hands into the pocket of your jacket you walk backwards. “Hey where are you-” “Walking back home..” You state in a quiet tone. You didn’t live far from here, just a couple minutes walking through the woods and you were home.

As you were walking in the woods you started to feel stupid, you really did. You didn’t want to go, you really didn’t. But there was a force that was compelling you to go to the party, and no it wasn’t Nancy. You think for a while to figure it out but all you could think of was Steve. Stopping in your tracks your eyes widen. It was Steve. After all this time you still did like him, even after that whole joke he played on you. You still liked him like an idiot. And oh how you hated yourself for loving him. Groaning you realize it, ‘why him’ you thought to yourself. You finally get to your front door and use the key to open it since your father was probably passed out on the couch at this point.

Slowly walking to your room you open it and the creak it lets out freaks your father out. “WHOS THERE?” He yells taking his gun out from his side. “Dad it’s me!” You respond yelling, putting your arms up into the air. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t scare me like that, ever again.” Nodding you walk into your room and close the door. Throwing on your pjs and putting on your Walkman you go to bed since your tired and want to get rid of these thoughts.

…

School was awkward the next day, Steve didn’t stop to talk to you and you didn’t hear Carol and Tommy make any comments. But the worst part was that Nancy looked worried. You saw at lunch how she didn’t look at ease, she was sitting with the other three and kept on looking into her lap playing with her hands. She saw you staring and stood up from her seat to talk to you.

‘Shit..’ you thought, straightening your back you place your crossed arms onto the table. “Hey Nance…” She looked way worse than you thought you saw, it was her eyes that showed how worried she was. “Hey y/n, I have a stupid question to ask- but have you seen Barb at all?” She asks sitting in the chair in front of you. “Oh no, I haven’t I’m sorry.” You state your mind drifting to many thoughts. First Will now her? That bald girl had something to do with this, she probably knew something. Nance nods and walks back to her seat; you could see Tommy and Carol glancing at you with bad looks. Steve on the other hand still had that dull look on his face from when you left last night. Sighing you go back to picking with your food until the bell rung.

…

You weren’t going to the game, it would have been a waste of time and plus none of your friends are going- Eddie and Josh were going to be doing who knows what with that band they have so you were going home. Close by you could see Steve and his friends talking to Jonathan. Well, picking on him rather than talking. Walking faster you try to stop Steve from picking on Jonathan.

“Hey!” You yell out to grab their attention. “Leave the kid alone.” Tommy and Carol laugh while Steve smirks looking at you. “Y/n! Nice to see you here..” he states holding photos in his hand. “Leave Jonathan alone, he’s dealing with a lot- not like you’d know.” Steve gets taken back by your comment, “What’s your problem?” He asks. Your problem? You were confused, all you were doing was helping a friend out. “My problem? What’s yours? You’re picking on someone that just lost a family member? That’s fucking low of you.” you state with Jonathan walking back a little.

Standing straight you try to grab the papers out of Steve’s hands and he rips them before you can get them. “What the hell man?” You yell trying to grab the ripped up papers. “You should be saying that to that freak you call your friend.” He states throwing them onto the ground. You look appalled by what he said. “You’re the fucking freak Steven.” He lets out a laugh and looks into your eyes, “Alright, and I really thought you were chill with me.” “I wasn’t ever chill with you.” You state bending down to grab the papers that were dropped before the wind picked them up.

Out of the corner of your eyes you can see Steve reach for Jonathan’s camera. Standing up you hand most of the papers to Jonathan and try to grab the camera from his hands. Steve pushes you back easily, “No no, let him get it himself.” Jonathan reaches his hand out for it then Steve drops it. A small gasp could be heard from you and you push Steve’s arm away from you. “Come on guys.” He states as his friends leave with him. Nancy’s the only one that stays, she bends down to pick up the rest of the papers but she takes them for herself. “Don’t worry about her dude..” you state handing him the photos, you had no clue what the photos were, they were ripped so it was hard for you to make it out.

…

Your dad came back late last night, he looked sad- too sad. “Dad, what happened?” You ask standing up from the couch. He looked like he didn’t want to talk, but he saw how worried you were. “They found the Byers kid..” he flat out stated. You couldn’t think anymore. “They found Will?” You say covering your mouth, tears already started forming from your eyes. Your dad gave you a tight hug, all you left like was shit. There’s no way they actually found him, it had to be fake- they didn’t just find him like that, there’s no way. All you wanted to do was hide into a small ball and call it a day.

…

Laying in bed all day your dad let you stay home from school today. He knew how close you were to Will, the kid saw you as an older sister. Still in shock from the news you turn on the TV and turn to a different channel that wasn’t the news. After a while your Walkie-Talkie could be heard from your room. It was Lucas’ voice.

Running to your room you grab the walkie-talkie and pull up the antenna. “Y/n? Do you copy?” He asks. “Yes I’m here, what do you need?” You sit onto your bed waiting for an answer. “There’s too much to explain, get over to Mike’s asap! Over and out!” He states, you could just imagine what the hell you’re needed there for.

…

“Okay, what is it?” You say sitting between Dustin and Lucas. “El’s trying to channel Will.” Dustin states, Mike’s eyes are only on the radio. You can hear mumbling, sounding exactly like Will. “Look!” Mike says looking at us now. You all listen closely until the sound goes out. “That could be anyone.” Lucas says throwing his hands into the air. “That sounded exactly like Will.” You were so confused with how this girl was able to do that. “How is she able to get to him.” You ask Mike, he grabs the game board you guys use for DND and flips it over. “This is where Will is,” He states putting his hand onto the middle part of the black board. You shrug not getting it. “He’s somewhere that’s dark and cold, but just like Hawkins. He’s like in some place called the upside down.” You nod, ‘Maybe this is where Barb is too…’

“Maybe Will is gone.” Lucas says and you all turn to look at him. “You guys saw what they took out of the water yesterday right? He’s gone.” Dustin rolls his eye, “Well maybe that’s just the government covering his death up!” “He’s gone!” Lucas retaliates. “Hey woah woah, no yelling.” You state covering both of your ears. Letting go, you tell them about Barb, “There was a party I went to last night, but I left when I saw these two kids there…” They look confused on why you’re saying this. “Nancy and her friend went there, but her friend Barb is now missing.” You say, “Maybe she’s also there with Will.” They see where you’re going with this.

“But Barb is a high schooler and Will is in middle school? That’s random, it doesn’t make any sense.” Dustin places a hand under his chin. “Maybe the upside down doesn’t take random people, it takes vulnerable people.” They nod, but Lucas still doesn’t believe it. “We need to get her to a stronger radio.” Mike says, Dustin shoots his head up. “The AV room!” You barely had any clue on what they were saying, nodding you stand up. “While you guys go ahead and do that, I’ll be going to Will’s “mourning service”…” you say with quotation marks, they smile and wave you a goodbye.

A/N: this chapter was more of a filler chapter in a way, not much happening- sorry about that!

[TAGLIST: @mothresscos05 , @willgrahamscasket , @vixionix , @i-bitch-you-bitch , @tanyaherondale , @joesphines-simps-fics , @yoyoanaria , @inkighao , @manuosorioh , @tremendoushearttaco , @xceafh , @bear-bone-berries , @grumpyy-bearr , @fayetheenthusiast , @black-ink-stars , @agustdeeyaa , @slavcore-storm , @darkened-writer , @almanacrat ]

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mooodyblue · 1 year

Text

pity party | elvis x gn!reader

summary: (requested) after a rough day with the colonel on elvis's birthday, you decide to throw him a surprise party.

warnings: cursing

wc: 1.3k

note: happy elvis day <3 i won't lie, i struggled with writing this idk why LOL hope y'all enjoy ❤️

masterlist | request | taglist

"honey, i'm tellin' ya, all the bones in my body could be broken and that man would still call a meeting." elvis sighed, putting his signature glasses on. you frowned, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "i'm sorry, baby. i'll be here when you get back though, maybe we can have mary make us something for your birthday." you smiled.

"oh, that's today?" elvis rarely ever met with the colonel in person, really only seeing him at shows or conferences. so the thought of his birthday had crossed his mind. "lord, how did i forget my own birthday..." he muttered. "i'll see you later then." he returned your kiss before heading out the door and to one of his many cadillacs, heading out the gates of graceland.

you shut the door behind you before turning around and glancing at all the christmas decorations around the foyer. with your arms crossed, you wandered around the house, thinking of what to do for elvis's birthday. your thoughts were interrupted as jerry wandered in, calling for you. you made your way back to the foyer, a puzzled look on your face. "why are you here? shouldn't you be with elvis?"

jerry scoffed, "hello to you too. he said he didn't want me today, whatever that means."

you let out a small laugh. "well, you know how he is." small talk was really not your thing. jerry was usually out with elvis whenever he went, so you rarely ever saw him or any of his other friends without elvis around. "i was actually trying to think of something for his birthday today, you got any ideas?"

jerry thought for a moment, "well, i don't know if he'll love it or hate it, but you could throw him a surprise party." he suggested. "it could be nice for him to come home to after dealin' with that old man."

you hoped the colonel wasn't being too rough on elvis, chances are he probably was. the holidays were over therefore, it was time for him to get back on the road and back in the studio. you nodded at the suggestion, "let's do it! if you can get the guys over here to help out that'd be great." you said excitingly.

while jerry made calls, you had some extra help from some of the workers around graceland to decorate for his birthday, even baking a cake just for him. with the christmas decorations still being up, it made the house look even more special. you still worried about elvis though. you didn't know if elvis would appreciate a surprise party or if he would even be in a good enough mood when he returned home. "what if he comes in and just starts shootin' at all the balloons?" said billy, who was on the couch tieing up the ends to the multicolored balloons. "the last thing i want is to get shot on elvis's birthday."

you rolled your eyes, tossing another pack of balloons at him, smacking him in the chest. "just shut up and keep filling the damn balloons." as you left him on balloon duty, more people started to show up. some people brought more decorations, gifts and offered their help in the kitchen. while your main focus was to make sure everything was perfect, you also made sure his birthday cake was even more perfect. elvis had always preferred when you cooked or baked for him, he could tell when it was made by you and not someone else.

you got one final look at the decorations and refreshments set out for the party, fixing things and setting out a couple more items. then began the hard part. you made a final call to check on elvis who would be arriving home soon. the conversation you had with lamar made you nervous, elvis had lashed out with the colonel once again and was in a horrible mood. you could even hear elvis raising his voice in the background. "that overseas tour that we had planned got cancelled again, he's real disappointed." he said quietly into the phone, occasionally turning back to make sure elvis wasn't listening. "he wants him back in vegas in a few weeks, i don't know. it's not soundin' great. this better be this best party you've ever thrown cause i don't know what's gonna happen when he shows up."

your grip on the phone tightened and you began to anxiously bite on one of your nails, worried for elvis. "i can't cancel now, lamar. everyone's already here, i've got the driveway cleared out....christ. what do you think he's gonna do? s'he gonna be mad?"

he scratched the side of his head, looking back again. "i don't know, let's hope not." he sighed. the arguing in the background stopped, then a slam of the door. "oh, he's leavin', i gotta go. should be there in ten-" there was a shout of his name along with 'let's just go.' before the phone clicked. you let out a frustrated groan and placed the phone back down before going back out to the small crowd of friends and family.

everyone turned their heads to look at you, growing silent as you stood there with your arms crossed. "so, he should be here in ten minutes, but...." you let out a nervous laugh, rocking back and forth on your heels. "he's a little....mad."

"how mad?"

"um, well. the overseas tour got cancelled. so, i would assume very mad." everyone began murmuring and looking at eachother, you cleared your throat, anxiously picking at your nails. "look, i-if he gets upset about the party, he gets upset. i put this together and he'll most likely just be upset with me so...we'll just...figure this out. i don't know."

before you could get another word out, headlights shined through the window, pulling up to graceland. "they're here! everyone, hide! go!" you gestured with your hands, shooing everyone away as they all got in their hiding spots.

you smoothed out your clothes and braced yourself for the worst or best night of elvis's and possibly your life, cringing slightly at the slam of the car door and angry stomps up the steps. you beat him to the door, opening it with a wide smile. "hi baby!"

elvis's face lit up at the sight of you. despite his awful day, he was always happy to be around you. "hi darlin'" he gave you a kiss on the cheek as lamar walked in behind him, giving you a look and shutting the door behind him. "i'm tellin' ya, i outta fire that man. that tour we planned? cancelled. can't have shit without the colonel ruining it." he vented, not even noticing the birthday decorations in the foyer. "but at least i got to come home to you." he smiled, wrapping his arm around your hip.

just as he was about to kiss you again, you placed your finger on his lips. "actually, about that." you said, elvis giving you a puzzled look. you cleared your throat loudly as a signal, everyone jumping from their spots to yell out 'surprise!'. elvis even jumped himself, looking around at the birthday decor. "well i'll be damned! did you do all this?" he asked, turning to you.

"are you mad?" you pouted

his mouth turned into a smile, grinning widely. "mad? are you kiddin'? i can't believe you would do this for me."

"well, it was jerry's idea. i just did the hard work." you joked. "just wanted to show you some appreciation, i know today was rough. but it's your birthday! you deserve a good time."

"is there cake?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

you nodded. "baked with love by yours truly."

"oh baby, you spoil me. i love ya. thank you." he kissed you again and released his grip from your waist. "and thank y'all for comin'! let's have a good time!"

taglist: @aconflagrationofmyown @butlersluvbot @arianatheangel-girl @steph-speaks @vintagegirl50s60s70s80s @flwrs4aust @imgayreal @kiankiwi-blog @father-of-2cats

#elvis x reader

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clarepreed · 1 year

Text

Corporate Abduction, Pt. 1

Story Content and Summary - 6,245 words. Larissa and Mitchell are abducted. Vomit aspiration, suffocation, refractory ventricular fibrillation, on-site resuscitation.

Three months after the events of Not for the Faint of Heart.

Mitchell

“Where are we going for dinner?” Larissa asked as they stepped into the elevator. Mitchell rested his hand on the small of her back, ushering her inside. Even though it was late in the day, he could still smell the herbal scent of her shampoo.

He pressed the button for the underground garage and leaned in, kissing her temple. “We’re going to a pho place in Creston. I know it’s a bit of a drive, but—”

“You know I want to eat at every pho place that’s in existence, right?” She grinned at him, her beauty mark riding her full upper lip.

“Yeah, I thought you might say that. We might get home late, do you have your medication with you?” The elevator slowed, dinging as they arrived at their floor.

Larissa patted her purse. “I have my backup doses with me. Of course, a couple of hours wouldn’t make a difference.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t test that theory.” Mitchell glanced around them as they exited the elevator. He felt Larissa reach out and rub his arm as they walked.

She’d had one seizure in the months since the incident at the falls, about three weeks after. The seizure had been short, she’d recovered quickly, and she hadn’t had another since. Still, tonight was the first time he’d felt comfortable taking her more than a few minutes away from downtown, where there was quick transport to a state-of-the-art hospital.

They walked to his SUV and he helped her out of her coat and into the vehicle before leaning in for a quick kiss.

Larissa reached up and smoothed his collar. “I shouldn’t have been flippant. I’m sorry.”

He stood by the SUV with her for a moment, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to have to walk on eggshells. And I’m glad if you can feel relaxed about it at all, I honestly am. Low stress is better for you, right?”

“We just need some time,” she said, smiling at him. “We’re expecting ourselves to be back to normal already and that’s just unreasonable.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, and then closed her door.

The drive was expected to take just over an hour. They settled in, Larissa driving the Spotify playlist. Traffic was heavy as they crossed the city limits; Mitchell assumed they were mostly commuters.

Eventually, as they got closer to Creston, traffic thinned out. Another SUV took the exit behind them, onto a straight road that ran alongside a field.

“How did Creston end up with a pho place?” Larissa asked. “Do a lot of Vietnamese people live here?”

“They do, actually. Nhung has family here; she’s the one who told me about the restaurant.” Mitchell glanced up into the rearview mirror; the SUV had pulled up close to tailgate him. He looked down at his speedometer and saw he was actually driving a little fast. They were also in a passing zone. “I don’t know what this guy’s problem is, he needs to go around.”

As if on cue, the SUV swerved around Mitchell’s back bumper and accelerated.

“That tint hardly looks street legal,” Larissa murmured.

Mitchell opened his mouth to respond when the other SUV swerved away from them, driving into the emergency strip on the other side. “Woah!” he exclaimed, his foot lifting off the gas.

“What the hell is he doing?!”

“I don’t—” The other SUV over-corrected, and before Mitchell had time to hit the brakes, it smashed into them. He tried to control the vehicle, but the steering wheel jerked in his hands, and it seemed like the other driver was determined to force them into the field.

“Trees!” Larissa blurted out, her body going tense as she braced herself. She was right, they were approaching a short line of trees down the edge of the road, and he couldn’t—

“FUCK!” The tires squalled as the swerved toward the field, the wheel shaking in his hands. The driver’s side of the car smashed into the first tree, glass filling the cab. There was a hard impact against the side of his head and he lost consciousness.

Larissa

Larissa didn’t remember the last several seconds of the accident. One moment, they were swerving, and the next she was lying in a pool of pebbled glass, staring down at the dirt underneath the passenger side of the overturned SUV.

She laid there for a full minute, stunned, until something warm and wet dripped on the side of her face. She jerked, looking toward the driver’s seat, which was now above her.

Mitchell was limp, hanging sideways, his right hand dangling close to her. The blood was coming from him, though she couldn’t immediately see his injury.

“Mitchell!” Her voice came out hoarse and quiet, and she coughed, waving through the cloud of airbag powder. She reached up and squeezed his hand, her heart pounding and a finger of ice trailing down her spine. “Mitchell!”

He didn’t respond. Larissa fumbled with her seatbelt, hands clumsy, her own blood welling from a series of cuts down the side of her arm. She wasn’t sure where her phone had ended up, but she knew she needed to find it so she could call for help. “Mitchell! Mitchell, wake up!”

She heard voices outside the vehicle as she was reaching for his hand again and shouted: “HELP! HEY! HELP!”

The vehicle shook, but no one responded to her directly.

Larissa pressed her fingers to the inside of Mitchell’s wrist. His heartbeat was strong and regular, and she let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Mitchell! Mitchell, honey, wake up!” She got her feet underneath her so she was crouched in the glass and able to see his face. His eyes were closed, features serene. There was a bloody wound to his left temple; she pressed her palm to it, trying to stop the bleeding. “HEY! OUT THERE! Can you hear me?!”

A man appeared, looking down into the car through Mitchell’s broken window. Larissa blinked up at him and exclaimed: “Oh, thank God! Help us! He’s not conscious!”

The man responded by pointing a gun at her.

Larissa froze, her hand still pressed to Mitchell’s temple, her heart taking off in her chest.

“This is what’s going to happen,” the man said. “We’re gonna work together to haul him out. If you try anything, I’m going to shoot you in the face and bring your corpse with us for him to look at when he wakes up. Do you understand?”

Larissa took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Y-yes. I won’t try anything. We don’t have any weapons in the car.”

The man wore a surgical mask and a hat. She could see that he had light skin and eyebrows, but his most identifiable feature was his piercing blue eyes. “For our purposes, my name is Jim, and my associate is Joe.” The vehicle shook again, and she saw much smaller man wearing the same kind of surgical mask lean into view.

“What do I need to do to get him out of here?” She worked hard to keep her voice even.

“We’re gonna try to get the door open. If we can’t, we’ll haul him out the window. Your job is to unbuckle the seatbelt when we tell you. Not before, unless you want him to flatten you when he falls, you got it?”

“Yes, I understand.”

They could not, it turned out, get the door open. Jim tugged; Joe tugged. It unlatched and opened a few inches, but no further.

“Piece of SHIT!” Jim growled, glaring at Joe. ��You hit them too fucking hard. You’re lucky we can get out of here at all, dumbass.”

Larissa’s legs were starting to cramp. She tried to ease the pain, shifting slowly so the men wouldn’t notice. Keeping her hand pressed to Mitchell’s temple, she leaned closer and kissed his forehead. “Wake up, honey,” she murmured.

She had to pull back when Joe and Jim crammed their arms through the window, reluctantly removing her hand from his wound.

Jim growled: “Undo his seatbelt!”

She found it with her bloodied hands, pressing the button and then helping to feed it around his limp body. The two strangers dragged him through the opening, both grunting as they hauled his limp weight. They caught his shoulder hard on the frame and she was shocked and relieved to hear Mitchell grunt.

“Mitchell?” she called out, but by then the men had dragged him out of sight. She stood and stretched up her hands, just tall enough for her fingertips to graze the doorframe. She heard the heavy sound of a body falling from the car and landing on the ground and gasped. “What the hell?! Are you trying to break his neck?!”

“I will still shoot you in the face,” Jim said, his voice mild. His face reappeared in the window, and then suddenly he and Joe grasped hold of her wrists, hauling her up. She could feel Jim’s hand slipping on the blood on her cut arm, and he reached down and grabbed her elbow.

They were not any gentler with her; as soon as they got her out of the car they dumped her over the side, narrowly avoiding dropping her on top of Mitchell. She landed hard on her feet and crumpled to the cold ground, pain shooting up her left leg from her ankle to her knee.

Despite the pain, Larissa rolled over and dragged herself over to Mitchell. He was still, sprawled on his back, eyes closed. “Mitchell!” She was relieved to see his breath fogging the air above his face.

The men jumped down beside her.

“We need to hurry this the fuck up. Take off your watch.” Jim had his gun pointed at her again. She scrambled to remove her smartwatch, watching as Joe took off Mitchell’s. “Where’s your phone?”

“Somewhere in the car, I don’t—”

Jim snatched her watch out of her hands and threw it to the side. “His phone?”

“Probably his pocket. Uh… right back.”

“Stand up.”

“But—”

“Stand the fuck up!” Jim shouted, pointing the gun at her face. He watched as Larissa dragged herself to her feet, unable to put weight on her left leg. “Hold your wrists together out front. Joe?”

“I got it,” Joe said, sounding exasperated. “I need to get the SIM card out of his phone before we start moving, though…”

Larissa held her wrists out reluctantly, unable to take her eyes off Mitchell. “You need to bandage his head. He’s bleeding!”

“You need to shut the fuck up,” Jim said, as Joe began to wrap her wrists with duct tape.

“But—”

“Stop, Joe. Tape both their wrists behind their backs. And tape her mouth when you’re done with her hands.”

“Mitchell!” she shouted. “Mitchell wake up! Mitchell—”

Joe grabbed her face, closing her mouth before he slapped a length of duct tape across it. He added a second piece to it for good measure, his hand rubbing across her face to make sure the tape stuck.

Larissa drew a shaky breath through her nose, her heart sinking as Joe roughly rolled Mitchell into his stomach to secure his wrists.

Mitchell

The first sensation he had was rocking, followed by a sharp pain in his temple.

He moved before he opened his eyes, felt his leg brush up against the warmth of another person. This prompted him to open his eyes. Or try to. The left felt glued shut, and when he tried to reach up to his face to clear it, he found he couldn’t move his arms.

His vision slowly cleared, and the first thing he truly saw was Larissa.

She was sitting across from him, her wide eyes staring as his eyes focused on her. Her hair was mussed, her clothing smudged with blood. There was duct tape over her mouth, and he saw that her wrists were bound behind her. She looked sweaty, even though the air in the back of the SUV was cool. He scanned down her body, spotted the holes torn in the left leg of her woolen tights. She looked frightened but relieved, her shoulders sagging when they made eye contact.

He whispered: “Are you okay?”

She nodded, and raised her eyebrows at him.

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered back, though his head ached. He looked around him. They appeared to be in the back cargo area of a large vehicle. The sky outside was dark, though the windows were all heavily tinted. He had vague, broken memories of a car accident. “This vehicle… hit us?”

Larissa nodded. He watched her take a series of slow, deep breaths through her nose, her nostrils flaring wide.

He sat up straighter. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She looked at him, her brow furrowed, seemingly frustrated that she couldn’t respond. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded.

Mitchell drew his left knee up and tried to bend over and wipe some of the congealing blood from his face onto his pants.

So. This is an abduction. I would say that so far, it’s not going well. I’m sure almost killing your target before you make your demands isn’t in the playbook.

The SUV slowed, came to a stop, then turned right. They continued straight for a while, and then the road began to curve into tight switchbacks. Mitchell pressed his left foot against the back hatch, trying to brace himself.

“Mmph…” Larissa breathed hard through her nose, her head tipped back. He could see her neck muscles retracting and the pulse in her neck jumping.

“Are you going to have a seizure?” he whispered, leaning forward.

Her brow furrowed and she slowly shook her head. The SUV went around another curve and he watched her swallow hard.

“You’re car sick.” Worry flooded him, and he scooted closer to her, his shoes scuffing the hatch.

“What the hell are you doing back there?!” a man shouted from the front of the SUV.

“She’s going to throw up, you need to take the tape off!” Mitchell barked. He had a brief thought toward whether he recognized the voice; decided he didn’t.

“Sleeping Beauty finally graces us with his presence,” the man said. “We’re almost there, keep your pants on!”

Larissa’s skin looked increasingly pale. Mitchell leaned close and whispered: “Slow breaths, baby.”

He was feeling a little green himself, he assumed from the blow to the head.

He looked her over again. She had blood in her hair, but he couldn’t tell what was his and what was hers. “Did you hit your head?”

She shrugged, and her eyes darted to his bloody temple.

“Don’t look,” he murmured. “I’m sure that doesn’t help.”

Perhaps if I keep talking to her…

“Any idea where we’re going?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard again.

“Was I out a long time?”

She nodded emphatically and blinked her eyes several times. He chastised himself for asking a question like that, watching as her eyes shone with tears.

“They took our phones?”

She blinked, tilted her head. After a moment, she clearly nodded, then shook her head.

“Hmm. What about your purse?”

She shook her head.

“So you don’t have your medication.”

Another head shake, though she followed with a shrug. He heard her cough, or try to, and a wave of clear mucus bubbled out of her nostrils. Her response was to turn her head away from him and exhale forcefully through her nose, followed by a series of snuffling inhalations.

“Larissa,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

She turned her head, and he could see panic had set in. Her nostrils were flared, eyes wide. She coughed again, retched, struggled to draw breath through her nose.

“You’re alright, Larissa—Hey!” he called out, his voice loud. “You have to pull over. She can’t breathe like this; she’s going to vomit!”

She squeezed her eyes shut in what looked like a last-ditch effort to calm herself, and then her body convulsed. She let out a gurgling noise, mucus and bile spraying from her nose.

“Should we stop?” he heard someone ask.

“Nah, that’s the drive, isn’t it? Jane’s meeting us at the house, she’ll take care of whatever the hell is going on back there.”

“STOP THE FUCKING CAR!” Mitchell shouted. Larissa was making horrible choking noises and thrashing around wildly. Her arms strained against the tape on her wrists, the force telegraphing into her shoulders and neck. Mitchell pushed himself against her, unable to think of anything to do except to try to use his teeth to peel off the tape.

Her eyes were huge with panic as the contents of her stomach and her sinuses frothed out of her nose, blocking her airway. Mitchell pinned her against the back seat with his body, fighting her animal instincts until he was able to scrape his teeth down her cheek. He had better luck with the bottom section of tape that lapped over her jawbone, but it was taking a long time to lift the corner. The smell of vomit was a distant blow to his senses.

Get it off or she dies, get it off—get it off—GET IT OFF!

The vehicle stopped, but Mitchell kept scraping at the tape, finally peeling up enough of it that he was able to nip the corner with his teeth. He jerked his head to the side, lost his grip, and tried again. Larissa was growing visibly weaker, her head lolling, her thrashing movements slowing to a twitch. The second jerk of the tape peeled it halfway to her lip; two more jerks and he made it to the corner of her mouth.

Larissa went limp then, her eyes distant as she sagged against the back seat of the SUV. An involuntary noise choked out of Mitchell’s throat. He was having a hard time getting an angle on the tape now that her head had tipped down, so he drew a breath and screamed: “YOU’RE KILLING HER!”

He twisted around, his body crammed against hers. He wrapped his lips around her nose, his stomach rolling at the sour taste of vomit, and tried to force a breath past the fluids clogging her nostrils. It was of no use, but he tried again anyway. As he was pulling back, he saw her eyelids flutter. He tried a third time, and then she went absolutely still.

The back hatch and tailgates opened, and he heard a man say:

“Fuck, Jim, he wasn’t exaggerating—”

“What did you do to them?!” a woman said, her voice sharp.

Mitchell whipped his head around and glared at the assembled criminals. Even in his agitated state he noticed they all wore surgical masks and nitrile gloves, but they hadn’t bothered to mask their hair. The woman’s was an icy bleached blonde.

“Help her, NOW!” Mitchell commanded. “You get nothing from me if you kill her!”

One of the men reached around Mitchell and yanked the tape off Larissa’s face. She slumped forward, but didn’t take a breath.

“Do your thing, Jane,” the man said. “We’ll get him out of the way.”

“Larissa! LARISSA!” Hands grabbed Mitchell’s arms, hauling him backward into the light of a streetlamp. He struggled, but as soon as they had him fully upright, he felt his blood pressure plummet. The person holding him up cursed and lowered him to the ground, quickly losing control of his weight. Mitchell landed hard on his hip, and the hands on him kept him from tipping over onto the cold concrete.

He blinked, desperate as he looked up into the back of the SUV. He couldn’t hear what the abductors were saying over the roar in his ears, but he watched as the woman dragged Larissa onto the tailgate, snapping at one of the men to hold her upright. She dug through a black duffel sitting on the concrete driveway and pulled out a pair of shears, making short work of the tape on Larissa’s wrists.

“Get her down,” Jane commanded. Larissa was limp between Joe and the woman, long hair draping like a curtain as they laid her flat. The woman pulled a packaged ambu bag out of her duffel and tore off the plastic, connecting the bag to the mask.

She pressed the mask to Larissa’s face and tried twice to force air into her lungs, but Mitchell could see her chest remained still.

Setting the bag to the side, Jane pressed her fingers into Larissa’s neck. “She still has a pulse, but that isn’t going to last long.”

She swung her leg around and straddled Larissa’s prone form, quickly shoving her clasped hands into her navel. The force made Larissa’s chest bulge and her head fall to the side. Larissa’s half-lidded eyes stared empty at Mitchell, and he felt his eyes burn with tears.

Jane shoved her hands into Larissa’s abdomen over and over again until she made a gagging sound, then leaned over her. The blonde swept her fingers between Larissa’s teeth, scooping out vomit. She repeated this process two more times before she pressed the mask to Larissa’s face and squeezed the bag. This time, he watched her chest rise and fall twice before the woman pressed her fingers into Larissa’s neck again.

The female captor snapped her head up, pinning Joe with her fiery glare. “Get everything out of the trunk of my car. All of it. Now!” Then, still straddling Larissa, she clasped her hands together and started giving her forceful chest compressions.

“One, two, three…”

“I can help!” Mitchell pushed himself into his hands and knees. Jim moved closer to him and pressed what Mitchell assumed was the barrel of a gun into the back of his neck.

“Don’t—”

“Let me help!” Mitchell shouted, his heart in his throat as he watched Larissa’s body move with the force of the compressions. “The more hands Jane has to help her, the more likely it is that she can revive Larissa! Please!”

“…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! He’s right, Jim!” Jane squeezed the bag twice, Larissa’s chest rising and falling. Then she laid the mask down and started chest compressions again. “One, two, three…”

“I’m not cooperating if she dies,” Mitchell snarled. “I’ve done this before; I can provide actual assistance!”

“Fine!”

Mitchell crawled over and sat down next to Larissa’s head.

“…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

He tried to be gentle as he tipped her head back. He held her airway open, the column of her neck exposed and fragile-looking. As Jane neared thirty compressions, Mitchell picked up the mask and pressed it over Larissa’s mouth, his fingers lapping over her chin.

“Thirty!”

Mitchell squeezed the bag, Jane watching his technique and then nodding. Larissa’s chest rose as he squeezed the bag again. Her half-lidded gaze seemed to rest on him as he helped her breathe, his heart contracting painfully.

“One, two, three…”

Joe ran around the SUV as Jane started chest compressions again, a bag over his shoulder and an oxygen canister and a white plastic board Mitchell didn’t recognize under his arms.

Jane climbed off of Larissa, kneeling at her side. “Joe, put that board next to her, the top aligned with her shoulders. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen… Okay, I’m gonna roll her onto her side and you slide it underneath her.”

Mitchell lifted the mask off Larissa’s face as Jane rolled her. He quickly grasped Larissa’s chin so her face didn’t strike the concrete, wincing as her limbs flopped tonelessly. When the white board was underneath her, Jane turned Larissa onto her back and quickly adjusted her positioning on the board.

“…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…” The board pushed Larissa’s chest into the air and tipped her head back, making the chest compressions look even more dramatic. “…twenty-nine, thirty!”

As Mitchell pressed the mask to her face again and squeezed it, Jane dug out a pair of shears and made quick work of Larissa’s blouse, camisole, and bra.

“Joe, you’re on compressions.”

“I’ve never—”

“Do what she says!” Jim growled. Other than barking orders, he seemed content to stay out of the resuscitation effort.

Mitchell was already on it, terrified that Larissa would just lay there while everyone was arguing. He dropped the bag and scuttled around to her side, his hands finding the reddened area between her breasts. Unrestrained, her large, freckled breasts wobbled as he shoved his hands down between them.

“One, two, three…” Larissa’s stomach bulged with each compression, the CPR board exaggerating the look of the thrusts. He felt like his hands dug into her deeper and more easily with her back bent over the board. “…sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…”

Jane connected the mask to the oxygen tank and opened the valve, then made quick work of applying the defibrillator pads. When Mitchell finished the cycle, he heard a high-pitched whine filling the air. He’d been through this before, and knew this meant his fiancée’s heart was still in her chest. His own beat painfully.

“Joe, hold this mask to her face—like this. Yes, exactly. Now slowly squeeze and release the bag twice.” She watched the smaller male captor and then nodded. “Do that every time he hits thirty.”

“One, two, three…” Mitchell knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. Every time his head bobbed, it throbbed with pain. He felt dizzy and nauseated. But he also knew Larissa was effectively dead, and that she needed him right now if she had any chance of being revived.

Jane picked up the shears again and snipped through three right side of Larissa’s skirt and tights before pressing her fingers briefly to the pulse point she’d exposed. “Good perfusion.”

“…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

Jane was starting an IV. “I’m going to give her epinephrine and then I’ll take over compressions. After five cycles, I’ll analyze and see if she’s shockable. After that, I’ll intubate her.”

“Thirty!”

Joe gave Larissa two breaths from the bag as Jane finished up with the IV epinephrine. Then she called out: “Switch! One, two, three…”

The monitor bleeped with the rhythm of Jane’s compressions. Mitchell reached down and grasped Larissa’s limp hand. He felt her engagement ring dig into his palm. Her skin was cold; he hoped that was from the air temperature and not lack of circulation. Larissa’s lungs let out huffs of air with each of Jane’s compressions, and Mitchell heard her ribcage creaking.

“I thought you knew what you were doing!” Jim said suddenly.

“Thirty! I came prepared for seizures, you absolute dumbass, not vomit aspiration. I couldn’t steal the entire ambulance! One, two, three…”

Prepared for seizures, he thought. They were willing to risk her having seizures to get money from my company.

Mitchell squeezed Larissa’s hand and released it, then turned to the large duffel bag Jane had on the ground. Inside, he poked around until he found a smaller black kit. When he unzipped it, he saw an assortment of what he recognized as respiratory supplies. Leaning over, he deposited the case on Jane’s side of Larissa, near her head.

“…twenty-nine, thirty! Thank you!” She set herself to selecting a laryngoscope blade and opening the packaging for the endotracheal tube. The monitor squealed a flatline as Joe gave her breaths. “Grab the tape from the end pocket of the bag, please.”

Then she was compressing Larissa’s chest again. Mitchell found the tape and sat it next to the other supplies. He listened to the bleep of her artificial heartbeat, his eyes on her face. “Come on, baby. She gave you the medication, you have to give her something in return!”

He swept a strand of her long, honey-colored hair out of her face.

Before long, the cycle was complete, and Joe was giving her another breath.

Then Jane was back on Larissa’s chest, forcing her sternum toward her heart. Mitchell could see her ribcage flexing as the force rippled down into her abdomen, highlighted further by the opening in her skirt. When Jane next lifted her hands, he could see the bruising over Larissa’s sternum had darkened.

“One more cycle and then we switch,” she said, her eyes on the monitor.

The next cycle of thirty compressions felt brutal to Mitchell. Larissa lay limp and unresponsive, her bloody arms spread and her legs swaying with each thrust. He realized as he was looking at her legs that he could see dark bruising through the tears in the tights. The sight only added to the anger that was intertwined with the fear in the pit of his stomach.

“…twenty-nine, thirty! Keep squeezing the bag until I tell you to stop. Checking her pulse…” The monitor squealed the asystole alarm, and when she pressed her fingers to Larissa’s throat and wrist, she felt nothing. “Joe, scoot out of the way for a minute. Sir, Mitchell, continue compressions until I tell you to pause. I’m going to intubate her now.”

Mitchell started compressions again, though a small part of him wondered where this was going. He’d already had his miracles with Larissa. Seen her almost die three times and come back to him. She wasn’t unscathed, but she’d made it. How could she pull through another time?

Anguish rolled through him and he pushed the feeling through his chest compressions, careful not to pump her chest too fast.

Jane already had the laryngoscope down Larissa’s throat. “Pause compressions.”

Mitchell stopped pressing down on Larissa’s sternum, watching as Jane slid the endotracheal tube down the blade. Shortly after, she reached over and awkwardly grasped something to the side, muttering: “…inflate the cuff.”

Then she withdrew the scope, connected the bag to the tube. She used the stethoscope hanging from her neck to listen while she squeezed the bag.

“I’m in. Start compressions.”

“One, two, three…”

“Joe, squeeze this bag every three seconds. Steadily, don’t squeeze too hard. I’m going to give her more epinephrine. Mitchell, you’re going to perform compressions continuously until I tell you to stop.”

Come on, baby, he thought. Give us something. Please, don’t be dead. Please, God, please… not like this…

He was beginning to breathe hard, felt himself sweating despite the chilly air. Then, a bright red drop splattered onto the pale skin of Larissa’s chest, followed quickly by another.

“You’re bleeding again,” Jane said, glancing up as his head.

“I’ll grab a bandage next time we stop or switch,” Mitchell ground out.

The alarm on the monitor changed to a rapid beeping.

“Pause compressions for analysis… She’s in ventricular fibrillation… Continue compressions and breaths until I tell you to stop.” Jane was briefly silent and then she said. “Both of you stop and get clear of her. No one touching? Clear!”

Mitchell watched, his breath held, as Larissa gave a slight jerk and the monitor was silent. Then the high-pitched whine returned.

“Asystole! Dammit… I’m going to take over compressions, Mitchell. Joe, continue breaths. One, two, three…”

Blood was running down his face, so Mitchell leaned back and grabbed the duffel, dragging it into his lap and quickly going thought the contents. He found what looked like a packaged surgical dressing and tore it open before pressing it to his temple.

“…thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…”

“We need to get inside,” Jim said.

“I’m no paramedic,” Joe muttered as he squeezed the bag, “But if we aren’t taking her to the hospital then I think staying right here is more likely to result in a positive outcome.”

Positive outcome. He drew a deep, shaky breath. Please. I’ll get you out of here somehow, and you’ll be okay, and in a few months we’ll get married…

“…sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four…”

Mitchell sat next to Larissa’s twitching body, hand pressed to the bandage, his eyes unable to keep still. Her head rocked side to side, unseeing eyes staring up at Joe. Her skin was noticeably gray even in the white light of the lamp, and what part of her full lips was visible around the tape had gone blue. The tube protruded between her teeth, keeping her mouth open.

With each compression, Larissa’s shoulders jerked and her full breasts wobbled. The skin of her areolas looked dusky. Her nipples pebbled. The bottom of her ribcage bobbed up and down, and her soft stomach bulged.

“We’ve got v-fib… both of you clear!” Joe let go of the bag and Jane pushed the orange button on the monitor. Larissa’s body jerked. Her head fell to the side, pulled down by the weight of the bag, and Mitchell noticed her eyes had fallen closed.

“Still in v-fib. Joe you’re going to have to do compressions, I need Mitchell on the bag while I push another epi.”

Mitchell scooted around, taking Joe’s place. He quickly righted Larissa’s head and then started squeezing the bag, keeping pressure on his temple with the other hand. His eyes were on Joe; both he and Jane were watching him to see if he would perform effective compressions.

“One, two, three…”

“Good,” Jane said, watching as Joe’s hands plunged rhythmically between Larissa’s exposed breasts. “Don’t stop.”

“Come on, Larissa…” the words came out of him before he even realized he was about to speak. “Please, please, baby, please…”

“…eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

“Jane,” Jim said.

“What?”

“How long you gonna do this?” His voice was almost nonchalant, but Mitchell detected an edge to his words.

“What did I tell you about my cooperation?!” Mitchell growled, glaring at Jim. He was careful not to let his emotions affect his hand on the bag.

“I’m not ready to terminate care,” Jane said. “I have a few other things to try if she doesn’t convert to… if her heart doesn’t start beating normally after the next shock.”

“…fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three…”

Jim sat down on the tailgate of the SUV, gun in hand but no longer pointed at anyone in particular.

Time crawled. To Mitchell, it felt like he was squeezing the bag infinitely. Joe’s hands crushed Larissa’s chest over and over again.

Eternity was apparently only two minutes, however, and Jane asked Joe to briefly pause compressions while she looked at the monitor. It was still beeping rapidly, and she asked Joe to give compressions for another twenty seconds or so before she told them both to back away.

“Clear!” Jane pressed the button, and Larissa jerked a third time. A few seconds later, as the monitor chirped, she said: “Joe, resume compressions. I’m going to administer amiodarone and change pad placement, then I will analyze again.”

“One, two, three…”

Are you gone? Mitchell looked down at her face. The delicate skin of her eyelids had gone lavender, and her eyes appeared sunken in.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Jane made a noise, and when he looked up at her, she was staring hard down at Larissa’s IV port. Her eyes were watery.

“Why are you doing this to us?” he asked her, his voice quiet.

Jane flinched, but Jim stood, scowling. He pointed the gun down at Larissa’s lifeless body. “I don’t need her and I don’t need you to cooperate. I can make this situation permanent unless you’d like to shut the fuck up.”

Before Mitchell could respond, Jane said: “Let me do what you have me here to do, Jim.”

To Mitchell’s surprise, the man backed off, lowering the gun and backing away.

“Pause compressions!” Joe lifted his hands and Jane pressed a new defibrillator pad directly over the bruise between her breasts. Then, she rolled Larissa onto her side. Mitchell dropped his hand from his temple, the bandage adhered in place by his blood. He steadied Larissa’s head, rhythmically squeezing the bag and watching as Jane pressed a pad to Larissa’s back.

Jane laid Larissa back onto the CPR board and unplugged the leads of the first set of pads before replacing them with the new set. The rapid beeping picked up where it had left off.

“I’m going to perform chest compressions for one minute and then analyze again,” she said. She resumed compressions, seeming more forceful than before. “…three, four, five…”

Larissa’s stomach bulged and relaxed, bulged and relaxed, breasts quaking. Mitchell adjusted the position of Larissa’s head and kept squeezing the bag.

Different medication, she changed the pads… Please, Larissa, if you’re still in there…

“…twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”

“Joe,” Jim said. “Until Jane needs you again, get started with his phone. The faster we get our payout, the faster these folks get to the hospital.”

Joe drew Mitchell’s phone out of his pocket and started picking at a piece of duct tape on the back.

“… fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight…”

“Larissa,” Mitchell said, trying to tune out everything but the bag and her face. “If you can hear me… please, don’t go. I know it’s going to be hard if you come back, and I know I’m being selfish, but… Please, baby. Don’t go. Don’t go…”

“… seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty…”

Another twenty compressions, and then Jane paused compressions long enough to analyze.

“V-fib. Charging.” She forced her hands into Larissa’s sternum for ten to twenty more seconds and then called out: “Everyone clear! Don’t touch her! Come on, Larissa! Clear!”

She pressed the button, discharging the shock.

Larissa spasmed.

Mitchell grabbed the bag and squeezed it. Jane pressed her fingers into Larissa’s neck and the inside of her wrist.

The monitor registered a beat. Then another.

“Sinus!”

Part Two

#resus writing #cpr resus #female resus #medical drama

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hannahssimblr · 5 months

Text

Chapter Two

On the first freezing day of Autumn, I zip my coat all the way up to the top and shiver as I exit the apartment building, a huge, converted Georgian house that opens onto Fitzwilliam Square. My hands are stiff as I try to wrangle my bicycle loose from the iron railings out front, my condensed breath floating over my face to warm up my nose and cheeks. I swear under my breath as the key gets stuck, again, and then stand there jangling it madly for a minute before it releases and the heavy chain pools onto the concrete at my feet.

I’ve learned quickly that the trick to owning a bicycle in Dublin city is to get the cheapest bike you can find and then make it look even cheaper. Shane and I spent an evening destroying it in the bin yard a couple of weeks ago, stamping the pedals until pieces broke off, using spray paint in lurid colours to obscure the brand name and shiny red coat on the metal work. We wound duct tape around the saddle and the handlebars, which doubled as an anti-theft method, happily enough. It was a cathartic experience. Claire had come along with a sticker book and helpfully dotted the body with flowers and hearts and rainbows too, insisting that all thieves are men, and none of them will want a girl’s bike. I then went to the nearest bike shop and bought two locks, the most hard wearing and expensive ones they had, because nobody is going to pick two massive locks for the pathetic reward of a dinged up bicycle covered in stickers.

“It’s a rite of passage to have a bike stolen in the first month.” Shane had said with some sympathy after I cried at the college gates having discovered my brand new bike gone, only an easily sawed through lock pathetically coiled around the stand left as any evidence that it existed. “Sure, bits off my bike get robbed all the time. I had to cycle home from town without a saddle the other week. We’ll get you another one, I know a guy who deals them out of his ma’s garage.”

“Isn’t that kind of like contributing to the negative cycle?” I whimpered. “I bet all those bikes are stolen too.”

“Yeah probably, but, ah, sure. They’re only sixty quid.”

That’s how I ended up with this ‘new’ bike, and luckily, nobody has stolen its saddle yet. We made sure that it’d be so inconvenient that even the most hard-up, desperate thief wouldn’t come near any part of it, but as a payoff it’s so uncomfortable. It squeaks, the back brake doesn’t work and sometimes when I go too fast I feel as though I’m going to slide off it and bash my most private areas onto the crossbar, but it gets me where I need to go. In the cold, early morning in the mist and smell of turf I throw my leg over it and manoeuvre it out onto the road, my bag and drawing tube strapped across me, and zip up towards Baggot Street, then skirt around Stephen’s Green, the new, cold wind throwing icy daggers at my face as I weave in and out of traffic, eluding busses and taxis and pedestrians who keep crossing the road before it’s their turn. Rust coloured leaves drop onto the pavement before my wheels as I pass the flats along Kevin Street, children in tiny uniforms walking to school hand in hand with their parents.

“Use your arms!” A taxi driver screams at me as I swerve to the right ahead of him, and I ignore him, already used to men screaming at me on these streets, whether it’s because they think I’m cycling them wrong or because they have an opinion about my body that they’d like to share.

Dublin isn’t awful, but it’s harsh in ways I’m still unused to. When I visited it I saw it as more beautiful than it really is, but back then I only saw the shops, the parks, the huge Georgian houses, and now I see the back alleys too and the places that don’t feel all that wonderful. I’ve seen the yellow pallor of the people at the back of the bus, the men in alleyways who dare you to look in and see them so they can shout at you for doing it, women climbing into sleeping bags in the sheltered doorways of department stores for the night, battered paper cups set out hopefully in front of them as they curl up to sleep on the cold pavement.

I get shouted at a lot here too. By bus drivers, for not knowing how to use my Leap card properly, and by the people on said busses for standing or sitting in the wrong places, by taxi men for crossing the road at the wrong time, by screechy women in windows for throwing my chewing gum in the wrong bins. I apologise a lot more than I ever have now, which is really saying something.

I swerve down a bumpy, cobblestone side street and through the gates of NCAD, taking the time to chain my bike onto the same rack where its predecessor was nicked from, giving the locks a hard, intentional look as if I could intimidate them into staying put. Then I hurry inside and up the stairs, the central heating blasting over me so intensely that by the time I stumble into the studio I feel like a piece of ham wrapped in cling film. I drop my bag and drawing tube onto the floorboards by one of the drawing tables and start ripping my outerwear off in a frenzy.

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#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

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iwashie · 1 year

Text

BLUE LOCK MEN AS BREAK UP SONGS pt2

📌 kenyu yukimiya, mikage reo, kurona ranze, chigiri hyoma, kunigami rensuke, alexis ness

︶︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶︶ warnings- breakup songs that I think suits the Blue Lock boys. (pt1 here)

✶ KENYU YUKIMIYA- MAROON/ TAYLOR SWIFT

When the morning came we Were cleaning incense off your Vinyl shelf 'cause we lost track of time again Laughing with my feet in your lap Like you were my closest friend And I chose you The one I was dancing with in New York No shoes Looked up at the sky and it was The burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet it was The mark they saw on my collarbone The rust that grew between telephones The lips I used to call home So scarlet, it was maroon... And I lost you The one I was dancing with in New York...

✺ MIKAGE REO- FINGERS CROSSED/ LAUREN SPENCER SMITH

Introduced me to your family Watched my favorite shows on your TV Made me breakfast in the morning When you got home from work Making plans to travel 'round the world Said we'd always put each other first All love songs we used to play to Funny, now I hate you Now I remember when you'd call me late at night I gave you my hours and advice Just tryna fix you and all your daddy issues But now I don't even miss you anymore So I, I want all the tears back that I cried All the hours spent giving advice on how to write your songs All you did was prove me wrong When you said you love me While you must've had your fingers crossed...

✦ KURONA RANZE- COULD CRY JUST THINK ABOUT YOU/ TROYE SIVAN

We wrote a life all by ourselves Wish I could put it back on the shelf But there's a dazzling wave That keeps me at bay with you, my love I ride this one all by myself I could cry just thinkin' about you Every line I write is something about you Every guy I want looks something just like you Every book I read, I only read for you Every art piece is just to remind you I don't know who I am with or without you But I guess I'm 'bout to find out Yeah, I guess I'm 'bout to find out We took a trip and made the best We laughed and played, then laid to rest But life's a blackening way of drifting us further than we are And now we're knee-deep in this mess I could cry just thinkin' about you I don't know who I am with or without you But I guess I'm 'bout to find out....

✹ CHIGIRI HYOMA- TWO GHOSTS/ HARRY STYLES

Same lips red, same eyes blue Same white shirt, couple more tattoos But it's not you and it's not me Tastes so sweet, looks so real Sounds like something that I used to feel But I can't touch what I see We're not who we used to be We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat....

✸ KUNIGAMI RENSUKE- 2 CIGARETTES/ JACK & JACK

Lately I can feel us drifting Both of us been acting different We used to be so consistent Is there nothing left to say, say Now I see your face and I just don't know you Yeah, the picture's there but it's not quite focused And I know it won't, but I'm still here hoping That it gets better now It gets better now, yeah No more late nights, us just talking Used to FaceTime, now you just calling It's no one's fault but some things just fall apart, yeah I smoke two cigarettes and I don't even smoke, no Now the sun's coming up and I'm halfway sober And I know it won't but I'm still here hoping How'd it get so complicated Can't even have no conversation Past the point of trying to save it But we push it to another day....

✿ALEXIS NESS- LIKE YOU DO/ JOJI

Lately, I can't help but think That our roads might take us down different phases Don't wanna complicate the rhythm that we've got But I'm speechless When everything's so pure, can it be aimless Painless? Lost in the blue They don't love me like you do Those chills that I knew They were nothing without you And everyone else They don't matter now You're the one I can't lose No one loves me like you do...

#blue lock headcanons #blue lock x reader #blue lock #blue lock yukimiya #bllk kurona #chigiri hyoma #blue lock kunigami #alexis ness #reo mikage #bllk imagines #kurona ranze #blue lock x you #yukimiya kenyu #kunigami rensuke

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kiankiwi · 1 year

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omg saw you wanted to write a new piece so how about just e (baby steps au) getting way too milk drunk during a road trip and he's so clingy and lazy when we finally get to the hotel

OMG! He'd be so whiny and sad because E really wants your attention but you can't safely give him cuddles and stuff in the car

You were just getting back in the car after stocking up on diapers and snacks at a rest stop to find Jerry feeding a very tired Elvis another bottle and Wanda getting gas on the other side of the car. "Woah, how many bottles has he had?" Jerry shrugged. "This is the third. I figured we could all benefit if bubba here took a nap." You nodded and sighed under your breath. "Let's just hope we stop for the night before he gets clingy." You warned Jerry because you all knew a milk drunk Elvis was a very clingy little boy. "Yeah, we should be there in the next hour mama, don't worry." You eyed Jerry. "Hey, you know I love you but only E calls me mama. Don't do that!" Jerry nodded, not knowing he had accidentally crossed a line. "Sorry, won't do it again. But we should be there in the next hour." You nodded, taking E's hand as he got sleepier.

"Wanda do you mind driving for the rest of the night? Jerry got E milk drunk and I need to be back here in case he gets whiny and clingy." Wanda nodded, checking on Elvis in the mirror who was sleepily but steadily drinking the milk. "Sure, we all ready to go guys?" Wanda asked as she put her seat belt back on and got situated.

Jerry decidedly handed you the bottle because E refused to hold it he was so sleepy and slipped out of the car, getting back in the passenger seat. "All set." You warned your friends before you took off, "Here let me burp him first so he doesn't get an upset tummy."

Your friends patiently waited for E to finish his bottle and once he was done, he whined and reached for you wanting to be chest to chest for you to burp him like normal. "No, bubba we're about to go buh-bye. Here, lean forward." He did as you asked and you attempted to burp him while he was strapped in his carseat but E was getting even more upset just wanting his windies to go away the normal way.

"Alright, alright c'mere mister." You grabbed him out his seat and bounced him a bit in the parking lot of the rest stop until he quieted down and continued patting his back, humming softly to him.

A few minutes later he burped and sleepily snuggled into your shoulder. "Alright, now we're ready." You announce as you buckle E back into his carseat and he finally falls asleep. You take his shoes off again as you sit next to him, trying to make him as comfy as possible. You can't help but tickle the bottom of his socked foot and he just groans sleepily at you.

As soon as the sun goes down, E wakes up a bit and gets angry because he wants cuddles and he can't get adequate cuddles in his carseat. "Momma!" He whined reaching out for you. "Oh baby, hi! You sleep good?" Jerry gestured to Elvis. "Uh-oh, the baby's awake, how far are we?" Jerry asked Wanda.

"About twenty minutes. Is bubba gonna be okay?" Elvis was still whining, getting angry now and kicking his feet. "I don't know, he really wants out. C'mere bubba." You put your hand on Elvis's cheek, leaning his head down so that he can lean his head on your shoulder. He quieted down a bit, happy to have at least a little more contact but he was definitely wanting his mama to put him to bed. You could hear and feel him continue to cry wanting more contact.

"Here baby, we can get out now. C'mon bubs, let's go to bed." "Yeeeeeah!" Elvis whines as he snuggles his head into your shoulder. Wanda chuckles at his little sad whine. "Yeah? You ready for night night, bubby, Uncle Jer should've waited to get your milk drunk hm?" Wanda snickered at Jerry who was giving you and Wanda an apologetic look.

You three finally got up to the three rooms you guys had reserved for a couple days. One for you and E and then two for Wanda and Jerry so they can have a bit of time away from little E if they want.

You say goodnight to Jerry and Wanda and take a nearly passed out Elvis into the room. You quickly got ready for bed because E was still awake enough to whine for cuddles. "Mommyyyyyyy." Elvis whined, so exhausted he was crying.

"Hold on baby, mama's still here. Here, let's get cozy." You got into bed beside Elvis and he finally quieted down. You lifted your shirt and Elvis quickly put your nipple in his mouth, lazily sucking to comfort himself and put himself down. "You can sleep baby, mama's not going anywhere." Elvis lazily wrapped his arm around your hip and reached up to stroke your arm tiredly. "Shhh, you're okay..." You put on one of his favorite cartoons to calm him more and not even twenty minutes later, he was passed out sleeping on top of you.

A Baby Steps Piece!!! I didn't know how to end it but I hope you enjoyed it!!!

@mooodyblue

@ellie-24 @plasticfantasticl0ver @elvisbf @arianatheangel-girl

#kiwiswriting #baby steps au #little!e #littlespace elvis #little!elvis #sfw agere

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valleydean · 2 years

Text

Huckleberry

Summary: A cursed object sends Dean and Cas back in time to Tombstone, Arizona -- but Cas’ vessel gets left behind. (Aka, the one where Cas takes Doc Holliday as a vessel and Dean has a ball in this bitch.) Word Count: 14.6k Basically, I saw this tweet and went absolutely buckwild. Enjoy.

Read on AO3.

This wasn’t Dean’s fault. If anything, it was Sam’s. If Sam hadn’t made them catalog the contents of the bunker’s storage unit while he took the night off to have dinner with Eileen in the first place, none of this would have happened. So what, if Dean had tried to make it go faster by piling a bunch of the objects in a box and bringing it into the Dean Cave? So what, if Dean turned on Tombstone to keep him and Cas entertained? It wasn’t like he’d planned on Cas picking up some cursed object that – apparently – sent them back in time.

Or, at least, it had sent Dean back in time. Because, for the second time in his life, he found himself standing on the dusty dirt road of some Wild West town.

The blistering sun baked the desert earth, filling the dry air with the pungent stink of the horses and mules that slowly led the creaking wooden rigs down the street. A woman in a long-sleeve dress that was buttoned fully to her neck marshaled a flock of children down the boarded sidewalks, passing a couple of men sitting in the shaded overhang in front of one of the saloons. The men’s hats were hanging from their knees, revealing their sweat-glistened hair. One of them hacked into the spittoon as soon as the woman’s back was to them. Across the street, a man was sweeping the sidewalk in front of a set of batwing doors, and Dean figured it must have been pretty early, because there wasn’t anyone coming in or out of the saloon.

Not that the time of day was his focus at the moment, since he had some other pretty important time-related concerns. But first thing’s first: Where the hell was Cas?

The last thing Dean remembered, they were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, a bunch of ancient relic shit between them and an open notebook resting beside Dean’s knee. On screen, Wyatt Earp was pulling Johnny Tyler out of the Oriental Saloon by the ear. Cas had picked something up: a silver locket that dangled by a tarnished chain. Brows furrowed, he’d pried the thing open before Dean even realized what was happening. Cas had given a loud groan of pain – practically a shout – and the bright blue-white light of his grace erupted in his eyes. Dean had launched himself forward on reflex and snatched the locket out of Cas’ hand. Next thing he knew, he was here. Wherever here was.

And Cas wasn’t.

Dean looked down at the locket clenched in his fist. His heart was clogging his throat, and every time he blinked, he saw the image of Cas’ exploding grace tattooed behind his eyelids. What if Cas was dead, his wings burned forever into the floor of the TV room? What if he was gone and Dean was trapped in the past?

First thing’s first, Dean reminded himself, and categorically forced himself not to jump to the worst-case scenario – even though it was pretty easy to do. He wound up the locket’s chain and shoved it into his pocket, deciding to get his bearings before he figured out anything else.

He brought his eyes up, taking a closer look at the town of wood and adobe structures. The men were still sitting in chairs on the sidewalk; someone was hitching their horse to a post; a guy with a bushy, walrus mustache and a tin star on his vest was walking down the street – and it was weird, but he looked familiar. Dean rattled his head and looked away, trying not to make eye contact with the guy, because no matter who he was, he was a cop. His eyes fell on the man sweeping, and for the first time, he noticed what the decal on the plate glass window behind him read.

The Oriental Saloon.

Dean froze.

“No way.”

Quickly, he looked across the street at the saloon the men were sitting in front of. The Crystal Palace. A few doors up, there was the storefront for the Epitaph newspaper.

Dean’s chest swelled with excitement and, even though he was totally screwed, he couldn’t help the laugh that puffed out of him.

The man with the tin star wasn’t just any old cop. He was US Marshal and Chief of Police, Virgil Earp, Wyatt Earp’s brother. And Dean wasn’t just in any old Wild West town. He was in Tombstone.

“Cas, you better be here to see this,” Dean breathed out, and when his own words processed, his smile faded.

Cas couldn’t be dead. He wasn’t dead. Dean just needed to find him. Then, they could both get home – after getting their fill of Tombstone, of course.

Dean walked toward the Oriental, figuring it was as good a place as any to start the Cas search. He pushed through the batwing doors, hearing them flap satisfyingly closed behind him. There were only a few people in the saloon, the majority of them sitting around a baize-lined faro table as the dealer shuffled the cards. The saloonkeeper had finished sweeping. He was now behind the bar, wiping down the polished wood with a rag. Dean watched himself approach in the mirror behind the bottles of whiskey.

The owner glanced up. If Dean’s history was right – and, duh, it was right – the guy’s name was Milt Joyce.

“Morning,” Joyce said, slapping the rag over his shoulder. He leaned into the bar. His gaze flickered up and down Dean’s person, a funny look forming on his face, and Dean realized for the first time that he wasn’t exactly blending. “What can I do for you?”

Dean eyed the whiskey. Last time he’d traveled back in time to the west, the stuff had tasted worse than rubbing alcohol. He wondered if he should get a shot anyway, just to calm his nerves. But it’s not like he had any money on him.

Licking his lips in an attempt to quell the fluttering of his heart, he said, “Uh, actually, I’m looking for somebody. Thought he may have passed through here. Any chance you saw a guy about this tall –” he leveled his palm, indicating an inch shorter than his own height. “Dark hair? Ugly-ass tan coat?”

Joyce pulled a thoughtful face and shook his head. “Can’t say I have.” Dean tried not to let that get to him. It was a longshot, anyway. Cas could be anywhere. “You check with the marshal’s office?”

The idea wasn’t half bad. Dean could go back outside and have a chat with Virgil. Hell, maybe Wyatt and Morgan would even pitch in. Some of the giddiness returning to him, Dean said, “Thanks. And, uh, if he does come in here – can you let ‘im know Dean’s looking for him?”

Off Joyce’s nod, Dean turned and walked out of the saloon. He squinted up and down the street, trying to catch sight of Virgil Earp, but he was gone. Dean’s eyes lit upon the intersection with Allen Street, and he wondered if Virgil turned down there. He might have even been walking in the direction of the OK Corral.

And, while Dean was looking for him – and for Cas – he might as well do some sightseeing.

After ambling a block down Allen, the swinging wooden sign for the corral came into view, and the gross horse smell only grew until Dean’s eyes were practically watering. The high wooden gate to the corral opened, and a horse was being led out by the reins, a brunette man in a long coat tugging it along. Dean did a double take, stopping short, his boots scuffing against the dust, sending a coughing cloud around his ankles. It wasn’t Cas. The coat was too dark, the build was all wrong.

Dean exhaled, his shoulders dropping despondently. Try as he might, the creeping sensation that Cas was gone hollowed him out. Without really seeing them at all, he watched the man and the horse walk off, his thoughts spinning. He was in Tombstone, and all he could think about was Cas.

Because what the hell good was any of this if he didn’t get to educate Cas on the history of the place? Who would he drag all around town, from one future-tourist-trap to the next? Who’d start the movie over with him once they got home so he could compare the set to the real thing? Who’d humor Dean by allowing all of that with only mild complaining? Nobody except Cas.

The words kicked up a whirlwind inside Dean’s head. Somehow, they made sense of the warm feeling in his chest that he’d been experiencing for – well, fuck, years.

Nobody except Cas.

Despair and determination pulled his heart in different directions as he walked closer to the pen surrounding the corral and folded his arms atop one of the wooden slats. He scanned the area, eyes catching on the boxy building in the next lot over. C.S. Fly’s Photography Gallery was painted in giant curving letters on the false front. Then, he turned his attention to the stable, the sign overhead casting a shadow over his face, advertising the name that wasn’t yet famous. Wasn’t yet in the history books. And Dean wished he could have mustered a little more excitement about this.

Next time he saw Cas, he was gonna punch him for ruining this for him.

“C’mon, man,” he muttered. It felt more like a prayer, and maybe it was one.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone walk around from the other side of the photo gallery. A tall shadow stretched across the bleached dirt.

“Dean.”

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was low and raspy yet honey-slow, dripping in a sweet Southern twang, the kind that left the taste of peaches on the tongue. Dean startled, his body going rigid and fingers itching toward his empty waistband, where his Colt should have been if he hadn’t been expecting a quiet night in with his buddy. He sized up the man in front of him – the swoop of ashy blonde hair that parted to the right, the fair mustache over a light brush of freckles, the sharp gray-blue eyes that looked as if they could see right through Dean. Slender in build, the guy was wearing a perfectly tailored gray suit, polished boots, and gray bow tie in the collar of his pastel blue shirt.

Dean’s heart skipped, and then it’d never beat so fast in his life. Because he knew this guy from extensive Googling. He looked nothing like Val Kilmer.

“You’re Doc Holliday,” he burst out before he could stop himself. He could practically feel his eyes twinkling. Catching himself, he tried to reel it in by clearing his throat before he could say something else stupid. Something along the lines of I’m your biggest fan.

Doc took a step closer, his long and skinny legs closing the space between them. He was a few inches shorter than Dean, which was jarring. In Dean’s imagination, he was a giant.

“For the time being,” he said, and Dean had no idea what that meant for a second. It dawned on him half a second before he was told, “It’s me, Dean.”

Maybe Dean should have figured that out right away, since there was no way the Doc Holliday would know Dean’s name. Still, his brain short circuited. Wide-eyed, he took another sweeping look up and down the person in front of him.

“Cas?”

Cas used Doc Holliday’s head to nod.

Dean was still having a hard time processing. “You’re riding Doc Holliday?”

“Temporarily,” Cas clarified. “When we were sent here, my vessel remained in the bunker. I didn’t want to take another one, but it was the only way to talk to you.”

Dean shook his head. “Okay, so you go for one of the most famous guys in town?”

Cas sighed in exasperation, and Dean was struck by just how familiar it was. Apparently, Cas was still Cas no matter what vessel he was in. “He was… in pain.” He reached into his trouser pockets and pulled out a handkerchief. The clean white was speckled with fresh red. “It’s his illness.” Tuberculous. It was the thing that would eventually kill him. “He was reluctant to let me in at first. He… took some convincing. I offered to heal him.”

Dean sucked in a breath, about to ask if that would mess with some space-time continuum shit, but then Cas added, “Not permanently, but I managed to repair enough damage to his lungs to buy him at least five more years of life.”

Dean figured he’d need it for everything that was about to happen.

An amazed breath forced its way out of Dean’s throat as the information sunk in. “Dude. You’re Doc Holliday. This is awesome!”

“Dean, focus,” Cas snipped, and it was still a little weird hearing him talking with that voice, with its Southern twang and ever so slight lisp. It was so unlike his real voice – or, well, Jimmy Novak’s voice. Still, there was something about it. Little hints of Cas just underneath. Dean was glad he was there, and not dead.

“Right, yeah,” Dean said, pulling on his mouth. “So, what the hell happened? Last thing I remember is you opening up that locket…”

Cas nodded. “Yeah, it must have been cursed.”

“Ya think?”

“It did something to my grace. I think I may be the one who sent us back in time. I must have taken us here because of the movie.”

“Well, can you get us back?”

“I don’t know.” He pressed his lips together in a forlorn line, his eyes, the wrong shade of blue, becoming apologetic. “Time travel is difficult. I don’t want us to risk us getting separated.”

Dean scoffed, because he couldn’t agree more.

“I tried praying to Jack. He may be able to bring us home, but I – I dunno. I don’t know if he can hear me,” Cas said, tone laden with anxiety in the way that always put Dean in mama bear mode.

“Look, we’ll figure it out,” he said, sounding more confident than he felt. An idea striking him, he reached into his jeans and pulled out the locket. “What about this? You think it’s still got any juice in it?”

“Maybe.” Cas plucked the locket from him with long, delicate fingers. He turned it over, frowning down at it unsurely. “Should we… open it?”

That sounded like a pretty stupid idea, but it was the only one they had. “Well, I figure it’ll either send us home or it’ll dump us somewhere else in time. You’re the gambler.”

Cas shot him an unimpressed glare, and Dean couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that stretched onto his cheeks.

“Fine,” Cas said, holding the locket in two hands. “Hold on to me in case this works. I don’t want to lose you.”

Dean knew what he meant by that, but the words still passed through Dean like a steel blade. He fought them down with a hard swallow, ignoring the voice in his head that wished he’d heard Cas say that in his normal voice.

He raised his hand and clapped it to Cas’ shoulder, hanging on tight. Holding his breath, he watched as Cas opened the locket.

And nothing happened.

There weren’t even pictures inside.

Dean huffed and let his hand fall down Cas’ arm. “Well, that was a bust.”

“We’ll have to find something else.” Cas looked at Dean, expression pinched in confusion. “Do you think there are any witches here that could help us?” As if Dean could possibly answer that question.

“Hang on, let me Google Maps it,” he droned.

Cas rolled his eyes and handed the locket back to Dean. Dean wrapped the chain around his fingers and dropped it back into his pocket.

From down the street, a cheerful voice called, “Doc! Hey, Doc!”

Both their gazes whipped toward the grinning man jogging up to them. He had a mop of sandy-brown hair on his head, and his mustache drooped past his upturned lips. Dean’s breath caught. His eyes snapped to Cas, wanting to share in the excitement, but judging from the stiff look on Cas’ face, he had no idea that they were being approached by another Earp brother.

“Hey, Doc,” Morgan Earp said when he came to stop in front of them. Still a little out of breath, he said, “Was coming to knock on your door. Didn’t expect to find you already up. It’s only 11:30.” He laughed merrily and clapped Cas on the back, rocking Cas’ thin frame in the unexpected friendly gesture.

“Uh,” Cas said, wooden and stilted. He was practically a deer in the headlights.

Morgan didn’t seem to notice. His attention fell to Dean. “Who’s your friend?”

“Dean,” Dean said before Cas could mess this up by speaking. He held out his hand. “Dean Winchester.”

“Nice to meet ya. Name’s Morgan Earp,” Morgan said, his hand warm and welcoming when he shook Dean’s it.

Cas finally managed to catch on. “Morgan Earp,” he said. “Of course. From Tombstone.”

Dean wilted.

Morgan shot Cas a skeptical look before seeming to decide it didn’t matter. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt, but it’s kinda urgent. Virg got some reports of some funny business in the Dragoons. Figured he’s gotta fulfill his US Marshal duties by checking it out. Asked us to come with.”

“What kinda funny business?” Dean asked.

Morgan shrugged. “Not sure. A group of cowpokers came in to report it, but they didn’t make much sense. Sounds like somebody slaughtered a bunch of cattle coming up from Texas.”

Dean’s stomach soured. He shared a heavy look at Cas, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. Cattle mutilation was a demonic omen, but it usually didn’t happen while the cattle were on the move.

“You need an extra set of hands?” Dean asked, because these lawmen might have been legendary, but they were still just cops. That meant they had no idea what they were really up against.

“Sure,” Morgan said. He turned, waving for them to follow. “C’mon. We’re meeting up with Wyatt before heading out.”

Instantly, Dean’s concern turned to exuberance. He shot another glance at Cas, whose eyes were already waiting for him, looking at him with a raised brow. Dean was practically panting like a dog waiting for its owner to throw a stick. He bounded after Morgan.

Morgan led them back down Allen. He chatted the entire way, talking about the card game he was in the night before, and how it was a “shame you weren't there, Doc. You woulda swept up.” Cas was as stiff as ever, barely even nodding in response, but Morgan seemed content to talk enough for the both of them. Dean hung on his every word.

In fact, he was so wrapped up in the story, he barely noticed what storefront they were walking into until Cas stopped walking and asked dubiously, “Your brother is in an ice cream parlor?”

Dean blinked, looking at the decal on the glass window set into the door. He’d expected Morgan to bring them into a saloon or the sheriff’s office or something.

Morgan laughed casually. “You know Wyatt,” he said in the same teasing little brother tone Sam always used, “gotta get his scoop a day.” He pulled open the door, leading them in.

Dean hovered in the threshold for a second, looking at Cas over his shoulder. “Too bad Jack’s not here.” The kid was an ice cream fanatic. More than once, Dean caught him in the kitchen past his bedtime, eating the stuff right from the tub.

Don't tell, Jack would always say.

Give me another spoon and you got yourself a deal, Dean would respond.

Cas gave Dean a soft smile at the mention of Jack, the kind that always caused a swoop in Dean’s chest that he could never decide was akin to falling or flying. It looked a little different on Doc Holliday’s face, though. It made something pluck at Dean’s heart.

He missed Cas’ old vessel.

Sure it was still Cas inside there, which was the most important part. But Dean couldn't help but feel like something was missing. Maybe it was the touch of him under Dean’s hand. It was too different.

He’d get Cas into the right vessel again. He'd get Cas – both of them – home. But first…

Dean ran his hand through his hair to make sure he looked acceptable and followed Morgan inside the parlor. It looked almost exactly like a saloon, except, instead of a bar, there were tubs of ice cream packed into ice in a display case. A soda machine sat next to the antique register. The woman behind the counter gave Morgan a wave hello, which he offered back jovially, before he bee-lined to a table toward the back of the room.

And there he was: Wyatt Earp.

He was just sitting there at the table, like he wasn't the coolest person who ever lived. His narrow blue eyes scanned the open newspaper drooping from one hand to the table. His other hand was propped on the table next to a delicate saucer with melting strawberry ice cream. A silver spoon was pinched between his fingers. His long legs were crossed under the table, a rugged hat on his knee – perched precariously, but with the confidence of a man who knew not even an inanimate object would go against his orders.

Old pictures digitized and put on the internet didn't do his steely, commanding presence justice. Hell, they didn't even do the mustache justice!

Virgil sat across from him, wrapped up in his own newspaper.

Morgan strolled up to them like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“Morg,” Wyatt greeted without looking up. The sound of his voice was no-nonsense and to-the-point and totally All-American. “Good of you to join us.”

“Picked up a couple of strays on my way over,” Morgan said.

Finally, Wyatt lifted his eyes. They latched onto Cas first, lingering for just a second, barely enough time to give away the flash of pleasure in them before he nodded curtly. But Dean caught it. He always did when someone looked at Cas like that. Normally, it set his teeth on edge, even if he tried to hide it. He just didn't know why it raised his hackles in this case, but he didn't have time to figure it out before Wyatt’s attention moved to him.

Because, then the only thing Dean could think was, Holy shit. That's Wyatt Earp.

“Who’s this?” Wyatt asked, still scrutinizing Dean.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but all he did was gap like a teen girl at a One Direction concert.

“I saw you heading into the Oriental not too long ago,” Virgil observed. Dean didn’t think anyone had been paying attention to him when he first arrived, but he guessed he’d been wrong. Now, Virgil was assessing him again, frowning at Dean’s clothes – and Dean really needed to change. No wonder he stuck out like a sore thumb. “Haven’t seen you around here. You new in town?”

“You could say that,” Dean answered, finding his voice. He looked at Wyatt and did his damndest to control his face. “Name’s Dean Winchester. I’m a…” He couldn’t say he was a marshal or else they’d ask to see his badge. Thinking quickly, he decided on, “Special Agent for Wells Fargo. Heard there was trouble outside town and figured I’d lend a hand.”

The brothers nodded, seeming to accept it well enough.

“Well, Mr. Winchester, this here’s my brother, Virgil,” Wyatt said, his newspaper rustling as he folded it up. “I’m Wyatt Earp.”

Dean couldn’t help the giddy rush that shot through him. “I know.” Wyatt looked at him sharply, so it was apparently the wrong thing to say. Trying to hide his flush of embarrassment, he amended, “I mean… everyone knows who you are, don’t they?”

Wyatt’s gaze was steady.

Morgan broke the tension with, “Jeez, Doc. Where’d you find this one?”

Cas tilted his head slightly. “I’ve known Dean for years.”

Dean's eyes wearily fell closed. Luckily, no one seemed to question it. Wyatt stood up and picked up his black duster draped over the back of his chair. “Good. We could use as many trustworthy men as we can get.”

Dean brightened again, because he was pretty stoked to hear Wyatt Earp call him trustworthy. He ignored the fact that he’d just lied to the guy’s face.

Slipping into his coat, Wyatt said, “Looks like we better rent some horses and move out.”

“You giving the orders now, Wyatt?” Virgil deadpanned, folding up his newspaper.

“Always am, Virg,” was the answer, and Dean honestly didn’t know if that was a joke or not.

When the Earp brothers walked toward the exit, Dean spun around, eager to follow. Cas stopped him by grabbing onto his sleeve and pulling him back. “Dean,” he whispered urgently. “We don’t have time for this. We should be figuring out how to get home.”

He was right. Dean knew he was right. Longingly, he cast another long look at the Earps.

Screw it, he decided. He was going on a ride with the Earps. He deserved it. Besides, they were time traveling, which technically meant they had all the time in the world.

“Dude, come on,” Dean said, keeping his voice down. “When are we ever gonna get a chance like this again?” Cas gave him a level look, and even on a different face, Dean knew what that meant. Trying to convince him, Dean gestured out wildly with his hands and added, “Plus, for all we know, this could help us get home!”

“How?”

“I dunno! But cattle mutilations? Could be demony. And, who knows, maybe this is even our mess to clean up. We got no idea what kinda curse is on that locket. Maybe something followed us here.”

Cas pinched his lips, still seeming on the fence. “This isn’t a good idea, Dean. Those men… They’re his friends.” He gestured toward himself, really indicating Doc Holliday. “Won’t they suspect something?”

Admittedly, it was a good point, but Dean wasn’t about to let that ruin this. They could find a way around it. “You’ll be fine. You’ve seen that movie like, a million times. Just… act.”

“You mean, lie?”

“Same thing,” Dean said airily. He placed his hand firmly on Cas’ shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You got this. Agent Kilmer, remember?”

Cas sighed, still clearly not liking this plan. But he nodded, because of course he did. Because Cas always humored him. “Fine.”

Dean grinned, keeping Cas’ eyes. They turned fond, a small smile glinting in them. Dean felt the light of it spreading in his chest.

“You coming or what?” a stern voice called from the doorway.

The moment broken, Dean turned his head to the exit, finding Wyatt frowning in their direction. Dean cleared his throat and let his hand fall from Cas’ shoulder. He took a step back, putting some space between them.

“We’re coming,” Cas said.

Wyatt lingered momentarily, looking between the two of them, before turning around again. The ends of his coat fanned out around his shins.

“Guess we better not keep the man waiting,” Dean said.

Cas nodded. Then, as if Dean had said something he didn’t understand, his brow pinched.

Dean pulled a face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Cas said, shaking his head. “It’s… Doctor Holliday. He said something about a deacon who lacked the virtue of patience.”

He meant Wyatt. Wyatt was a church deacon, and Dean knew that because of the whole biggest fan thing. But he was still thrown off. “He said that? When?”

“Now,” Cas told him. “That was one of the stipulations of our deal. I’m allowing him to be aware of everything that’s happening.”

It probably shouldn’t have surprised Dean. After what happened with Jimmy and Claire, Cas was probably more than reluctant to take another vessel. No wonder he’d given this one room to breathe.

Still, Dean’s skin crawled as he remembered the way Michael let him be aware of everything. It was hell, being trapped in his own body, watching his own hands bend to Michael’s will. It was worse than hell – and Dean would know.

But Cas wasn’t like that. Cas wasn’t a dick. He was sure Doc was alright, so he let it go.

“Can he hear us right now?”

Cas nodded.

“Heh.” Dean wasn’t really sure what to say. It was a little weird, talking to Doc Holliday through Cas. But Dean’s whole life was weird, so this might as well happen. “Hi, uh… Doc. Hey. I’m…”

His mind formed coherent sentences. Something along the lines of, Thanks for letting my friend hitch a ride. We’ll be sure to give you your body back soon.

What came out was: “Big fan.”

Damn it, he was an idiot.

Without waiting around to humiliate himself even more, he turned tail and headed after the Earps.

Read the rest on AO3.

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #dean #dean winchester #cas #castiel #my writing #docholliday #doc holliday #wyatt earp #wyattearp #spn #supernatural #spn fic #docatt #i arguably got carried away with the word count

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