#I need a plastic sleeve for the magazine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sugarlove-01 · 2 years

Text

The Cruelty

Ok this is my story of DwayneXReaderXDavid based in Santa Carla with my own character. I loved the Lost Boys! Always have and always will. They were my favorite characters so I had to write a story about both of them.

Be warned: this isn't a happy fic, this is fanfiction that is based on obsession, stalking, murder, abuse, and death. Some themes are triggering, so be warned.

But it's also a love story.

Prologue:

If you know one of these. You know them all.

You’re born.

You live.

You die.

There you go, life sucks.

Chapter 1:

Your POV:

Monday, June 13th

9:13 in the Morning

“Mom, can I go down to the beach? And the carnival, please?” I asked.

“Yea, sure. Go out. Explore,” replied my mom.

“Ok, thanks. And I moved in all my stuff to my room.”

“Did you take out all the boxes?”

“Yea. I brought in your purse, too. You forgot it in the truck again.”

“Ok thanks. On your way back, can you bring back some milk?”

“For cereal?”

“No, for Oreo cookies this evening… And cereal tomorrow.”

“Ok. I’ll be back…”

I walked out of the house. Noting to myself to go to the gas station later this evening for milk. My mother, calling a few friends on the phone, talking about a book club. I rolled down my sleeves. Got my green jacket and my brown shoes on. The weatherman predicted a cloudy day in Santa Carla. Maybe a few winds. Going to the shed, I got out my bike. Unlocked the chain and peddled off.

Not much has been happening in Santa Carla. Not for the past week that I’ve been here. The moving trucks weren’t needed anymore and my mother had all the help she could get from my father. My father was sleeping on the couch infront of the TV when had left. He always looked so restless ever since we moved. Maybe it was the exhaustion of moving, or he missed our old house as much as I did.

As I rode, I passed Tom on the way down the road. He was taking out the trash. He was a neighbor, the one who first greeted us when we moved in. He always took out the trash at 8:15 in the morning, every day. He worked at a hot dog stand near the carnival. He was, in truth, an artist actually. When we first met, I promised him I’d try one of his hotdogs when I went down to check it out.

I rode out of the neighborhood and down the road. Down the road I looked around. Two men were hanging out at a gas station. One man with dreadlocks was looking at a magazine with a plastic bag in his hand. The other was reading a newspaper. The both of them stood next to a bulletin board that had paper fliers on it. Fliers for concerts, yard sales, puppies, and lost children.

I got to the pier. The beach looked occupied and warm, with trash all around it. But there were a few men with trash bags picking everything up. I attached my bike to the railings that had bubblegum underneath it. There was strange people here who looked at you and snickered. It seemed they had a thousand piercings and a thousand tattoos and with many different hair styles. They were wild kids.

“So this is Santa Carla….”

I chained up my bike. With money in my pocket I got in and looked everywhere for something or anything interesting. And there was many in fact. Clowns juggled. Boys danced on cardboard. Cotton candy stands and other sweets were open. Men tried to talk you into buying lotions and cellphone chargers. Even shops for mini golf and leather jackets. Souvenir shops. Tobacco shops. And others.

I passed my way by, not bothering the roller coaster or other carnival rides. So I walked around the carnival in a circle. There was a drink stand and I decided to buy a pretzel. The cashier inside wore a red and white shirt. He went to get my order. I waited. There was women in bathing suits eating at the tables and shirtless men who watched them. They looked at me sometimes, but didn’t bother.

The man in red and white came back with my pretzel and a napkin. He asked me for anything else, I said no. When I finished my fingers were buttery and tasted of salt. I went looking for a trash can. At the corner of the stand I found a trashcan, and I 6 men there. One man held a boom box over his shoulder. One man whistled at me, wearing a red spiked dog collar with high eyebrows. I threw away the napkin.

“Hey sweety…” He clicked his tongue.

I looked at him. And his friend chuckled. I kept walking. Soon I found myself looking in a comic book store. A man and a woman were behind the counter, looking as if asleep. They wore black glasses. I paid no attention. But there were two boys. They packed comics out of a box, placing them on shelves, and organizing them. I didn’t mind comics. What I loved most was the art work and the action.

Later that evening, I began looking for a hotdog stand. I didn’t have breakfast this morning. But it wasn’t just any hotdog stand. It was where my neighbor worked, Tom. He said I could come right over if I wanted. I found it. It had yellow and green neon lights with a picture of a hotdog man. Tom was there, at the counter in a white and red worker outfit and waiting for someone to approach. And I did.

“Hey Tom…!” I smiled.

“Oh hey! How ya doin, girl? Likin‘ Santa Carla? Or hatin’ it already?”

“It’s ok. I’m just looking around.”

“Ok, cool. You want anything to eat? And guess what’s on the menu!? Hotdogs!”

“Like, omg, no way! I would never have guessed....” I laughed.

The menu was awesome. There was hotdogs on there that I didn’t know existed. Tom worked with a smile and made my small dinner. A hot dog, french fries, an ice-cream bar and a Coke. The Coke came in a glass bottle with a straw for it. Tom talked to me more and said there were seats I could sit on with umbrellas and eat. Where no one could bother me. And when he’s off, he could walk me home.

I was glad, because that man with the spiked collar creeped me out. It was exciting to be here. There wasn’t much to do. I watch wild kids run with shopping carts, playing duel. Men flirting with women. The security guards watching the boys with spiked hair and alcohol. The tattoo people get more tattoos in stands. The people with piercings get more piercings. And kids dancing to heavy metal on the street.

Rolling down my sleeves, I went to the beach. That was where it was most hectic. A lot of people were sunbathing and surfing and making sand castles and digging big holes on the beach. A bunch of seagulls were flying over picking up small stranded Dorito ships and Cheetos. Even dogs were on the beach, trying to steal a snack or two from their owners or from strangers. But they were just playful.

It wasn’t later until I went across the Boardwalk watching men in black and white juggle random objects and others host magic shows. Near there I found a Videotape store. The best selection in Santa Carla, and perhaps I could agree. The shop was covered with neon lights, fliers of lost children, and a weird smell around it and with a white dog at the entrance. There was even posters in the corner.

Finally after a long day at the carnival, I made my way back home. Tom said that he could meet me at the gas station. Tom knew that this the streets could be dangerous. It was a long day. I approached the gas station. The bulletin board seemed to have been added more pictures of children and other people who were lost. That was the thing I noticed most about this new home of mine. All the fliers.

Peddling towards the gas station, I went inside. There were more fliers of lost children, and a security guard with a mustache. Going inside, I looked for the milk and a newspaper. It was only 8:15 in the evening, but I felt it was time to turn in. And I was tired. And plus my mother probably waited long enough for the milk. The newspaper was for me. Tom was already inside, and we both walked home from there.

David’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

6:30 in the Evening

As soon as the boys woke from their sleep, they were hungry. Their fangs showing and their eyes fiery and ghoulish. So they found more Surf Nazis, laying around on the beach far from any civilization to hear them scream. So it was perfect. They tore them apart and drank their blood. The Boys were cheerful that night. They threw their bodies into the fire, sizzling. Their skin, cooked, crispy, and curled. They were dead and drained and gone. The boys were satisfied as they howled in laughter. Paul, Marko, and Dwayne were in high spirit tonight.

David laughed as well. They discarded the bodies, and soon they had to meet up with Max. David lead the way, flying towards the pier. He was well rested to go the Boardwalk and look for her. Yes, dear reader, he’s looking for someone. She must be walking around at this time. David knew that this girl was out and about. Walking about, vulnerable and open. She was new. It was not long ago when David saw her, but it was an accident. Less than a week ago. And that’s when the wheels of fate began to turn. For better or for worse, he didn’t know.

A walk down memory lane, he remembered when he first looked at her. The sighting was an accident. David thought that she was Star, but was wrong. She had straight hair, different colored eyes. She wore different clothing, not like the gypsy wardrobe Star had for herself. By the look on her face, she didn’t really know Santa Carla or its people. In a way, David, thought it was adorable how she looked so lost and vulnerable to everyone and everything. She was so polite, that even if she ran into a wall she would excuse herself. Prey.

“Hey, yo! Hey! Where ya goin’ David!? I thought we were all goin’ out together, dude?” Marko called out.

“Where’s he goin? It’s not even 8:00 and he’s already ditching us for…. some chicks that he’s either gonna bang or eat!” Paul grinned.

“I don’t have to baby sit you guys all night. Make your way on your own…”

“Aw, come on David. This is the 5th night that you’ve ditched us for god knows what. The hell is goin on? Where the hell do you go buddy?”

David closed his eyes, gained back his patience, and gripped his bike handle hard. Gripping that bike handle was great restraint on his part. They others mounted their bikes and began their engines.

“Why the hell would he--- Oh nevermind,” Dwayne looked away.

“Oh god. Would you all shutup? I’m goin my own way… See you guys back at the cave…” David seated his motorcycle.

“What? We’re not good ‘nough for you? You leavin us for someone else?” Marko joked.

“Oh, David, is that true? I thought we all had something special!” Paul put the back of his hand on his forehead, swaying backwards.

“Get outta here!” Marko pushed Paul and laughed with him.

David started his bike and sped off. Leaving his brothers in the dust. Paul and Marko had stupid smiles on their faces.

“Wow, he just chucked it didn’t he?”

“David has no time for us anymore, huh?”

“Just hit it and quit it…”

“Always been my motto…” Paul nodded his head.

Dwayne’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

7:00 in the evening

The three boys drove off their own way. Their leader flying away to wherever he was gong. The boys didn’t really mind, so they flew off to the carnival. Going off to the Boardwalk, where they dominated all the other gangs in sight. Dwayne looked back, thinking where David really went. It would be easy to ditch Paul and Marko, since they were geeky losers. Something was up, and he didn’t like the fact that David was being mysterious and suspicious. David didn’t have the leader-like qualities like he used to, and that was something that couldn‘t be tolerated. So the boys walked, talking about going to the Videostore. But the quiet one of the group had other plans.

“I’m out,” Dwayne started to walk away, going to find David.

“Hey, whoa there. Where you are going?” asked Marko. Paul noticed and turned to him.

“What’s it to ya?” Dwayne groaned and turned towards Paul and Marko.

“It’s David and now you? What the hell is goin’ on?” asked Paul.

Damn, Dwayne thought they wouldn’t notice him leaving. Paul was on his right side and on his left side, Dwayne was sandwiched in between them. Being irritated by their very presence.

“None of your damn business! Just drop it.” Dwayne rolled his eyes.

“Ya know, this is the first time this has happened. We’re separating.” Marko pointed out.

“What are you? A lost puppy? We don’t need to be together all the time!”

“Just pointing it out, man! Just wondering where the hell he is!”

“Who?”

“David! That’s who! Ya know!? The one that keeps ditching us for the past 5 days!”

“Shit, man. Maybe you two are the reason he leaves in the first place, damn it!”

“Oh, Dwayne! That was cold!”

“Shut up and get outta my way! Shut your mouth and move it!”

“Ok! Ok! You don’t need to snap, man! Damn, Dwayne! Just chill! Just chill!”

“Well, ya know what I--”

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Can’t you see you’re tearing this family apart!?” Paul gasped and put both his fisted hands on his face with his knees bent towards eachother. What a joker.

“Drama Queen…” Dwayne whispered. Paul noticed.

“Hey, I heard that!”

“Good! It was meant to be heard!” Dwayne called back, leaving them alone.

So the silent one of the bunch left, and searched for their fearless leader. He walked through the crowds, people looked at him but only saw him as a bored and peculiar man. Some looked at him as a very serious and dangerous man, that could out-silence the dead. Of course the boys had a reputation around Santa Carla. Maybe some people knew his name. Even the other gangs on the beach feared him and his brothers, and try to keep to themselves.

After walking around for about 20 minutes, Dwayne sat down, lifted his knee to his chest and sighed. The seat was oddly comfortable and clean. No bubblegum or spray paint. Yellow and green neon lights glowed on him. He looked up to see a picture of a hotdog man. A really stupid thing. Dwayne looked at the man at the cashier, dressed in red and white. Maybe Dwayne should tip him in the tip jar. He decided yes, because that guys life as a hotdog man sucks. Then he saw the customer.

Her long hair. Her jaw line. Her nose. Her ears. Her brown shoes and green jacket. Her hands. In a way, when he first saw her, she looked like Star. But he was mistaken. She was…pretty. She was ordering a hotdog from the worker in red and white. Then something caught his attention. The smell of hotdogs and mustard didn’t catch his nose, but it was her shirt or jacket.

Dwayne looked at her face, and she didn’t have any wrinkles or any evidence that she did any drinking or drugs. She looked clean. Healthy. But she smelled like cigarettes, alcohol, and… blood. He could obviously see that she wasn’t a vampire or anything. He knew it was all on her jacket. Was that jacket hers? Did she drop it, let it get trampled on by bleeding crack heads, and then wear it again?

But it was familiar. And he knew it, but couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Then she came over and sat down on the tables and began eating. For some reason, he was intrigued by her. She looked… normal. More normal than anyone here in this whole damn place. She didn’t notice that he was sitting near her. But she just ate, and sat there, and just…looked cute. She looked deep. Real. Like a book with no ending. And soon after a quick 5 minutes, she finished and began walking again.

He saw her once. But decided to leave it be. He searched for David again. But never found him. Near midnight or so, Dwayne feasted on a lone homeless man before finding his way back to his group. Paul and Marko only wasted their time chasing cats and talking about Max and the Videostore and getting Thorn a spiky collar. Near the time of morning, they hid their bikes, flew back to their cave, hung themselves upside down, and by that time Dwayne had forgotten all about the girl.

David’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

7:05 in the Evening

She was at the hotdog stand with Tom. Talking. Tom was her neighbor down from her house. From the distance David was, she seemed comforted by Tom. Of course David knew that he was the only friend that she knew. In the crowd all alone, she seemed to be so out of place and awkward. People passed by, and he was delighted that he easily blended in. He transformed himself into a hunter. Teaching himself patience and strength to keep his distance and learn everything. Not telling the boys.

The hunter that hadn’t made his move yet. He would attack soon, but not just yet. He had to have some sort of tactical plan to get close to her. A gameplan. He had to expand his grounds and know everything about her. And so he did, not telling the boys. After he first saw her a week ago, he followed her home. He saw her parents. They looked like any other couple, looking out for their loved one and all that crap. Enough of them. Around town, she didn’t really have a routine, but just wandered.

The hard thing was that he slept all day, and knew she was out and about all day. The other hard thing was that she retired too early in the evening for him to see her. So instead he watched her from inside her home sometimes. Her parents obviously looked very delicious, and it was all due to the smell in their veins. She was definitely new in Santa Carla. She moved from Washington. Why she moved, he didn’t know. He learned some small things about her as he continually watched her every move.

She liked to help her mother with the garden up front, watch her dad cut out magazine pictures and paste them on paper, she loved to see movies every weekend all by herself, talk with Tom in his front yard about Santa Carla and it’s people, her favorite snack were smores, she liked to arrange her room differently each day, she liked to talk with her friends on the phone, play with her hair, watch television and listen to the radio at the same time, and sit in her room and do nothing. She was fascinating.

So for the rest of the evening, he followed. Keeping his hands in his pockets. Soon he followed her to the gas station where she was suppose to meet Tom and he could walk her home from there. She walked in after looking at the bulletin board. David walked up and entered the gas station himself. The girl didn’t notice him. David walked past the magazines and refreshments to the small shelf of cigarettes and lighters. Tom looked up and smiled as he looked at her. And…David didn’t like Tom.

David knew that if he tried to get near the girl, then Tom would interfere. For example, if David attacked, then Tom would get in the way. He would be reported and leave an entire mess and have a search party or something. And plus, Max said to keep a low profile. Plus, Tom seemed to be the only reason that the girl left her house and go to the pier in the first place. So…David knew that the damn bastard had to live.

So Tom and the girl stood in line. Tom’s shoulder was in contact with hers, and David didn’t know if it was a public display of affection. Tom didn’t have anything to purchase, but she had milk and a newspaper. Tom offered to carry her things, but she refused him. David stood right behind them, waiting with them in line. David noticed that every once in awhile, Tom would look over at her and smile. And she would look back and smile, hugging the milk closer. Squeezing the newspaper a little.

Slowly, but cautiously, David raised his hand and made a small trace down her jacket. Touching her. His glove made a line down her back. David’s been doing this for the past week, and she had never noticed. Putting a small, tiny, teeny fraction of his scent on her. The cashier rang in their stuff, and put the milk and newspaper in a brown paper bag. The girl said to Tom that the milk was for Oreo cookies and cereal, and Tom nodded and smiled at her again. After they left, David purchased his stuff.

6 notes · View notes

fromkenari · 4 months

Text

NASCAR, Pabst, chicks with perky nipples, Hot Pockets, flash bang salutes, and Slashdot -- all were easily in the top ten things Ash was thankful for this year. And last year. And the year before that one.

He was a simple man, really.

So, to celebrate this time of thanks giving -- his feet were put up, a cold one was in his hand, and a selection from his most stimulating reading material laid open on his lap. Days just didn’t get much more relaxing than this.

“Ash!” a woman barked, breaking the silence of the empty bar.

Now, normally, the inherent command in that particular voice would have warranted Ash's rapt attention, but today? Hell no. This was a holiday and therefore, his day "off."

Ash twisted his profile toward the sound; his eyes sliding away from the near-impossible and arousing angle of Ms. Jersey Vine’s pose on a foldout deck chair. “Yes, ma’am?” he slowly drawled over his shoulder.

Propping the door to the back half of the Roadhouse was Ellen Harvelle with her plaid sleeves rolled up and hair held loosely in a handkerchief -- apparently, it was a cleaning day. “You hungry?”

“I ain’t full,” Ash offered with a slight shrug of his pale shoulders.

“Jo’s cooked a meal--that bird Ethan trapped, potatoes, and some rolls.”

“And a pecan pie!” a second voice chimed in and garnered his full attention.

Ash felt the need to clarify his previous answer. “Hell then, I’m famished!”

There was a flash of a crooked smile and flick of an unruly mane when Ash quickly abandoned his roost. The gravelly sound of Ellen’s laugh was punctuated by the muted slap of the forgotten magazine hitting the bar.

“Your hands clean?” Ellen asked, fixing Ash with an incisive look as he passed through the doorway.

“That depends on your definition of 'clean.'”

Jo snorted, but her mother raised a brow. “Wash up,” Ellen cautioned evenly, “or no pie.”

Ash immediately detoured toward the double sink and cleared his throat to catch the attention of the young blond wearing a flowered apron. “Hand me that soap there, Jo.”

With a smirk, the green Lava bar was lazily tossed in his direction. “You’re such an easy sell, Ash.” Jo chided as she carried a stack of tall plastic cups to a long oak table with place settings for five.

Ash cast Jo a wayward glance as he scrubbed until his knuckles were raw. “My eBay history would agree with that statement.”

17 years, and I'm still all speed-writing and dialogue. Anyway, I wrote this character study on Ash from Supernatural on Livejournal in December 2006.

#ash spn #ellen harvelle #jo harvelle #supernatural #holy shit it still holds up #and still sounds like i wrote it #fan fiction #spn fic #out of credits

0 notes

solidwater05 · 10 months

Text

In this dream I was in a building full of people. It was some sort of exhibition or con for a piece of media that doesn't exist irl. I was a big fan of this media and I'd already been to this event at least once before.

There was a kid in their mid-late teens, I don't remember what they did but I thought they were kind of an ass. That was until they recognized me as the person they collabed with last year during the event, and they showed me the drawing we made together. We instantly bonded and became best friends

The kid had messy orange-blonde hair

At some point some guys attacked and took everyone inside hostage. I can't remember exactly what happened but at least I managed to escape, dunno about everyone else

Then I wanted to closet-cosplay Lychee for some reason. At first I chose clothes that had nothing to do with them at all and I was still disappointed that I didn't look like them. So then I went searching for a long sleeved black shirt I needed to wear under an unbuttoned purple dress shirt (note: I'd wear this irl, but that purple shirt wasn't like the one I have in the waking world. In the dream I had two purple dress shirts)

I couldn't find the shirt no matter how hard I looked, I even had like a figurine display that was holographic and showed all the clothes I have, and it wasn't there, which apparently meant that I accidentally deleted it when I was deleting clothes I don't need?? So uh cosplay ruined

Then I was watching a friend play a game about a supermarket. My POV was the game itself without players or UI, but I still have a vague idea of what this friend looked like. I think she was black with voluminous hair and she wore a white short sleeved shirt with red accents. The game was a PC game. I was backseat gaming - more like relentlessly making fun of my friend for being bad at it - from over my friend's shoulder. Oh, the game had low poly models and somewhat pasted/muted colors

In the game you had to run around and collect things like water bottles. Very fun /s

But idk if the game was very poorly design or if my friend was the worst gamer ever, but she kept bumping into stuff and people?? Eventually she decided that playing poorly is funnier and started going at full speed running over people and knocking things over. It was very funny tbh

[PT: it was very funny tbh. /End PT]

Uhh the supermarket had security guards. And we only found out when they started chasing us for killing multiple people with a shopping cart. Oops?

Naturally, the funniest thing we could do was run from the supermarket, for some reason an entire city was modeled, and there were a bunch of other shops that you could buy stuff from as well. This scene seemed familiar from a different dream but idk.

One of the stores had a warm color scheme, idk what they sold. Another one sold magazines, I think it was closed?

My friend eventually got to a candy store, we were no longer being chased. Sometime during the escape sequence we stopped being chased and it was no longer a game, so it was me who lived through this last part.

I saw something that looked like Nerds but they had weird drawings on the packet. Oh also they came in those thick plastic packets. I chose a purple packet that had a beard made of Nerds in the picture because it was supposed to make you grow a Nerds beard and that was somehow desirable??

I took it and when I turned around I was in my parking lot. I had a dog that approached me and I gave it One (1) piece of candy and it immediately got sick, so I took another packet of Nerds that was an antidote for animals that got poisoned by eating Nerds.

I went inside and with the help of my family I cooked Nerd-antidote-based meals for the dog?? Like they looked like something you'd eat at a restaurant. One of those meals was something like... 2 different creams of different colors inside a ball of raw dough??

I took them outside and the dog ate the antidote, and my cat (who was half the size he is irl) and the local outdoors cat (who was double the size she is irl) shared another meal

(Note: I didn't wake up now, I was just busy and didn't have time to write this earlier)

#ice speaks #brain cinema #i try so hard to describe the people I dream of but idk if it's worth it #they all look like normal people you'd see on the street #long post #dream sign: no UI #dream sign: empty spaces #<- a whole town without people #dream sign: familiar places

0 notes

happystarfishmaker · 1 year

Text

A Binder Guide_ What Size Should You Get And Why_

This blog contains the following keywords what size binder should i get.

A Binder Guide: What Size Should You Get And Why?

Choosing the right binder for you can be a challenge. There are many different sizes and styles to choose from, and it can be difficult to know which one is right for you. The size of the binder you choose should depend on what type of documents or items you will be storing in it. Here is a guide to help you choose the best size binder for your needs.

What Size Binder Should I Get?

When it comes to choosing the right size binder, the most important factor is the number and size of documents or items you will be storing in it. If you are storing standard 8.5 x 11 inch documents, then you should get a binder that is at least 1 inch in size. This will allow you to store up to 200 sheets of paper. If you are storing larger documents or items, such as magazines or photos, then you should get a larger binder, such as 2 or 3 inches in size. When considering the size of your binder, also keep in mind that the larger the binder, the heavier it will be. If you plan on carrying or transporting your binder frequently, then you should get a smaller size that won't be too heavy.

Types of Binders

Another factor to consider when choosing a binder is the type. There are many different types of binders available, such as plastic, vinyl, and cloth. Plastic binders are the most common and are also the most affordable. They are durable and come in a variety of colors and sizes. Vinyl binders are also popular and come in a variety of colors and sizes. They are slightly more expensive than plastic but are also more durable. Cloth binders are the most expensive but are also the most stylish and come in a variety of colors and patterns.

Additional Features

When choosing a binder, also consider any additional features you may need. Some binders come with pockets for additional storage, while others have protective sleeves for extra protection. If you need to store loose items such as pens or flash drives, then you should get a binder with pockets. If you need extra protection for your documents, then you should get a binder with sleeves.

Conclusion

Choosing the right size binder for you can be a challenge, but it doesn't have to be. Consider the number and size of documents or items you will be storing in it and select a binder size accordingly. Also consider the type of binder and any additional features you may need. With these tips in mind, you will be able to find the perfect binder for your needs.

0 notes

ladyshandioftheendless · 2 years

Text

A collection of Paul Stanley signatures!! 💜💜 The marker smudged on the Soul Station album but I absolutely do not care lol

#I'm treasuring these forever~#I need a plastic sleeve for the magazine #or a frame lol #Paul Stanley

13 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Do Us Part

Warnings: nonconsent and rape; oral, fingering, marital discord, cheating, spousal arguments and mental/emotional abuse, age gap (Peter is 24/25 and reader is 35/36)

This is dark!Peter Parker x 30s/’older’ reader and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find it hard to accept that not all good things last as you face the changes in your marriage, yourself, and your marriage.

Note: I wanted to write Peter again but also I’ve seen this nonsense about how 30+ writers are too old for fanfic which is dumb af. And I wanted to turn the age gap trope a little so that it wasn’t the reader being the younger one in the relationship. I label it older reader but I don’t think being in your 30s is old tbh (my bf is 36 so pfft). It was all just a conglomeration of circumstances that inspired a deceivingly sweet dark Peter and I hope you like it. Also it’s 7.4k so a bit of a longer read.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You walked slowly along the transparent shelves set into the pristine white walls of the cosmetics section. The department store was a haze of distant voices and the chirp of scanners as customers milled the aisles and waited their turn to check out. You whiled away your time looking at things you’d never buy as you waited for your husband to return from the men’s department.

You thought of the sparse make-up bag under your sink and the liners and shades you hadn’t used in years. They were likely expired and better tossed in the bin. You hovered along the crystal bottle of designer scents and stopped to test a particular blush-tinted fragrance.

You set the bottle back and peered over at the dark cubbies that housed the men’s scent. Even from there, you could catch a whiff of the heady scents as a younger man with reddish brown hair examined an angular vial of Dior Men. You suddenly felt out of place; a mid-thirties woman in her out-of-season clothes fantasizing about overpriced perfume.

Your husband's voice further cemented your reality as you fingered the golden cap of the Coach eau du parfum. Wesley rolled his eyes and flipped up the little plastic panel that hid the bold prices and huffed.

“I hope you don’t think I’m gonna pay for that shit,” he sneered, “what have you been doing? I was waiting for you.”

He waved a plastic bag as his lip curled and you pressed your mouth shut tightly and swallowed. The day began with another argument as he discovered the seared hole in his shirt and instead of blaming the crappy old dryer, he blamed you. Most of your clothes had been chewed up by the thing but you never complained.

“No, I was just… looking,” you teetered in your flats and glanced around. The young man at the corner display quickly turned to hide his nosy observation, “did you find some new shirts?”

“No thanks to you,” he sniffed.

“Oh,” you played with the hem of your tee and tucked your hands into your pockets nervously. You’d left him to look alone as you only seemed to irritate him and rarely took your advice on matters of clothing, “well, I thought I’d give you some space--”

“Stop acting so pathetic. Start taking responsibility for yourself. For god’s sake, you're almost thirty-six and you don’t know how to hang a shirt to dry?” He spun on his heel and snapped over his shoulder, “let’s go.”

You flinched but followed behind him as he strode away and you stumbled out behind him through the automatic doors. He tossed the bag into the back seat and slammed the door before flopping angrily into the driver’s side. You mirrored him daintily and squeezed your legs together as you tried to make yourself as small as you could.

“I told you about the dryer,” you said.

“And?” he started the engine and slapped his hand around the wheel, “call a fucking electrician or some shit.”

“Alright,” you shrugged as he stopped at the exit of the parking lot and checked his phone quickly.

“Benny wants to do a round of golf,” he peeled out and you grasped the door as your heart raced. You hated how reckless he was when he was angry. You hated how easily he got angry these days.

“Okay,” you picked at the fraying stitching of your purse.

“Don’t start moping,” he sneered, “I fucking work all week and I can’t go out and have a few rounds?”

“I never-- I didn’t say anything,” you murmured.

“You don’t need to,” he turned the wheel sharply as he cut off another car, “you sit at home all day and do what?”

“I work too,” you said.

“Uh huh, sure, if that’s what you call it.”

You ran your fingertip over the bleach stain on the knee of your jeans and said nothing. When he was in a mood, he would latch on anything until he outright exploded. You tried to think of when he changed, when he had stopped being the chill guy you met back in college. It felt like a slow trickle, small things you ignored until it was a mountain you could not see past.

You felt like crying but you’d stopped that a while ago. You existed in a purgatory of acceptance and helplessness. You wanted him to love you again, wanted to believe you could fix things. So you would keep trying. You would do better.

💍

You picked out a large flank of steak and winced at the price. You had a special dinner in mind. It was Friday and the work week was done. You wanted a weekend without a fight and Wesley was always one for a nice big cut of beef. You hadn’t made him one in a while, your dinners were the usual repetitive drumsticks and rice or your homemade mac and cheese.

You continued onto the fish section and grabbed some salmon for yourself. You’d gained some weight and decided to cut out dairy and red meat if you could help it. The pile of produce in your cart reminded you of the extra jiggle around your stomach and thighs. You also grabbed one of those women’s magazines that advertised a regimen to help slim your figure. You only hoped you could stick to it this time.

With your weekly haul in tow, you wheeled up to the check-out and waited behind a young man who looked oddly familiar to you. Maybe that was the passing years. You always felt a vague glimmer of deja vu, more often a sense of forlorn nostalgia of what you would never have again.

As you stared thoughtlessly, he looked over and smiled. He bent in front of your cart and picked up a thin packet of seasoning.

“You dropped this,” he said as he held it out and you thanked him before quickly snatching it and looking away.

He paid for his large bags of chips and over salted pre-packaged meals and packed up at the end as you loaded up your own goods, the cashier sending them down the parallel belt. You swiped your card and tried to calculate the chunk of money from your last check. You thanked the clerk and sidled past the young man as he finished up.

You rounded the counter as he lifted his three bags. You looked up without thinking, the sleeve of his shirt tight around his bicep. You caught yourself staring and looked back down as you packed in the cans.

It reminded you of Wesley; he’d also started being more mindful, he hit the gym after work and you noticed the little pudge that started just after he turned thirty was slimming out. It was that exact reason that made you notice the extra pounds on your own frame, not that you didn’t realise before.

The man left and you unfolded the little buggy you slid under the cart. You loaded your bags into it and dragged the cart behind you as you made an awkward exit with both wheeled trolleys. The compact fabric buggy was easy enough to fit on the bus if you stood.

You pushed the cart into the row of empty ones and continued across the parking lot. You rolled up to the bus shelter and checked the bus times on your phone. You dug out your strip of tickets and ripped one away. You leaned on the thin handle of your trolley and looked over your shoulder as you heard someone approach.

The man who checked out ahead of you put his bags on the metal bench inside the shelter as he sipped on a bright drink from the place just beside the grocery shop. He sent you a smile over his straw and you spun back to crane your head and search for the bus.

When the metal beast barreled up and cranked to a stop at the curb, the man waited behind you and as your wheels caught on the edge of the ramp, he reached around you and helped push it over the lip. You thanked him shyly and continued up. Usually you tried to keep the shop light on weekdays but you hadn’t really been paying attention.

You pushed your cart against the small barrier just behind the accessible seating and stood beside it, conscious not to take up too much space. The man stood just behind you two bags on one shoulder and the other dangling from the opposite elbow as he sucked on his straw. You grabbed the upright bar as the bus took off and watched the electronic banner for your stop.

A sharp stop had you veering back and you were caught by the young man as he chucked, “oop, you okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” you muttered and gave a sheepish smile over your shoulder.

“There’s a seat,” he gestured just behind you, “I’ll watch your stuff.”

“Um, no it’s… fine,” you gripped the bar tighter as the bus shuttled forward, “my stop is soon.”

You looked ahead of you and three stops passed before yours. You exited through the front with your buggy and headed down the sidewalk as the bus pulled away. You were exhausted just from your little sojourn and it wasn’t even two o’clock. God, you felt old.

💍

You had a salad chopped and tossed and the steak and fish laid out and seasoned. As you listened to your old Spotify list, the music dipped and the notification blipped over the screen. You washed your hands and grabbed the phone. You frowned as you read the lone message from Wesley, the only one you got from him all day.

‘Just finished at the gym, getting drinks with Andrew,’ you read and re-read the message as your heart fell.

You typed out a whole angry response and backspaced it all. You replaced it with ‘ok, have fun’ and blacked the screen. You shoved the meat back in the fridge and stretched saran wrap over the bowl of salad. You placed it on a lower shelf and closed the door, quickly swiping a can of the craft beer Wesley kept around.

You shut the light off in the kitchen and ignored the pang in your stomach as you cracked the can. You climbed the stairs as you sipped the hoppy foam. You put it on the night table and changed into the old butterfly pajamas you wore most nights and turned on the tv mounted against the wall.

You turned on Netflix but hardly paid attention to the carelessly chosen movie. You sat against the headboard and down the bitter beer until the can was hollow and your eyelids were heavy. You slumped down so that your shoulders were at your ears and dozed off in the stiff position as the room moved with the colours of the television.

The anger and alcohol shaded your shallow sleep and you hardly heard Wesley when he came in, only waking when your bladder was ready to burst and his snores rumbled in your head. You went to the bathroom and returned, wide awake, and stared at the shape of him in the dark.

You remembered when he used to kiss you when he came home, even when you were asleep, he’d wake you with the little pecks. You remembered when he was happy to come home. You remembered when you were happy.

You swallowed the acrid aftertaste of beer and left him to snore. You went downstairs and curled up on the couch but didn’t sleep. You just stared at the shadows of the furniture until the sun rose.

💍

The next day, Wesley didn’t wake until after noon and when he did, he didn’t say a word to you. He took his coffee and sat at the patio table in the back as you stewed and cleaned the kitchen. You had nothing to say to him even if you felt stupid for being mad.

“Gotta head down to the dealership,” he said as he interrupted your scouring of the stove.

“The dealership?” you said after a moment, deciding whether or not to break your vow of silence.

“I told you on Wednesday, I’m picking up the car--”

“We talked about this. We should wait a little longer--”

“It’s my money and I got a great price,” he sighed, “just because you have to pinch your pennies--”

“We’re married,” you squeezed the foam sponge, “it’s our money. Don’t act like I don’t pay for anything around here.”

“Oh thanks, honey, so wonderful you paid for a five dollar steak,” he scoffed, “I’ll be impressed when you can make a mortgage payment on your own.”

“How dare you!” you turned your back to him and kept scrubbing, “fine, but not a penny of my money is going to that thing.”

“That’s fine, I’m selling the old one, that should cover most of it--”

“What?” you slammed your hand between the burner, “you said we would hold onto it so I had something to--”

“Then you can buy it from me,” he said venomously.

“I’m your wife,” you spun to scowl at him again, “I-- what is wrong with you?”

He tilted his head and squinted as he poked his tongue out along his lip. “Nothing wrong with me,” he shrugged, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t--” you warned as you pointed a finger at him through the bright yellow gloves, “don’t do that… I’ve been trying and you just keep pushing me away.”

“Me pushing you away?” he rolled his eyes, “you were passed out last night when I got home. Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep before nine I could actually fuck you… or at least get it up if you worked on losing some of that cellulite on your ass.”

Your lip quivered and you sucked in a breath. You shook your head and turned around again. You ignored him as your hand shook and you continued your work, scratching at the dried-on food around the burner. His empty mug clinked onto the counter and you listened to his exit.

Fuck him and his new car. You were done trying with him.

💍

Wesley’s new car was shrouded in the shade of the garage as the old black Hyundai sat out on the driveway with a red and white “For Sale” sign on the windshield. Right after he got back from his extravagant purchase, he made the listing online and several perusers stopped by Saturday night but Sunday morning saw the car still there.

You sat by the border of stones around the garden as he drank beer in the garage and approached any interested buyers who appeared; although so far he’d only had two before noon.

You tucked your clippers into your apron pocket and dusted off your gloves as you stood. You were a little dizzy from sitting out in the sun and a glass of water was the perfect excuse to drown out the annoying sound of your husband’s voice.

You ignored Wesley as you trod through the garage and kicked your sneakers off on the mat right before the three steps up to the house. You went to the kitchen and put your gloves on the counter as you filled a glass from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. You’d given up everything but water and the slices of lemon were the only flavour you had.

You took the glass and your gloves and headed back. Wesley waited just at the bottom of the stairs as he glared up at you with arms crossed. You sighed and descended but he didn’t let you pass.

“What is your problem?”

“Are you really asking me that?” you hissed.

“You giving me the silent treatment isn’t gonna fix this,” he snarled.

“You know what you said so… I shouldn’t have to tell you to apologize,” you retorted and he stayed put.

“Is this about the car?”

“The car is just another thing,” you cross an arm around your stomach, “you think I couldn’t use it to get around, to get the groceries maybe? Or, I don’t know, maybe since you have such a problem with my home office, I could go out and get a ‘big girl’ job as you put it so many times--”

“Your mother has a car she never drives. You can just take her with you, two birds, one stone. I need to sell this to pay for the new one--”

“The one I begged you not to buy,” you huffed, “you could’ve waited a few more years until we were a little more comfortable--”

“Oh, wait? Until we have a kid and all my money goes to it,” he snapped, “yeah, I’m sure we’d have the money then--”

“You’d have to fuck to do that,” you stepped down the last step and pushed past him.

As you came into the sunlight and shielded your eyes, a figure stood by the garden, knelt just by your tulips as he felt the soft petals. You narrowed your eyes. You recognized him for sure. It was the stranger from the bus.

“Um, hi?” you croaked as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Hey, it’s… you again,” he chuckled softly as he stood, “I saw an ad for a car and… well, I’m getting tired of the bus.”

“Oh, uh, my husband,” you pointed over your shoulder, “you’ll have to talk to him.”

“Okay,” he smiled, “Peter,” he held out his hand and you stared at it. You introduced yourself and shook his firm grip.

“Like I said, it’s my husband selling the car,” you brushed by him and got to your knees by the flowerbed. “Unless you’re looking to buy some wilting pansies.”

“Hmm, I like the tulips better,” he said as he slowly inched away, “thanks.”

You sat back on your heels and he strode over to the open garage. You heard Wesley greet him and didn’t bother paying attention to the same pitch you’d heard all morning. You pulled on your gloves and wiggled your nose as it tingled. You really just wanted to keel over and bawl.

“Sold,” Wesley announced and you heard a clap, “all yours!”

“I’ll just transfer the deposit,” Peter said and a minute passed before he emerged again, the keys hanging from his finger, “Thanks, Wes.”

You hid your distaste. It used to be that Wesley hated being called ‘Wes’ but lately, he introduced himself to everyone as just ‘Wes’. He really had changed. You must have too.

“Hey,” you looked up and blinked as the sun made your eyes water as it shone around Peter.

“You bought it?” you asked as you yanked free a weed.

“Yep, but uh,” he glanced over his shoulder as the old car stereo Wesley used blared out a classic rock tune, “I… wasn’t eavesdropping but I heard some of it and… if you ever need a ride to the grocery store, I usually try for Wednesdays,” he tucked his hand in his pocket, “I don’t live too far and since we go to the same one--”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” you looked back to the soil, embarrassed.

“Well, if you change your mind,” he kept the keys dangling from one finger and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and slid out a card with some effort, “I’m supposed to have these handy but I never really use them.”

He offered the business card and you read his name above the title, ‘senior photographer’. You gave a half-hearted smile and put it in your apron pocket.

“Thanks,” you said, “I can manage.”

“You don’t have to though,” he said kindly, “but I’ll, uh, leave you to your gardening. Sorry if I bugged you.”

“You didn’t,” you assured without looking up, flattered that anyone cared enough to even offer help.

“Hey, Pete,” Wesley stopped Peter as he neared the car, “you can have one before you go.”

“Oh, no, I’m gonna be driving,” Peter argued.

“Pfft, it’s a celebration and one won’t put you over the limit,” Wesley insisted and handed him a dark bottle of craft brew, “come on.”

“I really should go--”

“It’s a Sunday, where do you need to be?” Wesley patted his shoulder and looked over at you, “hey, honey, you wanna see if we have any snacks for our guest?”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter said curtly, “really. Just the beer is fine.”

They disappeared back into the garage and you cringed. You hated that. Wesley only every acted like a husband when others were around.

💍

You waited a whole week before returning to the grocery store. You were short on everything and it was a reason to get out of the house. Your husband had made both your home and your workplace hostile.

It irked you that Wesley resented you working from home when a couple years ago he was so happy about it. Then, he’d been so enthusiastic about starting a family but when it didn’t happen right away, he grew disillusioned and bitter. Now, he seemed to have no interest in being a husband let alone a father.

As you packed up your spinach and bottles of Perrier, your cart rolled just a little as someone nudged it from the other end. You raised your head and hid your surprise and discomfort as Peter smiled back at you.

“I thought you said Wednesdays,” you murmured as you dropped a bag in your cart.

“I forgot eggs,” he held up the carton, “I guess I have good timing.”

“You do?” you asked as you pulled your cart forward and maneuvered around to push it out of the way of fellow shoppers. You bent to grab your trolley from beneath and he caught it as you unfolded it.

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

“I told you--”

“I’m here so why not? Save the ticket for next time,” he urged.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter? Why do I matter to you?” you asked.

“I don’t know, I… like helping people,” he shrugged, “what if I told you you were helping me? I have this horrible need to be the hero.”

“That will go away,” you muttered under your breath and he lifted a brow, “sorry, I… thank you.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” he collapsed the trolley and carried it easily under his arm as he cradled his eggs in the other, “I got the A/C fixed on the car too.”

“Mmm,” you hummed and walked with him out of the store.

You crossed the parking lot and helped you load up the bags in the trunk. That car should have been yours; you’d made enough payments on it yourself but Wesley was such a stubborn ass.

You sat in the front seat as he slid into the other and started the car. He drove cautiously through the lot and you read the store signs as he came to the exit.

“How long have you and… the old man been together?”

“Um,” you glanced over at him and chewed your lip, “since college so… almost fifteen years now.”

“Fifteen?” he turned out onto the street, “really? I thought he was older than you.”

“Christ,” you scoffed, “don’t flatter me.”

“Really, I woulda said twenty-eight at most,” he said coolly, “wow, I feel so young now.”

“And I feel so old,” you grumbled as you crossed your legs, hoping he didn’t notice the wrinkle in the pink capris.

“Whatever, you’re not even forty,” he said, “and time has treated you well so I can only think in a few years… oh jeez, sorry, that came off weirder than I intended. Not that I meant for it to be weird at all--”

You giggled at his rambling as he rolled to a stop at the sign and peeked over at you in the rearview. You caught his eye and quickly looked away, “what?”

“Just… you have a nice smile,” he said as he turned down a side street, “and a nice laugh.”

“Thank you,” your voice was brittle at the genuine compliment, “you’re funny.”

“Am I? I wasn’t trying to be,” he took the same short cut you took when you walked home from the convenience store which was closer than the plaza.

“And nice,” you said as he came onto your street, “you really didn’t have to drive me. You could’ve dropped me at the corner--”

“No way, I was raised better than that, and if you think I’m letting you carry that all in by yourself--”

“Raised to help little old ladies?” you mused.

“Raised to treat ladies properly,” he corrected, “especially pretty ones.”

“I’m married,” your heart pattered as you dared to flirt back, almost in disbelief that he was humouring you, “and your lies don’t work on me, young man.”

“Not that young,” he insisted as he pulled into the driveway.

You got out and went around to the trunk. He handed you the bag with the bread and other light products, and loaded up with the other bags.

“You get the doors, let me do the heavy work,” he said and nodded you towards the house.

You went ahead of him and unlocked the door. You let him inside and pointed him into the kitchen. He placed the bags on the counter and stretched his arms and hands as you set yours on the other side. The muscles of his arms moved under his skin and you could trace the lines of his torso through his grey tee.

“So,” he took out the bottle of Perrier, “this going in the fridge?”

“What-- you’ve done enough.”

“Fridge?” he ignored you and pulled out the other.

You gave a long blink and threw up your hands in surrender, “yes, please,” you came around and reached in to grab the whole grain buns, “bottom shelf.”

You finished unpacking your groceries and took the empty bags from Peter and shoved them under the counter. You stood and looked at him nervously as he watched you, his fingers tapping on the granite.

“Do you want a snack? Something to drink? Water?”

“I’ll have a water,” he said and moved to leaned his elbow on the countertop, his side snug to the edge.

“Sparkling or--”

“Regular’s fine,” he answered

“Ice? Lemon?” you pulled out a tall glass.

“Just ice is fine… then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said.

Ice clinked into the glass and you covered it with the distilled water from the fridge. You slid it onto the counter and stepped back.

“Oh, I… actually, it’s a good thing I ran into you,” he said and took a sip, “my aunt, she likes to garden too but she got some bulbs she’s not gonna use, I thought maybe… maybe you would like some to fill in the holes?”

“What kind?” you asked.

“Some daffodils and some crocuses, I think,” he said, “I could bring them over next week after work?”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” you scrunched your lips, “you could probably just give them to a neighbour.”

“It’s not out of the way,” he said, “you want them?”

You stared at him and thought. He was nice. Too nice.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, I… I’m sure you have a girlfriend you could be spending time with--”

“I don’t. Not anymore,” he interrupted.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, “I didn’t--”

“Like I said, I always wanna be the good guy,” he finished his water and the last of the cubes settled at the bottom, “thanks.”

“No, thank you,” you said as he set his glass in the sink and backed away, “really, you made my day so much easier.”

“I hope your weekend is better,” he said, “but…”

He didn’t finished and you folded your hands together as he hesitated by the hallway.

“But what?” you prodded.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “nothing. I should go.”

“Okay,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “see ya.”

“Monday,” he confirmed as he turned to the doorframe, “I’ll bring the bulbs. Just after seven.”

“Right,” you slanted your lips and watched him go.

The door marked his departure and you turned to exhale and lean against the counter. You could still smell his rich cologne. Then you felt guilty. It was stupid to think he was doing anything more than being nice, that the flirting was anything but a joke, but still, you missed feeling that way and it should’ve been Wesley making you feel that.

💍

You squeezed the phone as you clenched your jaw so tight it hurt. Your eyes were wet and finally the tears were ready to start falling. The smell of steak filled the kitchen, another meal you wouldn’t eat. At the last minute, Wesley texted to tell you he was hitting the gym. Again. He was already late after a long meeting but promised he’d be home to eat.

So you waited for him to answer your furious phone call but got his voicemail instead. Your eyes narrowed at the bottle of wine and your chest knotted as the tone sounded.

“Wesley, this is it. I can’t do this anymore! I’m your wife. Do you even want to be with me? I can’t go on like this and now you won’t even answer my calls,” you snarled. You knew he had his phone on him as he no doubt had his Spotify work-out list on shuffle, “when you come home, you can sleep on the couch.”

You hung up and grabbed a stemmed glass from the cupboard. You filled it to the brim with Pinot Grigio but before you could taste it, the doorbell made you jump. You set down the glass and walked up the hallway. Just on the other side of the frosted glass was a silhouette. You opened the door and touched your forehead as you faced Peter.

“I totally forgot you were coming,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry. But thank you, you really didn’t have to--”

“Are you okay?” he asked as the paper bag in his hand crinkled.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I… thank you for the flowers,” you looked at the brown paper bag and he handed it over, another bag on his wrist; white with ribbon handles, “what’s that? You headed out for a date?”

“Um, no,” he said, “actually, I was just…” he pushed his fingers through his hairs, the reddish brown locks slightly curled with sweat, “I wanted to talk to you.” He looked past you and his warm eyes returned to yours, “Wesley isn’t home yet?”

“No, he won’t be for a while,” you backed up, “so you might as well come in. I have a steak no one’s gonna eat.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t be,” Peter said glumly, “and steak sounds good.”

He closed the door behind him and followed you into the kitchen. You put the bulbs at the back of the counter and grabbed the bottle, “wine?”

“No thank you,” he said.

You plunked down the bottle and took a gulp of your wine before you turned to plate the steak and your chicken breast alongside the fried asparagus and roasted potatoes. You set the filet before him as he sat on the stool and climbed up across from him at the long island.

“Thank you,” he watched you slide a steak knife and fork towards him and his gaze lingered on your lips as you took another thirsty mouthful, “this is for you, actually.”

He pushed the white bag over to you and you smelled the subtle floral scent rising from it. You put your glass down and pushed open the top of the bag and peeked inside. You shook your head and rescinded your hand as if you were slapped. It was the same perfume from that day weeks ago.

“You… how?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

You thought back on the day you wanted to forget. He was the other shopper in the perfume section, the one who sent you that sympathetic look as Wesley reproached you. You winced and grabbed your utensils. You cut into the chicken and shoved it in your mouth. You swallowed loudly.

“Take it back,” you sniffed, “I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it.”

“You do. He doesn’t deserve you,” he carefully sliced into the medium rare steak.

“Is that what this is? Some perverted joke? A challenge?” you dropped your fork and knife, “you think you can seduce the sad housewife and then laugh at it? Sow your wild oats?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” he calmly put down the silverware, “I… what I didn’t say when I showed up is I just came from the gym.”

You frowned in confusion and wrinkled your nose. You took another drink of wine as you tried to understand.

“I saw Wesley,” he said as he leaned on his elbow and pulled out his phone with his other hand, “I didn’t wanna say anything but… you’re here beating yourself up over him and-- just look.”

He slid his phone across the counter and you looked at the screen. Your entire body felt heavy and your veins filled with ice. You dropped your head into your hands as you tried to wipe the sight from your eyes; the image of your husband groping a woman in yoga pants, an act she wasn’t deterring.

“I knew it,” you sobbed as the tears burst forth and leaked down your palms, “I knew it. And why wouldn’t he? I’m old, ugly--” you sniffed and pulled your hands away to wipe them on your pants. Peter held out a paper towel and you took it as you avoided his eyes, “thank you but I think you should go. I’m humiliated enough.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said as he climbed down from the stool and rounded the island, “he’s an asshole. He’s blind.”

“Please, Peter, just leave me alone,” you slid off the stool and he caught your shoulders. You looked up at him as you dabbed away the streaks of sadness with the paper towel, “Peter--”

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly, “he’s out there having his fun, so why don’t you have some of your own?”

“Peter, that’s-- that’s wrong. I’m too old for you. And… I’m fat and--”

“You’re perfect,” he reached up to frame your chin with his hand, “you’re gorgeous,” his other hand trailed down your arm and to your hip, “that’s the first thing I noticed about you…” he pulled you closer and tapped your ass lightly.

“No, I can’t-- I just want to be alone,” you pushed on his arms and felt the thick biceps as he flexed and kept you close.

“Well, baby, what I want,” he turned you so that you were pinned between him and the island, “is for you to put on that perfume… I want you wearing nothing but that.”

“Peter,” you pushed on his chest that time and the hard muscle wall didn’t budge, “Peter, go--”

“Baby,” he bent and scooped you up suddenly.

His hands spread over your ass as he lifted you and crushed his lips against yours. You murmured in surprise and he placed you on the granite countertop. He parted from your lips as you sat up and he shoved your legs apart, inserting himself between your knees. He played with the bottom of the dress you’d worn in hopes of rekindling your dying marriage.

“We can go slow,” he tickled along your thighs and pulled back suddenly, “just a little at a time.”

He leaned in as he reached around you and grabbed the small white bag. He pulled out the perfume and snaked his hand around your neck. He pulled you to bend over him and he kissed your neck just before he sprayed a puff of perfume across your throat. He stood back and took a deep breath. He put the bottle on the counter and his hands went back to your skirt.

“Peter,” you caught his hands as they crept under the fabric, “please.”

You tried to slide forward and he stopped you as he grasped your hips and held you in place. He bit his lip as his eyes glimmered up at you. He drew a hand away and took the glass of wine and held it before your mouth.

“Drink, relax,” he cooed, “forget about him.”

You stared at him and he brought your hand up with his and wrapped it around the full body of the glass. He nudged it to your lips and watched you until you drank from the crystal rim. He smirked and lifted your skirt as he bent to bury his head beneath the folds.

You gulped and choked on the wine as your skirt fluttered down over his shoulders. You felt his finger on the lace trim of your panties and winced. He squeezed your thighs with his other hand and nuzzled the crotch of your underwear. You tried to close your legs but he kept them apart easily.

He curled his fingers under the elastic of your panties and tugged. He pulled until you lifted your ass just enough for him to get them free and he guided them down your legs before quickly parting them again.

You set down the glass and almost overturned it, the last mouthful splashing up the side. You pressed your hands to the granite and peered down at the shape of his head beneath your skirt. You gasped as his cool tongue grazed your warm folds and delved deeper.

“Peter…” you wisped and closed your eyes as you tried to hide from your own shame.

He purred as his tongue flicked over your clit and you twitched. He caressed the crease of your thigh with his fingers as he lapped at your, his other hand pressed against your stomach until you fell back across the counter. You arched your back instinctively and his hand cupped your tit through your dress.

He blindly pulled until your chest slipped out and pushed the cup of your bra as he teased your clit with his tongue. He felt along your cunt with his fingers and shoved his index inside of you. You moaned as he pushed another inside and curled them as he suckled on your bud.

Your core burned to life. Your entire being was set alight after months without affection. You quivered in delight and fear. Your nerves stormed both out of guilt and hunger. It felt so good but you knew it was wrong. The scent of the perfume filled your nose as your skin grew hot.

He moved his hand in time with his mouth as he doted on you. His touch intensified as your legs bent around the side of the island and your fingernails dragged along the granite, your voice rising without thought. He pinched your nipple and you cried out as you came in a wave of sheer pleasure and grabbed his wrist as you tried to steady yourself.

He eased off slowly as you trembled in the afterglow, his lingering touch tickled along your legs as he pushed your dress up. He pulled you to sit up and lifted the fabric over your head and ripped your sleeves free from your arms. He tossed as side the garment and swiftly covered your mouth with his so you tasted your own arousal on his tongue.

He unhooked your bra blindly and slid it off your arms. You were intensely aware of your nakedness and as you brought your arms up to cover yourself, he forced them down and ran his hands over your bare torso.

“Beautiful,” he said as he laid a trail of gentle pecks along your throat and chest, pausing to take a nipple in his mouth as he rolled the other between his fingers and sent a shiver through you.

He kneaded your sides and hips, his fingers danced along your thighs and he followed the path with his mouth, kissing and nipping your flesh. He lifted his head again as he took your hands and twined his fingers through yours. He tugged you gently until you slid off the counter and landed on your feet shakily.

“Baby, you’re so amazing,” he placed your hands on his chest and pushed them down his muscled torso and brought them back up beneath his tee shirt, “go on.”

He let you go and you continued to roll up his tee. He dipped his head and raised his arms to help you and you clung to the tee as it fell limp in your grasp. Dazed, he snatched the shirt from your hands and flung it. He once more pressed your hands to his chest and guided you in feeling the lines of his toned flesh.

He pushed your hands against the top of his jeans and leaned into you. He kissed your temple and whispered along your hairline, “turn around, baby.” He squeezed your ass and purred, “mmmm, please, I wanna see that ass.”

You blinked, dazed, and spun slowly. You caught yourself on the edge of the counter as your legs trembled and you heard the subtle zip. He kicked his foot between yours and pushed your legs apart as he led you back so that you were slightly bent against the island. He ran his nails down your back and gripped your hip with one hand as his other drew away from your skin.

You flinched as you felt his smooth tip against your ass and he rubbed it between your cheeks. You inhaled and held in your breath as his hold on your tightened and he angled his dick under your ass and grazed your cunt. He poked your entrance and pressed his chest to your back as his hand covered yours on the granite.

He slid into you and your voice fizzled in the air as he forced the air from your lungs. You pushed your head back and it met his shoulder as his other hand crawled down your front. He spread your folds with his fingers and swirled another around your clit as he tilted his hips and thrust into you slowly.

“Ah, Peter,” you slapped the counter and he shushed you as his hand left yours cold and his fingers stretched over your throat.

His motion picked up as the noise of him crashing into you echoed around the kitchen. Your eyes rolled back as he rammed into you even harder. You were on tiptoes as he was driven by the weak moans that leaked from your lips and your wet pleasure squelched around him. He pressed two fingers to your bud and rubbed until you squeaked and your thighs quaked around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, “I bet you never cum like that for him.”

You whined and he sped up again. He pinned you against the counter so that the lip pressed into your stomach. He took his hand from your cunt and pushed your head down as he kept his other hand around your neck. He didn’t waver once as he fucked you.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he commanded, “I want you to cum again for me. I know you want to too.”

His thick breath warmed the air and grazed your back as he held you down and his hold on your neck tightened until silver stars rose in your vision. Your feet dangled against the tile and you reached down to play with your clit as it buzzed. It was only seconds before you were murmuring in ecstasy once more.

“Fuck, baby, can you feel that? The way your clinging to me,” he puffed as he slammed into you over and over, “he can hardly fill you, can he? Hmmm? Little man.”

You wheezed as he choked you and his other hand kept your head pinned. You heard a distant creak but could barely do more than keep your fingers moving as your heartbeat deafened you. You came again and croaked as your cunt squeezed him hungrily.

“What the fuck?” the voice broke your lusty trance and suddenly you were pulled away from the counter.

Your head lulled as Peter held it up and turned you around, his pelvis slapping against your ass as you faced your husband. Your mouth hung open as your blurred vision barely registered the scene and the deep grunts only got louder behind you.

“Look who’s here,” Peter rasped as he snaked his arm around you.

“The fuck are you doing?” Wesley sneered as your eyes closed and your ass rang with each thrust.

“What you can’t,” Peter snickered, “doesn’t she look so happy?” He grasped your chin and pushed his fingers into your mouth as he held your head up, “well, you into watching or you gonna let us finish, old man?”

#peter parker #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #fic #peter parker x reader #dark fic #one shot #dark!fic #do us part #marvel #mcu #spider-man #avengers

783 notes · View notes

zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

#ffcc #wincest #dean jr #my writing #this is again just sort of a collection of paragraphs #and it's--mostly what you asked for i think?#but mainly it's me musing about the unknowability of parents and children #so uh #that's what i was able to manage #hopefully i'll remember how to construct a story soon lol

207 notes · View notes

mandoalorian · 3 years

Note

Now i’m thinking.... Max Lord buying me pads

Max Lord buying you pads

Pairing: Max Lord x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: menstruation, periods

Rating: PG

Headcanon masterlist

“Max!” You call from your en-suite bathroom. You know he’s in his home office, doing work, and you hate to distract him. But this was kind of an emergency. You sigh and shout his name a little louder, tapping your bare feet against the cold tile floor impatiently.

About a minute later, he comes skidding into the bathroom, slightly out of breath from running across the house. His patterned tie is slackened, the sleeves of his white shirt have been rolled up to his elbows. A small strand of golden hair has fallen out of its coiffed place only to brush against his forehead.

His quirks a bemused eyebrow when he sees you sitting on the toilet, your feet crossed. “Yes darling?” he asks you, and you want to smack the smug grin off his face.

“I’ve ran out of pads.”

His entire expression drops. You saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed nervously. He stays silent for a moment, processing your words like you’ve just confessed to him the biggest revelation of the century.

“You’ve ran out of pads.” he repeats, dumbfounded and staring at you blankly.

“I need you to run to the store and get me some more.” you ask of him, folding your arms over your lap. His cheeks flush red and he looks around the bathroom, almost double checking for pads just so he doesn’t have to go out and buy some more.

Of course, he could never deny you. He would never deny a request like this either. He tries not to think about periods or menstruation, and it’s rare that he’s faced with a situation like this. He brings his hand to his face and rubs his cheek, as if he’s pondering.

So, he offers you one of his famous television smiles and points his ring clad index finger in your direction. It’s a bit strange, since you were still sat on the toilet.

“Of course darling,” he grins. “Anything for you.”

But when he bolts out of the bathroom, the sigh that leaves his lips is enormous. He doesn’t have the first clue about pads. He doesn’t even know what they look like. Luckily enough, you don’t live too far away from a general convenience store. The last thing Maxwell wants is to be caught by flashing cameras, especially in this moment.

He’s in awe at the selection of pads. Some come in boxes, and some are wrapped in plastic packets. Some have wings and some are strictly for night-time only. There are pink ones, purple, orange and blue. So many different brands and... sizes? S, M, L, XL...

Maxwell frowns. What did that even mean? Suddenly remembering you were still at home, sat on the toilet, waiting for him, he decides he should probably hurry. In true Max Lord fashion, he scoops as many as he can carry up, and brings them to the cashier, paying for them all.

When he gets back home, he finds you laying on the bed reading a magazine, and his jaw drops. “You— I—“ he drops the pads on the bed and your eyes go comically wide when you see just how many he bought you.

“I remembered just as you left that I have some spare pads in the closet,” you laughed, picking up the all the different boxes of sanitary towels and taking in the image of them all. You wished you could’ve been there to see him actually buy them.

Max runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. You rise to your knees and pull him onto the bed next to you.

“The cashier looked at me like I was crazy.” he huffs into admittance.

“They probably didn’t come into work today expecting to see Max Lord buy...” you quickly multiplied the boxes in your head. “...240 sanitary towels.”

You tug on his collar and brush your lips against his. “Thank you though, I really do appreciate it.”

He chuckles and wraps his arms around you. “You know, I’d do it again if I had to.”

Your heart blooms with warmth and you give him another kiss. Max Lord continued to surprise you with his attentiveness, every single day.

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies s @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet t @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @crippling-moon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics @jade10077 @dodgerandevans

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #ww84 #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

115 notes · View notes

kkusuka · 3 years

Text

Introductions <3

i literally could not shake this from my mind, and i got ever so slighly carried away.

Fem. reader <3

Relationship: Rumi Usagiyama (Miruko), Keigo Takami (hawks) Kai Chisaki (Overhaul) Tomura Shigaraki, Touya Todoroki (Dabi), Kurono Hari x Reader

word count: 4.6k

CW: You and Rumi are dating, mommy kink, slight druging, shiggy calles you pet, breeding, double penn. squirting, FxF, soft miruko, too many creampies, Photography, cum eating, I think that’s it??

let me know what you want to see next <33

It was official, you and Rumi had been dating for a whole nine months! It was so amazing, Rumi seemed to really like you, something you had absolutely not expected when you confessed to her.

You had known that she had some questionable friends but Rumi never kept you around them for too long, just some spared glances and tight smiles. But that brought you to now, where you were currently making sure everything was perfect to finally officially meet her friends!

You had baked brownies and checked your hair in the mirror at least 100 times, you were just so nervous, you knew first impressions were everything. You tried to cover all of the marks, you practiced your smile in the mirror, you made it as friendly as possible. You wore Rumi’s favorite skirt, it was baby pink and “totally adorable” according to your girlfriend, and a light pink cardigan with a white t-shirt underneath. But what you think made the outfit was the white thigh-highs that adorned your legs, and the little bows on the front.

Everything was perfect, you were ready!

ఌ

“If any of you hurt her, I’ll kill you” Right now Rumi regretted ever being friends with these people. Well, she mostly regretted that they got her revved up enough to make that stupid bet with Keigo. She would have gladly just introduced them to you but this whole “initiation” bullshit was taking it too far.

“I'm hurt you would even think I’d do anything to your precious Bunny!” Keigo mocked, he knew what he was doing, they all did. You had every single one of them wrapped around your finger and you didn't even know it.

“Let’s just hurry up, don’t wanna leave lover girl waiting.” Dabi. “Jeez Tou, I didn't think you would be so excited to see ‘er”

In character, Touya rolled his eyes and looked away, he wouldn't admit he had been wanting to “meet” for a while now. If the sock under his bed had anything to say about it. The rest of the walk to your house was filled with scattered comments about scenery, Shigaraki’s constant complaints and, Kai and Kurono’s mindless chatter.

Entering a fairly nice neighborhood about 15 minutes from the school, Rumi declared they had arrived in front of a nice-looking traditional house. “I am going to say this one more time. You will not hurt her, do not say anything weird, and what’s about to happen will never happen again”

“Yeah whatever, just knock on the door” rolling her eyes Rumi did just that. And within the second the door swung open and a puff of light pink jumped out at their friend. “Umi, you're here!” you were smiling like the sun at your girlfriend.

“Yeah Bunny we’re here and don’t you look all dolled up” Gross, the two of you looked like you were about to eat each other's faces.

“Oh! Yes! Um- Come in, we can go, um, to the family room and watch movies! O-only if you want to though, w-we can do other things too, i-if you want” you had managed to stutter out before Rumi guided you into the house before you could say anything more embarrassing, “that sounds great Baby, let's go” shooting the boys a pointed look, a warning, they followed the two of you through the house.

You were practically shaking and you didn't know if it was from excitement or nerves, but whatever it was, you would have to get over it somehow. Just like you expected, they were scary. Each of them practically towers over you, and even if they didn't, they all had the most intimidating aura you’ve ever felt.

After getting settled, and answering Kai’s questions about cleanliness, you made the best attempt at an introduction you could; “Um, hello I’m (f/n) (l/n). It’s really really nice to meet you guys!” really really? Great now you sound like an idiot. And they probably think the chuckles around the room said anything.

You were broken out of your hand by a hand grabbing yours, and a voice speaking up awfully close to your ear, “Aw baby bird you are just too cute! Keigo Takami at your service now and always” the voice purred, he was, so close. You could smell his cologne like it was straight from the bottle. To say that you were beet red was a true understatement. When you were about to try and stutter something out, two hands grabbed your waist and pulled you into another hard chest.

And before you knew it a head was in the crook of your neck, “Stop it bird brain you're probably scaring the poor little girl. No worries Little mouse, Touya’s got you now” with this new angle you could see Keigo better, and blonde hair and was he wearing eyeliner? But mostly, he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. Which in turn made you even redder. But your staring contest with the man was cut short when you were pushed into someone's lap.

“Tomura Shigaraki” was quickly muttered, “Shigaraki” not even looking at you before placing you next to him on the couch. You took the opportunity to look at Touya, dark spiked hair and piercing blue eyes, if he didn't have the scars you would have believed he walked straight out of a magazine. Tomura, still not looking at you, had curled into himself, immediately making you feel bad, for what? You had no clue. So, you placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke whatever came to mind, “Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you right?”

This seemed to have the opposite effect on the teenage boy because he had curled further into himself but managed to stutter out a no. You were about to apologize, thinking you had injured the poor boy somehow when a gloved hand encased yours, lightly detaching it from the other boy. Following the gloved hand to an arm, with a rolled-up long-sleeve button-up shirt, to a neck with a tie neatly resting on his chest, to a masked face and golden eyes.

“You're really pretty.” Oh god. You-you said that out loud to his face. You had to apologize-” I mean, your lower lashes are perfect.” That is not what you meant to say, he was going to kill you, Rumi was going to kill you. Instead of wiping you from existence, like you knew he probably could, he just raised a brow whilst everyone else in the room busted into laughter.

“Thank you, Angel, But my name is Kai Chisaki.” He had a pretty voice too, god you needed to stop thinking like right now. And now a new round of laughter had begun, “I said that aloud didn’t I? God, I’m sorry, you probably rhino I’m weird, I’m really sorry” You were embarrassed if you could call it that, you were practically melting.

You were panicking, they don't like you anymore, they were laughing at you, you were putting Umi to shame, and now you're going to break up and- “Bunny. Bunny it’s ok, you are just being too cute right now. All I need to know is that you still think I’m the cutest” Rumi still liked you, and you must have missed the transition into her lap, where you were now located. “Of course you’re still the cutest Umi, am I still the cutest?”

“Always baby, now you’ve got one more person to meet, bee a good bunny for me now, ok?” Shifting you in her lap you faced the last of the group, a boy next to Chi (your new nickname for him). He was pretty too- you just didn't blurt it out this time, instead, you waved. He reacted with a light chuckle, it was pretty too, and telling you his name was Kurono Hari.

“Alright, now that that’s over with,” Touya reached in his bag and pulled out two bottles of vodka, “let's get this initiation started”

ఌ

The room was spinning. You could hear the boys and Rumi laughing but you were too buzzed to listen. More importantly, you felt hot, specifically down there. You had felt this before, you knew it. Oh! It was when you and Umi-Umi were alone in your bedroom! She made it go away then, that meant she could make it go away now!

You managed to get yourself up from whoever's lap you were sitting on, Tomura if you were to guess from the whine when you moved his arm. Standing up was a slight challenge, your legs shaking and you almost let out a moan. Placing down your cup on the coffee table that was covered in beer cans and plastic cups, you didn't even realize that everyone in the room had shifted their focus to you.

Stumbling over to your girlfriend you fell into her lap and nuzzled yourself into a straddle position so you were face to face. Within the second Rumi began to rub little circles into your hip, making you even hotter. “What’s the matter bunny? Is something wrong?” She was such a good girlfriend, always looking out for you, she would surely help you, you just knew it.

“Umi-Umi I feel hot. Like the time in my room? Do you remember that? When my parents weren’t home and you made the ache go away? Places, please do it again! I feel so so hot.” You began to ramble continuing until Tomura, said something that sounded funny to you (well everything sounded funny right now) “I told you it would work, you just had to give it some time”

What needed time to work? As quick as you could you look back to Rumi, she seemed to know exactly what you wanted to know, she shifted a bit under you and began, ‘Alright bunny listen to me, ok baby focus on me. God, you look so pretty, ok? Listen, they wanted to try something with you, you’ll like it I promise, Mommy will be with you all the way, but Mommy lost a bet to her stupid friends and she is very sorry, but they won’t do anything you don't like, Ok? Tell Mommy how you feel.” Lost a bet? What did they want? They seemed nice, it wouldn't be that bad, and you had to make Rumi proud, you were being so good and you had to keep that up!

“Yes”

“Yes what, Bunny.”

“Yes Mommy, I'll be oh so very good for everyone!” That made her happy! She was proud of you! But the two of you were snapped out of your little bubble when Keigo, you think it’s Keigo, began to chuckle, “Mommy, really?” Yes, that was Keigo.

“Shut it chicken wing or you won't get to go.” well Mi-Mi sure knew how to shut him up, and Touya who was laughing along with him shit up too, which made you giggle. By pattern, it made all their attention turn back to you.

“Well strip her now, we don't have the rest of eternity!” Tomura impatiently shouted out. Strip that seemed fun!

“Shut it crusty,” As soon as the bitter remark left her lips, Rumi turned to you, softening to ask if you needed her help to get out of your skirt. No! You would do it yourself like a big girl. Well, that was until you couldn't figure how to undo the buttons, yeah maybe you did need her help after all. And she knew that waving you over with her pointer finger, she giggled and pulled you into a spot where she could undo the button.

You did manage to take your blouse, white shirt, and bra off by yourself, instinctively turning to Rumi, and she looked so proud of you! That means you were being good! But when you turned back to the boys, they looked like they wanted to eat you, but it didn't scare you like you thought it would, in fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect, sending jolts of heat down to your core.

Next, you want to take off your thigh highs being almost immediately stopped by a voice “No little mouse, you're keeping those on.”

“Yes sir” whoa, (y/n) where did that come from, but it didn't matter because Touya seemed to like it, and that made you happy.

“Calm down, I’m still going first, you still have to wait your turn, Angel? Come here.” Kai’s beautiful voice called, shifting your attention to the other side of the room to the couch where he currently sat with Hair (he insisted you call him that, so you just began to call everyone by their first name). As much as you wanted to obey the command immediately, you had to ask Rumi for permission, as a good bunny does. But before you even opened your mouth, as she does, Umi read your mind. “Go bunny listen to him” and that you did.

While walking to him, Kai unhooked the mask that sat on his face, placed it to his side, and eyed you, it felt like he was burning holes through you. You stopped right before him and he motioned for you to kneel before him, like a real king! Cutting you from your thought was Kai’s smooth voice asking if you’ve ever taken a cock in your little hole before.

The answer was no. Rumi was your first girlfriend and well, she was a girl. As you let him know just that! He retired your statement with a small smirk and a hand on your cheek, which you leaned into. “Alright Angel, can you tell me how many fingers you've ever had in your little pussy? And call me Sir or Master, it's respectful” You were going to melt if he kept this up.

“O-only four, Sir'' you couldn't look away from him, or how perfect his eyebrow looked when he raised it in question. “Oh? And how many up your ass?” while asking his thumb had reached your lips pulling on the bottom one, “No-no fingers sir, b-but sometimes I put a “plug” thingy that looks like a bunny tail in for Rumi, and don’t tell her I told you but sometimes a take it and do it without her knowing, but you can’t tell her I said that.”

That seems to do the trick, before he spoke he reached down and grabbed you by the waist and lifted you onto his lap, then spoke “Your secret is safe with me angel, now can you do me a favor? I need you to unzip the zipper on my pants and pull my boxers down, ok?” You could do that, and so you did!

After pulling it down, you saw his...thing. It was standing tall, and the tip was oozing white liquid, were they all this big? “Is that going in me? I-i don't think it’ll fit.” that gained more than a few laughs, “Oh it’ll fit, Angel. Now-” he placed a gloved hand on your panties, and both the glove and your panties disappeared, but his glove returned a second later.

All of them were looking at your lower lips, you could feel it, someone (Tomura, you think) had even let out a moan, “Well angel, it looks like you're already wet enough, so we’ll get right to it. can you please take my cock and line it up with your hole?” He sounded so soft and gentle, you just couldn't ignore it, you didn't think you could speak, deciding to just nod instead. But Kai didn't seem to like that. “Answer me, Angel, can you?” placing five fingers on your hip, just as a reminder to do as he asks. “Yes Master, I can.” That made it all better, but he did move his other hand onto your other hip, caging you in.

Doing as he said you took his cock in your hand and tried to line up the tip with your hole as perfectly as you possibly could, following his next command seemed a bit more challenging, “I want you to sink all the way down ok? Your clit should touch my hip, Yes Angel?” After your respectful response, you tried to get it in, and it didn't work! No, no, no! You were doing so well and now this?

At this point you were on the verge of tears, it just won't go in. “Bunny dear, let Mommy help you out, Ok? You’re doing so well ok?” Umi! She grasped Kais cock and moved under you to get a better view of your pink lips. She spread them out and began to press you down onto him. Just like magic, she made Kai’s cock go in! She let go when the tip was fully embraced by your gummy walls. “You gotta do all the rest honey.” and just like that, she moved back to her chair.

Deciding you needed something to hold onto, you looked towards Hari, “Can I hold your hand please?” He just looked at you before offering his hand to you, you're sure you heard someone “awing” on the other side of the room but you were too focused on sinking down Kai’s dick.

When you finally had all of him nestled in your insides, just how he commanded, you looked your head back and let the loudest moan, probably ever, out. Kai didn’t even seem to notice, he was busy being entranced by the images of where the two of you were connected. You did however pick up on the conversation that was happening between the two boys on the other couch.

“Yo, Shig, you got that right, please tell me you have that”

“I got to agree with Birdbrain here, please tell me you're still recording”

“Jeez, yes yes, I got it I got it”

“Eye’s back on me Angel. I’m going to move now.” and doing that he did, lifting you all the way to his tip, he let you drop onto him, extracting a tight gasp from you. It. was. Bliss! Over and over again he bounced you on his cock, until you were bouncing on your own like a madwoman, gaining whistles and praises from the other men in the room.

“Say how good you feel Angel, tell me how much you like getting fucked so well in front of your Mommy and her friends like a street whore, tell your Master how good he’s making you feel, go on, say your a street whore beg to cum..” Kai all bit growled at you, you couldn't ignore the command if you tried. “S-so-so, good Master. I’m a good street whore, a-and I like being fucked, and I-i've been so good please let me cum-please, please” after that you began to blubber out whatever you possibly could. Plea’s for him to let you cum, begging for your Mommy to let you cum, and seconds later Kai gave you the go-ahead and you wasted no time, immediately seeing stars.

Coming down from your high, you realized two things. One; Kai was still hard, ready, and in you. Two; Hari was now behind you on the couch spreading your ass and rubbing small circles around your tightest hole. “W-wait, it won't go in!” Soft chuckles were the only response you got to the exclamation. Ever so slowly Hari thrusts a finger into your hole, then another, and began to scissor them in an attempt to stretch you a bit.

“Are you alright Angel? Be honest.” Kai commanded.

“It-it hurts a bit.”

“Ok, I’ll make you feel better.” With that he began rubbing small, calculated circles around your clit, which did ease the pain of Hari beginning to put his tip in. it took about two more minutes for you to be completely filled with both their cocks. You felt so amazingly stretched out, they filled you so well.

It became even more overwhelming when they began to time their thrusts. When Kai pushed in you Hari pulled out, making sure one cock was always hitting one of your sweet spots, and they did it well. And they clearly knew it from the way you would moan with every thrust.

“You sound so pretty Baby, do we really make you feel that good?” Hari cooed in your ear, reaching around to circle your nipples, when Kai added in a quick “You clench every time we got a sweet spot Angel, you're being so good for us.”

As their orgasms approached the thrusts got slightly erratic, and they lost their perfect timing, which made you fall over the edge, entering your second orgasm of the night.

As you spasmed on their cocks they began to fill you with spurts of white, filling you up with their cum.

Basking in your post-orgasmic glow, you didn't even realize you had been moved to where Tomura was sitting. He already had you on your back, legs spread, displaying both of your holes to him.

Not saying a word he took out his cock and slammed it into your used hole but because of your sensitivity, it had hurt just a bit. Making your discomfort known, you whined and tried to bend your legs away from his grasp. Pushing your legs back open he ignored Rumi's yelling about letting go because he was hurting you.

“If you can do it for those assholes, you can be a good breeding cow for me too, understand?” he didn't even wait for you to answer, he just began to pound into you like a mad man.

He was grunting and growling, pushing you into the mating press, only to stop and completely pull out, garnering a whine from you. He shut you up by pushing two fingers inside your weaving hole and scooping cum out and bringing them to your face.

“Open” he commanded, following the order he shoved his cum-covered fingers wiping them over your tongue, “keep your mouth open and don’t swallow. Be a good pet and let me breed you.”

You never thought Toumra would be so commanding during sex, but right now the only thing you could think of was his cock hitting your g-spot over and over bringing your orgasm rapidly closer.

“To-Tomura, please so so close, let me cum, need it so badly please” is what you wanted to say, but considering the mouthful of cum you had and the fact that you couldn't even think past his cock, all that came out were blabs of pleases and cries of pleasure.

He was close, you could feel it in his thrusts. Reacting to your desperate attempt begging to cum tomura laughed, “You can cum when I cum pet. Just a little longer and you’ll be filled again, just be patient.”

You were crying at that point, you were so so close, and then finally! You felt his specks of cum in your womb! Finally, you could cum, but there was something different about this one, it felt bigger. You didn't know what it meant until your world turned black.

Coming back everyone in the room was staring straight at you like you had grown a second head. You were confused until Touya yelled.

“Usagiyama! You didn’t tell us she could fucking squirt! And the shithead of all people made her do it!”

While he was speaking, he came over and grabbed you and impaled you on his aching cock. “You're gonna do that again, Ok? I don't care if I have to fuck you for hours.”

“No, Touya, you're going to be nice to her” Rumi growled back at the Black haired boy. Earning a glare from him in response.

At that point, you were too fucked out to do anything other than subconsciously bouncing on Touya’s cock earning a laugh from him. “Look! Look! She’s already bouncing and I haven't even done anything yet, damn Rumi you've been dating a cockwhore this entire time” the insult gave you the motivation you make this the best sex Touya will ever receive!

And you did, placing your hands on his shoulders you used them as leverage to bounce harder, at some point he had shoved his head into your breasts and began to shake his head in between them. Biting at some points to conceal his moans.

Reaching down to your clit, he whispered permission to cum, which you gladly accepted, and in the process, you managed to milk him dry after biting the pressure point where his shoulder met his neck.

As soon as Touya was done cumming, you were swooped up into soft feathers and were met with a smirking face. “Are you ready for the ride of your life Babybird?” Yes, God yes you were so so ready, but couldn't manage to mutter a word, but he understood what you wanted to say through your pleading eyes.

Standing you on the floor Keigo kneeled you by the coffee table and bent you directly over it, leaning back to gain a better look at your dripping holes. Deciding he can't just look at it once he reached on the table to grab his phone to snap a quick picture, receiving multiple commands for him to send it to them in return.

Setting his phone down, began to massage your ass, moving to your lower thighs, before asking if you were ready, to which you mustered up a quick nod. With your permission he slammed his entire length into your pussy, gaining a moan and a few more tears. Bending over he reached to hold your hand and continued like that for some time before pulling your upper body smashing it so your back was to his chest giving everyone else a view of your breasts bouncing.

Throwing your head back onto his shoulder, Keigo leaned down and began to suck hickeys into your shoulder. Continuing like this until both of you came in a whirl of moans for each other and overstimulation. You leaned back into his warm embrace before Rumi came and picked you up onto her previous chair. She kneeled in front of you and spread open your legs.

“Before I do this, does anyone want a picture?” every single one of them scrambled to get their phones and snap a picture of your overstimulated cum stuffed holes. “You all done now,” you knew that tone Rumi wanted you to herself for a bit. Receiving nods from the boys, now back in their spots on the couches.

She quickly grabbed your thighs and wrapped them around her head, latching her mouth onto your quivering hole, and began to suck as much cum out as he could before removing her head and kissing you. Making you eat all of the men's cum batch after batch. When she was finally finished getting every last drop of semen out of you, she grabbed a soft, damp towel and gently wiped you down. Kissing you all over earning giggles and soft moans from you.

After she was all down, Rumi picked you up and wrapped you around her body, placing small kisses on the side of your jaw and lips.

“Rumi. I’m tired”

“Ok, Bunny, That’s ok, you can sleep now” she gentle mumbled back gaining obnoxious “aw’s” from your audience.

ఌ

“I don't know about you guys, but we have to do that again”

All the head’s nod, including your lovely girlfriends.

260 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

smoke and fire (04b)

word count; 7050

summary; you wait hours for news on the young boy, and when the results are finally in, it looks like a breakthrough with thomas might be on the horizon.

notes; this is the second half of part four since it got so long, hope you guys enjoy!

warnings; reference to injury.

Trying to make yourself a little calmer, and distract yourself from how you were feeling, you peeled the gloves from your hands, dropping them in the nearest trash can and searching to find some toilets. The mirror did not offer you a reflection you were proud to see, tear-stained cheeks that cut through sweat-caked dust in tracks, messy hair and red eyes; like picturesque misery.

There was blood on the clean fabric of your button-up shirt, and your medical bag held little that would be able to help, but you were sure you could at least make a start. Holding your hand under the dispenser for soap, the soft humming made by the machine as it deposited a small pile of foam into your hand was enough to break the rigid silence, and you let out a slow breath. Logically, you knew it wasn’t your fault that he was injured, the boy was almost an adult, he was old enough to make his own decisions, and yet you’d let yourself become attached, you’d tried to offer him advice that had backfired, and so you couldn't help but feel partly responsible.

The water ran pink as your skin was cleared, before shaky fingers were coming up to undo the buttons along your top. The long-sleeve top worn underneath wasn’t the warmest of items, but it was better than sitting in a blood-soaked shirt, and so you folded the crisp white uniform up carefully, tucking it into your bag and letting out a sigh. With hands cupped under the cold water tap, you let your palms fill, before leaning over the sink and splashing your face carefully with the water, rubbing away the grime and salt present on your skin until it felt fresh and clean once again.

Your eyes were still lined with red and your throat was still raw, but both of those would begin to fade as you finally began to get a hold of yourself once again. Your head was hurting, both inside and outside, the tight ponytail your hair was pulled up into made your scalp ache as you released it, and you rubbed your fingers gently through the strands to try and soothe that pain, making a note to find some water for your oncoming headache soon.

Finally, it was enough, hair flailing loose around your shoulders once again and skin clean, at least feeling a little more comfortable than you had, and as you patted down the pockets of your bag, you found your phone again, grateful that Newt must’ve tucked it in there when he’d gone back to the van for you, because you were sure you’d left it on the dash. There was a text from Newt, just having arrived back at the station, saying that he'd spoken to Vince and everything was cleared up, while Brenda had also left a text saying she was hoping that both you and the boy were okay.

A voice cleared in front of you, snapping your attention away from where you were trying to think of how to reply, clicking your phone off and looking away to find the source of the disturbance. Allison was standing before you, a gown on her body and a scrub cap on her head, but she’d shed the mask and gloves, for now, smiling a little as she began to undo the ties behind her back and neck.

“I came to give you a little update about what’s going on.”

“Already? It’s only been, what, forty minutes?” Panic flared up inside of you once again at the speed at which she was emerging, but the soft smile and a chuckle she gave to you was reassurance enough.

“Don’t worry, the kid is doing alright. Doctor Hale is great at his job, and it’s all going smoothly.” You rubbed your hands down along your pants, clearing sweaty palms and standing up to be the same height as her. “He’ll be going into the ICU after this, so why don’t you walk with me now and I’ll take you up to that waiting room, it's a little more comfortable and private than the corridors.”

“He’s going to be alright, then?”

“He’s going to be just fine.” She confirmed, waiting a second for you to grab your bag and swing it onto a shoulder, before she was setting off through the halls again, guiding you as she made her way towards the elevator. “He lost a fair amount of blood, but we’ve got him on some bags now, and his levels are steadying again, he’s starting to get some colour back, so we’re happy with that process, and his heartbeat is stronger.”

You watched as she pressed the button to signal the machine, silver doors reflecting back at you, and you felt positively exhausted as you slumped upon hearing the good news, tensions and adrenaline finally being able to slip away. “What about his legs?”

“Well, we won’t know much about any of it until he wakes up, and we can test his response to stimulus when the drugs in his system wear off and we can replace the anaesthetic with general medication, but the shattered leg has been set and is due to be wrapped in a cast, it’s all we can do, but it isn’t looking the best on the outcome.”

You winced, knowing there was nothing more you could have done, but you still hated to know what the repercussions might be. The elevator ride was silent, as was the walk to the waiting room, and yet none of it was uncomfortable, she was simply a companion at your side who had brought you a little peace, and when you were of a more stable and clear mindset next time, you’d thank her properly for being so kind to you, and make a better effort to get to know the nurses here, but right now, you didn’t have the right headspace for anything other than taking it ten minutes at a time.

“There’s not much more we can do now, it’s all about recovery, really. You did some great work out there, we’ve cleaned and applied new stitches to his wounds, I did it myself, and I promise they won’t burst any time soon.” You nodded your head, trying to absorb all the information that you could, but your mind was spinning, only focusing on the fact that he was going to be okay. “We’ll keep him in the hospital for a while, and check on him, his head has been patched up, luckily it was a crack and it hadn't splintered, so we’re happy with that.”

“When he comes out, will I be able to see him?”

“Yes, you can.” She turned to smile at you now, holding the doors open to a much nicer, and empty waiting room, you being the only person here, nobody flying past busily, phones ringing and conversations being had, it was calm and serene, and exactly what you needed. “Doctor Hale is going to come and talk to you more comprehensively himself while they get him all set up, and it shouldn’t take too long for the anaesthetic to wear off. As soon as he wakes up, we can get him started on some real painkillers that won’t knock him out.”

“Excellent.” You sighed, brushing yourself off for invisible dirt a story anxiety took over, before looking back to her. “Thank you so much, I can’t even tell you how much it all means to me.”

“It’s no trouble, truly.” She placed a comforting hand on your arm, squeezing lightly. “You’re one of our own. Derek, uh, Doctor Hale, he feels like he really owes the fire department, so he would do pretty much anything for you all. House ‘21 was one of the firehouses involved in saving his family when there was a house fire. He has a big family, and he almost lost them a few years ago, this is the least he can do, he feels.”

You had no idea, you’d never been anywhere long enough to reap the seeds of good acts so far down the line, but you felt proud just to be able to associate yourself with the team, to be a member of Firehouse ‘21, even if you hadn't been there for that event. They were a great team, a wonderful group of people, and you were proud to be associated with them. You weren’t sure how long it would last, but for the first time in a long time, your first thought wasn’t the next immediate escape route.

“I’m going to head back in there, now. It shouldn't be much longer.”

You nodded, watching as she walked away, and leaving you alone in the peacefulness of the waiting room. There was a table, stacked up with magazines and a water machine in the corner, chilled and humming slowly, and you made your way over towards that firstly. Taking one of the flimsy little cups, you held it under the nozzle, pushing on the button of the cold water, and watching as it filled up, the temperature making your fingers cool as it moved toward the top.

Taking it back over to one row of chairs, they were much more comfortable than the others, the hard plastic being replaced for soft cushioning, warm and inviting, and you slumped down into it. Shuffling through your bag, you were grateful to find the half-used try of painkillers you'd hidden in there for personal use, thanking a past version of yourself for thinking ahead, and popping two of the small tablets out, placed on your tongue and reaching for the cup. Several swigs of the water, until the cup was empty, washing them down and enjoying the cool feeling washing along your throat and soothing the burn, and you felt a little more refreshed immediately.

This time, as you filled it up, you took a moment to observe the room you were in. A small, ornamental water fountain sat on one of the counters, soft sounds of trickling water as you neared it, and it was relaxing just to be around, stacks of little pebbles to create a water fountain, and blue lights to make the pool of water seem clearer, you lips flicking up at the sides. There was a radio, it wasn’t turned on and you didn’t intend to do so, but you admired its place here, the room filled with things all around so that there was something to calm and relax every type of person, no matter what their comfort was, and as you settled back down into the seats, you found you weren't quite so stressed anymore.

Producing your phone from your pocket once again, you sipped at your water, the headache you had finally beginning to recede, and you replied to Brenda, a thumb swiping rapidly across the screen as you thanked her for her concern, and gave her an update that he was due out of surgery any time now. You replied to Newt too, once again thanking him profusely, as yet another batch of unrelated guilt began to make itself known, surfacing as you realised you’d just abandoned your partner to do all the work.

Neither of them replied, both messages being left on ‘read’, and you simply hoped that they were having fun with the team, getting to relax and destress after a long day, and they weren’t torturing themselves in the same way that you were.

The elevator chimed, not too far away, the other end of the corridor, and you paused. Following it, there was the sound of wheels, moving along the corridor, squeaking a little as a bed rattled, before fading away, and your heart leapt in your chest as you resisted the urge to stand up and look out, staying sat where you were. Your suspicions were confirmed, however, when the doors opened up, the doctor who you’d seen only a couple of hours ago appearing once again, and you pushed yourself up to your feet as fast as you could, meeting the doctor, who looked a little frazzled and worn out, but optimistic nonetheless.

“Doctor Hale, hi.”

He smiled a little, ducking his head. “You can call me Derek. I’m not your doctor.” Your cheeks heated a little bit, mumbling his name as you grew used to the feel of it in your mouth, and he cleared his throat. “So, you ready for that update?”

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, and he turned his body, placing a hand on your lower back and guiding you back towards the doors.

“How about I tell you on the way to the coffee machine, because I’m desperate for a double espresso, three times over.” You grinned, laughing lightly as you agreed, just the thought of such a drink making your mouth water, and you grabbed at your bag, swinging it onto one arm and letting it dangle as you followed behind him. He held the door open for you, guiding you through the halls, and you followed after him, falling into a comfortable pace beside one another. “First of all, do you happen to know his name? We can’t get anything up on file, and we can’t put him on medications until we know if he has allergies.”

“All I know is that he’s called Aaron, I think. He’s been here before, though, should be on file. I brought him in a couple of weeks ago for the injuries on his stomach.”

The man beside you nodded, taking the pen from his pocket and writing down the name on the back of his hand. “Alright, well, I’m pretty optimistic about how Aaron is doing. He’s all set up in an ICU room now, and as soon as he starts to come around, we can let you in to visit him. While you’re in there, we need you to try and get some contact details, his parents, anything like that, so we can try and get him on file, if we can’t find him in the system, but we have a lot of Aarons’.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“His leg is now in a cast, we set it as best we could, but there was more damage along his spine, so I’m not overly optimistic about that. I don’t know how bad the paralysis will be, but there’s definitely going to be some loss of movement there, he won’t make a full recovery, not from a fall like that with his injuries.” It wasn’t a surprise, you had been anticipating the worst, and so far, everything beyond being told he didn’t make it was just a blessing. Stopping before the coffee machine beside a nurses desk, the screen flashed to life as he swiped his card through the holder, greeting him with his ID on screen, and he began to program a selection of shots and syrups into the blend. “What are you having?”

“Oh, I don’t have a-”

“My treat, let me buy you a coffee. I get a doctor discount on it anyway.” You couldn't resist the charming smile he gave you, shrugging a little and laughing under your breath. “Alright, Derek, surprise me. I’m not that fussy.”

“I take that as a challenge.” He confirmed, setting to work on making your brew, and as the machine hummed to life, he returned to the topic of your patient. “We pumped his stomach, we ran a few tests and flushed his system out. You might not like me too much when I tell you this, but with the contents of his stomach and the harm he got into as a minor, with nobody here to explain it, I have contacted the police and child authorities.”

“I don’t blame you, Doc. I really don’t. All I want for this kid is the best in life, I encouraged him to get out of that whole gang-lifestyle, I feel responsible for him even being here, and I-” You cut yourself off as you realised you were rambling, your lips pursing shut, and the coffee maker beside you beeped. He grinned, picking up the second coffee and handing it over to you, but only after pressing a plastic lid onto the top of the coffee cup. Bringing it up to your nose, the sweet smell of delicate spices and warm coffee filled your nose, and you hummed happily at the delicious blend. “Thank you.”

“Just so you know, you saved that kid’s life. You brought him here and he’s safe, you’ve done the best you can, and you did great.” You sighed, blowing at the steam on your coffee and taking a moment, a few deep breaths, settling yourself in the moment. “When he wakes up and starts to surface, we’ll let you know. If you give me your details, I’ll keep you updated on how he does.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me for my number there, Doctor Hale?”

“I thought I told you to call me Derek.” He beamed, both of you knowing it was only a joke, before he was holding the pen from the pocket of his coat out for you and grabbing a piece of paper from the nurses stand. Placing down your coffee, you wrote down your name and number, handing it back over to him, and he looked at it for a moment, repeating your name, before putting it into his pocket. “You can head on back to the waiting room, and I’ll come and get you in a little while when he’s awake, and we’ve got him on something to keep the pain off.”

The device on his belt beeped, calling him away to another case, and he was leaving, a wave on his fingers as he picked up his coffee, and you were left to try and navigate your way back to the waiting room alone.

There were signs up along the walls, but every turn you took felt more confusing, muted coloured walls and total silence feeling more like your new norm as you navigate the maze of pathways, letting out a relieved sigh as you finally caught sight of the same doors you’d come through earlier. There was movement behind them, your heart sinking a little as you realised the peaceful loneliness you had was broken, but you knew other people would be here to visit their families.

Your bag would still be laying on the floor, where you’d left it before leaving to find coffee, and as you made you way back along, the people behind the glass became a little clearer. Blond hair, brown hair, strawberry and jet black. Pushing the door open, your jaw dropped a little as you looked across the group, all eyes turning to face you, and your heart raced in your chest.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re pausing movie night!” Chuck was almost yelling, his enthusiasm getting the better of him, and several members of the team shushed him, while others snickered. “Sorry. We’re pausing movie night.”

“I see that, but, uh, why?”

A few looks were shared among the team, and Newt sighed, standing to his feet from where he’d been lounging in your chair. “Because we’re your team, and we care about you. You’re here for the kid, and we’re here for you.”

He took your coffee from your hands, sniffling it, and winking a little before raising it up to take a sip. His eyes widened a little, before he was gulping down another mouthful, and you snatched it back with a protesting noise.

“That’s good coffee. Where can I get one of those?”

“Doctors only.” You mumbled, a sweet smile on your lips as you took a sip, and he stared at you for a second.

“Are you telling me you made a friend other than me? You really are getting comfortable here.”

You shook your head, pressing it back into his hands after another mouthful of coffee, gifting it to him. Brenda was holding her arms out to you, a sweet smile on her face as you paused for only a second, before falling into her arms and letting her wrap you up tightly. The moment you squeezed her back, there was another body wrapping around you, making the pair of you giggle as Chuck joined the hug, and you whined at the overwhelming heat that was encasing you when Newt joined in too.

Elbowing yourself free, you wriggled out, popping free and finding the rest of the team still wearing sweet smiles, all standing around and waiting patiently. “Thanks for coming, you guys, it really means a lot to me.”

Settling down with the company of your team, Newt slumped beside you, a backpack of his own on the floor, and he picked it up, roping it down on your lap, and the weight of it winded you a little.

“What was that for?”

“I brought you the clothes from your locker.” You raised a single brow, opening the bag and finding your hoodie and leggings inside, as well as your more comfortable trainers than the ones you wore to work, a little sigh leaving you. “Figured you’d want to be comfy, and you smell a little bit musty and bloody.”

Lifting the edge of your top to your nose, you took a whiff, faint traces being picked up, nothing overwhelming, but it certainly was present. Everybody else had changed their clothes as they left their kit at work, or went home to shower, but no matter what, you appreciated it all.

“So, you gonna’ give us a little update on the kid?”

“Oh, yeah.” You wiped at your nose, feeling yourself get a little emotions, before pulling one leg up under yourself and turning to face him. “So, he’s doing alright. They’re worried about his legs, and they pumped his stomach, but they’re confident about his recovery and they’ve put a cast on his leg. He’s out of surgery now, they’re waiting for him to wake up.”

“What about his parents? They got in touch with them, right?”

“They haven’t got any information on him yet.” You sighed, rubbing at your forehead. “They want me to go in and ask him to give up his information as soon as he wakes up.”

“Well, look alive, because here comes a white coat with determination. A good looking one at that, dark hair, tall, I would be all over that if-”

“Newt!” You hissed, the door opening, and he laughed himself into silence as he brought the coffee to his lips. Standing up, you gave him the bag back, making sure to drop it into his lap with equal the force he’d dropped onto yours, and he spluttered a little, glaring at you and kicking his leg out at you as you walked to meet the doctor. “He’s awake?”

“Yes, he is.” Derek spun on his heel, the two of you walking away towards the main doors, and you turned over your shoulder to scowl at your partner for the kick, a sugary-sweet and sly grin on his lips as you scoffed. “A lot of your friends have shown up, huh?”

“They’re my team, they came to support me.”

“Hey, I think it’s sweet.” He shrugged, guiding you along the halls. “So, he’s in a little pain, nothing awful yet as he’s still waking up, so he’s a sort of woozy. Focus on asking him his last name, if we can pull up his account we can see his allergies and get him some meds, but if he doesn't want to give it up, we need to know about the medicines.”

“What do I tell him when he starts asking questions?”

“We’re going to test his reflexes as soon as we get his medicine sorted but before it kicks in, though they may not be fully comprehensive on the total movement and reflex he can get back.” He stopped outside of the door, and peering in through the glass, you could see the young boy. The hair from the top of his head was shaved away, around the sides too, black locks were gone and bandaging wrapping his head. He was clad in a gown, and the blankets were tucked up around his body, staring up at the rod as he frowned, looking entirely displaced. “Press the button on the side of his bed when you’re ready for us to come in, I’ll wait at the nurses’ station.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

He dipped his head in a nod, taking a step back, and you entered the room. He lifted his head slowly, confusion on his features for a second as you clicked the door shut, before he was huffing again.

“Hey, kiddo, how you feelin’?”

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, words a little slurred, and you took a seat beside his bed, pulling the chair over, and his head rolled from one side to the other, cheek pressing to the pillow to look at you, but his gaze was unfocused. “My arm is itchy.”

“That’s just your drip line for meds, you’ll be fine.” He made a shocked face, as though you’d reveal the secrets of the universe to him, before his face was screwing up again.

“I hurt a bit too. Everywhere.”

“I know, and we can get you some meds, alright?” He nodded his head, silence falling around you both again, and he was using one hand to scratch at the bedding, toying with the loose thread in the beige blanket, and sighed. “You gonna’ tell me your last name, so we can get you registered and checked in on the system?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll call my foster parents.” Your heart stopped for a moment in your chest, and just when you thought it couldn't get any worse for him, you found out the poor kid was in the system, no wonder he’d turned to family wherever he could get it. “I don’t want them to know.”

“Don’t you think they’re worried? You’re going to be here for a while.”

“They’ll be disappointed in me.” He whispered, and you reached out, taking the young boy’s hand in your own, and squeezing lightly. “They’ll bring my little sister, she thinks I’m brave and strong.”

“And she’ll still think that!” He huffed, rolling his eye sin denial and tuning to stare back up at the ceiling. “I get how it feels to not want to let someone down, and to feel alone. I have moved between so many firehouses to find my home, and I’m still looking. I have, like, no friends outside of work.”

“What about your blond friend?”

“He’s a work friend, that doesn't count.” You teased, and he turned to look at you again.

“Do you hang out outside of work?” You paused, thinking on the people who were filling the waiting room right now, simply to support you, and you wondered if that counted, but the boy seemed to be going on anyway; “See, outside friends.”

“Alright, smart ass, the point is that I understand how you feel, and you should let me call your parents, so that you can have people who love you here with you. What do you say?” He was quiet, the moment dragging on, and as the cogs in the clock ticked loudly, the ‘second’ hand moving around, and as the third minute of silence passed you by, you gave up on any hope, You wondered if he’d fallen asleep, his eyes having slipped shut, and you squeezed his hand a little, his hand squeezing back after a few moments, signalling he was awake.

“Edge.”

“Huh?” You perked up a little, your elbow having been resting on the bed to support your head on your fist, before you were moving to look up at him.

“My name is Aaron Edge. I’m already in the system, I had asthma as a kid.” You cheered a little, reaching around for the handle instantly and pressing the button for the nurse’s desk.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” The door opened a second later, a short red-head nurse escorting Doctor Hale, his brows raising a little as they came in, and you gave him a subtle nod. “This is Aaron Edge, and he’d love some painkillers now.”

“We’ll get that sorted out. This is nurse Martin, she’ll be looking after you, Mr Edge.” She left the room a second later, heading away to get it sorted out, and the doctor took a step closer to the bed. “How are you feeling, big guy? You gave us a scare there, but you're brave, and I know you’re going to be just fine.”

“I have a headache, and I feel itchy. Is that just my nerves?”

He tried to push himself up a little in the bed, his arms giving way under the pressure, and you moved, helping him sit up so you could position his pillows behind him to help him sit up. “Well, actually, that’s the beginning of the withdrawal. It’s not going to be great, but you’re young. We can get you in a great rehab program, and whatever you were on we can get you off. You’re young, you still have prospects ahead of you. It’ll be a tough road, you think you can do it?”

His hand tightened around yours once again, and he turned, vulnerability written on his face. You gave him a nod, and he stared at you for a second longer, before returning to give those same gestures to the doctor.

“Now, I just need to run a final test, alright?” Producing the pen from his pocket, he lifted up the blanket to reveal both of the boy’s feet, and held the end to the pen, never popping the button to reveal the inked tip. “Relax your foot for me.”

He did so and he dragged the tip of the pen up along the sensitive underfoot, everything still for a second, before his toes twitched, and you let out a little cheer, the boy in the bed jumping in shock. “What?”

“You still have movement in that foot?”

“Did I not before?” He panicked, sitting up further to peer down at his legs, and it seemed that in his drowsy state, he was only just becoming aware of the cast wrapped around his leg. “What about the other one?”

The cast sealed over most of his foot, but Derek reached down with the pen, dragging it along the space under his toes, and there was no movement. He did it again, still no reaction, and you nibbled on your lower lip. “Tell me when you feel something?”

Moving the blanket from his body, his leg was exposed, the cast ending just below his knee. He poked at the knee cap, then a rough inch further up, moving in inch segments as you waited, before his leg finally flinched just after the pen pressed over his mid-thigh.

“Well, we can get you into some physical therapy, and see how the healing of your leg goes, and what happens after that.”

Tucking the pen back away, the red-headed nurse entered the room once again, a needle and a small glass jar in her hand, and she was ready to add some medicine to the bag for him. “I’ve called your family, and they’re on their way. I’ve got some medicine for you now.” You squeezed his hand again lightly, letting go as the nurse moved to start setting him up a new line for his medicine, and Derek was busy filling out details on the chart that sat at the end of his bed.

“I’m going to go back to my team now, alright?” The kid turned to look at you, nodding his head slowly. “You keep your promise this time, alright? I believe in you, do it for your little sister. Be better.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

You ran your hand over his cheek, giving him a gentle smile. As the medicine began to kick in, nurse Martin began to talk to Aaron about his family, and what had been said on the phone, and for the third time tonight, you were navigating the ICU wing halls. Stepping back into the waiting room, all eyes turned to you again, brows raising, and you nodded, shoulders slumping in relief.

“He’s going to be okay, and his family is on the way.”

A chorus of cheers took up around the room, and you nodded your head watching as they all began to get to their feet, coming over to offer their congratulations and comforts about how worried you’d been, and how much better you must be feeling, which was completely true.

Newt cupped your face, pressing a large and wet kiss to your forehead, and you scowled, wiping the mark on your skin. “I think you need a drink, love.”

“Kenny’s Bar?” Gally offered, and a series of acknowledgements and agreements going up around the room. You’d heard them talking about that bar before, it seemed to be a house favourite but you’d never been along with them before, and it felt like some kind of initiation ritual or rite of passage.

“You should go and change first. Get comfy, I’ll wait for you.”

“Actually, if you guys go on ahead, I’ll wait.” Thomas stood to the side, scratching at the back of his neck as he met your eye, shrugging a little before looking around the small group gathered around you, who seemed equally as shocked as you were. “Seriously, I mean it. We have some things to talk about.”

“We do?” You questioned dumbly, and he fixed you with a pointed look, before you nodded your head. “Right, sure, yeah, okay. I can work with that, I guess. I mean, if you don’t see me in the next twelve hours, you know who I was with last.”

“Uh-huh.” Newt eyes his friend sceptically, the two seeming to have a silent conversation all with that eye contact, before Newt was rounding everyone up. “Go get changed, don’t take too long, we’ll see you soon.”

He hugged you gently, before guiding the rest of the team out of the building, pats on your arm and squeezes of your hand as they all passed by and discussed who would be designated drivers and drop everyone else at home, each discussing driving their cars home and coming along to collect them as they went. You waved Newt’s bag at Thomas a little, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, and he nodded his head, tension forming between you both as you slipped away to find the bathrooms.

You were already learning your way around the halls of this building well, locating them easily enough, and stepping inside. Pulling out the contents of the beg, you sealed yourself inside one of the cubicles, putting the lid down and taking a seat on top of it. Toeing off your shoes and leaving them on the floor, you were wiggling out of your crisp uniform trousers, slipping into your leggings, bouncing as you tugged them up your legs and wiggling as you got comfortable. With some simple sneakers and your hoodie on, you were feeling much more relaxed and comfortable.

Stuffing everything else inside of the bag, you zipped it up, heading back to the waiting room, and finding Thomas with his hands shoved into his pockets, your bag on his shoulder, and he offered you what looked only mildly like a forced smile as you made your presence known.

“Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He nodded his head, letting you go through the door first as you stepped into the halls and back towards the elevator, total silence sitting in the space between you both. As he pressed the button, it was almost immediately ready for you, and you stood on opposite sides of the box as you waited for the doors to close again and sink back to the lobby. “So is this the part where you decide the hatred is too much, and actually kill me?”

He laughed, a lightweight and short, but genuine, laugh. Looking up to you, he shook his head a little, amusement still sparking in his eyes. “I don’t hate you. I mean, I don’t necessarily like you, but that's because I don’t know you, and I didn’t really give myself the chance. We got off on the wrong foot, and that's partially my fault.”

“It’s mostly your fault.”

“It’s, like, fifty percent my fault!” He argued, and you clicked your tongue, shaking your head.

“Ninety.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Fine.” You huffed, surrendering to the deal again, and he gave a toothy grin. “Go on with what you were saying.”

The doors chimed as they opened up, and you fell into step beside him as the two of you began to head towards the doors to the building, letting him guide you as he headed towards his car, trying to form his words, and you waited patiently. “Look, the point is, I know you’ve been a good partner to Newt. Especially today. You went down there to look after that kid because you knew Newt couldn't take it, and while he’d never admit that to either of us, we both know it’s true.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We flipped a coin, and I lost.”

“Do you always flip winning sides over to take a loss?” He questioned, clicking his keys as the sleek black car came into view, and your face flushed with warmth, not having known anyone else had seen that. “Exactly my point. I know I’ve given you a hard time. I have my reasons, okay? It fucking sucks, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe you understand, maybe you don’t, but I’m trying to apologise, okay?”

He held the door open for you, the passenger seat readily available, and you dropped your bag into the footwell, standing in the way but not taking a seat as you stared up at him. “Okay. I forgive you. I probably shouldn't have been so uptight, but I was hurt too, and I didn’t take that well, so I guess this is me apologising as well.”

“So, we’re cool, now?”

“Sure.”

He nodded, the two of you staring at each other for a moment longer, and that same dreadfully awkward tension settled over the part of you as neither of you knew quite what to say. Just because you’d called a ceasefire, didn’t mean that there was a sudden connection, it didn't mean that pain and resentment were gone immediately, it just meant that you had agreed to process and move on from it together, instead of dwelling and letting it fester. “Her name was Teresa.”

“What?”

Your eyes snapped back up to his face, but he was staring at the ground, arms resting on top of the door, and he was picking at his nails. “The last paramedic, the reason I was so mad.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I owe you an explanation, so I guess I’m forcing myself to.” He sighed, running a hand through already messy hair. “She was.. a wildcard. Passionate and funny and just this real source of energy, you know? Kinda’ like you. She skipped out on us all of a sudden before shift one day, a better offer somewhere else, she didn’t tell us, but she just up and left. I was hurt, I thought I meant something to her.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas..”

“No, I am. Because all my suffering was emotional. She was Newt’s partner, he had to try and handle a case on his own because we couldn't get a replacement in before a call came, and that's the day he injured his leg. He fell through a couple of burning floors, top to bottom of the building, shattered his leg like that kid. Nobody knew where he was, he had no partner to call it in. Minho found him, unconscious from smoke inhalation and carried him out.” He let out a shaky breath, and you dared to reach out, placing a hand over his as they sat joined, and squeezing lightly. “I don’t blame myself for the accident, it had nothing to do with me. But, for whatever your own reasons are, I know you’ve jumped between houses a lot, and I was worried about Newt again. He’s my best friend.”

“I promise you, I won’t ever do that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think Teresa would either, but then a better offer came along.” He sighed, lifting a thumb to rest over one of your fingers and stroke lightly as he sought his one comfort from your touch, and you squeezed his hands once again. “I shouldn't have compared you to her, and I’m sorry. It was unfair, I don’t even know you.”

Quit consumed you both once again, and there was nothing else to be said, only the weight of his confession hanging in the air, before you were perking up a little, realising how to gently move on and bring his mood back up. “You any good at pool?”

“Uh, what?”

“You know, pool. In bars. Does this bar have one?” You encouraged, his eyes meeting yours again and brows furrowing with confusion.

“Yeah, it does.”

“Well, you said you didn’t know anything about me. First thing to learn is that I’m amazing at pool.” He stood up a little more, smiling softly as he took your bait to move on from the conversation, and there was a slight twinkle of mischief in those honey-brown eyes. “Winner buys drinks?”

“Alright, I’ll take that deal, but only if we play darts afterwards. At which I will kick your ass, because I am fucking great at it.”

“You’re on, Thomas.” He chuckled, letting you step into the car and shutting the door behind you, the conversation being stored away for now, to think about when you were alone and process the details, but for now, you had bonding to do, with your teammates; for the first time yet, you genuinely considered the possibility of setting up roots somewhere, and making real friends that would last.

#thomas #firefighter!tommy #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #tommy month #tomuary #tom-uary #thomas the maze runner #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

166 notes · View notes

ricksroaches · 3 years

Text

Y/N part 1 - Dysphoria ch. 5

pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)

summary: Y/N has an accident at a Halloween party that sends her further down the wrong path.

notes: Occasionally I'll make some grammatical errors on purpose for emotional emphasis so that's why. Also sorry this took so long I'm kinda going through some stuff right now.

word count: 16.9k

warnings: language, drugs, self harm, mental hospitalization, shitty parents, near drowning, anxiety attack, overdose, hospitalization, miscarriage, sedation

“Do you know why you’re here, Y/N?”

“Spare me. I’ve done this before.”

“I know you have. I’m simply asking if you understand that you need this.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t understand?”

“No, I mean that I don’t need this.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I’ve already accepted that this is how I feel, and how I’ll keep feeling ‘til I die. No amount of talking it out and coping skills will change that.”

“Well, that’s not a very healthy way to look at it.”

“Yeah, no shit, but it works for me and I’d appreciate it if people didn’t waste their time trying to fix me so they can feel better about themselves.”

“I understand.”

“Obviously, you don’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I do. I’m not here to tell you what you're doing wrong. I’m here to figure out how and why you got to where you are.”

“What, you gonna pick apart my life and tell me where everything went wrong?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“Well first, I’d like to go back and discuss your experience at St. Joseph’s.”

“I don’t really feel like talking about that.”

“Y/N, these sessions are mandatory. No matter how much you resist, we’re still stuck here, so you might as well take advantage of the time we still have.”

“…”

“Or, we could just here in silen-”

“Fine. Anything but that.”

~~~

8TH GRADE

The cold classroom was silent except for the steady tick of the clock on the wall. It was only third hour and Y/N already wanted to jump out a window. She’d long finished her classwork and homework, so she buried herself in her sketchbook. Drawing was always her safe place. She found it meditative being able to just turn off her brain and let the pencil map out her mind.

Everyone jumped a little when the intercom released its usual loud beep. “I need to see Y/N L/N in the office.” Her stomach fluttered at the chance to get out of class. “And tell her to bring her things.” She halted. What? She didn’t have any appointments that she knew of, and her parents weren’t the type to check her out for minor things. Her head pounded while she stuffed everything in her backpack with everyone, including her teacher, watching her.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, she made her way down the bland cream and blue hallway that she’d spent the last three miserable years in. Jimin was her best friend all through elementary school, but he switched to a private school, leaving her to fend for herself in a new school of unfamiliar faces. He didn’t want to leave her, but the school she was going to didn’t have a dance department, and his mom had convinced him to go. By the time she found out that the school in question had the best arts program in the district, it was too late. There was no way her parents could afford to send her there anyway.

She’d be lying if she said she was happy he was pursuing his dream. Making friends wasn’t an easy task, Jimin was always the one that did the talking. So she settled for whoever cared enough to give her the time of day. There was only one person she was actually close enough with to hang out outside of school, Abigail. To say she was the dominant one in their relationship would be an understatement. Whatever Abi said, went. Whatever Abi wanted, she got. Whatever she wanted to do, Y/N was dragged along whether she liked it or not. She didn’t mind that much. It was better than no one.

The office door came into view, and she ran over every possible circumstance in her head before opening it. Her parents stood by the front desk. Her dad was clutching her mom’s trembling hand. “Mom? Dad? What’s going on? Did somebody die??”

“No, everything’s fine. We’ll explain on the way.” Her dad took it upon himself to answer.

“Uh...o-kay?”

The second her dad pulled the car onto the road, her mom turned around to face her. “I don’t really know how to start this, so I’m just going to say it. I was cleaning your room last week and found something.”

“What?” She pulled an old DVD case from the glove box and set it in Y/N’s lap. Every single defense mechanism in her body went off at once as she gawked at the image of a black bobbed Uma Thurman laying on a bed with racey magazines, puffing on a cigarette. Her favorite movie. But she knew it wasn’t the inappropriate film that her parents were concerned about. She slid the plastic sheath off to reveal-. They weren’t there.

“Looking for these?” Her mom held up her palm stacked with the razor blades she’d tucked behind the cover. Y/N’s face turned a sickly white, her mouth opening and closing to think of something to say. Her mind was moving so fast her words couldn’t keep up. She had nothing.

“Really? You have nothing to say for yourself?” She subconsciously pulled down her sweater sleeves. Her mom snatched her wrist and yanked the knit fabric back. “How could you do this to yourself?” She turned her arm to make her look at the pale pink and red lines that peppered all the way up her arm. “This is going to stay on you forever. What do you expect people to think when summer comes?”

Y/N dropped her head against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. Of all the scenarios she thought of, this wasn't one of them. This had to be a dream. It had to be. She tried to pull her arm away and her mom let go, letting it fall to her side. She turned to her dad with a look that screamed, Say something! He simply shook his head in disappointment.

The car was silent for a long time before she finally mustered the strength to open her mouth. “W-where are we going...?”

“A Catholic youth center.”

“A youth center?”

“Yes. They offer great adolescent counseling.”

“But I don't want to.” She crossed her arms defensively.

“Y/N, we just want to get you help, but we can’t do this on our own.” Her dad finally spoke up.

“It’s a nice place. Sister Adrianne from church volunteers there.” Her mom added.

They turned into the parking lot of an old fashioned brick building decorated with stained glass and white molding. She could smell the Catholicism from here. A black suit, white collared man was waiting for them at the entrance once they’d found a parking space. His wire rimmed glasses caught the late morning sun, shining it right in Y/N’s eyes. That alone was enough to make her scowl. “Hello, I’m Father McCarthy, you must be the L/Ns.” Her parents exchanged pleasantries with him before he led them into the lobby.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of the room was a marble statue of St. Joseph, patron saint of children. Y/N scoffed to herself. She hated this place already. The priest spun on his heels to face the family. “If you don’t mind, I was hoping to have a word with Miss Y/N before the tour.” They looked at each other, shrugged, and nudged the poor girl out to him. “It won’t take but a minute.” He said before cupping her shoulder and steering her through the lobby to a set of backdoors.

Outside was a meditation garden that spanned farther than she could see. Cobblestone paths twisted and turned around rose bushes and vines of ivy. The steady flow of the fountain at the center gave the air a calming ambience. Y/N was anything but calm. “Why are we here?”

“I thought maybe a look at the garden would suit your nerves.” He caught her confused stare and laughed lightly. “Your mask is thick, strong, but I can see deeper than most.”

“I appreciate the effort, but it takes more than some pretty flowers to make me feel better. Are we done?” He sighed and checked his watch.

“I suppose. Right this way.” He placed a guiding hand on her back and steered them to the path out of the garden and inside. Her stride slowed when she saw her parents standing in the lobby, a suitcase in her dad’s hand. Her suitcase. A man in white scrubs took it from him and carried it in the other direction. Everything clicked.

¨No…” She breathed, her head mindlessly shaking. She stepped back and bumped into something firm and whipped around. Another man in the same white uniform towered over her. His face was gentle but his jacked body told a completely different story. His hand clamped onto her bicep. “No, no, no, nonoNONO!” She frantically looked to her parents, who were standing at the exit with pain stricken faces. Her mom buried her head into him while she heard her daughter being dragged away kicking and screaming by two nurses. She’d never forget the final words she caught before she disappeared behind a set of swinging doors.

“I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!”

~~~

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you ever forgive your parents?”

“I tried, but she ruined it.”

“How?”

~~~

Y/N followed her screaming, cussing mom through the house as she took trips from her room to the porch, tossing her belongings out onto the lawn.

She’d found her stash.

“Mom! Stop it! This is childish!” she stopped in her tracks and whipped around to face her daughter.

“CHILDISH?!” She took an aggressive step forward. “I’LL TELL YOU WHAT”S CHILDISH! STEALING FROM YOUR OWN PARENTS TO BY DRUGS!” Y/N threw her hands into her hair and tugged at her scalp.

“It’s just weed! And I bought it with my own money! It’s not like I’m doing crack!” She looked to her dad sitting in his chair in the corner of the living room, observing the whole debacle. “Dad? Help?” He gave her a look of surrender. Not my call. Her mom disappeared back into her room.

“IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” Her mom shouted as she threw another handful of clothes out the door. “AFTER ALL THE MONEY WE SPENT ON YOU AND YOU GO AND BUY DRUGS?! IT’S LIKE YOU CHOOSE TO BE MISERABLE!” Y/N pounded across the floorboards and got nose to nose with her.

“OH, I’M SO SORRY YOU HAD TO PAY TO THROW YOUR OWN DAUGHTER IN A PSYCH WARD BECAUSE NOT HAVING A NORMAL KID WAS TOO HARD FOR YOU! AND I’M SORRY YOUR HUSBAND WAS TOO PUSSY TO STOP YOU! AND YOU KNOW WHAT’S MAKING ME MISERABLE?! YOU!”

“THEN GET THE FUCK OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Her mom shoved her by the shoulders into the wall.

“FINE!” Y/N stomped to her room and grabbed her backpack, stuffing in as many necessities as she could. She threw it over her shoulder and blew past her still fuming (and still cussing) mom. “Good fucking riddance!” she shouted over her shoulder. She swiped her car keys from the bowl and slammed the front door behind her so hard she heard a line of books topple to the floor inside. The lock on the door clicked and the curtains at the front of the house were hastily drawn.

She lividly gathered her clothes and suitcase strewn about the grass and crammed them into her shitty grey Corolla wherever they could fit. She dropped into the driver's seat and ripped the car out of the driveway and down the dimly lit street.

She crashed at Jimin’s for a bit while she looked for a place. Abi was long gone by then. Back when she was at St. Joseph’s, she’d called Abi for comfort, but what she didn’t know was that she happened to be at a sleepover, and that she’d put her on speaker. It didn’t take long for Y/N to hear a muffled giggle from the other end, and it was safe to say their friendship died the second she slammed the hospital phone receiver back onto its hook.

She didn’t need her anymore. Not with Jimin coming back for high school. He begged his mom to let him go to public school so he could be with Y/N again. What managed to convince her was the impressive dance team the school boasted.

Within the first week away from home, a packet of government documents for her emancipation arrived in her parents’ mail. She was surprised to receive a phone call from her attorney the next day, saying he already received the pettily signed forms and that they’d been filed with the district court. That was it. In a few months, she would be legally on her own. Sixteen years old and on her own.

~~~

“Good. That was good. I know that wasn’t the easiest thing to say, just know that it’s a step in the right direction.”

“Whatever. Are we done?”

“I suppose.”

~~~

Y/N sat on Yoongi’s lap while she painted his hairline into a V and thickened his sideburns into a more boxy shape. His hair was slicked back and he sported a suit and bolo tie. It didn’t take much to convince him to dress as Vincent and Mia from Pulp Fiction for Halloween. She bit the inside of her red painted lips while she cleaned up the edges of his widow’s peak with a steady hand.

It was a lot weirder than Yoongi expected to see her in a wig. The silky black bob made it feel like a complete stranger was parked on his thighs. Her unbuttoned white blouse and wide-bottomed slacks the complete opposite of her usual style. The only thing about her that was the same as he always loved were her eyes. He admired the e/c orbs that flicked back and forth in concentration, oblivious of his gaze.

“I think I’m done.” She leaned back and moved his face side to side to make sure his sideburns were even. “Yeah, you're good to go.” She gave his cheek two solid pats and climbed off his lap to get her shoes. He stood from her bed and checked himself out in her full length mirror. His hair had grown out quite a bit. Long enough to brush the back of his neck when he turned his head. He didn’t think he’d like how he looked with this hair, but it was quickly growing on him.

Y/N came up from behind and wrapped her arms around his torso. She peaked her head around his shoulder to admire his look put together. “If I didn’t know a better word, I’d say you look hot right now.” He caught her eye in the mirror with a smirk as he smoothed back his hair once last time.

“I think,” He pulled her in front of him to see her reflection, “I should be the one saying that.” He slid his hands up her shirt and adjusted the black bralette hidden underneath that had been wrinkled from her hunching over him. Her skin tingled under his large, warm hands. That asshole. He did that on purpose. He dipped his head to be even with hers. “Now, we should go before I mess up that lipstick of yours.”

~~~

Jin leaned against the kitchen counter and surveyed the frat house filled with college and high school students alike. Cobwebs stretched over every corner and fog machines gave the air a dark, heavy look. He always loved throwing his annual Halloween party. It was his favorite holiday other than his birthday. Couples cutely matching, friends coordinating costumes, comedians in gag outfits, and almost every girl wearing a sexy version of what we all dressed as kids. He loved any excuse to dress up.

He wore a loose white tunic and black slacks, his defining piece was the pink and blue diamond printed coat hanging from his shoulders. Howl from, only his favorite movie ever, Howl’s Moving Castle. He watched that shit like it was his job.

“Damn, do you need a maid? I’m not an old lady, but I can cook and clean.” He spun and met a smirking Jimin. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned, black tie loosened, hair tousled, and red lipstick marks trailed from his chest all the way to his cheeks. Jin eyed the scene with visible concern. “Relax, this is my costume. I have a little class.”

“Oh, thank God.” Jin laughed.

“Although some of these are courtesy of some lovely ladies here tonight.” He turned to show the words “KISS ME” written on his back in big letters.

“How did you even get them to agree to do that?” Jimin flashed a proud smile.

“It was easy. Girls aren’t threatened by me. Being part gay is great, you get the best of both worlds!” Jins phone buzzed in his pocket.

Thing 1: Me and Yoongi are about to pull up

Jin smiled at his screen and typed a quick response.

“Who’s Thing 2?” He turned to the younger looking over his shoulder.

“You.” Before Jimin could offer a rebuttal, Jungkook squeezed out of the crowd and nested at his side, beer in hand.

“There’s my Ponyboy!” Jimin gave him a slap on the back. Jungkook's hair was greased back with a single curl hanging on his forehead. His white t-shirt and jeans matched well with Yoongi’s leather jacket that he lended for the occasion. “Doesn’t he scream Ponyboy vibes?”

“I’ll admit it,” Jin added, “he does.” Jungkook took a sip of his beer to hide his embarrassment. He never liked being the center of attention.

The front door burst open to reveal Taehyung, clad in a full face of clown makeup, green hair, and a purple and yellow suit. “WHAT’S POPPIN’ ASS WIPES!!!” He marched inside and made a beeline to the three with Jiwoo in tow. Her skunk stripes were in pink and blue pigtails and her black and red corset top and tights hugged her slim figure. “GUESS WHO HAS A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND!” He laced his fingers with hers and lifted her arm triumphantly in the air. She hid her face bashfully with her free hand. Jimin gasped.

“Shut. Up. You're joking!” Tae flashed a boxy grin.

“No, I’m Joker.” Jiwoo slapped him in the arm.

“Yes, he’s for real.” She answered on his behalf. Jimin and Jin exchanged dramatic, wide-eyed looks and threw their arms around the new couple.

“We did it! He’s off the streets!”

“He’s off the streets!”

“I’m off the streets!”

Jiwoo watched the three jump in circles with their arms linked like a bunch of kids who were told they’re going to McDonald’s. Yeah, she made the right choice.

The front door opened again, not flying off the hinges this time, and Y/N stepped in with Yoongi flush against her back. She spotted the group in the kitchen and threw her arms up. “Heyyyyy!!!!” Taehyung turned with an ecstatic smile and bounded over, pulling her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Y/N GUESS WHAT! GUESS WHAT! GUESS WHAT!”

“What?” she gasped under his grip. He dropped her and gripped her shoulders.

“I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!” Both Yoongi and Y/N’s faces lit up.

“WHAT?! TAE, OH MY GOD YOU'RE OFF THE STREETS!” She clapped her hands together giddily and threw her arms back around his neck.

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHAT EVERYONE ELSE SAID!”

“Okay, okay, break it up.” Yoongi pried the two children apart and steered them to the kitchen. On the way, he leaned into Tae’s ear and whispered, “I trust you, but I’ll say this anyway. You hurt her, I hurt you.” He snapped out of his scary tone when Jimin came and pulled Y/N into a hug and kissed both her cheeks.

“Ahh! You two look so hot together! Best couple costume ever!” Yoongi never minded how close they were. He knew about their brief fling before he came along, but he trusted her when she said it was all in the past.

Y/N’s excited squeal broke through his thoughts. She booked it for Jungkook to gush over his costume. “Kookie! You look so friggin’ cute!!” She played with the piece of hair hanging on his forehead and fixed a few loose strands. He smiled at his feet and fiddled with his jacket zipper. “Come on, gimme a spin!” He sheepishly did a 360 to give her a full look at his outfit.

“I’ll be damned,” Yoongi added, “you almost look better in that jacket than I do.” Jungkook hid his face behind his hands. He couldn’t control the big ass grin plastered on his face.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him all night!” Jimin cut in, fists on his hips. She squeezed past him and Jungkook to say hi to Jiwoo and Jin.

The eldest boy pulled her into a sweet hug, his coat draping partially over her back. He leaned back to catch her eye. “How are you? You doing okay?” Jin, ever the mom.

The truth was, she wasn’t. Her situation with the pills was getting out of hand. What started out as a party topper, became a full blown addiction. She hated the person she had become. If she didn’t get her fix, she’d turn into a monster, snapping at anyone and everyone if they rubbed her the wrong way.

The moment she realized she had a problem was when Jungkook tried to approach her at school on one of her bad days. She ended up punching her locker with enough force to turn heads. The cold, unsympathetic eyes of the complete stranger that took her place bore into him before storming off. Tears welled in his eyes and he was frozen in place. All he asked was if he could help.

She scared him, and she'd never forgive herself for it. Even after he did.

She put on her best convincing smile and patted Jin’s chest. “I’m fine, you shouldn’t be worrying about me.” He searched her eyes for a crack in the facade, but he saw none. A warm smile played on his lips and he gave her a kiss on the head before turning her loose. She immediately pivoted to Jiwoo, trying to change the subject.

“Now I’m no DC expert, but I’m pretty sure you two are from different movies.” She gestured to the couple. “Tae, I know you’re from the Dark Knight, but I've never seen Harley in this hot ass outfit before.” Jiwoo chuckled and shuffled in her knee length boots.

“I’m actually Harley from Arkham Knight, a video game. It’s my favorite look of hers.” Y/N gave her another up and down, nodding her head.

“It’s great ‘cus Harley wasn’t in The Dark Knight, so she could be any version she wanted.” Tae commented.

“Except Suicide Squad.” Jiwoo added.

“Except Suicide Squad.” He echoed. “That movie was a disgrace.”

“Hey,” Y/N slapped Jimin on the arm, “Is Hobi here yet? I need a little...” She tapped the side of her nose. He giggled and pointed to the loft on the second floor.

“He was up there last I saw him. Have at it.” She made her way back to Yoongi and went on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck.

“Go ahead and make yourself a drink. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She said seductively in her best Mia Wallace voice. Her index and middle fingers walked up his chest and dragged across his shoulder as she walked past him.

The loft was surprisingly hard to get to being that it was clogged with partygoers. She finally managed to squeeze through and fall to the floor, her face inches from a pair of sharp-toed dress shoes. She followed the white suit up to the face peering down at her. “The floor is no place for you, Mrs. Wallace.” A hand gripped her forearm and hoisted her to her feet with ease. At the other end of the arm holding her, was Hoseok’s beaming smile. The pointed collar of his black dress shirt was folded over the lapel of his suit.

“Saturday Night Fever?” He nodded. “Yay, now I have two John Travolta’s.” She took her arm from his hold and fixed her bangs.

“I think I might know why you’re here.” He inquired

“You would be correct, sir.” He chuckled.

“Follow me.”

He led her to a couch at the edge of the loft that overlooked the sea of costumes below. There was so much smoke in the air it was impossible to tell if it came from the fog machines or someone’s lungs. They plopped onto the cushions and he went to work cutting lines on a mirror laid on the coffee table. “So how’s life?”

“Eh, I've been better.” She let herself slip a little. Talking to Hoseok was easy. She liked being able to tell him some heavier things because he never pressed for more information. He accepted what he was given and took it in stride. She leaned forward and grabbed an almost empty bottle of cherry vodka and finished it off.

“I feel ‘ya. Soccer practice is really starting to get to me. Just gotta take it day by day, my friend.” He slid the mirror to her side and handed her a rolled up bill. “Here.”

“Thank you, good sir.” She plucked the makeshift tube from his fingers and dipped her head to sniff up the pristine white line. The feeling hit her instantly. A huge smile spread across her face and her whole body felt like it was floating among the smoke clouds.

“Good?” She couldn’t find the words, so she gave him a simple thumbs up. Their moment was cut short when Taehyung’s booming voice cut through the music and conversation.

“EVERYONE! OUR BELOVED QUARTERBACK, NAMJOON KIM, IS OFFICIALLY OFF THE MARKET!”

“WHAT?!” They shouted in unison. With a quick shared look, they scrambled down the stairs and through the cheering crowd. Taehyung was standing, red cup in hand, on the thick mantle of the fireplace at the head of the room. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She mumbled as they watched Jiwoo weave through the mob to pull him down.

“There he is!” Hoseok pointed to the head of brown hair that poked above everyone else. He pulled her along behind him, using his strength to cut through the congestion. When they broke through the wall of bodies, the entire friend group was gathered on the massive sectional couch at the center of the room. She picked the couple from the cluster and her jaw dropped.

“No fucking way. Cheyenne?!”

“Yes way.” Jimin chimed. The girl in question was perched on the arm of the couch next to Namjoon. Her amber eyes lit up when she recognized Y/N standing there.

“Y/N?!” She jumped up and crashed her body into hers with a crushing embrace. “Oh my God you grew up so much!! You’re not a little shrimp anymore!”

“I haven’t seen you since what? Fifth grade?” Cheyenne’s smile flashed white against her sepia skin. They were rather close in elementary until she moved away before middle school. She was the extrovert that found her and acted almost like a mother to her. Cheyenne was the one that cracked Y/N’s shell.

“I know, girl! We moved back and I’m going to Westview!”

“Westview?! I go to Westview!” Her eyes widened.

“What?! How come I haven’t seen you at school?” Y/N chuckled.

“I make myself very hard to spot.”

“She’s right,” Yoongi added, coming to stand beside her, “took me forever to track her down to talk to her for the first time.” He handed her a solo cup of vodka cranberry and she gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. Cheyenne’s hand flew to her chest.

“I’m gonna cry. My baby’s all glown up and she got herself a man!” She dramatically fanned her eyes. Her long false lashes almost reached her brows when she looked to the ceiling. Her box braids were twisted into space buns on either side of her head and her long, flowing white dress cinched at the waist and had a slit running up to reveal her muscular leg.

Y/N peaked over her shoulder at Namjoon. His long sleeved, tan v-neck and black vest made everything click. “Oh my god! Han Solo and Leia! That’s so fucking cute!”

“Can you guess whose idea it was?” Cheyenne cocked an eyebrow and looked over her shoulder at him, who blushed and gave a little finger wave. What a man baby. She took her seat back by him and Y/N and Yoongi sat on the couch across from them.

“So how did you guys meet?” The couple shared a humored look.

“Remember that bloody nose I said I got in P.E. a couple weeks ago?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah?” Cheyenne proudly raised her hand.

“That was me. It was girls vs boys in dodgeball and I nailed him in the face.” Y/N would expect nothing less from her. Even in elementary, Cheyenne was the best softball player she’d ever seen. That girl had an arm like a cannon.

“She walked with me to get ice and we kinda just got to know each other along the way.”

“Awwww~” Jimin and Taehyung swooned.

“As much as I hate to break up the moment, I'm trying to get fucked up tonight.” Y/N finally said once the conversation died down. “Chey, do you,” She put her thumb and index finger to her lips and puffed on an imaginary joint, “partake?”

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow at her. She wasn’t surprised Y/N had turned to drugs. That girl had issues from the very start. “Of course I do, who the fuck do you think I am?” Smirks cracked the pair’s lips and they shared a mischievous look for the first time in a long time.

~~~

Y/N, Yoongi, Cheyenne, Namjoon and Jimin gathered on the sofa by the swimming pool filled with splashing guys and girls stripped down to their underwear. Which was insane given that it was basically November and the water was 70 degrees at most. Yoongi placed a thick blunt between his lips and flicked his Zippo lighter, casting a brief warm glow on his face. He expertly cupped his hand against the flame and got a good burn going, then snapped the lighter closed against his thigh. The blunt cherried bright orange when he took a colossal hit, letting the smoke roll out of his nose in plumes before passing it to Y/N. She gathered a thick cloud in her mouth and let it float out to inhale through her nose. The milky reverse waterfall flowed into her nostrils like a yellow tinted nebula. The THC hit her already intoxicated brain, sending her further into the couch.

Jimin took his two puffs quickly and passed it on. On her turn, Cheyenne blew a single smoke ring and ran her finger down the middle to make it a heart, sending it floating into Namjoon’s face.

“Cute.” He said sarcastically as he took the blunt from her manicured nails and drew a long hit. “I don’t know any tricks so you’re just gonna have to deal with my boring ass.”

“We’ve been dealing with your boring ass for years.” Y/N deadpanned, earning a series of laughs from the group.

The blunt made its way around the circle back to Yoongi for the third time, and it was starting to reach its end. “Have you two smoked together before?” He questioned the new couple. They looked at each other and shook their heads. “Well then,” he clapped his hands together and plucked the blunt from his lip, “it’s customary that new couples christen the relationship by shotgunning.”

“What?” Namjoon’s brows knit together in confusion.

“Come on Joon, you’ve hung around us this long and you still don’t know what shotgunning is?” Y/N spoke up. He threw his hands up in defense.

“Hey! I’ve only ever heard it mentioned. No one ever told me what it actually was!” Yoongi huffed a chuckle.

“Watch and learn.” He puffed on the blunt and trapped the smoke in his mouth. His hand went to the back of Y/N’s neck and pulled her into a kiss, slowly delivering the cloud to her lungs. They parted, and white fog poured from her lips. “Now you try.” He handed him the blunt. Namjoon pocketed a good bit in his cheeks and cupped Cheyenne’s jaw. He pressed a light kiss on her full lips, transferring the smoke to her.

“Like that?” Yoongi and Y/N gave him an approving nod with a shared smirk.

“Consider us properly christened.” Cheyenne quipped. Before anything else could be said, a guy popped out from the sliding doors leading inside.

“AYE! WE GOT JELLO SHOTS IN HERE!”

“Oh fuck yes!” Y/N lept up, not giving herself time to ride out the head-rush that blacked out her senses and made a beeline inside. Yoongi watched her stumble through the glass doors and disappear in the crowd with visible torment.

“You good?” Cheyenne’s robust voice broke through his inner turmoil.

“Yeah.” He kept his gaze on the spot he lost sight of her in, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

~~~

Six Jello shots, two shotgunned beers with Taehyung, another rip from Hoseok, and a bonus sniff of crushed oxy in the bathroom later, Y/N was completely, totally, and utterly wrecked. She had to hold onto the walls and furniture for dear life to make her way outside. It had been almost an hour since she left Yoongi, so it was about time she found him.

The pool was a little less crowded and she could see her reflection on the surface. It’s hair was wild, clothes wrinkled, lipstick faded. Stars twinkled across the ripples, drawing her gaze up to the sky. She walked along the edge of the pool as she admired the lights that dotted the heavens. Her feet stopped their ambling to match the two sets of pictures in her vision back in place. The luring abyss of the sky gave a sharp contrast to the glimmering lights. Everything in her peripheral melted into the darkness that blanketed her view, and the frigid water rushed up to meet her.

It sounded like any other splash. Yoongi didn’t think anything of it. People had been jumping in and out of the pool all night.

“Hey, wasn’t that your girlfriend?” He turned to see a random girl standing behind his seat. His brows furrowed.

“What?” She pointed behind her to the steady bubbles that rose to the surface of the water.

“She was walking on the edge and just keeled-” He rocketed out of his chair and shoved her out of the way. He stripped off his coat mid sprint and dove head first into the jarring water without a second thought.

The water blurred his vision, but he could make out Y/N’s body steadily sinking to the bottom of the pool. He kicked as hard as he could and propelled himself deeper and deeper until he could reach her. His hand gripped her fuzzy wrist and pulled her up to him. Arm around her waist, he swam towards the light with powerful strokes from his three free limbs.

They broke the surface and he swung his head side to side to rid the hair from his eyes. He hooked an elbow over the edge for support while he lugged her unconscious figure out of the water.

“What the fuck?” Taehyung stood dumbly at the sliding door looking out, joint hanging between his lips.

“Get her, get her!” Yoongi grunted. Taehyung rushed over and hooked his hands under her shoulders. With one big tug, he dragged her onto the cement. Her upper body rested in his lap while Yoongi hauled himself out of the pool and scrambled to her side. He pressed his ear to her chest, listening for a pulse in agonizing suspense. The breath he was holding exploded out of his chest when he heard the familiar beats. Taehyung held his finger under her nose.

“She’s breathing.” The adrenaline left Yoongi’s system, taking every ounce of his energy along with it. He collapsed onto his back next to her, gasping for air. The sliding door opened and closed.

“Tae? Why’d you- holy fuck!” Jiwoo came rushing to his side and looked over Y/N’s soaked frame. The black wig was long gone, leaving her h/c mane splayed on the wet cement. The water turned them into a dark mass of limp waves, dulling their natural brilliance. “What happened?!”

“Fell…” Yoongi huffed, “…didn't hear...splash.” His heaving breaths spaced out his words into incoherent fragments. By now, a few heads turned to watch the scene, but most everyone else was too drunk to notice there was even a problem. Jiwoo jumped up.

“I'll go find some towels.” She disappeared back inside and came out not long after with Jin and Jimin carrying thick, blue towels in their arms. Jin immediately dropped to his knees, wrapping it around her soaked body and hugged her to his chest like an infant.

“Is she okay?” He asked apprehensively.

“Yeah. I think so.” Taehyung answered for Yoongi, who was tweaking and on the verge of an anxiety attack. The first one in nearly two years. His heart clamped in his chest and despite the biting cold, his trembling body was drenched in sweat.

Switching to mom mode, Jin snapped his fingers at Jimin, who was staring at the scene before his wasted eyes. “Jimin, wrap Yoongi up and try to calm him down. You,” he pointed to Taehyung, “go find Jungkook. He’s the only one who’ll know if she’s actually okay.” The three, Jiwoo following Taehyung, jumped to work on their tasks.

Jimin draped the towel over his figure as best he could given he was laying flat on his back and there was no getting him to sit up. Yoongi’s eyes darted back and forth, pinballing against his peripheral in all different directions. “Yoongi? Yoongi, I need you to look at me okay?” He sandwiched his face between his hands and tried to catch his eyes. Yoongi shook his head rapidly, eyes still all over the place. “I need you to listen to me. If you can’t look at me then close your eyes.” He squeezed them shut in hopes the roaring panic in his system wouldn’t be able to find him. “I’m gonna press on your chest, and I need you to push back, okay?” He didn't show any kind of response, so Jimin went ahead. He placed both palms against his hyperventilating chest and applied a gentle pressure that compelled him to take longer breaths. “You can breathe, it's okay. Feel that pressure? That’s air filling up your chest. You’re not suffocating, you have plenty of air. You’re okay.” He repeated the affirmations like a mantra. “Deep breaths. Push against my hands for as long as you can.” His chest pressed against his hands again and again, each breath growing deeper and longer. “There you go.”

The sliding door ripped open and Taehyung had Jungkook by the elbow, all but dragging him across the ground. Jungkook yanked his arm free. “What the hell is happening?!”

“You didn’t tell him?!” Jin shouted. Jungkook’s frustration disintegrated when his eyes landed on Y/N wrapped in Jin’s arms and Jimin bent over Yoongi splayed out on the ground.

“I was in a hurry, okay?! I couldn’t think of the words!” Taehyung retorted. Jungkook pointed a shaky finger at her, flashes of a life without her sent his anxiety through the roof.

“Is...is she?”

“No, she’s not dead.” Jin answered his unasked question. “We need you to check her and see if anything’s wrong that we didn’t catch.” Thank God. He could live again.

“Why me?” A stupid question, honestly.

“Because you’re the closest thing we have to a doctor, now get your ass down there and do your thing!” Taehyung gave him an urgent nudge. Jungkook hesitantly knelt by Jin’s side. It almost felt wrong seeing her in such a vulnerable state.

“U-uh...okay. You found a good pulse, right?”

“Yeah, but you need to be the judge of that.” He swallowed hard and pressed two fingers to her neck. “Well?”

“Her pulse is fine, and from the looks of it, her brain is getting enough oxygen.” He pointed at her lips, which were coming back to a healthy peach. “If she wasn’t, her lips and fingernails would be blue.”

“Is she okay?” Yoongi’s raspy voice was barely audible over the din of the party. Jimin managed to wrap the towel around him and his breath was nearing back to normal. The occasional twitch jolted his muscles from the lingering bad high.

“Yeah, just keep her warm and she’ll be fine.” Yoongi’s head fell back against the ground in relief. “Just make sure she stays on her side all night so she doesn’t aspirate.”

“Aspirate?” Jimin inquired.

“Suffocate on her own vomit.”

“Christ. That doesn’t happen a lot does it?” Taehyung asked.

“Enough to have a word for it.”

The door slid open yet again and out came Namjoon, Cheyenne, and Hoseok. “Jiwoo told us what happened. Are you sure she’s okay?” Hoseok spoke first.

“Jungkook said she should be.” Jin replied. “I’m gonna take her home and watch her for the night. Just in case.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Namjoon carried Y/N in his arms to Jin’s car and laid her down in the backseat, taking care that she was propped on her side. Yoongi and Jin came to the car soon after, the latter carrying a hastily packed duffle bag.

“Yoongi, sit with her in the back and keep her from rolling over.” Jin ordered. The younger gladly climbed into the backseat and readjusted her head on his lap. Jin dropped into the driver's seat and hooked an elbow over his rolled down window. “Joon, I trust you can handle things while I’m gone. I might not live here, but it’s still my party so make sure everyone gets the fuck out by 6.” Namjoon gave him two thumbs up and headed inside when Jin started the car.

~~~

Jin slid his copy of Y/N’s house key into the lock, and the deadbolt snapped open. He pushed the door in for Yoongi, who was carrying her up the steps. The clock on the microwave read 3:45. Surprisingly early for leaving a frat party. “I’m gonna change her into some dry clothes.” Yoongi said.

“Okay, make sure you guy’s hair is dry so you don’t catch a cold.” Yoongi rolled his eyes and disappeared into her bedroom. Jin helped himself to the closet of sheets and blankets and grabbed a pillow from the bottom shelf. Once he was happy with the nest he made on the couch, he slipped in the tiny guest bathroom to wash his face, change, and take his meds. High blood pressure. His mom always said it ran in the family.

A few minutes later, he emerged in a pair of Totoro pajama pants and a grey t-shirt. He eyed the kitchen cabinet that was always stocked with ramen. Yoongi’s gonna be starving when he’s done with her. He set out a pot on the stove and grabbed three packages from the cabinet. “Hey Yoongs,” he padded to her doorway, “I’m making ramen do you want beef or-” His voice quieted when he peeked inside and saw them both in bed. He’d changed her into one of his hoodies and tied her hair in a bun. He laid behind her, arms seatbelting her to his torso, fast asleep. Without context, it was a heartwarming scene. Jin's lips formed a small smile and he eased the door shut, careful not to wake him. “Goodnight guys~”

He plopped onto the couch and plugged his phone into the charger that ran across the floor to reach the coffee table. The second his head hit the pillow he felt himself being pulled under by the current of sleep. He wondered to himself, what was going on in Y/N’s head that was so bad she nearly died just to get away from. She’d never lost control like that before. At least not bad enough for Yoongi to have a whole anxiety attack over. Whatever it was, he prayed it was nothing too horrible because he knew no matter how much he’d try to help, there was no getting anything out of her. That scared him. Hell, it terrified him not two hours ago. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being, and let his lids droop until sleep overtook him.

~~~

NOVEMBER 9TH

“Haaaaappy Biiiirthdayyyy tooo youu~! Haaappy Birthdaaayy tooooo youuuuu~! Happy Biiirthday dear Yoongiiiiiiii~!” The birthday boy buried his face in his hands out of sheer embarrassment while the group drunkenly sang around the cake in front of him. “Happy Birthdayyy toooooo yooouuuuuuuuuu~!” A birthday party, his worst nightmare. He was never one for birthdays, his family didn’t have the money for that kind of luxury. Every year, his dad would just gift him a pack of cigarettes, grab him by the collar, and give the same drunken speech about how he needs to toughen up if he’s gonna survive in the real world. Y/N carded her fingers through his hair to get it out of his face.

“Make a wish, Yoongi.” Her gentle touch was enough to coax him back to reality. He lifted his face from his hands and studied the three joints stuck into the frosting as candles. He thought for a minute then leaned in and blew the tiny flames out in one breath. Their cheers bounced off the old, bare walls of the abandoned house. Everyone was there, even Cheyenne.

“Finally!” Taehyung and Hoseok pounced on the cake and plucked off the “candles” before ash fell on the frosting. The cake was white with colorful piping on the edges and pink flowers dotting the sides. It was obviously for a kid, which was most likely the reason Y/N and Jiwoo chose it. The room quickly filled with wispy clouds of smoke courtesy of Tae, Hobi, Jimin, and Cheyenne.

“Holy shit!” Cheyenne’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her grin and pointed at Yoongi and Y/N.

“What?” She asked.

“Yoongi’s 18 now! You guys can’t fuck!” Y/N turned bright red and hid her face behind her hands.

“2 months, 17 days and...” Yoongi checked the time on his phone, “10 hours.” He sighed. The time until her 18th birthday. She got held back a year in kindergarten after a nasty case of pneumonia. So, technically, she should’ve been a senior by now. But then she never would’ve met Jimin. Or Cheyenne for that matter.

Y/N leaned her cheek on her fist and observed the spectacle. Her natural smile slowly faded, and corners of her lips grew heavier and heavier. She could feel the curtain of despair lowering over her, suffocating the enjoyment out of the otherwise jubilant moment. The all too familiar mentality settled in her mind that she’d never be happy again, or see life as anything more than some sick joke. Not now. Not now, not now please… She tried to keep it together for everyone’s sake, but the tears were coming any second now.

Under the cover of the noise, she slipped away and into the bathroom on the other side of the house. She eased the door shut with a tiny click. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. The harder she pressed her lips together, the wetter her eyes became. She leaned against the sink, staring into the abyss of the rusty drain. Five hours. Five hours of sobriety and she was already a sobbing mess. She tried. She really did. She wanted to be sober for Yoongi’s birthday so she’d have the memories and not need to rely on pictures and stories the next day. Her and what little self preservation she had left were fighting a war against her demons. And she was losing. Five hours would soon turn to four, then three, then... She stopped from scaring herself any further.

She hurriedly fished out two Zoloft tablets from her black skinny jeans pocket. The bulge of the baggie was covered by her oversized, snow white sweater. Using her phone case to crush them and credit card to scrape the dust into a neat line, she bent down and snorted the powder in one quick sniff. Her head jerked up and she stared at the person in the mirror. Slowly but surely, her face relaxed, her smile returned, and everything felt okay again. She wiped the runny mascara from under her eyes and stepped out to return to the joyful madness.

~~~

DECEMBER

The heated architect’s office provided a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. Y/N sat behind the receptionist desk, filing the last of a client’s paperwork so she could finally leave. Everyone else had left for the day, leaving her the task of locking everything up. After her emancipation, Jimin’s mom couldn’t have offered her a job at her office fast enough. Hell, she even offered for her to live with them permanently. The work was boring, but it paid better than any other part-time job ever would.

“Y/N!” Jimin quacked from the employee lounge down the hall. He’d tagged along after school to study for midterms with her in the downtime.

“WHAT!”

“ARE YOU DONE YET?!”

“ALMOST!” Were they yelling louder than necessary? Probably, their dynamic accepted nothing less. He popped his head around the corner, his body following suit. There wasn’t anything good to raid from the fridge, so he had nothing else to do but watch her lock up.

The phone on her desk rang, breaking the silence. “Fuck a duck! Do people not pay attention to business hours?!” She huffed aggressively and ripped the receiver off the hook. “Mijeong Park’s office, this is Y/N, how can I help you?” Her voice took a hard right to a bright, singsongy tone, and he had to bite his lip to not laugh. Hearing her speak in such a way he knew she hated brought him pure joy. On busy days it was like watching two personalities fight over their host. “Oh, I’m sorry she just left. Would you like to leave a message?” She grabbed a pen and jotted something down on a sticky note. “Uh-huh. Mhm...Alright, thank you!” She hung up and her face immediately fell back to its usual resting bitch face. She slipped on her coat and threw her messenger bag on her shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.”

~~~

The euphoric ring of the bell signaling that school was over washed over Y/N’s senses. She did it. Midterms were over. Granted, she didn’t study that hard, so she wasn’t expecting the best results. Oh well. C’est la vie. Now all she had was another week before winter break and she was home free.

Yoongi had work, Jimin had dance, Namjoon had football, Jungkook was with his family, and pretty much everyone else seemed to be busy when she texted each one to hang out. Whatever. She’d treat herself to something special.

The clock on her nightstand read 8:50 by the time Y/N stepped out of the steamy bathroom. She did everything; shave, exfoliate, lotion, face mask, hair mask. She scrunched her hair with a t-shirt until the curls were almost dry, leaving the rest of the water to soak into her roots. Yoongi’s Kendrick Lamar hoodie with the word “DAMN.” across the chest in big red letters kept her warm in the chilly apartment. She never used the heat system. It was cheaper and more comfortable to just bundle up. Her black sweatpants had the RIPNDIP cat giving the one finger salute on the side of one of the legs. There was no contest. They were her favorite pair.

The only light that filled her room was from the moon that poured through her open blinds. Long black shadows were projected over the space, giving it a strange yet aesthetically pleasing contrast. She shimmied under her bed to grab the shoe box shoved to the very back against the wall and tossed it on the bed. She climbed onto the mattress and sat legs crossed. The box was full of various paraphernalia she’d collected over the years. Digging to the very bottom, she pulled out a tiny baggie with two white tablets. They were bought a few weeks ago, but had been saved for a special occasion such as this.

She’d always been interested in trying Fentanyl. Just once. To satiate her curiosity. The pills crushed into power nicely. She cut and scraped a small line -- much smaller than the usual line of coke -- on her makeup mirror. This stuff was fifty times stronger than heroin. She wasn’t a complete idiot. Come on.

The line stared back up at her with a silent urgency. Now or never. She put the straw to her nose and snorted up the dust.

She waited.

Nothing.

She waited some more.

Still nothing.

A frustrated huff left her and she reached for her phone to cuss out the plug who had the audacity to sell her fake shit.

She reached for the phone.

The phone.

Get the phone.

Get the fucking phone.

Her mind completed the action time and time again but her body moved at a snail's pace. The last of her strength gave out and she collapsed onto the bed, only to realize, she’d been laying down the whole time. Woah.

A sedated smile spread ear to ear and a string of lazy, incoherent giggles made her diaphragm flutter. At that moment, the entire world shut the fuck up, and she was alone. Truly alone. It was just her inside her head. No depression, no anxiety, no trauma, no mommy issues. Nothing. Just her. It was like walking around in an empty mall. She had the entire world to herself. You know what would be great right now? Music.

She inched for her headphones.

Didn’t move.

She tried to focus on that singular action as hard as she could.

Didn’t move.

Okay...this isn’t really funny anymore.

She tried again.

Her muscles didn’t even flinch.

Tears pricked her eyes and her back broke into a cold sweat. Panic began to make its entrance as her eyes darted around the room for something, anything, that could help her. Her lungs struggled to replenish her oxygen leaving her chest in agony. She regressed back to the terrified, helpless little girl that she ran so far to lose.

She almost didn’t hear the knock at her door over the internal cacophony. She tried to listen for it to happen again. Maybe she was just hearing things. Sure enough, another knock split through the roaring static in her ears. Help! Please Dear God! I'm here! I’M IN HERE!

“Y/N?”

Jungkook.

Oh shit. No. No, no, no, no! Anyone but him!

“Y/N?” Every emotion that she’d freed herself from was dumped over her head like a bucket of ice water when, out of the corner of her eye, the door eased open. Jungkook’s silky head of black hair reflected the moonlight streaming through her window. He almost didn’t spot her from the glare. “Y/N? Are you okay? I felt bad that you were alone today, so I thought I’d stop by and check on you...” She made a barely audible, unintelligible sound. Attempting to raise her voice above a teensy whisper was an exercise in futility. His heart sank at her response. “Oh, you’re in the middle of something. I-I’ll just come back tomorrow.” He turned back around. Wait! No! Please don’t go! Forget what I said earlier! Help me please!

“..d-n’t g-o…” She scraped all the energy left in her body — from the top of her head to the tips of her toes — to say those two words.

Jungkook turned and stared at her stagnant figure. Wow. She must be really high. “Alright, come here.” He sat on the bed next to her and helped her sit up. Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm was the sole thing keeping her upright. He took a deep breath and thought about what he planned on telling her when he got there. He might as well practice now since she wouldn’t remember anyway.

“So uh...about me being with my family… That was a lie.”

“Mmm..?”

“I went on a date. Well, not really, but I really like her and I think she might like me too..” His cheeks blushed a little at the thought. “She’s a great friend, so if it doesn’t work out I hope we still have that.” He grew more confident with his words the more he talked about her. “I think you’d like her. She smokes weed and stuff for pain, but she does it recreationally too.” Her silence finally caught his attention after the mention of weed. He giggled a little. “Did you fall asleep?” When he turned to look down at her, she slipped past his shoulder and slumped onto the bed. The impact of the mattress didn’t stir her in the slightest. “Y/N?”

He shook her shoulder.

Nothing.

He shook harder, the familiar fear germinating in the pit of his stomach.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

Fear festered into horror as each attempt failed. Tears blinded him while he turned her on her back and roughly patted her cheeks. “Y/N?! Y/N, wake up!” His heart dropped past his stomach and onto the floor. Her lips and fingernails had turned an unhealthy shade of indigo and her breathing was dangerously shallow. No. This wasn’t real. It had to be a nightmare. It had to be. “Please wake up!!” He couldn’t stop saying her name in hopes that it would somehow magically awaken her. Her declining state said otherwise.

“Don’t leave me!” He pulled her onto the floor and straddled her hips, pulling his phone out to dial 911 in the process. His hands lined up with one another over her heart and jumped into action pumping her heart for her.

“Just stay with me! Please!”

“Blood oxygen at 60%!”

Jungkook had to be ripped from Y/N’s body as the team of EMTs swarmed around her. One of them lifted her lid with a gloved finger and flashed a penlight in her eye.

“Pupils are constricted! I need 2mg of Narcan!”

He was shoved out of her room and forced to watch from the doorway while the first responders stuck her with needle after needle. They slipped an oxygen mask over her lifeless face. The world seemed to slow with every jagged breath he took. His eyes unfocused and his hearing grew fuzzy except for the faint sound of his hammering heart. All was quiet in the eye of the storm. Then, the air left. Every atom of oxygen was sucked from the world with no regard for his existence. He fell to his knees gripping his throat and chest, his lungs screaming for air.

“..........d!……..id!……..Hey, kid!” He was snapped back to reality when large hands pressed into his shoulders. He darted his red, watery eyes to the paramedic restraining him to the floor. “You need to calm down!” His kicking, screaming and crying had been silenced by the ringing in his ears. A sharp pinch pricked his side and before long, he stilled as a wave of serenity washed over him. It was like someone flipped his off switch.

“What… what did you give me..?”

“Just some Valium to help you relax.” He felt his body sink into the floor, being pulled further into the abyss of slumber. He fought his lids open despite their growing weight, but it was no use. They drooped closed and all the chaos and fear gave way to darkness.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital pierced Jungkook’s lids pulling him back into consciousness. He was stretched out on a firm sofa with a simple heart monitor clipped to his fingertip in what looked like an ICU room. The soft beeping of an EKG drew his attention to the bed next to him. He got to his feet as fast as he could with the Valium still lingering in his system and raced to Y/N’s bedside. The bittersweet excitement of getting to see her went completely sour when he took in her state. She’d never looked so frail and delicate before. Dark circles sunk in her eyes with rings of yellow on their border giving the illusion of two black eyes. Her lips were chapped and bleeding. Countless tubes and IVs protruded from her body which only stressed the severity of her condition further. Yet, despite her broken appearance, she never looked so peaceful.

“Good. You’re up.” He spun around. The voice came from a doctor standing in the doorway clipboard in hand. “I’m Dr. Lobrano, I’m the one in charge of your friend’s case.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s stable, but the stress overload caused her to slip into a coma so her body can heal itself to its full extent.” Jungkook’s face paled. “Now, I’m not saying it’s 100%, but most opioid coma patients wake up and make a full recovery. Physically, that is.” “How long will that take?” He took in a calculating breath.

“It’s hard to say. It could take three days or three weeks. Every case is different” His heart sank for the nth time that night. He looked over his shoulder at her motionless figure under the sheets. The only thing that told she was even alive was the soft, steady beep of the EKG. He could hardly bear to look at her. It was like seeing Superman fall from the sky. She was his Superman. Whether she believed it or not didn’t matter because it was true. “I hate to bother you during such a stressful time,” he pulled a pen out of his pocket protector, “but I need you to answer a few questions about our friend over there.” He pointed the end of the pen at her.

“U-um, okay.” Dr. Lobrano took a seat in the chair facing the sofa which Jungkook had retaken his seat on. He clicked the pen against his knee and held it at the ready.

“Next of kin?”

“Her parents, but she’s emancipated.” He nodded and silently jotted something on his clipboard.

“Siblings?”

“No.” He looked up.

“Extended family?” Jungkook opened mouth to answer when he realized -- she didn’t. She had no one. From what he’d caught over the years he knew her mom was an only child and her dad’s only brother died when he was in college. No aunts, no uncles, no cousins. No one.

“Not that I can think of. No.”

“Okay...any other significant relationships? We need someone to sign off on her paperwork and consent forms in case anything happens.”

“But it won’t, right?” He clicked his pen.

“As a medical professional, I’m legally obligated to tell my patients and their loved ones the truth. And the truth is, your friend over there took an almost lethal dose of Fentanyl. And with her age and weight? I consider myself a man of science, but that’s a miracle if I ever saw one. However, just because she made it past those first critical hours doesn’t mean there’s zero risk of other complications that may arise later on.” Jungkook nodded, trying to take in the information as stoically as possible. He didn’t want the doctor to see how he really felt on the inside.

“How old are you?”

“I’m sixteen, sir.”

“Do you have anyone you can call who’s at least eighteen that can sign for her?”

“Yeah, her…boyfriend” The weight of his circumstances hit him like a bus. The thought of anyone else hadn’t even crossed his mind until now. How the hell was he supposed to tell Yoongi that the only person keeping his life together was in a coma from almost killing herself?

“Then I suggest you give him a call as soon as possible, and if you don’t have any other questions I should finish making my rounds.” He gave a distant nod and was left alone with Y/N once again. His eyes were drawn back to the subtle rise and fall of her chest. A long sigh of anguish left his lips and he buried his face in his hands.

“What am I gonna do?”

~~~

Jungkook stared at Yoongi’s contact in his phone. His thumb hovered over the call button. He knew he was about to hurt him worse than anyone ever has in his life. It was going to kill him. He forced his thumb down on the screen. The dial tone counted down the seconds before the heartbreak. It stopped after three rings.

“Hello?”

“....”

“Kook?”

“Yoongi…” His voice began to quiver, “Yoongi, something bad happened.”

~~~

Jiwoo laid in bed on her stomach with her feet swishing in the air. She held her phone to her ear with her shoulder while she painted her nails their usual black chrome. “You should listen to Never Know by Bad Omens. I bet you’d like it.”

“You think?” Taehyung’s voice came from the other end. Before she could answer, she heard Yoongi in the living room on the phone.

“Woah, woah, calm down. What happened?” Silence.

“Jiwo-?”

“Sh!” The silence stretched for a good four seconds. She jumped when Yoongi came barreling down the hall to his room like a bat out of Hell and came back out with his jacket slung over his arm. The front door opened and slammed shut. Within seconds, his car peeled out of the driveway. The roar of his engine quickly dissipated in the distance.

~~~

Jungkook bounced his knee in anticipation. It had been almost ten minutes since he called Yoongi and there was still no sign of him. He was beginning to worry something might’ve happened to him on the way when the door swung open sending the doorknob colliding into the wall. Jungkook shot up and immediately broke down in tears when he laid eyes on Yoongi’s familiar face. Yoongi rushed to catch his crumpling body and hugged his head to his chest. Jungkook sobbed like he never sobbed before. Every emotion he’d kept bottled up since the moment he found her in her room spilled out onto Yoongi’s grey hoodie.

His heart — along with every other function in his body — stopped when he saw Y/N. She’d never looked so broken and it tore at his insides to even look at her. It didn’t feel natural. It didn’t feel real. There was no way this was the girl he loved.

When Jungkook’s cries diminished to a sniffle, Yoongi gingerly took him off his chest and approached her bedside. He tentatively placed his hand over her cold one. IV needles were sunken into each of her wrists and one on the back of her hand. He drew a shuddery breath. “What-....what did she take?”

“Fentanyl.” Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut trying not to dwell on it.

“Is she gonna be okay?” He knew it was a stupid question. Of course Jungkook couldn’t answer that.

“I don’t know.” Jungkook muttered.

“Did they say when she’d wake up?” Jungkook winced at his question. He must’ve been in shock to assume she even would.

“Yoongi,” the older turned to face him, “Y/N’s in a coma.”

~~~

Yoongi and Jungkook stayed the night in the spacious ICU room with Jungkook passed out on his little couch and Yoongi pulled up a chair next to Y/N’s bedside. He stayed awake all night watching her. It wasn’t that he thought something would happen if he fell asleep, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave her. Even if he may have still physically been there.

Breaking the news to everyone the next day was hard. Hearing their reactions over the phone was harder. ICU patients were only allowed to have three visitors per day —excluding Yoongi—so he was forced to decide who would get to see her first. He decided to just go by age.

Jimin and Taehyung arrived within five minutes of getting the call. Yoongi was waiting outside her room when the two came flying down the hall. They skidded to a stop and Yoongi had to hold them back with his palms against their chests. “Hold on, hold on. You can’t see her just yet.”

“Fucking why not?!” Taehyung shouted.

“Yeah, what the hell?” Jimin added.

“The doctor said that it helps to talk to coma patients, so we’re taking turns visiting her alone. Jungkook’s in there right now.”

~~~

Jungkook sat in Yoongi’s chair beside the hospital bed. His fists balled against his knees trying to think of something to say.

“Y/N…..I’m…. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took your pills. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I watched this happen and didn’t get you help.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “I’m so sorry...You're my hero Y/N….You probably don’t think so, but if I never met you...” He choked, “I don’t-...I don’t think I’d be alive right now.” His lips quivered trying to form the words. He’d never said anything like that out loud before. “You’re the only person who makes me feel like I’m not alone. I’ve never felt more loved and wanted than when I’m with you. You’re the strongest person I know. You always make sure I get all of my work done and eat right even when you can barely take care of yourself. It sounds useless, but it’s those reminders that reassure me that someone actually cares. If you go I-...I don’t know what I’m gonna do. But it’s not gonna be anything good.” He put his head down on her thigh and cried. “I need you, Y/N. I need you so much it hurts.”

~~~

The three in the hall jumped to their feet when the door finally opened, and Jungkook stepped out. His eyes and nose were puffy and red from hours of stop and start tears. Jimin pulled him into a soft hug which he gratefully accepted. “Okay Tae, you’re next.” Yoongi said. Taehyung thought for a second.

“No. Jimin should go. He’s known her longer than I have.” Yoongi looked from Taehyung to Jimin who looked up in surprise.

“That’s fine.” He said. Jimin gave Taehyung a thankful look and entered the room.

He drew a hard breath when he saw her. Her hospital gown washed away the color of her cheeks that once gave her a youthful glow. “Oh, Y/N…” He put his hand to his heart and sat down. “What happened to you?” The dark circles under her eyes popped against the blank canvas of her face. He slipped his hand under hers and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You can’t be doing this to yourself. You scared me. You scared us.”

He spent a long time just looking at her in silence. He couldn’t find a way to put his emotions into words. “God, you’re so gorgeous. Even when you're wearing a paper gown with bags that rival a panda’s.” He reached and twirled a piece of her hair in his fingers — something he did a lot when they relaxed together. Her usual bouncy coils laid in dull, limp waves against her shoulders. “You almost left me. You can’t do that, because you’re stuck with me. And there’s nothing you can do to change that. Wherever you go, I’ll follow, whatever you do, I’ll copy. We’re in this together, so your ass better wake up so we can fuck shit up until we’re old and grey, scaring kids on Halloween together.” He giggled, but it slowly turned to whimpers. He wiped tears from his cheeks with his sleeves. “You’re my best friend, N/N. I don’t know if I can handle it if you go.” He took a sniffly breath. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you. Even if it was in different ways, but I always have.” He sniffed and his voice cracked under the emotion. “You deserve the world, you deserve someone who loves you the way I know you should be loved. That’s why I was so happy when you met Yoongi, because I knew he was perfect for you. He worships you, Y/N, kisses the ground you walk on. And I can rest easy knowing you’re in the best possible hands. Don’t worry about me though, I’m happy loving you in any way I can.” Tears patted on the bed sheets when he leaned in to give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Please come back to us.”

~~~

An hour passed, and Jimin emerged from the room. “Finally! I was starting to regret giving up my turn.” Taehyung stood. Jimin and Jungkook held hands and Yoongi stripped his leather jacket off. The extra layers were starting to get to him. He looked up and saw Taehyung still standing there.

“What are you lookin’ at me for?”

“C-can I go now?” Yoongi chuckled a little.

“Of course you can.”

~~~

It took a while for Taehyung to eventually gravitate to the chair beside her. He mainly stood near the door and stared at her for the first five minutes. Another twenty went by of him just sitting in the chair with his hands clasped between his knees. “Listen uh...I’m not good at this whole sentimental thing, so if it’s true that coma patients remember what they hear, don’t judge. I know I get on your nerves a lot and tease you, but I do it ‘cus that’s just how I show love.” He looked down. “Truth is, you’re like a sister to me, Y/N. I always wanted an older sister to annoy, and when I met you it felt like I’d found my missing piece. Nobody in my life ever stays long, but you’re the one constant that I could hang on to. No matter which girl left me or friends I lost, I knew I could always count on you to be there, ready to go along with whatever I wanted.” He chuckled at the tears brimming in his eyes. “Look at this shit. You got me cryin’.” He roughly wiped his eyes with the collar of his hoodie. “Well, that’s my spiel. Wake up soon. I need somebody to roll their eyes at my jokes again.” He stood and wiped his palms on his sweats. His fingers twitched at his side as he peered down at her. Hesitantly, he leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “Get better, sis.”

~~~

The next day was Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jin’s turn. Namjoon, unsurprisingly, got there at the exact time Yoongi texted him to. He came in carrying a to-go cup of coffee with the Starbucks logo on the sleeve. Immediately, he pulled Yoongi into a quick hug before he could protest. “Here, I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Thanks.” Yoongi took it with a small smile. Namjoon wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t slept a wink since he got there, and it was starting to show. His raven hair hung in glossy clumps and he was starting to develop his own set of dark circles. “You can go in whenever you’re ready.”

Namjoon stepped in and closed the door gently behind him. “Hey, N/N.” He sighed and took a seat in the chair that he dwarfed with his long legs. “I know you probably could care less, but I’m gonna take care of your homework for you until you get out of this. That is, if you don’t wake up by Monday. Anyway, uh, Cheyenne couldn’t make it. She’s at a tournament in Las Vegas, but she sends her love. Maybe when you wake up, you can FaceTime her. She’s really worried about you, y’know. Even if you guys haven’t seen each other for years.” He gazed at her almost as if he was waiting for her to respond. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Normally, I always know what to say, but….with you there’s just so much to be said I can’t think straight, so I thought,” he fished a small book out of his coat pocket, “I’d read you some poetry instead. I know the guys have probably talked your ear off, so it should be a nice break from it all.” He cracked open the book to one of the pages he’d marked with a sticky note. “I’ll start with this one, since I know it’s your favorite.”

Life is unpredictable,

It changes with the seasons,

Even your coldest winter,

Happens for the best of reasons,

And though it feels eternal,

Like all you’ll ever do is freeze,

I promise spring is coming,

And with it, brand new leaves.

- Erin Hanson

~~~

Hoseok was already in the hallway when Namjoon finished up. “How’d it go?” He showed him the book in his hand.

“Just some reading. She always likes that.” Hoseok gave him a nod and circled around him to take his place.

He took a seat and rested his elbows on the mattress. “Hey...God, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to do this. I’m not used to one sided conversations.” He gave a tiny chuckle. “I was a mess when I heard about your accident...I mean, Fentanyl, Y/N? Fentanyl?? I know how bad that shit’s reputation is and when I heard you ODed on it, I was certain you were dead. It took five minutes for Yoongi to calm me down and say you were alive.” He eyed all the tubes and machines she was hooked up to. “Although it doesn’t really look like it….Fuck you scared me, Y/N. Don’t you ever do that again.” He grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You hear me? You’re the only one who knows how bad my coke problem really is. In fact, no one else even knows I’m bipolar. Only you. Because you’re the only person I feel comfortable talking about it with. So please, don’t scare me like that again. I don’t expect you to come out of this clean as a whistle. Hell, I don’t even expect you to stop snorting your prescriptions. That’s why we need each other. We can work on ourselves together. I know you’ll wake up. I just know it. And I’ll be waiting with a big ass bag of all your favorite candy and movies when you do. So, you just focus on healing that body of yours and get back to us as soon as you can.” He gave her a kiss on the hand and another on her forehead. “Love ‘ya.”

~~~

Yoongi eyed the book Namjoon had set on one of the chairs lining the hall. He picked it up and leafed through it. “Hey, Joon?”

“Yeah?”

“You think I can borrow this for a bit?” He looked over to see what he was talking about.

“Yeah, of course.” Yoongi continued to flip through the pages when Hoseok stepped out and shut the door behind him. His eyes were misty and his voice was a little nasally.

“That was a lot harder than I thought it was gonna be.” He scanned the hallway. “Is Jin coming?”

“He’s coming around six after he gets off work.” Yoongi said, not looking up from the poem he was in the middle of.

“Oh, okay. Well, I have practice later so I’ll try to come visit again as soon as I can.” Hoseok gave each of them a hug and took his leave.

“I can stick around if you want, Yoongi.” Namjoon offered.

“No, no. I’m okay. There’s really not much you can do here. I’ll call you if anything comes up.” He stood again and Namjoon gave him another parting hug. “Thanks for the book, by the way.”

“No problem. I’ll see you later.”

Yoongi took his spot in the chair by Y/N’s bed and delved back into his book. As he went along, he wrote poems that reminded him of her on the hospital stationary from the bedside table. He didn’t read them aloud. He found it hard to believe that talking would actually help. His life hadn’t been fortunate enough for him to believe in anything more than cold, hard facts. He wasn’t one for talking anyway, and he knew neither was she.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until Jin came knocking with a duffel bag in his hand. “Who’s that for?” Yoongi asked.

“You.” Jin said as he tossed it at him. He dropped the book and caught it against his chest. “Now go shower while I talk to my baby because I know you haven’t. You don’t want Y/N to wake up and have you smelling like ass.” He had him there. He stood up with a sigh and took the duffel to the connecting bathroom.

Jin turned and felt his heart sink at the sight of her. It hurt to see her like this and not be able to do anything to help. “I hope you’re feeling okay in there.” He sat on the edge of the bed by her thigh. “I can’t stay as long as I’d hoped, so I’ll have to make this quick. I know you probably don’t want me boo-hooing over you, so I’ll try to keep the tears to a minimum.” He rubbed the smooth tape securing the IV in her hand. “I’ll never forget that time I found you curled up on the floor, in the middle of your living room, so depressed you couldn't walk. I had to bathe you and tuck you in bed. I even fed you soup even though you said you could do it yourself.” He smiled softly. “I know I have to take care of you sometimes when you can’t do it yourself. And that’s okay. It’s okay to ask for help every once in a while. That’s my job. We always joke about how I’m your guys’ momma, but it’s true. You’re the reason I realized how much I want to be a dad one day. Believe me, if I could take care of you for the rest of my life I would, but I don’t think you’d care for that too much.” A small tear slipped past his guard and dripped down his cheek. “Sorry,” he wiped it away, “but you can’t blame me. I’m worried about you, Y/N. I don’t know what drove you to do this, but I know you tried your hardest to fight it.” He squeezed her hand. “I want you to know that I’m not mad, I’m not disappointed. You were trying to take your pain away. I just wish you could’ve told me how much you were suffering. Even if you want to spare me the stress and heartbreak of it all, I’d rather know you're in pain so maybe I can help you. Please don’t hide like that again. I need my little gremlin around to give me grey hairs before I hit thirty.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head. “And you’re worth every single one.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Yoongi stepped out rubbing a towel over his hair. “Sorry, I tried to take as long as possible.”

“It’s fine, I need to be going anyway.” Jin stood and gave Y/N one last glance. “I’ll be waiting for you, kiddo.” He turned to Yoongi. “You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Have you talked to her yet?” Yoongi paused. “You should. Even if you think it doesn’t do anything, you’d be surprised what comes out.” With that, he took his jacket off the chair and closed the door behind him.

~~~

The clock read 11:50 by the time Yoongi finished his book. He set it on the bedside table with a sigh. Over a dozen notes were taped to the railing in a long line of comforting messages. It was surprising how much it helped him take his mind off the worst. But now, he had nothing to do but wait. He let out another long sigh. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked much. It’s just hard not being able to hear your voice...I figured if I tried to say anything I’d fucking lose it, but it feels like I already am.” He rested his forehead in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. “Jesus...what am I gonna do? If you go, I don’t know what I’m gonna do to myself. It scares me...One of the nurses told me you’d be going to a better place, but I don’t care if you’re going to a better place, I need you here.” He sniffed. “And I know that’s wrong, but I need you in this shitty ass world because I can’t survive without you.” He tried to blink the brimming tears out of his eyes, but it was no use. “There’s no one else in the world I’d rather be with than you. I don’t know how you made me like this, but I don’t ever want to change. I love you. I love you so fucking much I don’t know what to do with myself. I love the little things about you the most. I love that one curl that you hate because it goes the wrong way, how you’re not afraid to eat twice as much as me, how you grab my shirt in your sleep, how you walk in the grass with a flashlight during the summer so you don’t step on any frogs.”

The steady beep of the EKG was the only response he got. “Please don’t leave me. Please? No one’s ever made me feel this good before. And if you leave...if you-...” His head sank as he tried to hold back his tears. “It’s just- It’s easier to smile with you because when I look at you, I can feel it. And I-I look at you and I-....I’m home….Please, I don’t want that to go away.”

~~~

Yoongi didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up with his head resting against Y/N’s hip. He blinked away his sleepiness and tried to read the clock. 6:20. He groaned. Stayed awake two nights in a row and didn’t even get so much as six hours. Despite his suspicions, he did feel a lot better having talked to her. It seemed to bring her a little closer to him in these God awful times.

She was looking better. The dark circles were fading and the color was returning to her lips. It lifted his spirits to see she was visibly healing. He called Namjoon to bring him another poetry book. The stuff was really starting to grow on him. Of all people.

Other than a visit from Jungkook, Jiwoo, and Jimin, the day was pretty uneventful. A few nurses came in to take her vitals and stretch her joints, but he wouldn’t necessarily consider that an event.

“Here’s a good one.” Yoongi leaned forward in his chair for her to hear.

I don’t think you will

Ever fully understand

How you touched my life

And made me who I am.

You are the keeper of my dreams,

The man who holds my heart,

The one I want to spend my life with,

The one with whom I will always stand.

Stand beside through thick and thin

Through all that life throws our way

Knowing that this special love we share

Will guide us each and every day.

I don’t think you could ever feel

All the love I have to give,

And I’m sure you never realize

You’ve been my will to live.

- Stephanie Schiavone

~~~

The light of dawn shone through the thin curtains that billowed in the breeze coming from the open balcony door, casting the spacious bedroom in a golden glow. Yoongi shifted under the white, linen sheets and stretched out his spine like a cat. He cracked an eye open and took in the view of Y/N’s bare back on the other side of the bed. The fabric only came up to her hips and was pulled around to her chest with her sleeping hands. Her hair swept over the entire pillow scattering her curls every which way.

He ghosted his knuckle down her spine and back up again, repeating the action until her slender shoulders stirred. She let out a small, airy groan and dug herself further into the mattress. Birds chirped in the lush trees swaying outside with the coming morning. Yoongi scooted closer until her back was flush against his chest. The heat between their skin was a welcome sensation that seemed to fill his heart with even more love. If that was possible. He slipped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She wriggled again when he started peppering her with kisses up and down her neck and cheek. He finally brought his lips to her ear. “Wake up.”

~~~

Y/N’s eyes drifted open and fluttered against the cold lights of the ICU room. She looked down at her IVs and around the room groggily. Yoongi was asleep on the edge of the bed with his head resting on his folded arms. It broke her heart to see how tired he looked. Dark bags marked his red, puffy eyes from hours of vigil. Tears welled in her eyes and her lips drew into a pained frown as the memories of her night flashed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to silence her hiccups. Her head sank back into the pillow and hoped it would just swallow her whole. There was no way she’d be able to face anyone after what she did. Oh God. Jungkook. Instant guilt and shame washed over her when she realized what she put that poor boy through.

When her eyes cleared enough to see, she noticed the dozens of messages littering her bed and side table. She took one off the railing with a shaky hand. It was in Yoongi’s handwriting.

When I first met you

I remembered you

From a hundred different dreams

And there you were

For me to love

All over again

For the very first time

- Atticus

A smile crept onto her lips as she read each one.

Your eyes.

Your eyes hold everything

My soul thirsts for.

- Paul Perry

She read another.

You gave light to my soul

You helped me to be whole

I have felt love for you before

And it will be more and more,

You are mine, my dear

You are the angel from above

Who taught me how to love.

Please, forever keep me near.

- Anonymous

~~~

The feeling of his hair being carded through slowly coaxed Yoongi out of his dream. He peeked an eye open. Y/N was mindlessly playing with his hair while she intently read one of his notes. “Oh my God!” He jumped onto the bed and cupped her head in his hands as he attacked her with kisses wherever he could land them. “You’re awake! Holy shit, you’re awake!” He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I thought I lost you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Her hoarse voice was like music to his ears. He let himself laugh for the first time in the longest three days of his life. She looked up at him and he finally got to see those e/c eyes that he missed so much. Another wave of kisses washed over her that concluded with a final long, heated kiss on her lips.

“I’ve been waiting to be able to do that again.” She giggled and pushed against his chest.

“Get off, creepo. If the nurses saw you like this you’d get kicked out so fucking fast.”

“Oh shit,” he jumped off, “I need to tell them you’re up!” She watched in amusement as he ran out the door, then frantically popped back in.

“I’ll be right back!”

~~~

Everything that happened next flew by in a blur. She nearly suffocated under the hugs and kisses and gifts she was bombarded with. She was transferred to a standard room where she was allowed to have as many visitors as she wanted. Her entire day consisted of catching up with everyone, watching movies, and lots, and lots of Jello. Most of her IVs were removed which allowed Yoongi to curl up beside her that night.

The next evening, Jungkook was visiting her when Dr. Lobrano stepped in with his usual clipboard and pen. “Hey you two. If you don’t mind, I need to speak with Miss Y/N for a few minutes in private.”

“Oh..okay.” Jungkook reluctantly got up and left the room, stealing a glance on his way out.

“So?” She asked. The doctor folded his hands in front of him and looked down for a bit.

“I’m afraid there’s one thing about your condition that I’ve yet to mention.” She sat up straighter, her stomach churning.

“What is it?”

“When you first arrived at the ER you had major vaginal bleeding, so we did some tests...” Her heart stopped. “You were pregnant, but I’m afraid the shock of your overdose also caused you to miscarry.” It felt like she got punched in the stomach by Mike Tyson. All the air was sucked out of her lungs.

“P-pregnant..?”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to give you some time to catch up with loved ones before I informed you.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes darted back and forth trying to make sense of it all.

“H-how far along was I?”

“About three weeks.”

“Does...does Yoongi know?”

“I’m leaving you the choice to decide that. Once again, my deepest condolences.” He left her to process the news in privacy.

She collapsed onto the bed, her sobs coming out in hiccupy squeaks. Her hands gravitated to her stomach and tried to imagine the little being that used to be there. Three soft knocks sounded from the other side of the door. It slowly opened and Jungkook peaked his head in. “Y/N? Are you okay?” She only stared up at the ceiling. He approached her bedside. “....Y/N?” Her eyes eventually found him and filled with more tears.

“Can you hug me?” He immediately sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her up into a hug. Her shoulders quivered and she gripped desperately at his shirt.

“Hey, it's okay. It’s okay…” He stroked her hair and rested his chin on the top of her head. She cried, and cried, and cried until nothing else came out. Jungkook held her until her sobs faded, and her body leaned against his chest. He gently laid her down, taking care not to wake her up. Her peaceful face was a stark contrast to the tears that wet her cheeks and reddened her nose. Whatever the doctor told her must’ve been pretty damn bad to have her asking for a hug, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

Y/N was still asleep when Yoongi stepped out of the shower. Moonlight that came from a small window lit his path to her bed. She stirred when he climbed in. “It’s me. Go back to sleep.” He whispered. The sheets were pulled over their bodies and she rolled onto her side with her back to him. He took the opportunity to pull her closer. His face nestled on her shoulder and he let out a long sigh of contentment. She clenched her muscles to suppress her whimpers, but it was no use. He lifted his head to look down at her. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Her eyes clamped shut and a choked sob escaped her chest.

“I killed our baby.”

~~~

It took a long time for Yoongi to wrap his head around what she told him the night before. When he finally put two and two together, he immediately turned her around so she was facing his chest and pulled her in as close as he possibly could. He was absolutely distraught, but only a few silent tears of shock came out as she sobbed into his shoulder all over again.

They slept late into the afternoon until they were woken up by a beaming Jimin. “Wake up, sleepyheads! It’s your discharge day!” Yoongi scowled at the unwelcome noise and lazily swatted at him. Jimin grabbed his wrist and pulled him to sit up straight. “Come on! Don’t you wanna get out of here?”

“Gimme a minute before I punch you.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Jimin circled around to Y/N’s side and played with her hair.

“Y/Naaa, wake uuuup~” She cracked an eye and glared at him. “Oh, don’t give me that look too. It’s noon, and you’re supposed to check out at two. Let's get a move on.”

They spent the better half of an hour watching TV while Yoongi packed up the duffel Jin brought him. Y/N brushed her teeth in bed and spat the toothpaste in a cup when she was done. “Here.” She handed it to Jimin who took it and rinsed it out in the sink.

There was a knock at the door and Dr. Lobrano stepped inside. “How’re we feeling today?”

“Fine, I guess.” she shrugged. “I’m just ready to go home.”

“About that. It’s come to my attention that you have a history of suicidal behavior, and while it’s not my position to judge, I also can’t rule your overdose out as a suicide attempt.” “What?” She was dumbfounded. How could that be any of his business? “I wasn’t trying to kill myself!”

“But did you or did you not have any concern for your safety when you took that Fentanyl?” She pressed her lips into an angry thin line. She was angry because she knew he was right. She knew the risk and she did it anyway.

“What are you getting at?” Yoongi stepped in.

“According to California law, overdose victims are required to participate in a mandatory 28 days of rehabilitation. And since you’re also a danger to yourself, your treatment will have to be in a psychiatric facility.”

Y/N, Yoongi, and Jimin’s jaws dropped. There was no way he was serious. Right? Her heart beat faster, and faster, and faster with every memory of St. Joseph’s that flashed in her mind. “No….no, no, no!” She clawed at her IV and yanked it out of her hand. She threw the sheets up and made a mad dash for the door, but two male nurses stood ready to catch her. “NO! NO! NO! I’M NOT GOING BACK!” They hauled her back on the bed and tried to pin her kicking legs down. Her screams brought another team of nurses rushing in with a set of bed restraints.

“What the hell are you doing to her?!” Yoongi shouted. One of the nurses turned and put her hand to the boys’ chests.

“You two need to leave, right now.” They were shoved outside the room and forced to watch the crowd of people struggle to hold Y/N’s thrashing body to the mattress so the restraints could be slipped on. Jimin held his hands to his mouth and stared through wide, teary eyes.

“NO! NO! NO! NO! I CAN’T GO BACK! YOONGI!” It felt like someone stabbed him in the heart when she desperately called out to him. He could hear the terror in her voice.

“YOONGI!”

Pain filled his entire body and he bit the inside of his lip, visibly restraining himself from lunging forward and ripping her from the restraints that she jerked so furiously against. “YOONGI! PLEASE DON’T LET-'' A nurse sank a syringe into her hip and her legs quickly ceased their kicking. Y/N fell silent.

Yoongi stood like a statue and stared at the only half of her that he could see. “Yoongi, I-” he ripped his shoulder away when Jimin placed a hand on it and stormed away. He didn’t stop until he got all the way to his car in the parking lot. The door slammed shut behind him and he was left in silence. His forehead fell against the steering wheel and he let out a long breath.

A single whimper escaped his chest.

Then another.

And another.

Loud, hiccupy sobs wracked his whole body as he white-knuckled the leather wrapped wheel. One especially aggressive wave had him hugging himself in a bawling heap. He hadn’t cried like this since he was little, hiding in the closet from his dad’s drunken rage. It was scary how quickly he lost control, and he knew there was nothing he could do to get it back.

#bts x reader #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #namjoon #bts seokjin #yoongi #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #bts sad

38 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “It Can’t Hurt to Try.”

My brain wanted to write this today, and so this is what I have written. I hope you all enjoy :)

I realize I have sort of Neglected Adam’s past, though I am not sure how I did that, so today I wanted to write some more.

More than three years ago.

“Mom, you don’t have to really…. I’m ok.” Martha turned to look at Adam and the expression on her face shut him up instantly. He slid back in his seat slouching against the car interior. Off to his left side, his new service dog, who he had named waffles, was lying politely across the seat, her head resting on his thigh, her service vest bright red in the noonday sun streaming in through the window.

The car rumbled under them looking out of place in a city of sleek hover cars. Their tires rolled to a stop at an intersection, as a crash nexus wove itself into existence before the waiting line of cars. Running red lights was a near impossibility in the city and had reduced vehicular accidents by 25%.

Marha turned to look at him over the back of the seat, “Adam let your father and I worry about finances, you just relax.”

He sat up in his seat again pushing his crutches to rest against the window, “But mom do you know how much those cost, I looked it up and….” “Shhhh.” Martha held up a finger, “Just sshhh, your father and I own the house and the car. We could make ends meet if your father was working at the Burger Barn, and I was sitting at home twiddling my thumbs.”

Adam’s usually Laconic father grunted his agreement, “Besides, this is why your mother and I have a separate account for medical emergencies.”

“But what if YOU have a medical emergency.” he protested thinking about the farm and how easy it would be for his father to get caught in an accident with the massive farming equipment they used.”

“Im old.” his father said, though he wasn’t very old at all.

“What does that have to do with-”

“Boy, just shut up, you’re mother and I have made a decision because we love our kids, and if that means selling the damn house and living in a tent we are going to do it.”

Adam lapsed into silence again. His father’s tone broached no argument. A whimper came from somewhere below him, and he looked down to see that Waffles had scooted so her paws and head were resting on his leg, her tail beat against the car seat, and she looked at him with big golden eyes.

Her paws were a might bit large for her, but that was because she wasn’t even a year old yet, but even so she was still the best girl. She whimpered again, reminding him to relax and he took a few breaths.

Adam wasn’t so good at dealing with stress these days, though Waffles turning up in his life had been a marked improvement. The doctors said he had finally turned a corner with his mental health, though they suggested he look into getting a real prosthetic if he wanted to recover any further.

They said it would be good for his morale.

He glanced down at his current prosthetic, no more than a black rod of metal with a spring loaded joint and a fake foot at the end. It was army issue, so complete garbage, and he still had to use crutches when wearing it with the amount he tended to trip. He imagined being able to run again…. To really do anything again, and looked down at his body, which had grown thin and skeletal over the past few months of PTSD recovery.

He hadn’t been eating all that much, and his desire to workout had faded with it, instead he had spent most of his time in a hypervigilant state of alertness that left little time for things like eating or working out. When waffles came along, that had morphed into him lying in bed for days on end sleeping on and off while listening to music or listening to his collection of old Star Trek movies on Repeat.

It had been a hard transition to being functional again, which just meant that he was eating now, and went on walks in the morning with waffles.

He was determined to make it all the way, though he couldn’t say he approved all that much of his parents throwing away so much money on a fancy prosthetic. An older model would have done, but they insisted that they wanted the best.

The car ground to a stop in the parking garage outside of the Elmridge University robotics lab, and his mother walked around one side to open the door for him as he adjusted his crutches and stepped out into the musty underground air. Waffles leaped out behind him, sticking tight to his left side.

“You good?” His mother asked, and he nodded limping his way after them as they made it towards the doors.

Students at this university had been working on prosthetic technology for the pat fifty years, and their minds had spawned some of the greatest breakthroughs in medical technology the world over. Now, they were asking for people like him to come and test their machines. However things didn’t always come cheap and you had to rely on being rich, or getting some kind of funding from a wealthy benefactor.

Adam Vir, who was not rich and had no wealth benefactors was instead relying on his parents and their medical savings, which they had been squirreling away for the past twenty years or more. He estimated that the account would be completely drained by the time they were done here, and the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Waffles touched his hand with her wet nose, reminding him to breathe again.

They made it all the way to the doors and into the university hallway. Adam looked around with some interest. He had what might be considered the equivalent of a masters degree or higher in aviation, but he had never stepped foot inside a university.

He thought he would have liked it, and had to brush away the regret that he had never gone for real.

The flight academy had been enough though.

Though it was likely he would never fly again. Waffles whimpered and jumped up on her back paws seeing his distress and working to keep his mind off of it. He took another deep breath. She was right, he just needed to relax.

Together with his family they walked down the hall and into the waiting room of room 125 where they made him rest in one of the hard plastic chairs as they went up to the desk. He rubbed Waffle’s ears, and she rumbled at him lightly.

“And you all must be with Adam Vir.”

They nodded in agreement.

Adam looked up as the girl came out from behind the desk. She had long black hair tied up in a messy ponytail and wore a band T-shirt over a striped long sleeve shirt. She wore glasses, was his age, and was very cute.

He had to look down at the floor.

She knelt next to him, “Can I?” She asked

Still looking away he untied the rubber band holding the pant leg closed and pulled it back so she could see the stump of his leg.

She pulled something from her back pocket and pressed it up against the old wound. It was cold and soft and he grimaced as he looked down. When she pulled back he realized she had been taking a mold of his leg. She smiled at him, “Just twenty more minutes and we can have you come back.”

He nodded and they let her go. His parents sat on either side of them, his mom took him by the shoulder and shook, “Isn’t this exciting.”

Adam gave a weak smile.

His father picked up a robotics magazine and began to read, showing Adam things of interest as he read them. Adam’s stomach churned with nerves.

After less than fifteen minutes, the girl skipped back into the room, “We’re ready for you.” She announced, and slowly, he moved to his feet limping ack behind the desk and following her down a short hallway and into a large open room.

Here there was a small indoor track, some obstacles, and even a physical therapy table.

A cluster of students sat around the table waiting for them, headed by an older heavyset professor with a short grey beard and a lanyard hanging around his neck.

He reached out to shake their hands as they approached.

Adam glanced at a sleek silver case sitting on the PT table next to the man.

The old professor grinned at him, “Are you ready?”

The students clustered inward eagerly. This was likely the first time one of their creations was going to be used.

Adam nodded nervously, and the man reached forward, snapping the case open and in to reveal….

Adam muttered in slight surprise. The leg looked, good, something straight out of I-robot. It was sleek and elegant with silvered matt titanium and plexiglass casing to fill out the shape of a leg. He could see the fibrous strands of rubberized metal that acted as muscle underneath the plexiglass.

“Wow.”

“Do you like it? My students worked very hard on this project, and the best part is the neron interfacing net that cradles the leg in place and suctions it onto the skin. All across the plexiglass fronting there are microsensors built to detect heat, cold, pressure and vibration. The entire foot is designed to work like a human foot and all the tooes can flex individually. He picked up the leg, reached down and grabbed the foot, behding it around the ankle with a movement as smooth as ice, “The ankle joint can rotate in all the proper directions, and the most revolutionary part, the interface, should collect signals being sent through your neurons to your missing leg, pick those up and interpret them to move the leg just as your own brain would, and better yet send feedback signals in the reverse direction.”

He clapped Adam on the shoulder, “In other words, it will FEEL like a real leg, how does that sound.”

Adam’s mouth opened and then closed and then opened again, “Um…. amazing but…. Impossible if I am being honest.”.

“Well, moment of truth isn’t it.”

He nodded sitting down on the PT bench and rolling up his pant leg again. He tried to ignore all the people watching him, and listened to the professor as he instructed him on how to put it on. It socketed right over his old injury and as it did he felt an immediate and sudden vibration run through his body as if the leg were whirring to life.

And when it did he froze.

He stared down at the leg, and slowly, with all the memory his brain still had, he flexed the toes.

The sensation was instantaneous and glorious. He put his hand over his mouth fighting back tears that began welling into his eyes.

His parents gasped in delight and an overabundance of emotion as the others at back in silence. His mother hugged him tight as did his father, all three of them staring at the machine, which moved on his command.

Before he knew it he was grinning, turning to look around at everyone even as he had to wipe tears from his cheeks.

He could feel again!

The relief was so complete and so overwhelming that he couldn’t pick between laughing or crying

“Take it slow.” The professor said, but he hardly heard him, and with a wobbly step he slowly climbed to his feet. He began to laugh and his parents laughed with him hugging him and shaking him with excited exceleration as he took his first step. He closed his eyes in near ecstasy as the foot bent under his weight, the ankle flexed,and the toes splayed out over the ground.

He dropped his crutches to the floor ignoring the urging of the professor who was only half heartedly telling him to slow down.

He took another step, and then another and then another, slow and wobbly at first but then muscle memory took over after that.

His brain remembered, it remembered and despite months with a missing leg, it woke up the part of his brain charged to deal with that movement, and despite what must have been atrophy after months of misuse, it began to fire again.

He broke into a jog, as his father ran next to him, and then the jog turned into a run, his father fell behind as he broke into a full out sprint around the small indoor track. Laughing the whole way as the leg matched him. The students here cheering and clapping and hugging each other as they watched him interact with their creation excitedly shaking each other and screaming.

Adam, forgetting momentarily how to stop running, ended up tripping on his good foot, flailing around for a moment and falling to the floor.

He didn’t stop laughing though, and crawled back to his feet, with all the ease he might have had when he had both legs.

Waffles barked and wagged her tail furiously as she ran to join him, hopping and bounding over the floor as he played a game of chase with her immediately forcing the leg to its full potential as they made quick turns, stopped and started and leaped into the air. He ran up and down stairs and jumped over their obstacles feeling the shock through his feet and ankles.

Unfortunately for him, months of sitting on his ass hadn’t exactly made him all that athletic and he came to a stop eventually panting like waffles only to grab every one of the students in turn and hug them in an embrace so tight it might have fractured ribs.

He was so excited, so grateful, and so unbelievably relieved.

It was an incredible moment, for him, for the students, for his parents, and for his professor.

He limped into that building but skipped out on his new leg.

Getting in the car its as if he had taken a one eighty in personality. His quiet sullen demeanor from before was replaced with something his parents hadn’t seen in ages.

The ability to not shut up.

He talked a mile a minute in his excitement yammering fit to talk their ears right off, and they let him. It was good to hear him back to his old self for once. His father was smiling more than he had in a long while, and on his left side, facing away from his son and his wife, a tear rolled down his cheek.

***

He wasn’t overly sure what he was doing.

He didn’t have high hopes that they would even take him back. After all, He was set to be honorably discharged later that week, seeing as the UNSC had finally gotten around to dealing with the men and women injured during operation Steel Eye, but he had decided not to do that. He wanted to go back, and he had the paperwork to prove he was mentally stable enough to do so.

Now it was just down to whether they would let him work with a missing leg.

He nervously made his way onto the fort Harmony base where he had been stationed so long ago. Off in the distance he could hear the dull roaring of jet engines as they readied for takeoff, and watched as columns of other soldiers marched in the early morning sun. Light was spilling across, warm and yellow over the dw colored grass as he made his way towards the central building.

He stepped inside and passed a couple other officers in the hallway as he walked up to the offices.

He looked down at the paper he held in his hand.

He had only meant the captain once, and that was very briefly, but he hoped that the man would be willing to hear him out. He paused outside the man’s open door, and then peered inside. The captain was sitting at his desk frowning at the papers stacked before him, tapping his fingernail against the counter. Light glittered off his completely shaved head and dark skin.

He knocked quietly and stepped inside.

“Sir?”

The man looked up frowning at Adam without much recognition.

“Yes?”

“Um, Lieutenant Adam Vir, sir…. I was hoping to speak with you.”

The man sat back in his seat and frowned again, “Adam V-”

He paused, “Wait.”

He rummaged in his desk and pulled out a set of papers, glancing at the name at the top before setting them down, “Ah yes, Adam, I was just getting to your discharge for-” he glanced down at the paper again, and then back up at Adam, and then back down again. Adam stood politely behind the single wooden chair and waited.

When the man didn’t speak Adam awkwardly cleared his throat, “About those papers sir….I…. well I was meaning to talk to you about those.”

“Yes I was going to si-”

Adam shook his head cutting the man off, “No sir, I…. I don’t want you to sign them.”

There was a pause, “You don’t?”

“Yes sir.”

He set the papers down on the desk.

“You have the opportunity to be honorably discharged for services rendered and you…. Want to stay?”

He saw the incredulity on the man’s face as he spoke.

The guy must have thought he was stupid.

The man looked over the desk at him <”Says you lost a leg during the Drev war kid.”

Adam shifted uncomfortably, “Well yes sir.’

“Then by all rights we HAVE to discharge you.”

“No, I got a new one.”

“A new one what?”

“I have a new leg, sir, just as good as the old one. I can pass all the tests, physical, mental whatever you want me to do sir, please, just give me a chance.”

The man stared at him, Adam stared back, “You’re missing a leg kid.”

“Not anymore I’m not. UNSC regulations say that people who have had stem cell organs from their own body transplanted don’t need to be discharged, well this is similar to that. I didn’t have a leg, and now I do, and one that works just as well as the old one therefore it shouldn’t matter.”

He didn’t mean to argue with the Captain, but well that’s what it kind of turned into.

The argument must have been loud enough to attract the attention of some of the other officers and a voice from the door behind them had both of them pull up short, “Is everything alright here.”

Adam turned and his eyes went wide, “Captain Kelly!”

She stepped into full view and his eyes grew wider. He saluted sharply, “Oh, sorry, Major.”

SHe looked at him with her head tilted, “I'll be damned, lieutenant, what are you doing back here.: She looked him up and down, “And in one piece or so it seems.”

“Advanced robotics ma’am…. Maybe you can help us?”

She frowned, “Go on.”

The Captain cut in, “The boy doesn’t want to be discharged. If anything that proves he must be smoking crack.”

Adam frowned, “No Ijust….” he trailed off, “I loved my job…. Before the, losing my leg, bit.” he turned to Major Kelly, “Please Ma’am i’ll prove it. Better than I was before, honest”

She frowned, “It is…. Unprecedented, but…. There aren’t really any rules regarding advanced robotics that I can think of. We will have to talk it over.”

Turns out talking it over meant months of arguing semantics with bureaucrats and even more months of testing and proving that he was, in fact capable of operating like normal. They tested everything, including his prosthetic’s ability to handle G forces…. And he finally got to fly again. It was only by a small margin that he managed to convince them to let him back in, and even then he was relegated to guard detail on what the human medical core was calling an oxyclinic, where a couple of enterprising humans learned that spooning aliens actually helped to treat some mental disturbances in other species like the alien version of depression.

Turned out it was pretty good for him considering he had developed a small fear of aliens since his last encounter. When he wasn’t guarding the clinic, he volunteered to work for them in order to overcome his fear.

He was slowly getting back to normal.

***

Major Kelly sat at her desk looking at the schematics for the new ship under construction. The UNSC Enterprise had been completely decommissioned after engineers determined her to have too many fatal flaws to allow her to fly again. Kelly had only been captain for a little over a year before she had been pulled, and this was her chance to get back on the horse. She looked down at the papers, the schematics and then the second letter from the UN which offered her a second alternative.

A promotion to Admiral, and control over what would soon be a rising fleet of UNSC ships.

It was a hard decision to make. Every fiber in her body wanted to fly again, to see the stars again, and she was halfway to writing her agreement on the captain’s contract when she stopped. She had to think about it, if she took the promotion and gave up the ship, she would never fly again…. But she would have control over the rising UNSC fleet. Under her control she was sure she could help those rising captains avoid the bureaucratic bullshit that was sure to come after them.

In essence, they had one chance to do this right,

And more chances to get in good with the GA. If she took the position, she could fill it with someone she trusted to back the men and get the job done.

herself .

She stared at the two papers torn between her own desire and the path she knew that was right.

It was a matter of milliseconds that allowed her to agree to the promotion, and leave flying behind. It hurt every fiber of her being and even as she sat warm tears dripped onto the schematics of the ship that would have been hers if she had asked for it.

However, her decision made, she was promoted in short order as Admiral of the UNSC rising fleet, and thus had the power to make suggestions for who should take the ship in her stead. She made a decision pretty early on, and reached out a hand to the GA in helping to come to their decision. It was all about making a good impression on their newfound friends, and lending them the UNSC’s first operational ship under new fleet command would, not only give the captain of that ship the opportunity to school themselves in the ways of alien races, but it would leave the GA with a greater inclination of friendship.

She was right in her assumptions, and the GA was more than pleased to have some say in choosing the human captain who would be lent out to them on a probationary bases, as a PR move and as a tactical manuver for the UNSC to learn more about these alien races.

Now she had to compile her list of possible candidates.

There were ten names on that list.

All of them had to be capable of flying the ship, at least and all of them had to have some experience with interacting with alien lifeforms.

Looking at her list, however, she realized that not many people on that list had those capabilities. Sure they could fly but most of them only ever met an alien in passing.

It was sitting in her office late one night agonizing over the names that one popped into her head. She sat up in her chair and stared past her desk lamp and out the window into the darkness.

It was a strange idea.

Crazy almost.

Probably ill advised, but, out of all the people she knew, he was certainly CAPABLE of flying a ship…. And he WAS the most experienced person hse knew with aliens. Perhaps THE most experienced person in the galaxy.

But no…

He was so young, far too young.

But…. why?

It’s not like he hadn’t proven himself, he was loyal, unstoppable and personable, which goodness knows they needed when it came to alien interactions. Looking down at her paper there were more than half of those men and women she wouldn’t trust at a birthday party let alone at a GA diplomatic event.

She added his name to the list. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

222 notes · View notes

marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

Text

His Saving Grace - Part II

Title: His Saving Grace - Maxwell Lord x F!Reader Words: 2600 Warnings: Small panic attack, I know very little about business and investments. Suspension of disbelief is a wonderful thing! Synopsis: Maxwell and reader have their first meeting

Part I

The world was not being kind to Maxwell, you thought whilst sitting cross legged on your living room floor, spreading out the various newspapers and magazines you had brought from the convenience store late last night.

After your phone call with the man himself, you decided on going all in on your first client, doing as much research as possible to get the lay of the land when it came down to how much of his career you could savage. And by the looks of it, it was nothing at all.

Tabloid newspapers were laughing at him, the gossip mags were prying into his troubled relationship with his son and ex-wife as a possible cause of his devastating breakdown, anything related to business or finance was telling you to stay clear of Maxwell Lord, lest his bad luck rub off on you. His career as an oil tycoon was unsalvageable, so you had to come up with another plan. One you doubted he would like.

Maxwell had sounded so hopeful when you’d agreed to meet with him and some part of you regretted having to tell him his career was over. But you supposed he didn’t hire you to lie to him and give him false hope.

You looked over to the clock on the wall, two hours until you had to leave for your first (and quite possibly your last) meeting. You scanned the images of Maxwell in front of you, his eyes wide with a madness that had scared you at the time.

You remember the day in pieces, mostly because you were drunk, partly because you would rather forget what you had almost wished for. You heard the promises Maxwell had spoken to you through the television screen, had been ready to make your wish before you passed out, the empty bottle of cheap whiskey smashing to the floor the last thing you heard before you woke up the next day thinking you had dreamt the whole world coming to an end thing. When you found out it hadn’t been a dream, you witnessed the world trying to piece itself back together again and you vowed to do the same. No more drinking yourself to near death, no more feeling sorry for yourself. You promised to pick yourself up and start afresh and that’s exactly what you did.

And you waited, and waited, and waited some more until finally Maxwell Lord called your phone and unknowingly gave you the second chance you needed.

You sighed and gathered all your research into a folder, leaving your notepad out to make some notes. This was just the second chance you needed, and you weren’t going to mess it up.

Stepping up to the apartment building you felt butterflies flying around in your stomach, nervous like it was your first day at work, which it kind of was. You hugged the folder to your chest and checked the time on your watch, you were fifteen minutes early.

The building wasn’t as imposing as you imagined. Maxwell had chosen somewhere quiet, away from the busy city, surrounded instead by parks and tall trees that hid the neighbourhood from outsiders. Looking at the buzzers there were only ten apartments, two on each floor, occupied by equally wealthy inhabitants if the posh cars parked outside were anything to go by. You saw movement out the corner of your eye and turned to see a black, shiny car pulling up a few feet away. A woman in a red power suit, sporting a carefully created perm got out, peeling down her large sunglasses to the tip of her nose to give you a once over with a look of disdain that made you want the ground to swallow you up.

You quickly turned and pressed the number ten buzzer on the wall, hoping Maxwell wouldn’t delay because you were early. When his voice came through the tinny speaker you let out a sigh of relief and spoke your name.

“Come on up, the elevator is working for once,” Maxwell buzzed the door open for you and you hurried inside, not daring to look if the woman was still watching you.

When you got to Maxwell’s apartment he was already waiting for you, propped up against the doorway, welcoming you with a shy smile. He looked good, dressed up in a pale green spotted shirt, dark green suspenders and navy suit trousers but forgoing the jacket and instead rolling up his sleeves to set the tone for a casual meeting.

You walked over from the elevator, holding out a hand which he shook.

“Lawyer! I have been eager to meet with you all morning. Come, I have coffee waiting for you,” his enthusiasm was contagious and you found your nervousness fading away the closer you got to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Your eyes moved around the open plan apartment. It was nicer than yours and you wondered how he could afford it given his current situation. But as you took a closer look at the ornaments on the shelves you realised it was all an illusion. The decorative figurines were plastic and the fur rug under the coffee table was fake. On first glance the room was impressive but on closer inspection it spoke of Maxwell’s downfall.

You watched as he ushered you over to sit on the couch, pouring you a cup of coffee from the cafetière.

“Sugar? Milk?” He asked, pointing to the cubes of sugar and a little jug with milk in. You nodded to both. “I see you’ve got a very big folder.”

You laughed, placing the folder on the floor by your feet and taking the coffee from him, noting the lack of rings on his fingers that he always seemed to wear in pictures. You wondered if he had to pawn them.

“Research mostly,” you smiled. Your knees were practically touching as he turned his whole body to face you. This close, you could see the bags under his eyes and the wary look of a man who was afraid. He was wringing his hands together and shifting, trying to get comfortable on the couch as he awaited your professional opinion. “I’m not a lawyer, by the way,” you referred to the way he greeted you at the door.

“Ah, but you were once?”

You nodded, placing your half empty cup of coffee on the table.

“Former family lawyer,” you swallowed the lump in your throat at the memories, looking away from Maxwell when you spoke, “high profile clients, but I dabbled with disputes within family businesses, so that’s why I can do this now.”

Maxwell hummed in response, convinced enough for you to silently let out the breath you had been holding. You hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions which, thankfully, he didn’t, too preoccupied with his own problems.

“So, what do you think?” Maxwell opened his arms, eyebrows raised and a hopeful look crossing his features that contrasted with the way his jaw was clenched in preparation for the worst, “please tell me I’m not a completely lost cause,” he guffawed humourlessly.

“It’s going to be difficult,” you began softly as you clasped your hands together in your lap. Maxwell slapped his hands on his knees, louder than he intended, his expression becoming more serious. “The thing is, the world is still piecing itself back together after what you did. Black Gold is bust and when people think of that name they think of you and what happened. I don’t think it’s ever going to recover from that.”

“There must be something I can do. My savings will only last so long. I have a son…” Maxwell’s hands shook as he carded them through his hair, his emotions spiralling from calm to panic to frustration, with himself. He had done this, he had ruined everything, and he would have to pay the price, he realised.

“What is it you actually want, Mr Lord?” You asked, taking the notepad and pen out of your folder and flipping to a blank page. “Is it money? Is it stability? Being famous again?”

“No,” Maxwell waved his finger in the air at you, “never again, I would rather not a single person knew my name ever again.”

“Then what motivates you? Why did you want me to help you?”

“Alistair.” Theres a pause before Maxwell looks up from his hunched over state. Theres a redness around his eyes where he’s rubbed them in his frustration and his voice cracks when he says his son’s name again, though he fights it to stay strong. “Alistair is the only reason I haven’t given up. He needs a strong father who he can be proud of. He still looks at me like I matter. I can’t let him down again.”

Maxwell stands up, hands on his hips as he paces from the couch to the television, back and forth whilst he collects his thoughts. Meanwhile, you are sat watching him, spinning the pen in your fingers as you think of a solution.

“Oil is out of the question,” you say cautiously, running various options through your head as Maxwell shakes his in agreement, “neither is setting up another business, nobody trusts you,” it sounded cruel but you were talking from experience.

You see Maxwell jump at a sound coming from outside, a car back firing perhaps, but it was loud enough to make the grown man look like a frightened wild animal in a cage. You knew then you couldn’t expect much of him in this state, least of all make up a business plan together.

“Maxwell,” you called his name quietly, rising from the couch and toeing off your heels to pad softly across the floor towards him, “come sit down, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Maxwell turned to you with a deep sigh, knowing he was spiralling towards a panic attack. It had happened more than once since the incident, when his self-deprecating thoughts overrode his sensibles ones. He allowed you to guide him back to the couch with a hand on his arm, the first human contact he’d had since his hug with Alistair. Your touch sent a pleasant warmth up his arm towards his chest, calming his mind enough to concentrate on breathing to settle his racing heart.

You left him there for a moment, grabbing a glass from a cupboard and filling it with water. Leaning back against the counter you observed him, head resting on the back of the couch, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. You realised he was going to need more help than you originally believed. You would have to build him up from the bottom, get his self belief back, show him there was still a way to make his son proud without being the Maxwell Lord, businessman and entrepreneur.

Looking around at his home you saw that Maxwell still wanted to create an air of splendour and give the impression he was doing better than he was. He was still holding onto the hope that he could be the great man he always wanted to be. It was going to be hard to get through to him that it just wasn’t possible after what he did. Maybe refocussing his goals on his son instead of money, you could help him.

Maxwell looked at you, a look of embarrassment flooding his features as he went to smooth down his ruffled, out of place hair. You hurried over and handed him the glass of water.

“I’m going to help you Maxwell,” you promised, kneeling down by the arm of the couch and fixing him with a confident stare, “but you need to wait this out.”

You pulled open your folder, showing him the numerous newspapers and magazines you had brought with you.

“None of these say a nice thing about you.” Maxwell sucked in a breath at the sight. “I’m sorry to be blunt with you, but I think you need to understand it’s going to get worse before it gets better. But it will get better, I’m sure of it.”

Maxwell nodded and his body seemed to deflate into the couch, his now empty glass falling out of his hand to the couch cushion next to him.

“How can you be so sure?” He sounded so vulnerable you didn’t have the heart to tell him you were only being hopeful. You weren’t relying on your experience, that was no better than relying on a prayer. So you smiled your best smile and placed a hand on his knee, giving a small squeeze of comfort.

“I just know. Because it can’t get worse than this, can it?”

“No,” Maxwell scoffed, leaning forward, “so what do you suggest we do, lawyer?”

You smirked at his nickname for you and took out a piece of paper from your folder.

“If you want money, stocks are the best thing right now. Invest what little you have, make quick turn arounds for small profits. With your business brain and knowledge, you’ll be good at that.”

“Isn’t that risky?” He asked, looking through the list of potential investments, already seeing some good names he could get behind.

“Yes, if you don’t know what you’re doing. You’ve been in this game for years, Maxwell, it’ll be easy.”

The light was coming back into Maxwell’s eyes at your suggestion, his mind naturally working out the pros and cons of investing into each company on the list, humming and harring as he read through.

“What do you think?” You ventured after a moment of quiet. When he looked at you, he nodded and grinned, a small burst of laughter left his chest.

“I think you have given me the first ray of hope in a long time.”

After another hour of talking business, Maxwell felt like the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders, if only for a while. He knew it wasn’t a permanent solution, investing was hit and miss at the best of times, but he knew you were right. He couldn’t be Maxwell Lord right now, nobody was going to hire him and opening up his own business would be a car crash of epic proportions. He would just have to be patient a little longer.

He stood by his window looking down as you exited the building, folder in hand and a confident sway in your walk. He liked you. He wasn’t sure if it was the hope you had left in his heart at the prospect of things looking up for him. It might have been the way you’d easily calmed him down when he was becoming overwhelmed.

Either way, Maxwell felt that his head was clearer and his heart was fuller, and that was thanks to you.

Though there was one thing that he couldn’t shake off, and that was the way you’d reacted to him calling you ‘lawyer’, as though you were ashamed of the title. Being a lawyer was something to be proud of, wasn’t it? A highly respected career that you… quit to become a business adviser? Maxwell frowned at the thought, not able to quit his train of thought. Something wasn’t right.

Maxwell remembered the folder of research you had compiled of him, and decided he needed to do his own research on you.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog

#His Saving Grace #Maxwell Lord #Maxwell Lord x reader #WW1984 #Wonder Woman 1984 #Pedro Pascal #Maxwell Lord fic

68 notes · View notes

nightshifters · 3 years

Text

JENSEN POSTED FOR THE 4X01 ANNIVERSARY????????????????

EXT. A COUNTRY ROAD – DAY

Through hazy heat, DEAN walks down an empty road and approaches an abandoned gas station. He pounds on the door.

DEAN (hoarse) Hello?

INT. GAS STATION – DAY

DEAN rolls up his outer shirt over his right hand, breaks the glass on the door. Inside, he grabs a water bottle from a fridge and gulps at it, gasping. He finds a newspaper and sees the date, which reads:

Thursday, September 18th

DEAN September.

INT – GAS STATION BATHROOM - DAY

DEAN washes his face in a dingy sink, then looks up and stares at his reflection. He wears a tight black t-shirt. Frowning, he stands, pulls the shirt up to expose his chest.

FLASHBACK DEAN's chest is ripped apart by the Hellhounds (3.16)

PRESENT DEAN stares at his unblemished, unscarred chest in the dingy gas station mirror. He turns his left shoulder to the mirror and pulls up the sleeve to reveal a large, raw HANDPRINT BRAND.

INT – GAS STATION MART – DAY

DEAN pulls snacks and energy bars from the shelves, along with several bottles of water, and stashes them in a plastic bag. Stopping in front of a magazine stand, he grins slowly. On the stand is an Adult Magazine - “Busty Asian Beauties”. He picks it up, smirks, flips through it, and stuffs it in the bag too.

He goes to the counter, sets down the bag, and hits a single button on the register, snapping his fingers in satisfaction when it pops open. As he's looting the cash, the TV to his left flicks on, showing only static. He shuts it off; only to have a radio to his right turn on to white noise. Not wasting a moment, he goes to another shelf and grabs a carton of salt, opens it, and begins to pour it along the windowsill.

A high-pitched single tone begins, and DEAN clutches his left ear in pain as he continues to pour salt with his right hand. As it continues, he drops the salt and crouches to the floor, groaning in agony. The window above his head shatters as the sound continues, and he drops to the floor. He leaps to his feet to try to escape, and more glass on the ceiling and walls shatters. He looks around cautiously.

EXT. PHONE BOOTH – DAY

DEAN dials a number, and hears only an alert tone.

RECORDED VOICE We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected.

DEAN hangs up the pay phone and inserts another coin, dials another number. It rings once, then is picked up.

BOBBY (V.O.) Yeah?

DEAN Bobby?

BOBBY (V.O.) Yeah?

DEAN It's me.

BOBBY (V.O.) Who's “me”?

DEAN Dean.

A dial tone sounds. DEAN hangs up the receiver and dials again.

BOBBY (V.O.) Who is this?

DEAN Bobby, listen to me.

BOBBY (V.O.) This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya.

The dial tone again. DEAN hangs up the phone, turns. He sees an old, beat-up white car parked outside. His eyes light up; he hotwires the car and pulls away from the gas station.

INT. BOBBY'S HOUSE – DAY

To a pounding on the door, BOBBY'S hand appears to open it. On the doorstep is DEAN, looking winded and apprehensive. He smiles cautiously. BOBBY looks at him suspiciously.

DEAN Surprise.

BOBBY I, I don't...

DEAN Yeah, me neither. (He enters.) But here I am.

Behind his back, BOBBY takes a silver knife. As DEAN approaches, BOBBY lunges forward and slashes at him. DEAN grabs his arm and twists it around; BOBBY breaks the grip and backhands him in the face.

DEAN Bobby! It's me!

BOBBY My ass!

DEAN (shoves a chair between himself and BOBBY, holds his hands out) Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed, and... you're about the closest thing I have to a father. Bobby. It's me.

BOBBY lowers the knife, steps forward slowly. He places a hand gently on DEAN'S shoulder. Suddenly he slashes again, but DEAN quickly subdues and disarms him.

DEAN I am not a shapeshifter!

BOBBY Then you're a Revenant!

DEAN shoves BOBBY away, having taken the KNIFE. He holds it out in front of him.

DEAN Alright. If I was either, could I do this – with a silver knife?

DEAN rolls up his left sleeve, and, grimacing, slices his arm above the elbow with the knife. A line of blood appears.

BOBBY (starting to believe it) Dean?

DEAN That's what I've been trying to tell you.

BOBBY breaks, grabbing DEAN in for a tight hug. DEAN returns the hug with enthusiasm, relief on his face. They pull apart.

BOBBY It's... It's good to see you, boy.

DEAN Yeah, you too.

BOBBY But... how did you bust out?

DEAN I don't know. I just, uh, I just woke up in a pine box...

Suddenly, BOBBY splashes water in DEAN'S face. DEAN pauses, spits.

DEAN I'm not a demon either, you know.

BOBBY Sorry. Can't be too careful.

They go further into the house, DEAN wiping his face with a towel.

BOBBY But... that don't make a lick of sense.

DEAN Yeah. Yeah, you're preachin' to the choir.

BOBBY Dean. Your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop. And you've been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meat suit -

DEAN I know, I should look like a Thriller video reject.

BOBBY What do you remember?

DEAN Not much. I remember I was a Hellhound's chew toy, and then... lights out. Then I come to six feet under, that was it. (BOBBY sits.) Sam's number's not working. He's, uh... he's not...

BOBBY Oh, he's alive. As far as I know.

DEAN Good.... Wait, what do you mean, as far as you know?

BOBBY I haven't talked to him for months.

DEAN You're kidding, you just let him go off by himself?

BOBBY He was dead set on it.

DEAN Bobby, you should've been looking after him.

BOBBY I tried. These last months haven't been exactly easy, you know. For him or me. We had to bury you.

DEAN Why did you bury me, anyway?

BOBBY I wanted you salted and burned. Usual drill. But... Sam wouldn't have it.

DEAN Well, I'm glad he won that one.

BOBBY He said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow. That's about all he said.

DEAN (suspicious) What do you mean?

BOBBY He was quiet. Real quiet. And then he just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him, but he didn't want to be found.

DEAN Oh, damnit, Sammy.

BOBBY What?

DEAN Oh, he got me home okay. But whatever he did, it is bad mojo.

BOBBY What makes you so sure?

DEAN You should have seen the grave site. It was like a nuke went off. And then there was this... this force, this presence, I don't know, but it, it blew past me at a fill-up joint. And then this. (He strips his jacket, pulls up his sleeve to reveal the brand.)

BOBBY (standing) What in the hell?

DEAN It was like a demon just yanked me out. Or rode me out.

BOBBY But why?

DEAN To hold up their end of the bargain.

BOBBY You think Sam made a deal.

DEAN It's what I would have done.

INT BOBBY'S HOUSE – DAY

DEAN (into the phone) Yeah, hi, I have a cell phone account with you guys, and uh, I lost my phone. I was wondering if you could turn the GPS on for me. (beat) Yeah. Name's Wedge Antilles. (beat) Social is 2-4-7-4. (beat) Thank you.

DEAN hangs up the phone and crosses to a laptop on the table.

BOBBY How'd you know he'd use that name?

DEAN You kiddin' me? What don't I know about that kid?

The laptop is open to a web browser; DEAN types in the address for ARC MOBILE.

DEAN (picking up one of the many empty liquor bottles scattered around) Hey, Bobby? What's the deal with the liquor store? What, are your parents out of town or something?

BOBBY Like I said. Last few months ain't been all that easy.

DEAN (holds his gaze for a moment) Right.

The laptop beeps; the display shows a city map with a blue arrow pointing to a star. The locator reads:

Phone Location: 263 Adams Road Pontiac, Illinois.

DEAN Sam's in Pontiac, Illinois.

BOBBY Right near where you were planted.

DEAN Right where I popped up. Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?

EXT. ASTORIA MOTEL – NIGHT

DEAN and BOBBY walk down a dingy hallway and knock on a door with the number 207 inside a red heart. The door is opened by a HOT YOUNG WOMAN with dark hair, wearing only a tank top and underwear. She looks at them expectantly.

HOT YOUNG WOMAN So where is it?

DEAN (looks at BOBBY, confused) Where's what?

HOT YOUNG WOMAN The pizza... that takes two guys to deliver?

DEAN I think we got the wrong room.

SAM steps into the light. He is grim and focused, and wears a grey t-shirt and jeans.

SAM Hey, is...

SAM stops dead when he sees DEAN. He swallows, shocked, his eyes flicking between DEAN and BOBBY.

DEAN (quietly, with much feeling) Heya, Sammy.

SAM is silent. DEAN steps into the room, ignoring the H.Y.W., who steps aside to let him in. As DEAN gets close, SAM pulls a knife and lunges at DEAN. H.Y.W. screams; DEAN blocks SAM'S attack and BOBBY pulls SAM off, gripping him around the shoulders. SAM struggles.

SAM (shouting) Who are you?!

DEAN Like you didn't do this?!

SAM Do what?!

BOBBY It's him. It's him. I've been through this already, it's really him.

SAM (stares at DEAN as the struggle slowly goes out of his body) What...

DEAN (advancing cautiously, staring at SAM) I know. I look fantastic, huh?

BOBBY lets go of SAM, who looks on the verge of tears as he steps forward and pulls DEAN into a desperate hug. They embrace for several seconds, heavy with emotion, as BOBBY looks on with tears in his eyes. SAM pushes DEAN back to arm's length. H.Y.W. is looking on, looking confused.

HOT YOUNG WOMAN So are you two like... together?

SAM (like he's just remembered that she's there) What? No. No. He's my brother.

HOT YOUNG WOMAN Uh... got it. I... I guess. Look, I should probably go.

SAM Yeah. Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Sorry.

EXT. MOTEL ROOM – NIGHT

SAM, now wearing a white button-down, opens the door to let the H.Y.W., now dressed in an adorable blue plaid shirt, out.

HOT YOUNG WOMAN So, call me.

SAM Yeah. Yeah, sure thing, Kathy.

HOT YOUNG WOMAN:(disappointed) Kristy.

SAM Right.

She leaves, and SAM shuts the door.

INT. MOTEL ROOM – NIGHT

SAM comes back into the room and sits down. DEAN is standing above him, arms crossed. He and BOBBY are both looking at SAM suspiciously.

DEAN So tell me, what'd it cost?

SAM (smiling) The girl? I don't pay, Dean.

DEAN That's not funny, Sam. To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?

SAM You think I made a deal?

BOBBY That's exactly what we think.

SAM Well, I didn't.

DEAN (intensely) Don't lie to me.

SAM I'm not lying.

DEAN (advancing) So what now, I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this.

SAM (standing, angrily) Look, Dean, I wish I had done it, all right?

DEAN (grabs SAM by the front of his shirt) There's no other way that this could have gone down. Now tell the truth!

SAM (breaking DEAN'S grip) I tried everything. That's the truth. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, all right? You were rotting in Hell for months. For months, and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right? Dean, I'm sorry.

DEAN (relenting) It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize, I believe you.

BOBBY Don't get me wrong, I'm gladdened that Sam's soul remains intact, but it does raise a sticky question.

DEAN If he didn't pull me out, then what did?

END ACT ONE

ACT TWO

INT. MOTEL ROOM – NIGHT

DEAN and BOBBY are seated the couch. SAM enters and passes out bottles of beer, then sits across from DEAN.

DEAN So what were you doing around here if you weren't digging me out of my grave?

SAM Well, once I figured out I couldn't save you, I started hunting down Lilith, trying to get some payback.

BOBBY (accusing) All by yourself. Who do you think you are, your old man?

DEAN sees something, frowns, and crosses towards it.

SAM Uh, yeah, I'm sorry, Bobby. I should have called. I was pretty messed up.

DEAN picks up what he'd seen a pink flowered bra. He holds it up.

DEAN Oh yeah. I really feel your pain.

SAM Anyways, uh, I was checking these demons out of Tennessee, and out of nowhere they took a hard left, booked up here.

DEAN When?

SAM Yesterday morning.

DEAN When I busted out.

BOBBY You think these demons are here 'cause of you?

SAM But why?

DEAN Well, I don't know – some badass demon drags me out and now this? It's gotta be connected somehow.

BOBBY How you feelin', anyway?

DEAN I'm a little hungry.

BOBBY No, I mean, do you feel like yourself? Anything strange, or different?

DEAN Or demonic? Bobby, how many times do I have to prove I'm me?

BOBBY Yeah. Well, listen. No demon's letting you loose out of the goodness of their hearts. They've gotta have something nasty planned.

DEAN Well, I feel fine.

SAM Okay, look, we don't know what they're planning. We got a pile of questions and no shovel. We need help.

BOBBY I know a psychic. A few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking.

DEAN Hell yeah, it's worth a shot.

BOBBY I'll be right back

BOBBY exits.

DEAN stands as if to leave.

SAM Hey, wait. (stands) You probably want this back.

SAM reaches into his collar and pulls out a cord. It is DEAN'S AMULET. He places it in DEAN'S hand. DEAN looks at it, touched.

DEAN Thanks.

SAM Yeah, don't mention it. (DEAN puts the AMULET on) Hey Dean, what was it like?

DEAN What, Hell? I don't know, I, I must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing.

SAM (nodding) Well, thank God for that.

DEAN Yeah.

INT. MOTEL BATHROOM – NIGHT

DEAN flicks on the light and stares at himself in the mirror. He runs a hand over his chin and leans forward on the sink.

FLASHBACK Closeup of DEAN'S bloody, terrified face, with screams and eerie sounds.

PRESENT DEAN pulls back from the mirror, blinking in confusion.

EXT. MOTEL PARKING LOT – NIGHT

BOBBY leads the boys down a set of steps.

BOBBY She's about four hours down the Interstate. Try to keep up.

BOBBY gets in his car.

SAM I assume you'll want to drive.

SAM pulls the keys out of his right pocket and tosses them at DEAN, who catches them easily.

DEAN (chuckling) Oh, I almost forgot! (he approaches the IMPALA and runs a hand along it lovingly.) Hey, sweetheart, did you miss me?

DEAN gets in the driver's side, settles in. He sees an iPod plugged into the stereo, pauses, and gives it a dirty look. SAM gets into the passenger's seat, smiling. DEAN glares at him.

DEAN What the hell is that?

SAM That's an iPod jack.

DEAN You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up.

SAM Dean, I thought it was my car.

DEAN sneers, sighs, and turns the key in the ignition. "Vision" by Jason Manns begins to play. DEAN rolls his eyes and glares at SAM again, looking pained.

DEAN Really?

SAM shrugs innocently. DEAN rips the iPod out of the jack and tosses it in the back seat.

EXT. TWO-LANE BLACKTOP – NIGHT

DEAN and SAM are back in their familiar places, having a heart-to-heart in the IMPALA on a dark road.

DEAN There's still one thing that's bothering me.

SAM Yeah?

DEAN Yeah, the night that I bit it. Or... got bit. (he chuckles at his own wit) How'd you make it out? I thought Lilith was going to kill you.

SAM Well, she tried. She couldn't.

DEAN What do you mean, she couldn't?

SAM She fired this, like, burning light at me, and... didn't leave a scratch. Like I was immune or something.

DEAN Immune?

SAM Yeah. I don't know who was more surprised, her or me. She left pretty fast after that.

DEAN Huh. What about Ruby, where is she?

SAM Dead. For now.

DEAN (bites his lip, like he's not sure he wants to ask) So you've been using your, uh, freaky ESP stuff?

SAM No.

DEAN You sure about that? Well, I mean, now that you've got... immunity, whatever the hell that is... just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you've got going on.

SAM Nothing, Dean. Look, you didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish.

DEAN Yeah, well, let's keep it that way.

SAM broods.

EXT. PAMELA'S HOUSE – DAY

They knocks on the door, and PAMELA opens it. She is in her thirties, strong and beautiful with a ready smile.

PAMELA Bobby!

She grabs him into a hug, lifting him briefly off the ground. SAM and DEAN share a look.

BOBBY You're a sight for sore eyes.

PAMELA steps back and looks SAM and DEAN up and down appraisingly.

PAMELA So, these the boys?

BOBBY Sam, Dean. This is Pamela Barnes, best damn psychic in the state.

DEAN (flirting, of course) Hey.

SAM (a little awkwardly) Hi.

PAMELA Mmm-mmm-mmm. Dean Winchester. Out of the fire and back in the frying pan, huh? Makes you a rare individual.

DEAN If you say so.

PAMELA Come on in.

INT. PAMELA'S HOUSE – DAY

PAMELA ushers them in, first BOBBY, then DEAN, then SAM, and shuts the door behind them.

BOBBY So, you hear anything?

PAMELA Well, I Ouija'd my way through a dozen spirits. No one seems to know who broke your boy out, or why.

BOBBY So what's next?

PAMELA A séance, I think. See if we can see who did the deed.

BOBBY You're not gonna... summon the damn thing here.

PAMELA No. I just want to get a sneak peek at it. Like a crystal ball without the crystal.

DEAN I'm game.

INT. SEANCE ROOM – DAY

PAMELA spreads a black tablecloth covered in symbols over a small table. SAM and DEAN look at it warily; DEAN cocks his head as PAMELA squats in front of a cabinet, revealing a scrawled tattoo across her lower back that reads:

Jesse Forever

DEAN Who's Jesse?

PAMELA (laughs) Well, it wasn't forever.

DEAN His loss.

PAMELA stands with several pillar candles in her hands, stops in front of DEAN with a smirk.

PAMELA Might be your gain.

As she passes by, DEAN turns to SAM and lowers his voice.

DEAN Dude, I am so in.

SAM Yeah, she's gonna eat you alive.

DEAN Hey, I just got out of jail. Bring it.

PAMELA (passing by again, to SAM with a wink) You're invited too, grumpy.

DEAN You are NOT invited.

LATER PAMELA, BOBBY, SAM, and DEAN are seated around the small table, which now has six lighted candles in the center.

PAMELA Right. Take each other's hands. (they do) And I need to touch something our mystery monster touched.

PAMELA slides her hand along DEAN'S inner thigh. He jumps.

DEAN Whoa. Well, he didn't touch me there.

PAMELA My mistake.

DEAN looks around, nervous, then takes off his outer shirt, pulls up his left t-shirt sleeve to reveal the BRAND. SAM stares at it, shocked, looks at BOBBY. PAMELA lays her hand on the BRAND.

PAMELA Okay. (All four close their eyes as PAMELA begins to chant) I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle. (a television flicks on to static; she continues) I invoke, conjure, and command... Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy.

DEAN Castiel?

PAMELA Its name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back. (white noise and static continues, and the table begins to shake) I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face. I conjure and command you, show me your face.

BOBBY (as the white noise and rattling become more violent) Maybe we should stop.

PAMELA I almost got it. I command you, show me your face! Show me your face now!

Suddenly the candles flare up several feet in the air and PAMELA begins to scream. Her eyes fly open and are filled with a white-hot flame. She collapses; the rattling, white noise, and flames die out.

BOBBY (catching her and lowering her to the floor) Call 9-1-1!

SAM scrambles out of his chair and into the next room. DEAN crouches over PAMELA and BOBBY. She is conscious, but bleeding and burned. Her eyelids fly open to reveal black, empty sockets. She sobs.

PAMELA I can't see! I can't see! Oh god!

In the next room we can hear SAM calling for an ambulance.

END ACT TWO

ACT THREE

INT. JOHNNY MAC'S DINER – DAY

DEAN is sitting at a table giving his order to a WAITRESS.

WAITRESS Be up in a jiff.

As she leaves, SAM enters, talking on his cell phone.

SAM (into the phone) You bet. (he sits)

DEAN What'd Bobby say?

SAM Pam's stable. And out of I.C.U.

DEAN And blind, because of us.

SAM And we still have no clue who we're dealing with.

DEAN That's not entirely true.

SAM No?

DEAN We got a name. Castiel, or whatever. With the right mumbo-jumbo we could summon him, bring him right to us.

SAM You're crazy. Absolutely not.

DEAN We'll work him over. I mean, after what he did?

SAM Pam took a peek at him and her eyes burned out of her skull, and you want to have a face to face?

DEAN You got a better idea?

SAM Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. I followed some demons to town, right?

DEAN Okay.

SAM So, we go find them. Someone's gotta know something about something.

The WAITRESS reappears with two plates of pie. She sets them on the table.

SAM Thanks.

The WAITRESS then plops down in a chair at the end of the table. DEAN looks at her, smirking.

DEAN You angling for a tip?

WAITRESS I'm sorry. Thought you were looking for us.

Her eyes go demon-black for a moment; a UNIFORMED MAN by the counter and a COOK behind the counter also show the demon-black; the UNIFORMED MAN goes to the door, locks it, and stands in front of it.

DEMON WAITRESS (eyes going back to normal) Dean. To hell and back. Aren't you a lucky duck.

DEAN That's me.

DEMON WAITRESS So you get to just stroll out of the pit, huh? Tell me. What makes you so special?

DEAN I like to think it's because of my perky nipples. I don't know. Wasn't my doing, I don't know who pulled me out.

DEMON WAITRESS Right. You don't.

DEAN No. I don't.

DEMON WAITRESS Lying's a sin, you know.

DEAN I'm not lying. But I'd like to find out, so if you wouldn't mind enlightening me, Flo...

DEMON WAITRESS Mind your tone with me, boy. I'll drag you back to hell myself.

SAM, who has been staring daggers at her through this exchange, shifts as if to attack. DEAN holds a hand up and SAM stops, settles back into his seat.

DEAN No, you won't.

DEMON WAITRESS No?

DEAN No. Because if you were you would have done it already. Fact is, you don't know who cut me loose. And you're just as spooked as we are. And you're looking for answers. Well, maybe it was some turbo-charged spirit. Or, uh, Godzilla. Or some big bad boss demon. I'm guessing at your pay grade that they don't tell you squat. Because whoever it was, they want me out. And they're a lot stronger than you. So go ahead. Send me back. But don't come crawling to me when they show up on your front doorstep with some Vaseline and a fire hose.

DEMON WAITRESS I'm going to reach down your throat and rip out your lungs.

DEAN leans forward, a challenge in his eyes. He throws a right hook at her, which she takes. He throws another. She still does nothing but glare at them, looking more and more nervous.

DEAN That's what I thought. Let's go, Sam.

They stand, and the demon sits there, fuming. DEAN pulls a roll of cash out of his pocket and carefully peels off a ten dollar bill. He holds it up and drops it on the table like an insult.

DEAN For the pie.

EXT. JOHNNY MAC'S DINER – DAY

SAM and DEAN stalk out of the diner and across the street, tense and quick.

DEAN Holy crap, that was close.

SAM We're not just going to leave them in there, are we, Dean?

DEAN Well yeah, there's three of them, probably more, and we've only got one knife between us.

SAM I've been killing a lot more demons than that lately.

DEAN Not anymore – the smarter brother's back in town.

SAM Dean, we've got to take 'em. They are dangerous.

DEAN They're scared. Okay? Scared of whatever had the juice to yank me out. We're dealing with a bad mofo here. One job at a time.

INT. ASTORIA MOTEL – NIGHT

DEAN is dozing on the couch with a large book open in his lap. SAM sneaks out, checking to make sure DEAN doesn't wake.

EXT. ASTORIA MOTEL – NIGHT

SAM drives away in the IMPALA.

INT. ASTORIA MOTEL – NIGHT

As DEAN dozes, the television flicks on to the now-familiar static, and the radio starts whining as well. It wakes DEAN, who rubs the sleep out of his eyes and rolls quickly to grab a SHOTGUN lying by the bed. He looks around cautiously, glances at SAM'S bed and sees that it is empty. He grimaces. The painfully high-pitched noise begins again, and he grabs his right ear, keeping the weapon up in his left hand. A mirror on the ceiling shatters and rains broken glass down on him. He crumples to the ground, clutching both ears as all the glass in the room shatters explosively. He screams.

BOBBY bursts into the room as more glass shatters.

BOBBY Dean!

END ACT THREE

ACT FOUR

EXT. ROAD – NIGHT

BOBBY drives his car as DEAN, in the passenger's seat, wipes blood from his face.

BOBBY How you doin', kid?

DEAN Aside from the church bells ringing in my head, peachy.

DEAN pulls out his cell phone and dials a number.

EXT. JOHNNY MAC'S DINER – NIGHT

SAM is in the IMPALA, staking out the diner full of demons. His cell phone rings; he answers it.

SAM (PHONE) Hey.

DEAN (PHONE) What are you doing?

SAM Couldn't sleep, went to get a burger.

DEAN In my car?

SAM Force of habit, sorry. What are you doing up?

DEAN Well, uh, Bobby's back. We're going to grab a beer. (on BOBBY'S shocked look, DEAN holds up a finger.)

SAM All right, well, uh, spill some for me, huh?

DEAN Done. Catch you later. (They hang up.)

BOBBY Why the hell didn't you tell him?

DEAN Because he just tried to stop us.

BOBBY From what?

DEAN Summoning this thing. (BOBBY looks at him in shock. Again.) It's time we faced it head-on.

BOBBY You can't be serious!

DEAN As a heart attack. It's high noon, baby.

BOBBY Well, we don't know what it is. It could be a demon, it could be anything.

DEAN That's why we've got to be ready for anything. (he pulls out RUBY'S DEMON-KILLING KNIFE) We've got the big-time magic knife, you've got an arsenal in the trunk...

BOBBY This is a bad idea.

DEAN Yeah, I couldn't agree more, but what other choice do we have?

BOBBY We could choose life.

DEAN Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me. That much we know, right? I've got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand.

BOBBY Dean, we could use Sam on this.

DEAN Nah, he's better off where he is.

INT. JOHNNY MAC'S DINER – NIGHT

SAM sneaks into the darkened diner and slips his lock-picking tools into his shirt pocket. A song is playing on the jukebox. SAM sneaks in quietly, sees the COOK from earlier face-down on the floor, his hands bloody. SAM crouches and turns the man over; he is dead, his eyes burned out and drying blood caked on his cheeks. SAM stands.

A figure tackles him from behind – it is the DEMON WAITRESS. They trade blows for a few moments until SAM shoves her away. She too has empty, burned out eye sockets and blood trickling down her face. She looks both terrifying and terrified.

SAM Your eyes.

DEMON WAITRESS I can still smell your soul a mile away.

SAM It was here. You saw it.

DEMON WAITRESS (sobbing) I saw it.

SAM What was it?

DEMON WAITRESS It's the end. We're dead. We're all dead.

SAM (insisting) What did you see?

DEMON WAITRESS Go to hell.

SAM Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you.

SAM steps back, plants his feet, and shuts his eyes in concentration. He extends his right hand towards the demon. She heaves and begins to vomit black smoke into her hand; in seconds, the WAITRESS has collapsed to the floor as the DEMON is sucked down into the Pit. SAM opens his eyes and crosses to the woman on the floor. He checks her pulse, sighs in disappointment.

SAM Damn it.

The kitchen door opens and a woman comes out. He looks up, apparently not surprised to see her. It is the HOT YOUNG WOMAN from ACT ONE.

HOT YOUNG WOMAN (henceforth called RUBY) Getting pretty slick there, Sam. Better all the time.

SAM stands and they share a smoldering look. He looks down at the corpse at his feet, his face falling.

SAM What the hell is going on around here, Ruby?

RUBY I wish I knew.

SAM We were thinking some high level demon pulled Dean out.

RUBY No way. Sam, human souls don't just walk out of Hell and back into their bodies easy. The sky bleeds, the ground quakes. It's cosmic. No demon can swing that. Not Lilith, not anybody.

SAM Then what can?

RUBY Nothing I've ever seen before.

INT. WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

BOBBY draws a symbol with white spray paint on the cement floor. As he stands, we see that the entire floor, walls, and ceiling of the empty rectangular warehouse are covered in similar images.

DEAN (at a table, setting up equipment) That's a hell of an art project you've got going there.

BOBBY Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe. How you doin?

DEAN Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife. I mean, we're pretty much set to catch and kill anything I've ever heard of.

BOBBY This is still a bad idea.

DEAN Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times. What do you say we ring the dinner bell?

BOBBY nods reluctantly. He goes over to another desk, takes a pinch of some powder from a bowl, and sprinkles it into a larger bowl, which begins to smoke. He chants in Latin.

INT. JOHHNY MAC'S DINER – NIGHT

RUBY and SAM are seated across from each other at a small table.

RUBY So. Million dollar question, are you going to tell Dean about what we're doing?

SAM Yeah, I just gotta figure out the right way to say it. (RUBY gives him a look) Look, I just need time, okay? That's all.

RUBY Sam, he's going to find out, and if it's not from you he's going to be pissed.

SAM He's going to be pissed anyway. I mean, he's so hardheaded about this psychic stuff he'll just try and stop me.

RUBY Look. Maybe I'll just take a step back for a while.

SAM Ruby, you...

RUBY I mean, I'm not exactly in your brother's fanclub. But he is your brother, and I'm not going to come between you.

SAM I don't know if what I'm doing is right. Hell, I don't even know if I trust you.

RUBY Thanks.

SAM But what I do know is that I'm saving people. And stopping demons. And that feels good. I want to keep going.

INT. WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

DEAN and BOBBY are seated on tables, swinging their legs and looking bored.

DEAN You sure you did the ritual right? (BOBBY gives him a look) Sorry. Touchy, touchy, huh?

As if on cue, a loud rattling shakes the roof. DEAN and BOBBY arm themselves with shotguns and take positions at the far end of the warehouse.

DEAN Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind.

The door bursts open and a handsome man in a business suit and trenchcoat stalks in CASTIEL.

The light bulbs above his head shatter in a shower of sparks as he passes them. As he approaches, DEAN and BOBBY both open fire, but the shots do not even slow him down. Dean takes the MAGIC KNIFE as CASTIEL gets close.

DEAN Who are you?

CASTIEL I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.

DEAN Yeah. Thanks for that.

DEAN rears back and plunges the MAGIC KNIFE into CASTIEL'S chest and hits heart without any effects. CASTIEL looks down, unconcerned, and pulls it out, drops it to the floor. Behind him, BOBBY attacks; without looking, CASTIEL grabs BOBBY'S weapon and uses it to swing him around. CASTIEL touches BOBBY on the forehead with fingertips and BOBBY crumples to the ground.

CASTIEL We need to talk, Dean. Alone.

END ACT FOUR

ACT FIVE

DEAN crouches over BOBBY, checking his pulse. He glares at CASTIEL.

CASTIEL Your friend's alive.

DEAN Who are you?

CASTIEL Castiel.

DEAN Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?

CASTIEL I'm an Angel of the Lord.

DEAN Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing.

CASTIEL This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.

Lightning flashes, and on CASTIEL'S back great shadowy wings appear, stretching off into the distance. The light goes out and the image disappears.

DEAN Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes.

CASTIEL I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that.

DEAN You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking? (CASTIEL nods.) Buddy, next time, lower the volume.

CASTIEL That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.

DEAN And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?

CASTIEL This? This is... a vessel.

DEAN You're possessing some poor bastard?

CASTIEL He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this.

DEAN Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?

CASTIEL (frowning) I told you.

DEAN Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?

CASTIEL Good things do happen, Dean.

DEAN Not in my experience.

CASTIEL What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?

DEAN Why'd you do it?

CASTIEL Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.

#i will not apologize for this #it is Cas Day.#spn #supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #misha collins #jensen ackles

8 notes · View notes