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writerfangirlbooks · 4 years

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Bobby’s Daughter Part 1

Dean x Y/N

Prompt: Imagine flirting with Dean Winchester before he finds out you're Bobby's daughter.

A/N: I know Bobby never had children, but let's imagine for now. I've got a cool idea, for the most part, to go with this prompt. As always, feel free to request any ideas you would like me to write! I've had quite a few Dean ones recently and even more coming up soon. Thanks for sticking with me. Also, I just can't write a story without a backstory, I just need it desperately haha, so enjoy this midnight mess. And uhh, this one gets a little steamier than the others, just a heads up. Also this one is getting multiple parts! Word Count: 1800

Credit to gif owner!

It took you long enough to convince your dad to so much as let you hunt by yourself.

You heard the story of your mom once, and only once. Your dad hated discussing what happened to her. It broke his heart, losing the love of his life. Bobby often declared he didn't know what he would do without you, that you being born was a blessing and miracle tied into one burst of joy in this miserable man's life. That was quite a bit to live up to. Fortunately, you weren't stuck with him all of the time. Once he stopped homeschooling you, you were able to have real interactions and get to know the real world.

Every once and a while, a friend of your father would drop his sons off at the doorsteps to watch for endless amounts of time. Sure, the boys were a couple of years younger, but at least they never said you had cooties. They were excited to be with Uncle Bobby, though they weren't related. It occasionally made you doubt your place in his heart, wondering if he wished you had been born a son instead. However, it was nice to not be made fun of not having a mom and having a drunkard for a father. You saw the brothers young and at one point, hadn't seen them since. It wasn't uncommon for traveling hunters to occasionally leave their children for a weekend or two, so you didn't easily remember all of their names.

Growing up a female was tricky in small-town Iowa, even more so as a hunter. Your father spent some time away hunting when things began to go awry in nearby towns. You started public middle school around age eleven, but your father feared you were simply too young to spend nights by yourself, and you didn't exactly have a bunch of friends to spend the nights at. That ended up causing extra frustration and stress on his plate before you suggested an idea you watched on television: private school.

In a way, Bobby was a better father after you went away. You became more outgoing, learned what it meant to be a lady, and more importantly, how to use that to your advantage. You were encouraged to learn other languages, try extracurriculars. So you did, studying Spanish and French for the rest of your education. You joined the photography club, acted in theatre, and played soccer. You went home on holiday breaks, summer being your favorite as it meant spending more time with your dad. He did his best to be home as often as possible. You got excited to fix cars if it meant spending time with him. Despite his protests, you felt encouraged to hunt, so he gave you pointers. It was years before around age sixteen, he finally allowed your first solo hunt. It was thrilling and unsurprisingly, it went great. He preferred playing board games and watching television with you, making him overall pretty chill.

The one thing he was not a cool dad came to your dating life. You tried getting a boyfriend young and Bobby insisted on meeting him before your first dance. Let's just say the two of you didn't leave together by the end of the night. He was more lenient toward regular, mediocre guys. His one rule was the most adamant: don't date hunters. Fortunately enough for you, most hunters were around your dad's age, so, very much not your type.

That could lead to some very lonely tonights as you became an adult, leading to one night stands in apartments. Of course, you skipped past the whole college scene. Far too expensive and not something you seemed interested in, anyway. Despite your father's protests, you decided to spend time traveling rather than staying with him. You had gotten used to your independence and was somehow nearing thirty way too quickly. You considered yourself content in life. You were a darn good hunter, a woman that could hold her alcohol, and a successful freelance photographer. You weren't sure where your dad's income came from and you decided it best not to ask, sticking to making an honest living while hunting as often as possible.

It was late summer and Bobby's birthday was coming up soon. Although he hated celebrating, you made sure to be around during this time. It just so happened to coincide with a case you were tracking. You figured you would surprise him tomorrow evening and make his favorite dinner. For now, though, you rented a small apartment half an hour away. You felt motels were dirty and a bit pathetic. You did have some class, after all.

Tonight you were looking for a good time, clothed in one of your favorite dresses, with matching heels and handbag. You headed to the bar, pulled up a chair, and ordered your favorite margarita. Soon enough, a man's build and shadow blocked your view of the door. He cleared his throat and you turned your head, taking in the view of messy brown hair and mischievous green eyes attached to a face full of sun-kissed freckles. The man wore nothing special, just regular jeans and a plaid shirt layered with a hunter-green jacket. It was a look that fits well in Iowa, but his voice showed quickly he was not raised here.

"Not a beer girl, huh?" He asked, raising an eyebrow towards your bright colored drink. You did a quick assessment and deemed this man as not a threat. He could be just what you were looking for. As you began to speak, you watched his attentive gaze dip from your eyes to your lips then back again.

"Not quite my style. I like something a little sweeter," you said with a small smile. Leaning back in your chair, you aimlessly twirled the straw around in your drink as you looked back up to the handsome stranger.

He draped an arm around your chair, his fingers lightly brushing your shoulders in the process. "Then feel free to call me sugar, sweetheart," he said. His eyes crinkled with the flirty grin. You wanted to laugh at what a bad line it was but figured his looks could make up for a lacking game. You bit back your smile by licking your lips and tacking a long sip of your drink.

"Well, I don't know about that, but you can call me Y/N," you offered.

The conversation quickly led into basic first date questions, leading you and the man who later introduced himself as Dean to realize you had quite a few similarities, such as bands, landmarks, and even pies. Neither of you was able to persuade the other to change interest in alcohol. Once you got to the topic of cars, you had lost track of time. Dean claimed to have an older Impala and was eager to show you. You were used to the ploys of cool cars to get a woman outside, but you weren't objecting to where the night was headed. You were left intrigued and somewhat shocked that someone this good looking was actually telling the truth about having such a well kept and beautiful vehicle. You were hoping to get the chance to impress him with your own knowledge about cars at some point if things actually made it past three am leavings, which was typically not likely.

When Dean proposed the invitation, he noticed your response was less than immediate. You didn't mean to hesitate but was trying to work out to tell him how you did not feel comfortable leaving your own car in the bar parking lot. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly. It typically wouldn't have been that noticeable except behavior change was something you studied in school when taught how to create poses for your photos. His green eyes were bright and eager, reflecting from the yellow lights outside of the bar.

"I, uh, if you're not interested... we don't have to..." Dean began stuttering, changing pace. He must not be used to rejection, you decided. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

You took one of Dean's hands, finding the new change endearing. Although it could've been funny to turn down someone that seemed like a player and innate flirter, that was not your plan for tonight. "Dean, I'm fine. I just don't like to leave my car, so if you want to follow, or go with me, back to my place?" You offered. You tilted your head, waiting for an answer.

He nodded. His grin had returned widely and he used his other hand to indicate for me to lead the way. And off Dean and you went. The two of you stumbled into your apartment in half the time it should have taken you to get back. Dean's chatter filled your ears up until you unlocked the door to your room.

Your keys were tossed onto the television stand while shoes were being kicked off against the closet door. Heat filled the room as your bodies filled the bed, disregarding your clothes and newness to one another. You felt much more connected as Dean kissed you, a sense of familiarity in his warmth and scent. It began with an intense and heavy makeout before his lips left yours, and began to trail down your neck, continuing further as time ticked away. The clock on the wall was the only sound you could hear besides your ragged breathing and the squeaks of the bed. The sheets were too weak for your grip, so you moved your nails into his back. You could feel his smiles trace your skin. You couldn't help but shudder when Dean whispered into your ear. It was a beautifully messy sight, watching Dean and you move as one, clinging to one another. Your eyelids fluttered, unsure of where to focus as the sensations grew stronger. Arching your head back to allow more room elsewhere, you thought you had lost your voice before one simple movement reminded you how to speak, urging you to call out Dean's name.

The night carried on for much longer.

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bloodlinevalentine · 5 years

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The Blessed Unrest

Decided to cross-post my little ohmtoonz ghost thing here :)

Chapter 1: Live Like You’re Still Alive

Luke sighs and crosses his arms, leaning forward onto the rusted rails in front of him. Behind him is a set of glass sliding doors and a large, empty room. Blank, golden brown eyes scanned the rows of buildings, looking out over the city. It seems that's all he can do now: spectate. He's been up there for longer than he can keep count for, and he can't seem to get down. He felt like a goldfish in a small bowl, stuck watching the humans go about their daily lives.

And, perhaps it was a bit of a pretty fish bowl. The balcony he'd been sitting on was pretty high up, and sprawled before him laid all that Chicago, Illinois had to offer. Luke is, by far, not the most observant person, but by now he's seen all there is to see. During the day, the nearby streets were a blur of cars speeding by and the ant-like figures of people making way down the sidewalks. From how high up he was, he couldn't even see the fashionably large coats and cars that dominated during this time of year due to the climate, just the ant-like figures moving around below him. The summer sun's overpowering rays were shrouded by the thick, grey winter clouds.

During the nights, nearly all the people down below cleared out the streets and all that was left was the chilled breeze against tall glass towers. Checkered light dotted buildings where janitorial crews remained busy decorated the dark sky, while neon signs advertised hotels and bars open late. A pale yellow glow illuminated the once busy roads, reflecting in the semi-melted snow. Muddied and marred crystals splashed onto the curb as the occasional car crept past. It served as a reminder that in a city as big and populated as Chicago, it was never completely quiet. Even in the darkest hour there was always someone on their way home from a late shift, someone walking across a parkway to meet another, someone smoking out on a porch.

All things considered, it actually took him a long while to realize he was dead. But once the signs make themselves known, he only wonders how he didn't figure it out sooner.

It starts with a lady in a nearby apartment complex taking her dog out for a piss. She has her brown hair lazily tied back and his leash loosely in her hands. The dog waddles around for a moment before he finds a grassy corner to go in, and it makes Luke think about how long it's been since he himself went. Then he remembers the last time he's slept, or eaten, or even simply spoken to another person. It's an an awful feeling, realizing your dead, especially when you have to be alive and conscious for it. Well, conscious. And in his many attempts to get somewhere, anywhere but this balcony, he's mostly just expanded his repertoire of different ways to give up. People came and went, but no one stuck around long, or even acknowledged him.

As he sat and watched the world pass him by, Luke had to wonder why. Why was he just sitting here? What exactly was stopping him from getting down from this accursed ledge? And after a quick moment of consideration, he decided it was nothing. He was leaving.

Or, so he tried. But anytime he attempted to pass from the balcony and into the room behind him, this awful heat in his chest would start up and kick into high gear, filling up the inside of him until it felt like he was drowning in it. The further it went, the worse it would get until it overwhelms his ability to move and he's forced back onto the ledge to relieve it. After a few failed attempts, he dejectedly gave up.

He'd even tried jumping as a means of escape, but it was only once. In an angry fit he'd narrowed his eyes at the ground below, and with a not even a single thought, leaned over the rail and let the sky have him. It didn't work, of course, a fact for which Luke didn't know if he should be happy about or not. He'd flipped through the air once, twice, and three times before he was speeding face first to the ground. It was the most terrifying moment, plummeting to the concrete unnoticed by any people below. Tears from the wind and perhaps something Luke doesn't think about blur his vision pretty strongly, but he can still see himself nearing the ground. At the last possible moment, when it seems the pavement is just grazing his skin, he blacks out. When he wakes up, he's back on the ledge like before, the memory of what feels like years before the only thing occupying his brain.

Luke felt so alone, even though he often found himself in the company of another lonesome stranger. Sometimes people would come out when they rented the party room behind him, for whatever reasons, and bring their odd conversations with them. He'd hear people sigh in defeat at a love not reciprocated while others partied their hearts out inside, or be forced to listen in as people complained about their situations at work or school, oblivious of his own problem.

One time, a guy even came out talking to himself and leaving convenient gaps for Luke to give his opinion, even though the man couldn't have known he was there. He never minded when people came outside, even if they seemed to ignore him or whine about problems that paled in comparison to his own. When you're clearly a ghost, any company is good company.

So, a little while later, Luke isn't too surprised to see a man enter the party room and cross over to the balcony. He wordlessly slides the glass door and step out onto the ledge, staring over at the people below. There is nothing going on in the building, so he must be scouting the area for a party later. However, when the guy's foot makes contact with the balcony Luke hears a snap, like the sound a rubber band when it smacks into your hand. He feels something in his chest reel, the way you would imagine a bullet tearing through your skin, shredding muscles and sensitive tissue until it finally drags its weight out of you. The sensation makes him whip his head back up in alarm.

The man looked as if he was hastily dressed, shiny brown tresses a mess around his head and tattered clothes free in the wind. His face is tense and slightly angry, but if you look past that, he's pretty attractive. Although, he has a sort of rushed air about him, as though a man on a mission.

Luke watches the guy scan the area, ghosting over him like everyone else. He raises a hand to his chest to soothe the odd pain and looks back over the edge to continue his miserable mulling.

It's not until the man takes a particularly sharp inhale that Luke looks over at him again, and this time, soft, hazel eyes are staring directly at him with a frightened intensity. It seems to take the guy a minute, during which he looks as though he wants to say something, but when he realizes what is so wrong he gasps for real. A pale hand reaches out towards the door handle, swiping and missing a few times before he finally gets a grip.

Luke realizes in one elated sweep that the man knows he's there--is looking at him--which he says as much as he can in a gasp of his own. He leaps to his feet, and other pales at his reaction, finally gaining his bearings and yanking the door open just wide enough to fit his body through before he throws himself into the room. He doesn't bother with a fleeting glance or even the slightest pause, just slams the door shut so hard the glass rattles in it's frame.

Not about to let his only chance of getting out of his hell escape, Luke reaches for the handle himself, only to phase through it and the door in turn. That feeling makes everything left in his body run cold and rush hot all at the same time. 'Now that has never happened before,' he thinks, and had to take a moment to appreciate the effortlessness of it, but that time quickly passes. Before, he's never been able to phase through anything else, but before he's never run into anyone who could see him. He's got to catch that person.

"I can't see you!" The guy shouts over his shoulder and makes a break for the stairs rather than the obviously slow elevator. Luke wants to yell something back about the absurdity of that statement, but finds himself consumed with laughter instead. In no way disturbed by Luke's amusement, he rounds a corner at the end of the first set.

"Why are you running from me?" Luke yells back when he gains his composure. He's a little surprised by the volume of his voice, but then again it has been who-knows-how-long since the last time he'd actually spoken out loud to someone. The other doesn't look like he cares about his inquiry, though, and instead increases his speed down the steps. Luke doesn't remember exactly how tall the building is, but he knows there's many more at this rate.

That thought, along with the fact that he's falling behind in their chase makes him jump to close the distance, almost losing his footing at the landing because when he reaches out for the handrail, his fingers glide right through it. When he finally rights himself, he picks up the pace as well to catch up.

Seemingly inspired by his show of diligence, the boy attempts a leap of his own, but misses a step at the bottom and goes down hard. With a departing yelp, he tumbles down the last few steps and smacks into the wall signaling the turn with all of his momentum. The fall looks painful as anything Luke has ever seen, and all the hopeful mirth drains from his face; in its wake is trickle by agonizing trickle of mortification.

"Holy shit, are you alright?" He slows to a stop a few paces away, watching in silent guilt as the guy examines himself. There is no blood, at least none that he can see, but there is definitely some major bruising and perhaps some swelling that is soon to come. When he decides nothing too incapacitating is amiss, he winces to sitting position and levels a reluctant gaze at Luke.

"I..." he makes to answer Luke's question, but pauses briefly, "No, I--uh--that was totally my fault." He directs his vision to the floor with a dejected gaze.

"Why were you running away from me anyway?" Luke prods carefully, assessing his companion's face as he processes the question.

"Listen man," he starts after a moment, obviously not inclined to answer the second question, "I know this is hard to hear, and it probably doesn't even make sense, but you... you're dead now." He looks up at Luke again, watching his reaction closely.

"Well I think I've realized that by now." He sighs and moves to sit as well and hopefully disarm the guarded look on the other man's face.

The guy just screws his eyes shut and tilts his head in a pained nod, bringing a hand to his head once again. "Fuck," he curses as he draws the hand back down into his lap, and Luke feels a pang of guilt through himself again.

"I didn't kill myself though." Luke blurts into the silence. He'd actually never thought that completely, but as the words come out of his mouth, he feels assured that they're true. He doesn't even need the memories of his life to understand that the pure terror he felt when he'd jumped after already being dead all that time was too unfamiliar to have been how he died in the first place.

The guy opens his eyes at the sound of Luke's voice, and nods lightly once more. "Yeah, I can tell. You looked more like a murder anyway."

Luke's eyebrows fall at the odd words, and the man seems to mistake his silence as balking at the statement. "Look, right here is not the best spot for this. We can go to my place and I can explain it better, okay?"

Luke gives the guy an assessing look as he thinks it over. He's wearing grey hoodie, ripped and frayed at the wrists and a scruffy pair of no doubt unintentionally distressed blue jeans. His bedraggled shoes were the most worn of all though, complete with a belt of duct tape around the toe painted white in a semblance of normality. Truly, they looked as though they were being held together by sheer willpower more so than any of its threads.

But then he also watches the tension in the guy's expression unwind, almost as if just the idea of being at home makes him more comfortable. Well, it wasn't like he had any reason to distrust the only person who'd even seen him in weeks, and he's already dead, so what's the worst that could happen?

"Sure, sounds good." He nods and they both rise and head down that last few flights of stairs.

"I'm Luke, by the way." he supplies as they step out into the sunshine, but the guy doesn't react at all. At first Luke thought it to be a bit rude, but as people look and even speak through him, he realizes that he's being ignored because no one can see him. Even he can conclude that standing around talking to no one is pretty strange. But as he observes the crowd a bit more, he realizes that people are naturally giving them a wide berth. It was almost as if the other people could tell he was different, not knowing anything about him. Luke made a mental note to ask about it later.

[][[][][][]][]

The guy doesn't stop until they reach an apartment complex that Luke wouldn't give a second glance at if he was still alive. Although, a muted grey building with white trimming and a graffiti collage on the alley-side wall isn't much to blink at for most people anyway. They turn down a path leading to more buildings in similar condition, and Luke frowns. This can't be where he lives, can it?

Luke himself had never been especially well off, but he would never consider his family poor growing up either. They fit more snugly into the upper middle-class sector. He did believe he knew what poor looked like though, and despite his clothes, he refused to believe that this man lived in such bad conditions. He must have been taking a shortcut.

Only now, muddy tennis shoes with no recognizable brand were stomping up cement steps leading up to the second floor and Luke's eyebrows knit together as he follows.

"Sorry about earlier" he speaks up as the near the doors, and at first, Luke isn't sure if he's talking about running away or ignoring him until he continues, "But I'm sure you understand why I can't really talk to you in public. My name's Ryan." He throws Luke an exasperated smile over his shoulder as he routinely walks over to a door near the end of the corridor and pulls out a pristine silver key from his jacket pocket. The wooden door has a worn and chipped plastic address on the front, characters reading 6A bolted haphazardly to it. Is this really where Ryan lives?

"And sorry about this too, but it's gonna be a bit messy inside," Ryan grins apologetically, wrestling they key into the dubious looking lock and working it open with slight difficulty. When the old, creaky metal finally gives, he pushes the door open and lets them both in.

The interior really is a mess, but Luke gets the feeling that isn't entirely Ryan's fault. Chalky, inconsistent manila walls are losing more than just their paint in the corners, and white carpeting is always a bad idea. But aside from those things, the room's mostly organized state convinces Luke that Ryan is a clean oriented person. He probably didn't even make those stains on the floor.

"It's not that bad." Is his leisure reply. Ryan reaches for a light switch that Luke half expects to flicker and blink into life, it would go with the rest of the working in this place.

Except the light just comes on, no humming or flickering included, prompting Ryan to plop onto the gently loved sofa and dig around for something underneath one of the cushions. He pulls a laptop out as if withdrawing it from a storage, and Luke raises an eyebrow when expectant eyes turn up towards him.

"You can start by just telling me anything you remember, as far back as you can go." He lifts a hand and drops it onto the back of the couch, and Luke stills at the smile he receives.

It occurs to him that Ryan really is trying his best here, and he gets the feeling that it isn't his first time of him having to go through this with someone. He looks tired and a little defeated, but undeniably means well by all this.

"I don't remember a lot," He confesses reluctantly, but when Ryan's look of support never wavers, he goes back as far as he deems relevant.

"I was at a party," Luke begins, and as he speaks the memories come back a little, "It was for me, At least I think it was... No I'm sure, I'm pretty sure I had done something, or gotten something. It definitely wasn't a birthday party." He can hear the soft taps of Ryan typing on his laptop as well.

"Maybe a graduation or something?" Ryan pipes and pauses the ticking of his note taking to level Luke with a curious glance.

"No but, similar..." Ryan nods and types some more, but Luke feels and odd sensation of confusion rise in his chest. It was as though the memories of that night had just been erased from his mind. "I remember a fight-- as in, I'm a boxer, so maybe it had to do with that."

He waits a moment for Ryan to asses and decide what he want to write, and eventually receives a nod,"Okay, you can go on," he encourages as he finishes typing, and Luke continues.

"There was a shit-ton of people there. I'm talking rooms all the way down the corridor full of people. I'm sure there was no way for me to know them all, and there were so many were people I hadn't seen in a while. Everyone was constantly taking pictures. And, for some reason I remember something about wild bananas." Luke's face contorts from introspection to back into confusion as his brain conjures up the hazy images.

"Sounds like an interesting party." Ryan chuckles as he types, flashing him a quick look of disapproval, but a good 'your-friends-are-weird-people' kind of disapproval. Luke would laugh lightly at the situation too, but a sobering thought arises.

"But, I remember some other stuff too." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I remember standing by the door were you found me. I think I got into an argument with someone, or something like it. I was so angry and..." Sad?

Luke pauses with the word on the tip of his tongue, almost tasting it, but something about it wasn't right. And suddenly, he is filled with the sensation of familiarity. The most vivid memory so far: he can feel the phantom flurry of emotions from that night wash over him again like a wave, and they go far beyond sadness. Betrayed. His brain supplies with another hazy image: raised voices, the goosebumps left behind from a feral yell, and the only emotion that reaches deeper than anger. He had been deeply, deeply betrayed.

"Luke?" Ryan asks his silence, leaning to enter his field of view. Luke just shakes his head.

"Then, I stepped outside for some air, because I was just getting angrier and angrier. I slammed the door behind myself before I was pushed over the edge. I don't think I actually saw anyone out there, I didn't even think to check, really. But suddenly there was nothing but wind and sky around me, and I'm positive I didn't just walk off."

When Luke looks over, Ryan still has not continued clacking away at his keys. Instead, his eyes remain openly trained on Luke, hands slack at his sides. He has this expression on his face that's not quite legible, but Luke decides he doesn't like the way it makes him feel.

"After that it was just me up on that balcony for the longest until you showed." Finally, after a bit more hesitation, Ryan begins typing again.

"Any idea how long?" he asks quietly, and Luke meets his gaze as he thinks.

"A month, maybe two?" he hazards a guess, "It got pretty hard to keep track."

"That's okay," Ryan hums lightly and looks up at him, stalling the movement of his hands, "Time goes by a little funny when you're dead."

The words don't sit too nicely with Luke, but he doesn't say anything in retaliation. It really is going to take some getting used to it for him to easily joke about this. I mean, he was dead for god's sake. Instead of voicing this this thought though, he sits quietly as Ryan begins looking for anything online surrounding his death.

"Hey, I think I found something." He speaks up, after a while. "It says here that you were at a party a friend was hosting for you." Ryan pauses as though the statement is unfinished, and appears to read over it a few times before continuing. "And, that you won a UFC Championship against the former champion. It was big, huge even, televised apparently." He says in disbelief, and the words draw a gasp from Luke's lips.

Ah yes, that sure jogs the memory. It was the biggest event of his career, and it was even better when he won. How had he forgotten! Now, he didn't even have to guess at how so many people he barely spoke to somehow arrived at the party now. If he won something that huge, Jon was probably hosting the after-party, and you could bet on the fact that Evan was on the VIP list. And these days, if Evan was doing anything, his entourage was quick to follow in a mess of plus-ones and questionable invitations.

"It says that it was a tremendous party turned tragic when you committed suicide. There were no eyewitnesses in the vicinity, but no one else was believed to be there when you jumped off the balcony. It made the news."

"I didn't commit suicide," Luke's frown deepened, and he started pacing again, "I was murdered."

Ryan nods but doesn't say anything else, eyes scanning his laptop screen a few more times before he closes it and looks up a Luke.

"Wait. If you could have just looked it up, why did you ask me?" He laughs a little, but it feels empty, especially when Ryan just levels him with a admonishing look.

"I know you didn't commit suicide Luke, but the police don't, and that is a big issue for us. Right now, the best thing you could do for yourself is try to remember as much as you can." After he says this, his eyes soften and a shy smile graces his features. "But on the other hand, whoever pushed you might be a little easier to find since it's been so long. They've likely stopped being careful and keeping away from suspicious areas, thinking they've gotten away with this. I think that if we really work at it, we'll be able to find the bastard who did this to you." He giggles lightly, and Luke can't keep the small grin off his face.

He tames it though and nods, settling himself to the sound of Ryan's confidence. As much as he hates struggling to remember his own damn life, he must say that he hates being dead even more. If anything, he was stoked just to be away from that ledge and with someone who could see him, if if the guy might just be crazy for it.

"Thanks, man." He says with as much genuinity as he can muster, and his faith is only strengthened by Ryan's winning smile.

Perhaps this whole being dead thing could work out for him.

#thanks for reading #fanfics #ohmtoonz #blood on paper #ghosts #ohm being a general good human #the usual #ohmwrecker #cartoonz

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their-destinys-writer · 5 years

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Misadventures in Reporting #3

About the series: Misadventures in Reporting is a series of short stories about the adventures of a normal reporter living in an abnormal world.

Rating: PG-13 for mild cursing and violence

Word count: 2,576

Also in: Wattpad

Support this series in Ko-fi or Patreon (Posted on early access in the latter)

#3 - Teleman’s Mark

“I don’t even know where to begin with you.”

Melinda gulped under the scrutiny of Mr. Sullivan. Boy, was she in so much trouble. But nobody told her doing the right thing would be cheap. The reporter took a deep breath, weighing her options. Apologize? Defend herself? Wait for the boss to say his piece? Perhaps the third option. She was in enough trouble as it was.

“How many times have I told you not to push the deadline?” Mr. Sullivan hissed, almost barring his yellowish teeth.

Wait, am I supposed to answer that?

“A million times I’ve told you,” he continued. With every word he spoke, the desk between them felt smaller and smaller. Had he always looked so large behind it? “And yet, you give me one of the most important reports, if not the most important report in months with and hour to spare for printing. We had to cut the last two paragraphs because we didn’t have time to look through the whole thing!”

The woman winced. She had hoped only one paragraph would have to be cut. But alas, most of it got through without major changes.

“And now,” Mr. Sullivan raised his voice, “now we got a Porsche in the redaction floor, thanks to your little stunt. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Melinda’s mouth opened, but it suddenly went dry, so she closed it back up. Was she willing to put next month’s rent at risk just for ‘doing the right thing’? Was it worth sacrificing several months of electricity or water for being right? Was she right?

“I didn’t think he’d take it so bad,” she managed to say at last.

“The guy held up a damn crane with his mind,” the aging man deadpanned. “What did you think he was going to do? Throw confetti?”

The woman’s gaze darted to the surface of the desk. It wasn’t until that moment that shame started to invade her. How could she be so thoughtless? Over three-hundred people worked in this newspaper. Her article would reflect on the company, and thus, her coworkers. Someone could have gotten hurt.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sullivan,” she said quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

The man snarled a sound of disgust, giving her an exasperated look.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t fire you right now,” he hissed.

A loud thudding resounded from Melinda’s insides. Her heart was drumming hard against her chest. She could feel a drop of sweat trickling down the side of her face, despite the cold air conditioning.

The article broke my career, she concluded.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Tsk.” Mr. Sullivan shook his head. “You really are dense.”

Well that’s uncalled for, Melinda thought, rising her gaze to his once again. His expression still seemed exasperated, but now he was looking outside his office.

“Mr. Sullivan, I—”

“You can’t get fired because you proved your point,” he interrupted. Melinda frowned. “Three years here, and you still can’t put your deduction skills to use under pressure. So, let’s try this again: give me one good reason I shouldn’t fire you this instant.”

It was like a light flicked on in Melinda’s brain. He wasn’t firing her, he was testing her. Why does he have to be so mean about it, though?

“Because,” she started, still hesitant to respond back, but determined to keep her job. “Because if our—my—allegations were false, the proper response would’ve been to call a press conference denying the claims. Throwing a car through our building dampers his own reputation, and it’s an attempt against freedom of press. It’s a threat against not only us, but anyone who dares talk ill of him.” The woman smirked. “Not very superheroic, if you ask me.”

“Exactly.” Mr. Sullivan slammed his fist against the desk, startling Melinda. “That piece of shit is trying to shut us up. This isn’t like that Cronus guy. That was self-defense. Teleman just made a declaration of war against us and the free press. We can’t back out now. So,” the man slammed his hands together and rose from his chair, “I’m gonna need everything you got from this story. Notes, sounds, transcriptions, anything you can share by today. The earlier the better. We need to write tomorrow’s editorial piece.”

“Yessir!” Melinda blurted, jumping to her feet.

“What are you, a soldier?” Mr. Sullivan chuckled. “Just get to it, Martínez. Go, get!”

“Y-yes, Mr. Sullivan.”

Without needing to be told again, she scampered out of the office and headed straight to her desk. As she approached it, she realized it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Where hers and several others had been there was yellow tape and half of the Porsche she saw from outside.

A shudder went up her spine, as she realized Teleman’s target had not been as random as she initially thought.

---

“It was horrible,” Melinda complained.

Thanks to a certain superhero, two thirds of employees had been relegated to simple tasks that day. For security reasons. This created one of those rare opportunities where the journalist’s group of friends from the Latest News Division got to eat lunch together. As they made the line to order their food, Melinda took the opportunity to answer the constant what-happened-with-Sullivan question.

“You’re blowing it waaay out of proportion,” Kevin, the photographer, muttered as he tinkered with his new phone.

“I thought I was gonna self-combust,” she whined, slumping her head back. “Why does he have to be so mean about it? I was already planning my life as a homeless bum living on storm drains.”

“You know how it is,” Will, another reporter like her, chuckled. “That old man would rather torture you to death than be direct.”

“Who cares, anyway,” Beatriz, a graphic designer, drawled. “You didn’t get fired. That’s what matters.”

“At the cost of my sanity!” Melinda argued. “I’ve never been so scared to lose a job in my life.”

“Eh, you would’ve gotten a new one in a week,” Kevin commented, without looking up from the screen.

“No way,” the reporter in question argued. “Nobody would’ve wanted to hire the woman who made a superhero angry enough to throw a car through a building. My career would’ve been finished.”

“Nah, you’d be fine. Hey, Will,” the photographer suddenly called, raising his phone. “Look pretty for me, will ya?”

“Man, you know I don’ like it when people take pictures of me,” the reporter complained.

“C’mon, I wanna test the resolution on this thing,” Kevin insisted.

“Why me?”

“Hm, you’re right, you can’t smile. Melinda, smile for me.”

“Dude, I’m having a mental breakdown,” the journalist huffed.

“Why?” Kevin whined. “You’re still working. You kept your job. Why are you so upset?”

“Have you been ignoring me this whole time?”

“Not…ignoring,” Kevin shrugged. “Just listened to half of what you said.”

Melinda groaned, but Beatriz waved her hand dismissively.

“Mija, you gotta chill about this whole thing,” she said. “But honestly, Kevin’s right. You’re worrying too much. You kept your job, that’s what matters. Who knows, you may actually get promoted for this.”

“If Teleman doesn’t kill one of us first.”

“Occupational hazard,” Will shrugged, joining the conversation again after ordering. “Who’s next?”

Melinda offered herself and stepped up to order her lunch.

“Will that be all?” the young woman asked, and the reporter agreed. “That will be twelve-fifteen.”

“Here,” she said, handing her credit card.

“You buy your morning coffee here too, don’t you?” the cashier suddenly said, as she made the transaction.

“Closest good coffee to work,” Melinda responded automatically, her mind still wandering back to that morning.

“You work nearby?” the young, blonde woman asked as she took her time ripping the receipt from the card reader.

“Yeah,” Melinda shrugged, taking the piece of paper. “Thank you!”

She turned around to her friends, who were all giving her a look of incredulity.

“What?”

The other three looked at each other, as if debating who would be the one to speak up.

“Imma look for a table,” Will pipped up, quickly deserting the group.

Melinda frowned, and stared at the other two, who now looked defeated. With a shrug, they turned to the cashier and made their orders, while the reporter rolled her eyes and waited for hers and Will’s food. After a few minutes, all four sat at a round table with their meals.

“Is anybody gonna say it?” Beatriz said.

“Say what?” Melinda frowned.

“For a journalist, you can be very unobservant,” Will muttered loud enough for the rest to hear.

“Not unobservant,” Kevin chimed in. “Just oblivious to the language of love.”

“Here we go again,” Melinda sighed. “You guys really think I’m thinking about romance when a Porsche destroyed my desk?”

At last, Kevin’s eyes were pried away from his phone. Will and Beatriz followed suit.

“I thought it was random,” Beatriz said. Kevin and Will exchanged stares, while Melinda shook her head.

“I don’t think it was,” Melinda said, as she started poking around her salad. “My desk wasn’t the only one next to a window, yet it was the only one made into pieces. If I had gotten to work earlier, who knows what would’ve happened to me.”

As she bit into a cherry tomato, she could feel the awkward silence shared between the other three people on the table. In all honesty, Melinda felt proud of finally getting through to them on the seriousness of the matter. Although she appreciated them trying to cheer her up and distract her, talking about it felt like the thing she truly needed at that moment.

“But he didn’t get you,” Will cut through the silence. “And that’s what matters. That you’re safe and alive. And I know the newspaper will work hard to keep it that way. Even tactless Sullivan. He doesn’t show it, but he cares about us.”

“He actually has a point,” Kevin said, eyes back on his phone. “Sullivan just sucks at showing other emotions other than uncaffeinated-angry.”

“Regardless,” Beatriz jumped in, “in any case, we’re here for you. And if you don’t feel safe in your apartment, you know abuela has no problem with you staying over.”

“Thanks, Bea,” Melinda said.

“So how’s this,” Kevin said, now raising his phone, “in case anyone of us gets fired, or murdered by a harassing superhero, we’ll take a selfie to remember the good times. Before everything turns to shit.”

“Oh yeah, that way we have a picture to mark exes on our faces as we die one by one” Will deadpanned.

“Psh, we’d all be dead in a horror movie,” Beatriz stated, waving a hand.

“Guys, I’m trynna make a cute moment, don’t ruin it for me.”

“Fine,” the reporter rolled his eyes good naturedly.

Without needing anymore prompting, the group moved their chairs and huddled together in the hopes of fitting in the frame. Kevin extended his arm, with the front camera of his phone activated for a selfie.

After taking the photo and replacing their seats, Kevin spoke up.

“By the way, the cashier’s name is Katie—”

“Oh my God, stop!”

---

The sun had almost completely set when Melinda walked by the sidewalk leading to her apartment building. It had been a long and exhausting day, despite spending most of it in the office. She hadn’t realized how emotionally draining being the targeted reporter could be.

But she chose this path. And she was sticking to it, as long as she had the support of her boss and the company.

She started going up the steps to the front door of the building, when she couldn’t help but feel watched. Melinda stopped mid-step. Her arms swung as she turned on her heels, hand holding tight to the pepper spray on her keychain. Her eyes shifted from side to side, looking for whatever was giving her that gut feeling.

Yet she saw nothing. Slowly, she lowered her arms back to the sides, and started back to the entrance of the building. She carefully started unlocking the door.

SMACK

Melinda’s face slammed against the iron door, and a hand pressed against the back of her neck kept her pressed to it. She tried pushing back, but whoever was attacking grabbed her flailing hands and held them tight.

“You’re Melinda Martínez, aren’t you?” a voice whispered into her ear, sending a chill down her spine.

“Who wants to know?” she dared quip.

There was a pause. Ever so slowly, Melinda’s feet started leaving the ground, yet she was not being pushed up from her neck. In fact, she felt more like she was…

Floating.

Teleman.

“I guess you could say I’m somewhat of a critic of your work.”

“H-Hey, listen man,” Melinda started desperately, “I was just doing my job.”

“Isn’t your job reporting on both sides?”

“You’re a hard source to find!” she pleaded. “I tried, really. But even with your version, I still had to write what was published. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to take you down or anything, it’s just my job.”

“Your job sounds very… convenient for me.”

Melinda frowned. Was he being sarcastic? Was he threatening her? Was he going to kill her? Or worse…

“I was wondering how long it would take for the information to get out,” he continued, the air of his breath threatening her neck. “It took, what, five months?”

“Victims of sexual assault are not usually very talkative when they know the other person has more power,” Melinda dared shoot back.

“You people have the strangest rules. Perhaps next time I should be a little more explicit.”

“We people?” Melinda breathed. “What the hell are you even talking about? You sound like…” she swallowed. “Like you wanted to get caught.”

“My business is none of yours,” Teleman hissed. “But I have to say, I’m starting to enjoy some of the perks of this job.”

“I thought you were a superhero. One of the good guys,” she said quietly.

“I am,” he whispered back. “Just like one of those who likes to prance around using names of old Greek gods.”

With those last words, Melinda was suddenly dropped to the ground. The jolt of it made her stumble to her side and collapse against the wall. She turned just in time to see a blur of blue shoot up into the sky.

With her heart still running at a hundred miles, Melinda unlocked the door and ran all the way up the stairs to the third floor. Once in front of her apartment, she hastened to unlock it, almost dropping her keys.

After opening it, Melinda jumped into her living room and closed both locks on her door. At last, she slammed her back to it, panting from the run.

Melinda clapped a hand on her mouth, just as tears started spilling out. She knew being a journalist had the potential to be dangerous. She had heard stories of reporters disappearing in Central America and seen videos of others being decapitated by terrorists on the other side of the world. But in a city, the job dangers were reduced to rude politicians and snobby CEOs.

This was not supposed to happen to her. Much less by someone who was supposed to protect them. Covering superheroes was supposed to be fun, every journalist’s dream.

And yet, as she slid to the ground silently sobbing, speaking the truth on superheroes was starting to feel more like a nightmare.

#Misadventures in Reporting #MiR #Melinda Martínez #original fiction #fantasy #sci-fi #short story #series

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dylans-jawline · 6 years

Text

Kiss Me With Your Eyes Open

Requested?: No

Summary: Google has a party at a water park to get the nooglers used to their surroundings when y/n lets her eyes find a boy who is always staring at his phone

Song Listened to: while writing, I listened to Sleepy Eyes by Elohim & Whethan

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, kissing

Word Count: 2,036 Words

Additional Notes: This was for @dylanobemineforever ‘s writing contest, and I had a lot of fun with this one, so I hope you enjoy

The whole water park was filled with flashing lights, loud music, and a bunch of nooglers. The colors from the lights changed from purple to blue, and green to yellow. The music vibrated through the water, allowing the post-college adults to feel the beat. Each of the Nooglers had either a drink in hand, or some kind of food. Google had tried to enforce the rule that there would be no alcohol because it wasn’t professional, but I’m pretty sure that rule was broken pretty quickly. Mostly everyone has a soft pretzel in hand if not a glass with a tiny umbrella in it.

It was the first night after we were all introduced to Google. The company decided it would be a good idea to have a big party like gathering for all the new incomers, so they rented out one of L.A.’s water parks. Most of us are from out of state so they wanted us to get used to living somewhere new, and this was a perfect way. The vibe from the start of the night had just been terrific, and everyone seemed to be having a good time.

Some people stuck to the tall slides, and others had made an attachment to the lazy river. I had went down a few curvy slides before going down a chute type of slide, and then I decided to just ride around the lazy river for a while. The tubes that we got were clear, so you could see the rainbow water while you drifted in the man made attraction. It was actually a very laid back night...for the most part at least.

Eventually, I made my way to the main attraction. The wave pool. More than half of us Nooglers were in the large pool, and there was a good reason for that. The main dj and light consoles were. It was eventually nicknamed “The Slab” because apparently “The Dj Table” is too hard for us brilliant minded kids to pronounce. Going to The Slab felt like going to a rave, but with water, laughter, and big waves. I knew my legs were going to regret going body surfing with the music, but right now I was having too much fun to care.

While I was jumping and enjoying myself, I noticed a guy that was nose deep in his phone, fully clothed. I could tell that this dude obviously did not want to come to this thing, seeming annoyed by the loud music. He must’ve decided that the music that was being played was too good for him, so he pulled out a pair of lime green earbuds and placed each one in his ears. I don’t know if it was the shot of tequila I had earlier, or just my curiosity, but I decided to go up and talk to this stranger and see if he wanted to go for a dip.

Getting out of the pool was slightly harder than getting in, but I managed. I almost slipped a couple of times, but I made it by with just a couple scratches. Nothing a little chlorine can’t fix. Speaking of which, I probably reeked of the smell. I had been in the pool the whole hour that we had been here so far, so I hope that I don’t scare him off with the aroma. I know not everyone is particular to the smell.

As I neared him, I was able to get a better look at his facial features. His chocolate hair was disheveled, and stuck out in random spots. There was a faint indent around his hair, but I realised that it must have been from the beanie he now had by his side. His chestnut eyes were glued to the screen on his phone, and they had a slight purple reflection, mirroring what he was looking at. Freckles adorned his face, making other constellations on his rather pale skin. I hope this boy had sunscreen, because if he didn’t, he’d probably be very red tomorrow morning. The sun had went down by now, but it’s been out for some time when we first got here

When I finally reached him, I sat in the chair next to him. He didn’t even spare a glance my way. The next minute was really awkward, and I was just kinda holding onto my knees while he kept scrolling through his phone. Finally I decided to talk to him, and when I did he glanced my way.

“Hey, I’m y/n! I noticed that you were alone and that you haven’t gone swimming at all, so I was wondering if you’d want to go to the lazy river with me. No one is really there right now because they’re here, so if you’re not swimming because there’s people that could be a good place to go, and I just realised I’m rambling, so I’ll stop now.”

He quirked his eyebrow upwards and took one of his earbuds out, “was any of that worth repeating because I did not get anything from that.”

I blushed before I could respond, and just shook my head, “I don’t think that you’d want me to repeat me talking almost the length of my last thesis for college,” I joked.

He gave me a chuckle, which only made my cheeks redden more, and he took out his other earbud. As he did, I noticed his long, skinny fingers that I hadn’t before.

“Are you sure? I’m pretty sure listening to that would be better than hearing this music,” he commented.

I contemplated if I was going to repeat myself or not, “I was just wondering if you wanted to go for a swim,” I said half desperately, half hopingly.

“No,” he shot me down abruptly and the proceeded to return his headphones in his ears.

“Wait wait wait,” I interrupted his actions, “why not? We’re at a beautiful park, the water is nice, and I hear they’ve started to give out free drinks,” I offered, hopefully catching interest with the man in front of me.

“Well, first off, this park is far from nice. You know how many germs are in that pool right now? Don’t even get me started on how many food violations the park has made in just this day! Secondly, the water is, in fact, not ‘nice,’ and is probably half sweat from all these people. And thirdly, don’t drink.”

“I don’t drink,” I corrected, “besides. Okay, yeah, maybe this park isn’t anything luxurious, and there’s a possibility of the water being gross, and so what you don’t drink, why don’t you just live a little tonight,” I asked.

“Well, first off, I have no idea who you are, you have no idea who I am, and we don’t know each other,” he started, “so unless you want a very angry rambling Stuart, then I suggest you go back to swimming with everyone else.”

“There’s a start,” I exclaimed, “I know you’re name. Mine’s y/n. Now you know my name, and we know each other, so come on. If you go I’ll buy you a cake tomorrow,” I offered.

His eyes flew up to meet mine from his phone and then narrowed, “what flavor?”

I smiled, “any flavor you want. Now let’s go,” I quipped, clearly annoyed.

Stuart struggled to collect his stuff quickly while I strolled off abruptly, him trailing behind.

“Wait, where are you going? You went past the wave pool,” he questioned.

I looked back at him, “lazy river. Less people, more fun!”

“Whatever you say, bud.”

My stomach fluttered at the name for some reason. It wasn’t even one of endearment, but when he called me that, I felt like I was floating. There was no denying that Stuart was an attractive man, but I couldn’t catch feelings for someone I haven’t even spent twenty minutes with, right? That would just be absolutely absurd. Even if I did, there’s a slim to none chance that he liked me back.

When we got to the lazy river I started grabbing a single tube, but Stuart stopped me.

“Aren’t we getting a double tube. As in two people. Because we are two people,” he awkwardly asked.

“Um, yeah,” I replied, just as equally awkward.

I released the tupe I was holding and grabbed the bigger one that could fit two people. When we got in the river, it was kind of uncomfortable at first, but then Stuart started talking more, cracking jokes. It seemed like he was actually enjoying himself. Eventually, we had shared everything that there was to share. What college we went to. What we majored in. Our favorite colors. Everything. For some reason, I felt like my closest friend was a guy I hadn’t met even twenty-four hours ago.

Somehow, our conversation reached around to relationships. Probably from the chain of highschool, to dances, to prom, and then we were here now.

“So,” I started, “How have your relationships been in the past?”

He looked through the tube, not making eye contact with me as he spoke, “well, I, uh, I’ve never actually been in a relationship.”

My mouth went agape, “How! You are literally the definition of perfect,” I slipped out, immediately regretting it after.

He only offered a smirk after, “how so, y/n?”

“Well,” I began, “your jawline is flawless,” he smiled at that one, only encouraging me, “and- and your little freckles could make any guy or girl jealous. Your hair looks really soft, and your build is spectacular.”

When he didn’t say anything afterwards, I got really nervous.

“Well, it’s nice to know I have a secret admirer,” he joked.

“Oh, shut up,” I said while playfully punching his arm. Right know we were facing each other in the tube, both of our elbows were resting on the middle connecting tube. My elbows eventually grew tired, so I pulled my legs out of the tube and placed them above the opening in a criss-crossed manner, Stuart doing the same

“And what about you, bud,” he asked,”how have your relationships been?”

I glanced away while I spoke coldly, “yeah, um, I’ve actually never had one either.”

It had always upset me seeing all of my friends be in relationships, and then I’m just a lone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy they have someone to be with, but I just really want that for me. Evidently, Stuart could that I was saddened, so he laid down on the tube and turned around so my back was laying on his chest. It was a good thing that my face was turned away from his so he couldn't see my face heating up.

“I can’t see why,” he declared, “You’re like, the definition of perfect.”

Him repeating my words evoked a small chuckle out of me, “how so, Stuart,” I mocked.

“Well, you’ve got this incredibly adorable nose, and your smile could probably blow someone away, literally. It would be like a tornado hit them, and threw them to the next state. And you have this personality that’s just...incredible.”

I turned around to face him, ”you really think so?”

“I swear on my beanie, that I think so.”

The music from the distance was finally hearable from our silence.

“I love this song,” I exclaimed.

I don’t really know what happened next. I think the music, the lights, and just his being drew me to do my actions. I leaned in and enveloped his lips in a chaste kiss. It didn’t last long, but it sure was one to remember. My fingertips tingles after the kiss finished and it felt like my lips were burning.

We both shared the silence for a while after until he broke it.

“I’m sorry, bud,” he said solemnly.

“For what,” I asked while my worried eyes searched his face for disgust.

He waited a second before a smirk grew on his face, “for this,” he yelled while he pushed me under one of the waterfalls, completely soaking his hair. He laughed for awhile, and I had to admit it was funny.

“STUART! You better hope your beanie doesn’t end up under that water fall next!”

#stuart twombly #stuart twombly imagine #stuart twombly imagines #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brian #the internship #dylanobemineWC #this has been fun #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o’brien #dylan o'brien imagines

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