#god. twenty three years and they never managed to drown the fire out of him. his heart broke again and again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

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Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

#maribat #daminette #maridami #mgi trope tussle #mgi- server event #enemies to lovers #speedrun #i #like a dumbass challenged myself to use three prompts and i delivered #i hope #i hope yall enjoy #tumblr do me a solid #dont hide my posts #please #im begging #ml x dc #mlb x dc #tumblr please stop hiding my posts #no beta this is tussle

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verai-marcel · 3 years

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Forever and Always (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader)

Summary: You reminisce about your life and have a sweet moment with your family.

Author’s Notes: I was listening to a podcast about wedding dress design and got inspired.

Tags: pure fluff, Arthur x F!Reader

Word Count: 1644

AO3 Link is right here, darlin’.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Twenty-five years.

A quarter of a century.

Funny how time flies, and all of a sudden you're nearly fifty years old. Looking back, you can see the crazy turn of events in your life like some kind of movie, detached and yet feeling every single emotion as if you were there in that moment.

***

Fresh out of college, you remembered the night you found your partner sleeping with your roommate. The white hot rage and cold grip of disbelief sent you fleeing into the rain, into the streets, into a bar in the middle of the night. As you meandered between sadness and anger, a bartender had given you a cold glass of orange juice, soda water, and a bit of ice, with a shot of grenadine.

"Here ya go, sweetheart. On the house."

You had looked up and drowned in eyes the color of volcanic springs, finding the same warmth and comfort in his kind gaze. Taking a cautious sip of the drink, you found it to be the perfect drink, not too sweet, and took your time savoring it.

"What brings you here tonight?" he had asked.

After a moment of silence, he held up his hand. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

He leaned in close. "But I'm happy to listen, whenever yer ready."

His sweet smile undid you, and you poured out your heart. He seemed to nod along with your story, as a stranger would, but there was a steadily growing fire in his eyes. After a while, after a few interruptions from other customers ordering drinks, you had finished venting, nursing the last of your drink and debating what your next move should be.

"Alright folks, last call!" the bartender shouted. A few people came up and got one last drink before he started to clean up.

"Well, thank you for listening to me," you said, dropping a tip on the bar. "I really appreciate it."

"I didn't catch yer name."

You told him.

He smiled. "I'm Arthur. Could… could ya wait a bit? I'll walk you home."

You slumped. "I don't want to go home."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at you. "Where were you goin' to go, then?"

You shrugged. "Walk around until sunrise, I guess. Not feeling sleepy."

He tilted his head as he observed you. After a few moments, he shook his head. "If you don't mind, you can come sleep on my couch. You need some rest, darlin'."

"Um…" As sweet as he was, you had just met him.

Arthur pulled out a pen and scribbled something on the back of a bar coaster before giving it to you. "Here's my address. You send it to someone you trust, so they know where you are."

Touched by his offer and his understanding of your hesitation, you agreed. You texted his address to your best friend who lived a city away and told her that you were staying with a new friend and that you'd call her in the morning and tell her everything.

Then you waited until Arthur was done with his shift and followed him home.

***

That was years ago. He had helped you deal with the whole situation with your ex-significant other and ex-roommate. He stood outside as backup while you confronted the two of them and told them that you were leaving. Then you found yourself temporarily moving in with Arthur, bunking on his sleeper sofa for a couple of weeks while you searched for another place to live.

And then you slept in his bed. And your temporary move became permanent.

Life continued. You slept together, in the adult sense of the term. You got pregnant. You dated. You gave birth. He proposed. You got married. He finished college. You became the breadwinner while he worked part time and took care of your daughter.

Nothing went in the 'normal' order of things, but what was normal, anyway?

Looking at the photos of your wonderful daughter when she was a small child, you smiled as you heard the doorbell ring.

"Hey Mom!"

"Hi Avery!" You greeted her with a warm hug. She was twenty-three now, working hard during her first year out of college. You got to see her a couple times a month, and each visit made you smile, no matter how grumpy she might be.

Today the two of you were just hanging out, having tea and going through some of the old boxes in the attic, when she pulled out an old scrapbook.

"Wow, didn't know you did scrapbooking."

"I didn't, I only made one for my wedding."

Together the two of you looked through your silly notes and hand picked photos, telling her the story behind each one, and who each person was.

"Do you still have your wedding dress?" she asked after seeing the photos of you and Arthur, dressed up in a tuxedo that barely fit his broad shoulders.

"I do, somewhere."

After some time searching, you found it, brushed it off, and held it up to your body. "I don't think it'll fit, I've gotten a bit wider since I wore it."

"C'mon Mom, just try it!"

Smiling, the two of you went to your bedroom and you managed to shove yourself mostly into the dress. Except for the shoulders.

"I've gotten more buff," you joked as you pulled the dress off yourself. "You try it."

Avery took the dress, stared at it for a moment, and with your help, pulled it on. It looked like it fit, until she moved her arms.

The sound of a seam ripping made you both pause.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry–"

You patted her shoulder. "It's fine, sweetie. It's just a dress, it can be fixed. And you look beautiful in it."

Your daughter grinned, and you could see Arthur's eyes and smile on her face.

After she spun around a few times, she took it off and handed it back to you. Out of curiosity, you checked which seams had torn.

"It might fit you now," Avery joked.

"Sure, why not?"

You pulled it back on, and sure enough, the seams that had torn were the very ones stopping you from fitting your thicker arms through. You turned around and looked in the mirror. Twirling around a bit, you suddenly felt young again, remembering the first time you had tried this dress. Your two closest friends had been by your side, encouraging you to buy the dress because you were so pleased with it.

And you remembered the last time you had worn this dress, walking down the aisle with Arthur, hand in hand, the two of you grinning at each other as if there was nothing else in the world, just the two of you, happily in love.

"Let's take some photos outside!" Avery suggested, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

Smiling at your daughter, you walked through your house and out to the small backyard that Arthur lovingly cared for, with a small waterfall and herb garden.

He was there, kneeling in the dirt, planting some new basil plants. He turned around at the sound of the back door opening.

"What're you two doin'–"

Arthur's words stopped abruptly as his jaw dropped. He hadn't seen you in that dress since the wedding, and for him, time stopped and all he saw was his beautiful lady, dressed in white, smiling like a goddess.

He quickly washed his hands with the garden hose, wiped them on his jeans, and came towards you.

"Beautiful, just like an angel," he said in awe.

You went to him, holding your hands out to him. He took them and brought them close to his heart before lifting your hands to his lips and kissing your fingers oh so so tenderly.

"Amazin', I feel the same as I did on our weddin' day, seein' you like this."

"I'm a little wider now…"

"That don't matter none," he said, leaning closer to you. His forehead touched yours and he looked into your eyes. "Yer always lovely."

"Awww!"

Avery's exclamation brought the two of you back to reality. She had her phone out and had been taking photos of the two of you, a giant grin on her face.

"I'll send these to you later, after I touch them up a bit," she said. "I, uh, got an errand to run. Bye Dad, bye Mom, I'll catch you later!"

She left, giving you a conspiratorial wink. You looked back at Arthur to find that his eyes hadn't left you for a single moment.

He was in his late fifties now, streaks of grey in his hair, giving him a sophisticated appearance. He smiled much more these days, finding happiness in tending his small garden and being outside in the sunlight. He was still strong, still broad shouldered, but he had filled out a little from your delicious home cooked meals.

And he still looked at you like you were his entire world.

"Should we go inside?" you asked with a mischievous smirk.

"I got mud on me," he said, although he didn't resist when you pulled him into the house.

"I'll get you all clean," you said. "Then we can get dirty."

"Darlin'," he said as if he was chastising you, yet he was chuckling softly as he let you lead the way.

***

That night, looking at the photos Avery had emailed, you realized how the two of you appeared, so deep in love. You both looked younger in her photos, and you wondered if it was because of the photo editing.

Showing Arthur, he just smiled and kissed your cheek, his whiskers scraping your skin lightly as he nuzzled you.

"See? Told you my feelin's fer you would never change." He pulled you into his arms and held you close.

"You'll always be my shinin' star."

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

End Notes: I started with a small idea and it kinda got longer. Oops.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #RDR2 fanfic #arthur x fem!reader #Writing #Fanfic #Fluff

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harryimaginedstories · 4 years

Text

on your side

genre: au (while I don’t like the term ‘au-fic’ at all imagine the two characters are in college together and in their early twenties.) angst and some fluff as well.

about 5k words

it’s entirely different than anything I have ever published and I really love it. please let me know what you think and stay safe during these wild and often scary times.

read more here: my stories

photo: taken from instagram, previously taken by somebody from the movie AWC, which also inspired me (kinda) to even write this.

They started arguing pretty much the second the car door fell shut behind them and even ten traffic lights, countless of turns and getting honked at twice, didn’t stop their heated exchange of words. Harry’s hands held on to the seat tightly, an attempt not to touch her thigh like he normally would, while hers curled around the steering wheel until the white of her knuckles showed. It wasn’t uncommon for them to fight. They had never been one of those couples who didn’t call each other out on their bullshit or who tried hide anger when there was reason to feel it. However, this was the first time that they weren’t on their way home, where their argument could be settled in private. Instead, Harry and Y/N, both infuriated with each other, were on their way to a party. With one generous rotation of the wheel, Y/N parked Harry’s black car in the last free niche on the street of the frat house. The vehicle gave an unpleasant sound and Harry closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. Before he got the chance to complain, Y/N swung open the door, stepped out and threw it shut hard enough to know it would set him off.

“Jesus fuck!” Harry shouted, opening the passenger door and stepping out, too.

She waited long enough to press ‘lock’ on the keys once he was out, then she walked away. With quick strides he caught up with her, and had he not been as angry as could be he would have probably felt hurt at her for not waiting up like she would have any other day. Walking next to her he turned to look at her profile, trying to catch her eyes, but she refused.

“Would you mind not taking your crazy out on my fucking car?”

“Oh, so you do care about that then. Good to know,” she snapped back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N halted and so did he. They were standing on the pavement, one house away from where there could already be heard the dull sound of music blaring and a good meter of distance between them. Any other night they would be standing there, too. Only not to deliver a few more blows before pretending to be alright while their friends were around. On any other night, Harry would have taken advantage of the warm weather, by letting his hands roam across Y/N’s bare arms. She would have given him a kiss or two and made him a laugh at least as much. He would have reminded her for the fifth time (at least) that she looked beautiful. There wouldn’t be any distance between them, let alone one entire meter.

“There is one thing I’ve been hearing clearly through all of the bullshit you’ve said today,” Y/N hissed, her lips barely moving and her hands curling into tight fists by her side, “which is that you don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Oh my god.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his head falling back before snapping forward quickly, “You’re being such a lunatic!”

Wind picked up some of her hair and pushed the loose strands into her eyes, breaking the angry stare she’d held with him and for a moment, Harry could have sworn she appeared to be younger. Then she brushed the hair off with shaky hands and back she was, angry and exhausted.

“You’re a dick!” Y/N squealed,

“Well, clearly we could go on,” he snapped and rolled his eyes, “but our fucking friends are waiting for us so do you think you can manage to avoid me for the next few hours so we can at least settle this at home?”

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her cleavage which he had tried not to stare ever since she’d put on the blue dress. That damn dress. Focusing on it now it only irked him further. She knew how much he loved it when she wore this particular piece of clothing. It had spent the night on the floor of his bedroom or over the back of a chair often enough. He was certain she’d put it on specifically to spite him.

“Fine, let’s go. But since you’re unhappy with my parking,” Y/N stepped forward and reached up, pressing the hard metal of Harry’s car keys into his chest, “you get to be the designated driver tonight.”

Her fist lingered on the fabric of his black T-shirt. Feeling her touch him momentarily paused his thoughts. All anger was forgotten, as if the wind had picked it up, too, and carried it far away. Harry whimpered and her lips parted, their eyes connecting without any trace of hurt in them. Then his hand found hers and she dropped the set of keys into his palm, snapping them both out of their brief moment of peace.

“I don’t want to see you right now,” Y/N stuttered, blinking rapidly until her eyes turned darker again.

“Don’t come look for me later when you’re drunk and feeling sorry,” Harry replied, before he stepped around her and walked towards the frat building.

Y/N lost sight of him the second he stepped inside. Despite still feeling angry with him, she couldn’t stop herself from briefly wishing he wouldn’t have left her alone. She didn’t like being left alone at a party. Neither did he, for the matter, but she refused to feel guilty for sending him away. Y/N drew a shaky breath and stepped inside, instantly greeted by the smell of alcohol, smoke and pot. A big banner had been hung from one side of the hall to the other, wishing everybody a cheerful start to the new semester. Underneath mingled numerous students, all of which held drinks in their hands. Already Y/N recognized a few of them from some of her classes, she didn’t feel like talking to them however. To her luck she spotted a few friends of her in the first room she entered and was quickly greeted with hugs and kisses to her cheek.

Dena, a girl Y/N had grown close with through sharing an equal distain for their econ teacher, pressed a drink into her hand and smiled. “You look like you need at least two of these.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t cheer in delight upon seeing us like you should have so,” said Clara, another friend Y/N had made whilst talking badly about her teacher.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.”

Dena nudged her. “Also, your boyfriend stormed past us earlier so we expected something was up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clara asked.

Y/N shook her head and took a long sip from her drink. It tasted of a mixture of beer and vodka, which on any other day she would have refused to drink. “I really don’t.”

“Great. Then let’s just cheer to us.”

The two girls raised their own cups and waited expectantly for Y/N to do the same. Dena grinned at her and cleared her throat.

“To us, the coming semester, which we will fucking ace. And-” she paused, looking at Y/N, “to knowing when to kick your boyfriend’s ass. Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

Harry stood by the unlit fire pit in the lounge area, where the chairs had been pushed aside to create a dance floor. A scowl was deeply etched onto his face and he had yet to smile genuinely. He blamed the alcohol he wasn’t allowed to consume for how poorly he was feeling, but he knew even if he had drowned his veins in liquor, it wouldn’t be until he’d feel her touch him that he would be in a better mood. He stood back watching with a few of his mates, who were all except one, very drunk, as some freshmen clumsily turned the dinner table into a bear pong station. Matt, the only sober one left, had tried to get him to talk about why his mood was so sour three times already, receiving no answer each time. Harry rolled his eyes upon feeling him nudge his shoulder again.

“Where’s your girl?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know.”

He’d been cursing her short height since turning around and looking for her in the crowded hallway thirty minutes ago. She’d slipped past him without him noticing, and while he was too proud to go look for her properly, it annoyed him that he wasn’t able to casually spot her whenever he scanned one of the many rooms that had been turned into a club. He especially didn’t like it since he knew that she was drinking. Blindly he felt for his phone in his pocket, ensuring for the tenth time that its volume was turned up. Should she call him, he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t miss it.

“Didn’t she come with you?” Matt pressed on, either oblivious to Harry’s annoyance or simply indifferent to it.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t wander off on her own, does it?” Harry replied, his voice rough.

He’d never really liked Matt. Actually, he’d liked him a lot once. They’d even considered becoming roommates in their second year. He’d liked him, up until he’d gotten together with Y/N and noticed the gleam in Matt’s eyes the first time he’d introduced her to him. Their friendship dissolved fast after.

“I’m sure she can. She’s always been good at enjoying parties, hasn’t she?”

Harry didn’t reply. Once more his eyes scanned the room frantically, detecting every single face in hopes of recognizing the eyes to the one he loved.

“Dude!” Eric, a tall and broad looking bloke who’d just become team captain to the football team, stumbled into Harry’s side, knocking him back.

“Sorry! Shit,” Eric laughed, doubling over, revealing that he was clearly drunker than he should have been, “I’m sorry, mate. Wow, I need to lay off a little.”

“No kidding,” Harry replied, but smiled when Eric slung a heavy arm around his shoulders. The unmistakable smell of alcohol fanned over his face as Eric talked, and his nose scrunched up.

“You’ve been wearing a look as depressing as Matt’s sex life-”

“Hey, fuck you, Eric!” Matt snapped, unamused.

“-and I intend to fix that. C’mon.”

Harry didn’t fight it as the taller guy dragged him away, out of the lounge and into another room further down the hall. He certainly didn’t mind getting away form Matt. Regardless of them having been friends once, Matt was the last person he wanted to be around when he was having a rough time with Y/N. The smoke was thicker in this room and the music a little quieter. There were less people dancing and more sitting around on the couches and chairs. A few stood by the wall in small groups and some, the ones Eric was walking towards, were standing opposite a dart board. They cheered upon seeing the two guys approach, making more noise than anybody else in the room.

“You’re on my team and you’re gonna help me win, yeah? M’taking advantage of you being sober as a stone. Your aim is probably better than any of theirs.”

Harry laughed and nodded, accepting to be involved. “I’ll try my best.”

The first dart arrow was thrust into his hand by a guy named Kyle who appeared to be on the same team. Half an hour later and Eric was grinning from ear to ear, writing their leading score numbers onto a makeshift writing board that was really just the coffee table. Something the guys living in this house would be happy to find in the morning. Y/N watched him. Despite being intoxicated, or perhaps because of how intoxicated she was, she noticed every muscle of his back move each time he raised his arm. Her heart fluttered whenever he laughed and she felt a heat grow at the pit of her stomach whenever he leaned his head to the side, revealing the back of his neck to her. And above his neck was his ear, which hid a spot right under his hairline where he liked to be kissed. Y/N’s lips parted at the thought and her toes curled. He hadn’t noticed her when entering the room. She didn’t blame him though, since she’d successfully hid herself behind Dena and Eric’s big body also worked wonderfully as a shield. Despite anything she’d said before the party, she was immensely relieved to see him. The vodka-beer mixture which she’d learned had been invented by Clara, was disgusting but also got her drunk faster than she had expected. Or intended. Another round of cheers erupted as Harry scored another point for his team.

“Not fair. You won’t give them as much as a chance to win.”

A chill rushed down Harry’s back at the sound of the honey sweet female voice behind him, and Y/N, too, froze in place. Slender fingers touched Harry’s arm, caressing the skin despite being less than welcome to. Upon turning around he was met with Silja, who’s face wore a smile equally sweet as her sly voice. Though standing by the opposite wall, Y/N swore she could hear Silja as if she were standing next to her. She would always be able to detect her voice, especially if the words she spoke were directed to Harry.

Dena followed her friend’s gaze and raised her brows. “Haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she dropped out.”

“Would have been too nice,” Y/N growled.

She’d never actually talked to Silja herself and she surely didn’t intend to. Before getting together with him, Y/N had been mostly oblivious to who was genuinely interested in him and who she imagining to be. Only with Silja there had never been any doubt. Even before Harry had become hers, she’d felt a bitter taste collect in the middle of her tongue whenever the pretty brunette girl tried to talk to him. Once her claim on him had become justified, she disliked Silja and her upfront behaviour all the more.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to worry about her, right?” Dena said quietly, reading Y/N’s expression, “Harry has rejected her what, three times already? Even before he was with you. He’s not interested in her.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that,” Y/N said quickly, stepping around Dena to get a better look at her boyfriend and the girl that had yet to remove her hand from his arm, “I trust him.”

“Doesn’t make her less of a bitch,” Clara grumbled, also staring at them intently.

The three girls watched Harry turn to look at Silja. He gave her a tight lip smile before he stepped away to make room for the next player, conveniently shrugging off her hand in process. To their dismay, Silja followed him.

“I haven’t seen you this summer,” she complained in an uncomfortably high voice, that was laced with feigned displeasure, “Where were you hiding?”

Harry sighed, wishing Y/N would find him already, and rested his back against the wall. The last thing he needed for this party to become worse were the advances of the woman standing before him. “I wasn’t.”

Their summer had been great. They spent it looking for a flat to move into together. One weekend they’d taken the train out to the ocean and spent two days in a pretty bed and breakfast, where nothing distracted them from each other and everything, even their sheets, held the faint smell of sea salt. He wasn’t about to tell any of that to Silja though.

The girl pouted, smudging her lilac lipstick at the corners. “Didn’t you miss me at all? Not even a little bit?”

“No.”

She smiled. Her neck moved to the side as her eyes mustering him. “You and your attitude. I really missed that.”

Harry let his head fall back and for a moment Y/N forgot to eye the girl hitting on her boyfriend and instead stared at his throat. She longed to kiss him there, too. The darkened expression taking over his relaxed face quickly brought her attention back. Thinking about kissing him had made her miss the words Silja had said to upset him.

“You’re wasting your time missing me.”

At last, Silja’s smile dropped. “You’re still with her, then?”

“Yep,” he replied shortly.

“Fine,” Silja pushed the long brown locks off her shoulder and crossed her arms, “maybe if she fucked you right you wouldn’t be such an asshole all the time.”

“Fuck off, Silja,” Harry snapped, pushing himself off the wall to instantly tower over her.

“Harry! Your turn again, mate.”

Without giving her as much as a second look, Harry turned away and followed Eric’s call. Dena’s hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing her gently whilst smiling at her. Y/N exhaled loudly and relaxed. She didn’t doubt Harry’s capability of getting rid of Silja. She’d also truly meant it when she’d said that she trusted him. But after their argument she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want to receive some affection tonight, be it from anybody. While she would have hated it, simply entertaining Silja’s flirting wouldn’t have been cheating. A warm feeling overtook any worry left in her body upon watching him turn Silja away. He didn’t bother look at her again but walked back to his friends to resume the game, treating her like she wasn’t even there. He didn’t even give Silja the satisfaction of remaining angered by her words. Giving up her attempts, Silja walked away and left the room quickly, her cheeks slightly rosy in embarrassment.

“Remind me to kiss him later for that,” Y/N said, her voice holding more love for him than she would usually let on whilst angry.

Clara laughed. “So you’re not mad at him anymore.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that I was or I might still be.”

“What were you two fighting about anyway?” Dena asked.

Y/N took another long sip from her drink, before remembering that she’d wanted to not drink any more for the night. Oh well.

“He didn’t come home last night. Without notifying me. He fell asleep at stupid Rick’s place and neither of them bothered shooting me a text or ringing me about it. I spent all night worried sick.”

Y/N’s expression hardened at the thought of waiting up for him. She’d paced around the living room of their new flat before settling on the couch, vowing to stay awake until he returned. She’d had half a mind not to call his mother or sister, not quite worried enough to ask them.

“I didn’t see him until an hour before coming here ‘cause I had to work today. So we didn’t have time to properly fight about it.”

“Didn’t he say he was sorry?”

“Sure he did, as well as stating that I was overreacting and not his mother.”

“Ugh, men,” Dena grumbled, then she changed the subject, “Let’s get refills in the kitchen!”

Harry got bored of the game after the fifth round, but stayed to play until the team he’d joined won by a margin. Then he politely excused himself from playing another round. Though she’d told him she didn’t want to see him, Harry really wanted to see Y/N and he figured over an hour of distance sufficed for her to calm down. Maybe she would even allow herself to be happy about him finding her. He strolled around the room, then went looking in the hall and finally searched the lounge. If only she were a little taller, he thought once more. All of sudden he heard a loud shout. It wasn’t one of the usual party hollers, it was one that held no joy at all. With swift strides Harry crossed the room, turned left in the hallway and entered the kitchen. This time he didn’t have to search to see her. Y/N was sitting on the counter, her legs dangling down and her hands curling around the stone surface. Across from her was the kitchen table on which all of the different liquor bottles had been placed. It was also where the single shout turned into several. A guy Harry hadn’t ever seen around campus before stood next to a broken bottle of vodka. His hand curled into a fist and his face was red. Opposite him stood Dena, a girl Harry barely knew beyond her being a friend of Y/N. Next to Dena was a guy named Dylan, his face painted with guilt and worry.

“You fucking broke my shit!” the stranger shouted.

Y/N flinched. It wasn’t Dena who’d pissed off the wrong guy, but Dylan who had tried to make a drink for them. She didn’t feel any less involved if the guy were to be shouting at her. The second the bottle had broken and the tall stranger exclaimed that it’d been his, Y/N had felt fear curse through her. She hated it. She hated how a man shouting was so scary that she froze in place. Just like she always did when afraid, her eyes began to search for Harry. Heavy like a wave and equally overwhelming was the relief when she saw him lingering in the doorway. Their eyes met. Y/N visibly relaxed. She could read the question in the look he was giving her and she eagerly nodded. There were so few people scattered around the small place, Harry had no trouble reaching the counter. Once in arms reach she held out her right hand, whimpering when his fingers slotted through hers and holding on tight. Any anger towards each other was forgotten the moment their skin touched. Y/N gave a determined pull until he stood next to where she was sitting, her legs touching his waist. Harry didn’t say anything, but he allowed her to let go of his hand to instead hold on to his shoulder. His own settled heavily on her thigh, relishing the feeling of her bare skin. He didn’t complain when her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt, nor did she mind how intimate it felt to have his hand on her naked thigh. His eyes quickly scanned her face, waiting for her nod, confirming that she was alright. Y/N smiled gently, relief mirroring in her eyes. Harry returned her smile. His heart clenching when he noticed the faint veil of alcohol before her eyes. Ever so slightly, their heads leaned towards each other, then his nose softly touched her forehead.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Dena said defensively, “and these bottles are for everybody to use.”

Harry shifted closer to Y/N but removed his nose form her hairline. Unwillingly he turned his attention back to where the argument grew. The stranger’s head, figuratively doubling in size by the minute, was red and looming over Dena like a balloon hovering in the sky. He had to admit it was impressive that Dena, equally short as Y/N, refused to back off.

“I wasn’t asking you! You and your friend better figure out how to replace my drink and you better do it fast!”

“Mate, lay off a bit, will ya? They didn’t do anything on purpose,” Harry interrupted, his voice calm and steady, “Why don’t you just grab one of the ten other bottles and leave ‘em alone?”

The stranger, slightly shorter than Harry, turned to look at them. Y/N tightened her hold on his shoulder. She was mentally preparing herself to jump off the counter and at the stranger’s throat instead, should he as much as try to pick a fight with Harry. Noticing her shift beside him, Harry’s hold on her intensified.

“Leave them alone?” the tall guy snapped, “that was twenty fucking quid he broke!”

“Bit embarrassing that you’re whining about twenty quid,” Harry said, wearing a smug grin, “and picking a fight like some kind of neanderthals who found out somebody’s pissed into his cave.”

Dena giggled and so did Y/N, along with some bystanders who’d gathered to watch. The bloke narrowed his eyes, first at Harry, then at the girl sitting beside him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N interrupted him. “Quit looking at me and spare me any sexist bullshit you’re about to say.”

The guy rolled his eyes, then smiled. “You’re pretty for a bitch.”

Y/N’s hand yanked Harry back by his shoulder equally fast as he’d pushed off the counter to lunge forward and at the guy. The movement caused him to knock against the counter uncomfortably. She didn’t let go and didn’t move, despite Harry’s enraged breathing getting louder.

“Fuck you!” Harry shouted, eyes wide.

Anger oozed out of his pores and heat settled in the small kitchen. Calm and collected only a moment ago, he was all the more scarier now that he was enraged. Scary enough to make the stranger take back a step. Y/N loosened her hold on Harry’s shoulder, sliding her hand down to press against his back instead. She rubbed his spine gently, hoping to ease him by letting him know she was okay.

"You need to leave,” Y/N stated, her voice calm.

“Definitely,” Dena agreed, her eyes trained on her friend before finding Harry.

He didn’t return her gaze, his eyes remained on the tall blonde. They stayed put until the guy lowered his empty cup to the table, the movement slow and deliberate. He clearly didn’t want it to look like he was leaving because he was told to, so he took his time. But finally he turned away, before at last leaving the kitchen and hopefully the party all together.

Harry shuddered upon feeling Y/N’s nose against the shell of his ear. “I’m fine, Harry.”

“What a wanker.”

“A fucking wanker,” Y/N replied, her smile practically audible in her voice.

Harry turned around to face her, all of his attention returning to where it belonged: her. His eyes looked into hers intently, reading every answer to all of his unspoken questions.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Are you?”

He nodded. “Did he try anything before I came?”

“I noticed him about zero-point-five seconds before you arrived, Harry. I’m fine, I promise.”

Her hands gently took hold of his face. The fingers of her left hand traced along his jawline as tenderly as one would the rim of a glass in hopes of eliciting a sound. That’s how Harry sometimes felt when she touched him. Like she was being as tender as she could possibly fathom to be.

“Does that mean you’re gonna go back to being mad at me?” As he spoke, Harry moved closer. His hands rested on each side of her hips, allowing his body to get closer to hers as he leaned forward.

Y/N laughed and shook her head, their faces so close they almost touched. She enjoyed the warmth of his breath fanning against her throat.

“Are you? You were at least as pissed off as I was.”

He shrugged, then playfully nudged her nose with his. “No.”

“Then I think I’ll let it go, too,” she answered, faking to be coy, “For now, you still owe me an apology later.”

Harry laughed. “That’s fair. Promise to mean it this time, too.”

Her eyes narrowed. She took hold of his chin, holding him still so she could kiss him without giving him the chance to deepen it. The feeling of his mouth slotting with hers, be it as briefly as it was, ignited her like nothing else could. Any remaining worry was pulled from the corners in her body where it had hidden, and was thrown out not to return. Harry took over. All of the space inside her that could belong to an emotion, now belonged to him.

“I knew you didn’t mean it earlier,” she breathed accusingly against his lips.

“I meant it a little,” he said, curling his hand around her wrist to pull away the hold she’d taken and he kissed her a second time before she could complain.

Despite their desperation their teeth didn’t clash together, nor did their noses unintentionally bump. They’d kissed too many times not to blindly meet each other without missing. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, hers pushed his aside so it could trespass into his mouth. Frantic hands held on to her hips and her thigh, eager fingers remembered to be gentle as they settled on the back of his neck. Harry moaned and Y/N pulled away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, just enough space between them so she could speak.

Harry’s kisses trailed down from the corner of her mouth to her cheek and her jaw, his lips warm, wet and determined. He allowed one kiss to last a little longer, followed by a small lick to her earlobe.

As satisfied as could be as long as they weren’t alone, he raised his head to look at her again. “What for?”

“Being on my side even when we’re fighting.”

The smile gracing her features was so genuine he could have melted, just like her words were spoken with more love behind them than he could detect. He smiled and willingly moved his head to the side, so she could kiss below his ear. The heat in his belly grew and he let her know by squeezing her hips.

“Ditto.”

840 notes · View notes

taizi · 3 years

Note

Hi! I love your works! 71 + 72 for Luffy and Jinbei?

PROMPTS LIST

71. “I’m going to protect you.”

smile again

As a watchdog journalist, Jinbei's work takes him everywhere. He isn't always in the best position to receive phone calls. Sometimes, depending on what story his group decides to chase after and what far-flung corner of the world it leads them to, Jinbei goes weeks without internet access.

By the time he gets news of the accident, Luffy has been out of the hospital for a month and Ace has been dead just as long.

Jinbei has to go home.

His colleagues-- a group of solid, hard-working people he's known for going on twenty years, has worked with on the field and off, in smoke and fire and claustrophobic office spaces-- are entirely understanding.

Tiger drives him to a small airport, the truck bouncing along a bumpy gravel road. There's a single, hastily-packed duffel in the bed of the pickup. Jinbei isn't even sure what he shoved in there, having only made one mindless pass through his room. He would have left without his passport if Hatchan hadn't shoved it into his hands on his way out the door.

"It may be time for me to retire," Jinbei says aloud. His mind is ebbing and rising like a tide, a vast ocean of grief. Thoughts go bobbing away like loose buoys before he can get a grasp on them.

All he can think of is the last video-call he made home, over a month ago now. Ace and Luffy, pressed cheek-to-cheek so they'd both fit in-frame, competitive in all things and unwilling to take turns, even as Jinbei laughingly promised he had plenty of time to talk.

They made him promise to call again soon. He meant to.

"Don't worry about us over here," Tiger says. His eyes are on the road, hands tight around the steering wheel. He carries Jinbei's grief like it's his own. "Just worry about your boy."

His boy, Jinbei thinks. Not by blood or by law, certainly, but by something less quantifiable than that. Those scrappy kids that spilled into his yard one muggy summer evening, hiding in the hedges from their well-antagonized CPS caseworker and somehow claiming a piece of Jinbei's heart from the moment he first laid eyes on them.

Ace was so angry back then, and Luffy was so easily frightened, and they clung to each other in a practiced way, as if they were so used to the world trying to claw them apart that they didn't expect anything else, even from a perfect stranger. They didn't seem to know what to do with kindness. Ace watched Jinbei like a hawk for weeks, long after Luffy warmed up to him. His trust, when he finally gave it, felt like a prize.

Jinbei was working long, unpredictable hours, and knew it wouldn't be fair to drag two children into his household if he couldn't afford them the time and care they deserved-- but after school? Weekends? Holidays? Those he gave up freely.

His days gained some semblance of routine again, for the fist time since he finished college. His kitchenware came down from the cupboard, the pockmarked kitchen table was often set for three. He made dinner at home, more than he ate in the office with his colleagues.

Hell, his colleagues ate dinner with him at home more often, too. Within an hour of meeting the boys, each of Jinbei's friends, to a man, would have taken a bullet for either of them, no questions asked.

The sense of structure did wonders for the brothers. With a safe place to return to when they needed it, and someone to fall back on, Ace stopped looking at every potential foster home as if it was a threat. Luffy came out of his shell, bolder with each new day. He made a friend in the village, a boy with vivid green eyes, and they hardly spent a moment apart.

They were finally placed with a couple who lived nearby. Shanks was wry and good-natured, and Benn had the patience of a saint. After a few weeks, when Jinbei asked how they were settling in, his worries were soothed: Luffy clearly adored them, and even Ace grudgingly admitted they weren't so bad.

And when the time came, and Ace applied for emancipation as well as custody of his brother, he had a small army in his corner. A patchwork family collected in little bits and pieces, ready to support him through anything.

"I will always be here for you both," Jinbei had promised him, countless times. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm alive."

"Thank you," Ace said, a little bashful. But he was so pleased, and so full of hope for the future, and he said, "I'll feel better, knowing someone's around to look after Luffy if I can't."

He immediately got shouted down by his entire strange extended pseudo-family for daring to suggest they'd ever let anything happen to him, and it made him laugh so brightly, and now the memory sticks like needles in Jinbei's throat.

Tiger hugs him hard before Jinbei boards the plane. In the back of his mind, where there is a tiny corner free from drowning, Jinbei can't help but wonder when he'll see his friend again.

He keeps thinking of that last video call. He can't remember everything they talked about. He doesn't think he said enough. He almost certainly didn't tell Ace everything he deserved to hear. Foolishly, he assumed there would be another time.

He's learned from this. He won't take it for granted any more.

"Call me when you land," Tiger says. "Give the monkey our love."

"I will," Jinbei replies. His heart is so heavy he doesn't know how he manages the steps onto the plane. He doesn't know how the pilot manages to lift them up from the tarmac. It's a wonder they aren't sinking, straight through the earth.

Nami and Usopp are waiting for him at the airport, wide-awake even though it's well past two o'clock in the morning. They're familiar to Jinbei from the stories Luffy has told him, from the numerous video calls they've bullied their way into over the years, and the handful of birthdays and holidays Jinbei was able to make it home for.

"Luffy wanted to come with us to pick you up, but he fell asleep," Usopp says, apropos of nothing, as they're waiting for their Uber. "Sanji said it was a small miracle, and Zoro looked like he was going to hunt us for sport if we even thought about waking him up, so--"

"He hasn't been sleeping, then?" Jinbei asks quietly.

"After he came home, he was on some pretty heavy meds, and he slept a lot," Nami says. Her arms are folded tight against her chest in the nighttime chill, her eyes trained somewhere far away. "But he had bad dreams and he would wake up disoriented. Now he fights sleep tooth and nail."

"We've all sort of become the insomnia squad," Usopp pipes up. "Thank god I'm not taking any classes this summer."

"Sanji's gotten really good at making lattes," Nami adds with a small smile. "Wait till you see his shiny new espresso machine."

"I'm like eight-five percent sure he stole it from the Baratie."

Jinbei listens to their chatter, feeling at once anchored by them and adrift at sea. It makes sense that they would be ahead of him. They've been here all this time, practically from the moment of the accident, facing it with all the bravery and endurance of sailors in a typhoon. Jinbei, meanwhile, had been living in an unchanged world.

For the last month, Ace has been dead. How many times had Jinbei thought about him? Mentioned him to a friend? How many times had Jinbei wrongly said his name in the present-tense?

The house is warmly-lit when they arrive, but quiet. An old blue Irish wolfhound greets them at the door, wagging his tail. Robin looks up from the papers she has spread out on the coffee table and smiles. Chopper is fast asleep beside her, his head on her shoulder. Behind them, Jinbei can see Sanji at work in the kitchen, shaping dough. Something is baking that smells of cinnamon and apples.

They weren't kidding about their sleep schedules being a mess.

"Hello, Jinbei. It's good to see you," Robin says. Her voice is soft, in deference to the sleeping teenager. "Luffy is asleep, but you can see him if you like."

"Please," Jinbei replies hoarsely.

"I'll take him," Nami says. "Usopp, would you bring his bag to the guest bedroom?"

"'Course," Usopp replies, but he makes a detour into the kitchen first.

Nami takes Jinbei's hand and leads him toward the stairs. "I feel really stupid about this, but I was so angry at you," she admits as they make their way up. "It's hardly the first time we haven't been able to contact you, and I know why that is. But-- I don't know, I think I was going crazy. I wanted Luffy to have everything he wanted. I wanted everyone who loved him to be here every time he woke up. So I-- so there might be some angry emails waiting for you, but please don't hate me for it."

"I won't even read them," Jinbei promises gravely, his heart cleaved clean in two. "I can't imagine how-- how hard it must have been. I-- if I had gotten the messages sooner-- "

"I know," Nami assures him, pausing outside a closed bedroom door. "Franky spoke to you like six hours ago, and you're already here. You dropped everything to be here. We know the kind of person you are."

She stands up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and Jinbei bends to accommodate her, the same way he does for Koala. Then Nami reaches out and pushes open the door.

Zoro is awake, sitting against the headboard with his phone in hand and earphones in, and his eyes are as bright and sharp now as they were when he was a child. He looks up when the door opens, and seems to relax when he sees Jinbei stepping in behind Nami.

"Go to sleep," Nami whispers, pointing at the second bed across the spacious room.

"Don't tell me what to do," Zoro replies, just as quiet, but he pulls his earphones out and extracts himself from the bed with all the exacting precision of a bomb disposal technician. Nami takes him by the arm, helping him get up so carefully that the mattress hardly moves. It's such a well-practiced maneuver that Jinbei thinks he honestly might cry.

"If one of you would stay for a bit, I'll grab a shower," Zoro says.

"Sure, stinky," Nami says, nudging him toward the door. "Jinbei?"

He nods, unsure of what he's agreeing to. Now that he's finally next to Luffy, nothing else seems to exist. He sinks into the chair beside the bed, only half-aware of Nami and Zoro leaving. Their murmured conversation is cut off by the closing door. The room is silent, save for the gentle, unobtrusive sound of Luffy's steady breathing.

He's lost weight since Jinbei saw him last. There are shadows on his face that don't belong there. He looks both older and younger than he has any right to, even now, when his face is untroubled and slack with sleep.

"Hello, little monkey," Jinbei says. His voice is quiet, but it still breaks. He's crying, he realizes, thick tears rolling down his face with abandon. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

He thinks of two little boys, spilling into his life on accident, taking up room in his home and his heart as if they always belonged there. They weren't his, not really, but he loved them anyway. Loves them still.

"I'm here now," he whispers. His hands are shaking. "I'm going to protect you, like I promised. I'm here, Ace. Please believe me, wherever you are. I won't fail you again."

#one piece #op #opfic #knight of the sea jimbei #cat burglar nami #god usopp #my writing #smile again #i woke up and chose violence #but i mean a couple people were wondering where jimbei was so u brought this upon urselves

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oldjane · 3 years

Text

So this friend of mine, whose tumblr handle I don’t even know, so Imma link to their ao3 profile instead, was going feral about some movie they saw, and about a JoeNicky AU for it, and I haven’t seen the movie, don’t even remember the name of it, but well.

Here is... Some AU (unedited).

“We have to get out of here!”

Nile’s panicked voice spurs him on. He is running to the dock, hoping the emergency pods are not too badly damaged by the ravage going on around them. Joe is half a step in front of him.

Nicky doesn’t know where everybody else is – most of the inhabitants got evacuated late yesterday afternoon, but there will still be dozens of people who didn’t make it onto the evac shuttles. Nobody expected disaster to strike quite so soon. Nicky knows pods have been leaving all day, but they thought they had at least two more days. There will be people trapped, families who are desperately trying to make it to the pods –

Nicky stops, tries to turn around, but Joe notices and grabs his wrist.

“Nicky, no! We need to go, now!”

“But there might be others, we should –”

“No!” Joe’s voice is sharp, and he tugs at Nicky’s arm desperately. “There is no time!”

His eyes are huge, and his curls stick to his sweaty temple. His shirt is dirty and there is a gash on his arm. It is a far cry from the cool and calm engineer who arrived almost three years ago, introducing himself to Nicky with a wink. But he is still the most handsome man Nicky ever saw.

He fell in love with Joe at that first wink, and somehow, Joe didn’t seem to mind Nicky being painfully shy and blushing fervently as he awkwardly managed to introduce himself. Over the next two months, Joe simultaneously managed to draw Nicky out of his shell and make himself a fixture in Nicky’s comfort zone. They’ve been the best of friends and Nicky kept his feelings firmly under lock, afraid of losing Joe completely.

“Come on, Nicky, please!”

Nicky throws one last look over his shoulder, and Joe almost dislocates Nicky’s shoulder, he is yanking his arm so wildly.

There is nothing Nicky can do, and so he follows Joe. He would follow Joe everywhere.

The dock is in complete disarray. A lot of the stations are empty, and Nicky is glad that so many people got out. The far side of the dock is completely destroyed, and some of the remaining pods seem too damaged to risk the journey.

Nile yells at them to hurry. They run to where she found a pod in a good state.

“I don’t know – I never used these things –”

She is trying to enter the correct code with hands that tremble terribly, and Nicky looks at Joe. Joe nods, and he covers Nile’s hand with his own.

“It’s really easy,” he shushes, and he turns her towards him while Nicky makes quick work of unlocking the pod and firing up the systems. He hears Joe talk to Nile, explain to her how the pods work, what will happen. His voice is soft and calm, and Nile sniffs away her tears as she nods.

Nicky’s heart could explode. Here is Joe, taking care of one of their friends, as if this is just another day and they are not minutes away from being completely wiped away.

Nile steps into the pod, and without hesitation, Nicky and Joe strap her in, as if they have done this a thousand times. Their hands brush. Nicky feels the usual combo of heart flutters and a sense of belonging whenever he and Joe touch, but there is no time for that. He keeps running the procedures, and Joe keeps talking to Nile.

“You will get to the surface, and we will be right behind you, okay? I promise we won’t leave you alone. A beacon signal will alert home base, it will be no longer than thirty minutes before the chopper picks us up. You can open the hatch as soon as this light comes on, okay?” He points to the clear indicator. “The systems are all working perfectly,” he continues, when Nicky reaches the final check. “Tell me what you have to do.”

“Enter my personal code and the take-off code – seven-nine-four, enter, three-nine-three. Then the green button. Close the hatch.” she says, sounding almost normal, ticking it off on her fingers. “When I get up, this light will come on and I open the hatch. You will be right behind me. The chopper will be there not long after.”

“Good,” Joe replies fondly. “You’ll be fine, Nile. Keep your eyes on the screen, the counter will start as soon as you take off. We will see you up there in fifteen minutes.”

As Joe reassures Nile one last time, Nicky scans the stations. They can’t go back to the main section anymore, they need to find undamaged pods here and they need to be fast. The warning signs for critically low oxygen levels have been blasting for at least twenty minutes now. They could run out any minute. But most stations are empty, and the pods that are still here are broken and rusty.

There. Nicky sees one, and as soon as Nile closes the hatch, he pulls Joe along.

He opens the pod, and he breathes out in relief when it reacts immediately. It seems to be functional, and he pushes Joe in, entering the launch key.

Joe goes along, strapping himself in.

“Leave it, Nicky, I can do this myself, get to a pod –”

Nicky knows exactly when Joe notices what Nicky already knew. He starts unstrapping, but Nicky is faster. He locks Joe’s chair in place, keeps working on the take-off checklist.

“Nicky, stop, we can find you one further along –”

“There is no time, Joe,” Nicky says calmly. “We will run out of oxygen in seconds.”

“Come in, then, I won’t leave you –”

“There is not enough oxygen for two, Joe, you know that.”

“We will breathe as little as possible, hold our breath, something! Nicky, they never even tested that stuff, we could –”

“We are not risking it, Joe. One of us has to make it up there alive for Nile. You promised her.”

Joe is frantic now.

“Not without you, Nicky, stop, please!”

He reaches for the touch screen, trying to override Nicky’s commands. Nicky slaps him full in the face, and Joe falls back in the chair, stunned. It gives Nicky just the seconds he needs to complete the final procedure. He knows Joe’s code, of course, they’ve been friends for years, and he doesn’t make a mistake. Then the same numbers Joe told Nile, seven-nine-four, enter, three-nine-three.

“Nicky, no,” Joe begs, and –

Nicky presses the green button, not looking at Joe, not listening to his pleas.

Nicky will die here. He will die, within the next minute, while Joe is travelling up, and –

Nicky grabs Joe’s face between his large hands. One cheek feels hot where Nicky slapped him, but he doesn’t pay attention to that.

He stares into Joe’s beautiful, beloved eyes, and he bends closer to press his lips on Joe’s.

It is too short, too chaste for three years of pining, but there is no time – a crash, close by, vibrates through the structure, and Nicky pulls back. Joe starts saying something, but Nicky shakes his head and closes the hatch, gently but determinedly.

He hears Joe’s voice, calling out for him, but then the pod is sealed hermetically. It takes off smoothly, and Nicky’s knees buckle.

***

The fifteen minutes before Joe reaches the surface are the longest and the shortest of his life.

He screams himself hoarse in fifteen minutes, he bangs his fists on the inside walls of the pod until his knuckles burst, and then he touches his lips, where Nicky’s were but the blink of an eye ago.

Almost three years of dreaming about Nicky’s kiss, and –

And now –

He curses himself. He should have known Nicky would make sure everybody else got out before him. He should have seen right through him, should have forced him to go first –

He should have told Nicky he was in love with him three years ago. He should have kissed that man every chance he got, because now he will not ever get to again.

He is too distracted to pay attention to the screen or the indicators, and only when a robotic voice announces he needs to open the hatch because oxygen is low, he mechanically unstraps and enters the correct code.

Nile is floating right by his side.

“Oh, thank God!” she says as soon as he stands up. “Your pod arrived but you didn’t open the hatch, I was freaking out here, I didn’t know if there was a problem or – wait.” She takes a look at Joe, and she cuts herself off.

Joe doesn’t know how he looks – his eyes feel puffy and tears are streaming over his cheeks and his hands are bloodied.

“Wait,” Nile says again, unsteady. “Your pod arrived at least five minutes ago. Why isn’t – where is Nicky?”

Joe can’t help himself. A fresh wave of tears springs to his eyes, and he screams to the heavens.

He wants to dive back into the water, swim down, every meter a meter closer to Nicky, until he drowns as close to Nicky as he’ll ever be again.

Nile gasps.

“Joe, Nicky – Nicky made it out, right?”

He doesn’t answer, just sobs, his lungs burning, his throat choked up.

Nile reaches her arms out for him in a futile gesture, since they are both confined to their pods, and anyway, hers are not the arms Joe wants around him right now.

“I am sorry,” he hears Nile whisper, but it doesn’t help either. It feels like nothing will ever help.

If you asked him two days ago, he would have said feeling the sun on his skin again would make him the happiest man ever – it would have been a lie, of course. Kissing Nicky would make him the happiest man ever, and he got to do that, and the sun is reflecting from the water, but nothing will ever make him happy again.

The water has exactly the same colour as Nicky’s eyes.

He should say something to Nile, praise her for making it up here, assure her they would be picked up any minute now, tell her he loves Nicky with all his heart – though she might have some inkling of that by now – but he cannot bring himself to do any of it.

Then he hears the rhythmic sounds of the helicopter blades, and he will be brought to home base, and he will be further away from Nicky than he ever has been since they met, and –

Nile is winched up first, and then Joe. Somebody is interrogating Nile when he is pulled into the chopper.

“Anybody else coming?” a rough voice asks, and Joe curls in upon himself on the floor as he shakes his head.

“We were the last people at the dock,” Nile says hesitantly, “The two of us and – and Nicky – but we were out of oxygen –”

“So we are still waiting for this Nicky then?” the pilot asks, and Nile looks at Joe.

Joe doesn’t answer, can’t speak, wants to get to the base and be left alone for a week – a month – maybe a lifetime.

“I – I don’t think so,” Nile says. “There were not many pods left, and most were damaged, and – and we’ve been up for ten minutes, and –”

She doesn’t finish, but everybody knows what she’s not saying. There was not enough oxygen left for ten minutes. Nicky isn’t coming.

“Sorry,” the first speaker says. “Let’s go, then,” he directs the pilot, and they swerve off. Joe stares to the window, to their floating pods. A boat will come by later, tomorrow or the day after, to retrieve the pods. Somewhere, miles below, is Nicky.

Did he suffer? Did he regret kissing Joe as he died all alone?

Another sobs wrecks through him, and Nile does pull him closer this time, and Joe buries his face against her shoulder as he cries his heart out.

And then suddenly a harsh beeping fills the cabin.

“What the –” the pilot mutters, and the other guy’s voice is hard.

“You said there was nobody else!”

Joe’s heart leaps into his throat.

Nile speaks up.

“We thought – we didn’t know –”

“Could be something else too,” the pilot mutters. “Let’s check.”

The chopper swerves again, and two dots appear as they get closer, but no –

There is a third pod there, and the beacon signal gets louder, almost deafening Joe.

“Joe – Joe, look,” Nile says, and Joe does.

The pod is battered and cracked, an older model by the looks of things. It’s a miracle it made it, any of these fractures look like they could tear the thing in two any second, and –

Nothing.

The hatch doesn’t open, and Joe dies a second time that day. Is it just an empty pod that managed to launch itself somehow?

They get closer, and still no sign of life. The diver is winched down, and he pries open the hatch so agonizingly slowly.

Then they hear his voice through his comms system.

“There is someone in here. Male, unconscious. Twenty-five, thirty, maybe. Brown hair.”

“That your friend?” the pilot asks.

“Yes, maybe,” Nile says, hope dripping from every syllable.

“Older model pod,” the diver continues. “Takes longer to come up. Amazed it even got here, seems to have not been maintained in years.”

The winching up is silent, and it seems to take so much longer than when it was Joe hanging there. Every second is a lifetime.

“He has a mole on his chin,” the diver then says, and Joe doesn’t believe his ears, asks Nile to repeat, but she just hugs him, laughing and crying at the same time.

“It’s Nicky, Joe! It’s him! He made it.”

And then the diver is pulling him in, and it’s Nicky, and he is breathing, and Joe is sobbing again, from joy this time.

The diver puts an oxygen mask on Nicky, and Joe crawls over, cradles Nicky close, kisses his jaw, his hair, his hand.

He’s gonna do that for a long time, if Nicky allows him to. As soon as Nicky wakes up, he will tell him he has loved him since he first saw him, competently bandaging up somebody who had fallen off a ladder, setting a broken bone and wrapping up a deep wound on their temple. He had been talking softly the whole time, reassuring the woman it would be fine, distracting her from the pain, and at the same time managing to keep the woman’s young child calm. He’d been so effortlessly competent and kind and so damn attractive. Joe had introduced himself and Nicky had been adorably shy, and Joe had been hopelessly lost.

And then he’d wasted three years.

And he’ll be damned if he wastes another second.

Nicky opens his eyes, and blinks. Joe smiles, but he must look a freight. And yet, Nicky pulls off the mask, and he mouths Joe’s name, though no sound comes out.

“Nicky,” Joe stutters, and then he decides talking is overrated.

He softly, gently lays his hands on Nicky’s face. He stares into Nicky’s beautiful, beloved eyes, and he bends closer to press his lips on Nicky’s.

There is nothing short about it. They have three years to make up for, and the rest of their life to do it.

#I write things #The Old Guard #JoeNicky #Kaysanova #fanfic

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laufire · 2 years

Photo

[ID: playlist cover showing Meg and Castiel in episode 7x21 of Supernatural. The picture combines two images of them looking at each other in the hospital, after Castiel has referred to Meg saying "all that thorny pain, so beautiful", she tells him to "put up or shut up" and he smiles. The picture is edited to look like an old photograph, and includes the playlist's title in the middle: "6/6/6".]

6/6/6 - a Megstiel playlist

Created for the Megstiel Halloween Fest as a gift to @captain-sodapop. Playlist about Castiel and Meg's story, mainly centred in s7, in three parts: six songs for Castiel, six songs for Meg, and six duets.

Songs list & some lyrics under the cut.

*** CASTIEL'S SIDE ***

I. HEAD IS NOT MY HOME (MS MR).

This space is not my home This head you drowning is not my home Made it out and cut it out Take things slow as we may bruise To reach our unpredictable pass Your heart, your heart understand mine Found in forbidden nights Sharpest loud and place is quiet Know the promises we make Guard now and never again

II. UNLIKELY ANGEL (DOLLY PARTON).

Like the Phoenix From the ash and dirt I rose up from the pain and hurt When I was at my very worst I found you

III. HONEY (HALSEY).

But she stings like she means it She's mean and she's mine

Between my fingers She leaves then she lingers If she's gonna go Well then I'm going with her And I know that I won't forget

IV. HEAVEN FOR EVERYONE (QUEEN).

In this world of cool deception Just your smile can smooth my ride These troubled days of cruel rejection, hmm You come to me, soothe my troubled mind

[...]

Listen - what people do to other souls They take their lives - destroy their goals Their basic pride and dignity Is stripped and torn and shown no pity When this should be heaven for everyone

V. OH, MAKER (JANELLE MONÁE).

Suffering in sinking sand All the hurt See I'm really lost baby We suffered a rare, rare blue So much hurt On this earth But you loved me And I really dared to love you too Perhaps what I mean to say is Is that it's amazing that your love was mine

VI. GOING TO HELL (THE PRETTY RECKLESS).

Father did you miss me? I've been locked up a while. I got caught for what I did but took it all in style. Laid to rest all my confessions I gave way back when. Now I'm versed in so much worse, So I am back again. And he said

For the lines that I take, I'm going to hell! For the love that I make, I'm going to hell!

Gettin' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells.

*** MEG'S SIDE ***

VII. WHAT KIND OF MAN (FLORENCE + THE MACHINE).

You're a holy fool all colored blue Red feet upon the floor You do such damage, how do you manage To have me crawling back for more?

And with one kiss And with one kiss You inspired a fire of devotion That lasts for twenty years For twenty years What kind of man loves like this?

VIII. MATCHES TO PAPER DOLLS (DESSA).

If you're asking, I can't say no Just one more chapter Our book won't close And I know it's madness To play these odds It's like giving matches to paper To paper dolls I know it's madness, I know

IX. FOREIGNER'S GOD (HOZIER).

I've no language left to say it But all I do is quake to her Breaking if I try convey it The broken love I make to her

All that I've been taught And every word I've got Is foreign to me

X. FOOL FOR YOU (ALICE SMITH).

I love him in and out and up and down and round and round and over and over again. So rare they swear that swear that you just don't exist. And its only one person I can think of that makes me feel like this.

I'm a fool, Such a fool, For Youuuuuu!

XI. ABOUT LOVE (MARINA DIAMANDIS).

My head gets messy when I try to hide The things I love about you in my mind

I don't really know a lot about love A lot about love, a lot about love But you're in my head, you're in my blood And it feels so good, it hurts so much

XII. CHASING PAVEMENTS (AITANA COVER).

Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasin' pavements Even if it leads nowhere? Or would it be a waste Even if I knew my place? Should I leave it there? Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasin' pavements Even if it leads nowhere?

*** DUETS ***

XIII. FEVER (DUA LIPA, ANGÈLE).

Before you came around, I was doing just fine Usually, usually, usually, I don't pay no mind And when it came down, I was looking in your eyes Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, I could feel it inside

XIV. ISLANDS IN THE STREAM (DOLLY PARTON, KENNY ROGERS).

Baby, when I met you There was peace unknown I set out to get you With a fine tooth comb I was soft inside There was something going on

XV. AS LONG AS YOUR'E MINE (IDINA MENZEL, LEO NORBERT BUTZ).

Maybe I'm brainless, maybe I'm wise But you've got me seeing through different eyes Somehow I've fallen under your spell And somehow I'm feeling it's up that I fell

XVI. DANCE WITH YOU (LIVE, ANOUK).

The stillness in your eyes convinces me that I I don't know a thing and I been around the world and I've tasted all the wines a half a billion times came sickened to your shores you show me what this life is for

XVII. PERFECT FOR YOU (JENNIFER DAMIANO, ADAM CHANLER-BERAT).

The world is at war Filled with death and disease We dance on the edge of destruction The globe's getting warmer by deadly degrees And this is one fucked up seduction This planet is pretty much broken beyond all repair But one thing is working if you're standing there

XVIII. COME RAIN OR COME SHINE (FRANK SINATRA, GLORIA STEFAN).

You're gonna love me like nobody's loved me Come rain or come shine We'll be happy together, unhappy together Now won't that be just fine?

#megstiel #Megstiel Halloween Fest #Megstiel Halloween Fest 2021 #megcas #megmastersedit #castieledit #supernatural #spnedit #spncreatorsdaily #meg masters #castiel #tvcentric #music #filmtv #userthing #cinematv #femalescharacters #captioned

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thewnchstrs · 3 years

Text

The Usual Suspects

Pairing: Winchester!Sister(OC)

Summary: Sam, Dean and Ellie investigate the murders of a lawyer and his wife who claimed to have seen a ghost right before they died.

Disclaimers: death, angst, swearing, mentions of drug use

Word Count: 9.5K

S E R I E S M A S T E R L I S T

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Baltimore, Maryland

Detective Pete Sheridan didn’t have time for this today. Christ, he hardly had time to pour himself a cup of coffee from the maker in the breakroom. He didn’t have time for the phone calls, the pressure coming down from the higher ups about his cases that were quickly running cold. He didn’t have time to deal with the fucking lunatics in Baltimore, Maryland.

It wasn’t until he saw the intake form printing from the fax machine, his phone balancing on his shoulder where he was drowning out an agent going on about another repeat offender upstate.

“I know, I know,” he said, tapping his fingers on the wooden table. The ancient fax machine whirred as the paper slowly inched out of it until finally Pete snatched it from the machine. The name on the intake form is what made Pete Sheridan stop, reading and rereading the name over and over as if to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. “I’ll have to call you back.”

Now this…this he had fucking time for. He was nearly skipping to the interrogation room. This man, the man they’d all seen plastered on every news outlet over the eastern coast was now sitting in his station. Not Detective Morgan’s, not even that pretentious prick Detective Porter’s. No, this was Pete Sheridan’s moment. He was not going to let this murderer slip through every other crack he’d been able to weasel his way through before.

He kept a calm demeanor as he stood outside the interrogation room, but on the inside, he was doing cartwheels. He smiled at the thought of the team of agents that were probably already swarming the guy’s partners. It was the best fucking day of his life.

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

The news of the arrest swarmed the FBI quickly and within a matter of an hour, the SWAT team ran quickly up the three flights of motel stairs, their guns held low as they followed the woman leading the charge. She motioned them forward, her gun aimed downward as she led them to the room the motel manager was more than willing to give out. Not that she had much say in the matter.

Detective Diana Ballard was no rookie when it came to criminals like these. She’d seen the worst of the worst. The most despicable human beings she’d ever laid her eyes on were while she was working the line of duty. But these three, God, she’d never seen anything like them.

At the sight of the motel room, she turned to the SWAT team members who each held a side of a door breacher, waiting for Detective Ballard’s go ahead. She stood off to the side before nodding. The officers took a step back before ramming the breacher into the wooden door, watching it easily break off its hinges.

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

Inside the interrogation room, Detective Sheridan pulled a chair across from his favorite study who was handcuffed to the table, his hands in his lap. Pete straddled the chair backwards, “Well, first I thought you were just stepping up your game. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, and this one...puzzled me.”

He held up a police report to show the man who didn’t even spare a glance at it, just continued to eye Detective Sheridan who thought back to the officers who told him this guy was a cocky S.O.B. But, now, he didn’t seem so big and bad. This only spurred Pete on, lighting a fire under his ass. “Grave desecration. But still, these are a long way from murder.”

Pete watches to see if the accusation shifts anything in the man, but this guy is hard to read. Even after nearly twenty years in law enforcement, he’d never met such a cold-blooded killer.

“Then we get a fax from St. Louis. Where you're suspected of torturing and murdering a young woman. However, no one could prove anything, of course, because supposedly you died there. But I gotta tell you something,” Pete goes on as he stands from the chair, circling the table until he’s sitting on the edge of it. Dean Winchester keeps his gaze forward and Pete Sheridan smiles, “you look pretty healthy to me. So now we know Karen Giles wasn't the first person you murdered…” He leans in close to the fugitive until he swears he can smell the iron of Karen Giles’ blood on his body, “but I guarantee you she's the last.”

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

Sam and Ellie Winchester instantly throw their hands into the air, their eyes wide as they stood from where they’d been sitting at the small motel dining table. Detective Ballard came into the room, smirking. They finally had three of America’s most wanted and they found them in a City Centre motel.

“Hi Sam, Ellie,” she smiled. “Goin’ somewhere?” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Ellie’s POV

I drummed my fingers over the metal table, sighing as I spun myself back and forth in the chair. I watched through the small window at the top of the door, noticing the faces that spared a look into the room before quickly averting their gazes when I stared them down.

I sat up straighter in the chair when the door suddenly swung opened, a petite, stern looking blonde woman in a pantsuit stepped inside, a large folder under her arm and a coffee cup in hand. She faked a smile before setting the cup in front of me, “Thought you might be thirsty.”

“I’m more of tequila lady myself,” I said, nudging the cup back toward her as I leaned back in the chair, my hands folded in my lap. “So, you’re the good cop. Where’s the bad cop?”

“Oh, he's with your brother,” she retorted.

I clenched my jaw, “Okay. And you're holding us why?”

“Well, he's being held on suspicion of murder,” she said plainly, my eyebrows shooting upward as I leaned forward. “And you…we'll see.”

“Murder?!”

“You sound genuinely surprised. Or are you that good of an actor?”

I opened my hands in confusion, “Who was he supposed to have murdered?!”

The detective smirked, “We'll get around to that.”

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

Sam’s POV

“Well, you can't just hold us here without formal charges!” I nearly shouted, stepping away from the window. This was crazy.

“Well actually, we can, for forty eight hours,” Detective Ballard corrected. “But you being a pre-law student, would know that.”

I recoiled, watching her carefully as she went on, opening the file she’d brought in, “I know all about you, Sam. You're twenty three years old, no job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby, your father's whereabouts are unknown. You have a younger sister, Ellie. And then there's the case of your brother Dean. Whose demise was, well, just a little bit exaggerated. Feel free to jump in whenever you like.” I continued to stare at her, clenching my jaw.

“Shy? No problem. I'll keep going.” She paced the floor slowly as she read. “Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight-A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride. Then, about a year ago, there was a fire in your apartment. One fatality. Jessica Moore, your girlfriend. After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything.”

My fist closed around air as she mentioned Jess. I spoke around gritted teeth, “I needed some time off. To deal. So, I'm taking a road trip with my brother and sister.”

“How's that going for you?”

“Great. I mean...we saw the second largest ball of twine in the continental US,” I said sarcastically, flipping the chair around before sitting in it. “Awesome.”

“We ran Dean's fingerprints through AFIS,” she said then. “Got over a dozen possible hits.”

“Possible hits,” I pointed out, “which makes them worthless.”

The detective leaned forward over the table, her palms flat against its surface, “But it makes you wonder. What are we gonna find when we run your prints?”

“Yeah, well,” I brought down a closed fist onto the table, “you be sure to let me know, alright? May I?” I gestured to the coffee cup.

“Please.”

“Great.”

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

Ellie’s POV

I was standing now, facing the bulletin board in the room, my eyes scanning over the newspaper clippings that praised the officers of the sheriff’s department.

I crossed my arms, shaking my head as she spoke, “Ellie, you seem like a good kid. It's not your fault Dean's your brother. We can't pick our family. Right now, detectives in St. Louis are exhuming a corpse. They're trying to figure out how your brother faked his own death after torturing all those young women. Dean's a bad guy. His life is over. Yours doesn't have to be.”

I turned back to her, narrowing my eyes, “You want me to turn against my own brother?”

“No,” she said calmly. “We already caught him cold. Red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene. We just need you to fill in some missing pieces.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I can talk to the DA. Make a deal for you. You can get on with your life, Sam, too. Dean's as good as gone.”

I stayed silent before coming back to the table, not meeting her eyes as I spoke, “My dad and Tony Giles were old friends. They were in the service together. We've known him since we were kids, you know?” I glanced up at the detective who nodded intently, urging me on. “So we came as soon as we heard about his death.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2 days and 6 hours earlier.

I balanced three coffee cups in my arms, handing them to Sam and Dean before sitting down at the table outside of the coffee shop, “You find anything?”

Dean took the sharpie from his mouth, turning the newspaper toward me, “Anthony Giles.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking the paper where a man’s face was plastered on the front, “Who's Anthony Giles?”

“He's a Baltimore lawyer,” Sam answered. “Working late in his office, check it out.”

I picked up the paper, mumbling as I read the article, “Uh...throat was slit, room was clean…” Nothing really piqued my interest until I got to the bottom. “Huh. No DNA, no prints.”

Dean nodded, urging me on, “Keep reading, it gets better.”

My eyes scanned the rest of the article, “Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant.”

“So, I'm thinking either somebody tampered with the tapes –"

“Or it's an invisible killer,” Sam finished, taking a drink from his coffee.

“My favorite kind,” Dean smirked. “What do you think, Scully? You wanna check it out?”

I folded up the newspaper, gathering the rest of my things, “We have a choice?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Sam’s POV

“Woulda been kinda hard for Dean to kill Tony, considering we weren't in town at the time,” I lied. Detective Ballard watched me closely. I knew what she was doing. She was watching me for any indication I wasn’t being truthful.

“So tell me what happened next.”

I sighed, “Okay, uh, that's when we went to see Karen. She was barely holding it together. We just wanted to be there for her, you know?” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

27 hours earlier.

“Insurance,” Karen mumbled between tears, looking down at the form in her hands. “I totally forgot about the insurance.”

“We're very sorry to bother you right now, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation. You understand,” I apologized. She was a mess, but who could blame her, after what she’d been through.

She wiped at her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater, nodding, “Sure.”

“Okay,” Ellie began, “if you could just tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died.”

Karen shifted in the dining room chair, recalling that night, “Uh, Tony and I were just supposed to have dinner. He called and said he was having computer troubles and that, that he had to work late. That was it.”

“Do you have any idea who could have done this to him?” I asked.

Karen shook her head, “No. No, it's like I told the police, I, I have no idea.”

“Did Tony mention anything, you know, unusual to you? In the days before his death?” Dean asked, guiding her toward the information we needed in order to get to the bottom of what killed Anthony Giles.

Karen narrowed her eyes, tilting her head at him in confusion, “Unusual...”

“Yeah, like strange?”

“Strange?” She echoed.

“You know, Karen, weird? Weird noises, uh, visions, anything like that?” He asked. Ellie cleared her throat, shooting him a warning glare.

“He had a nightmare the day before he died,” Karen recalled. Now we were getting somewhere.

“What kind of a nightmare?” I prodded.

She tightened her sweater around herself, beginning to sound slightly irritated at the questioning, “Uh, he said that he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed, he blinked, and she was gone…I mean, it was just a nightmare.”

Dean, Ellie and I shared a glance before Dean looked back to Karen, “Did he say what she looked like?”

“What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?” She asked angrily.

“Uh, it's just, our, our company's very thorough,” Ellie said quickly.

Karen’s agitated gaze shifted from Dean to Ellie now, “He said she was pale, and she had dark red eyes.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie’s POV

“So I gave Karen a hug, told her to call me if she needed anything and that was it. End of story,” I said. I balanced on the edge of the table, doing everything I could not to show that I was lying through my teeth. Lying wasn’t exactly my strong suit.

Detective Ballard watched me suspiciously before sighing, lightly setting her pen on her file. This obviously wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted something solid, something that’d throw us all in prison for probably the rest of our lives.

“Ellie, I am trying to help you here. But you have got to be honest with me.” She looked up at me now, her voice raising. My heart skipped a beat. “Now we have an eyewitness. Someone who saw three people fitting yours and your brothers’ description breaking into Giles' office.”

“Okay, look, Karen called us later, said that there was some stuff that she wanted from Tony's office, but the police weren't letting her in,” I dismissed quickly. “Like, a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff. Look, it was wrong to enter a crime scene, but she gave us the key!” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

12 hours earlier.

I swiftly picked the lock to Giles’ office later that night, the three of us glancing down the hallway before letting ourselves in. We shined our flashlights over the large office. I walked deeper into the room, noticing for the first time the large bloodstain on the wood, “Hey. Anthony Giles' body was found right about here.” I looked down at the file, reading from the crime scene report. “‘Throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord was visible.’"

Dean whistled at the gory details, “What do you think? Vengeful spirit? Underline vengeful?”

“Yeah, maybe. I mean he did see that woman at the foot of his bed,” Sam said as he sat down at Giles’ desk, picking up a loose paper that was sitting on the glass. His eyebrows furrowed, handing it to Dean. “Take a look at this.”

Two words filled the entire page, from top to bottom over and over again. I shined my flashlight over it, furrowing my eyebrows, “Dana Shulps. A name?”

“I dunno, but it's everywhere.” Dean picked up another loose paper with the same thing. “Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Sam shook his head before glancing down at the glass desk. I followed his line of sight where, under the moonlight, we could see what looked like fingerprint smudges. Sam leaned in close, breathing over the words. DANA SHULPS staring back up at us. Sam sat back in his chair, looking up at me, “Wow. I'd say we've officially crossed over into weird.”

“Maybe Giles knew her,” I suggested.

Dean nodded, “Or maybe it's the name of our pale red-eyed mystery girl.”

Sam sighed before clicking on the monitor of the computer, “Well. Let's see what we can see.”

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

It was hours before we were able to go through every file in Giles’ office. His filing cabinets were filled with documents and even with Dean and I going through each one, neither of us came up with anything of use.

The sound of a cabinet drawer slamming shut made me turn to around in my chair to where Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “There's not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere. There's not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of friggin' Shulps.”

“Would you keep it down?” I hissed, glancing out the of the office’s frosted windows. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re at a crime scene.”

“We’re at a crime scene,” Dean mocked, rolling his eyes. I reached up, punching his shoulder but Dean grabbed my arm, twisting it before putting me into a headlock.

“What have you got, Sammy?” Dean asked casually as I desperately tried to free myself from his grasp, punching at his sides.

“Nothing,” Sam said before shooting him a glare. “Let her go, Dean.”

Dean sighed, releasing me from under his arm. I stumbled backward, panting, “Stop doing that!”

Dean only smirked as Sam went on, “No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years at least.”

“So what now?” I asked, rounding the desk to get as far away from Dean, rubbing the sides of my neck.

“Well, I think I'm pretty close to cracking Giles' password. Maybe there's something in his personal files, you know?”

Dean cocked an eyebrow, “By close you mean...”

Sam shrugged, “Thirty minutes, maybe?”

“Awesome,” Dean droned, checking his watch before plopping down into the chair across from the desk. “So I guess I just get to, uh, hang out.”

I watched as Sam continued to break into the computer as Dean lightly clicked his tongue. My eyes darted toward him as he stared off into space beginning to make fart noises with his mouth.

“Dude, seriously,” Sam groaned, dropping his hands from the keyboard.

Dean instantly stood from the chair, “Alright, I'm gonna go talk to Karen again, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps.”

“Great,” I said.

Dean smirked, shining his flashlight at Sam, “Keep going, Sparky.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam’s POV

“Then Dean went back to Karen's place to check up on her,” I finished, the most truthful thing I’d said all day. “I mean, you know, she had been pretty upset earlier.”

“So why didn't you and Ellie go with him?”

“We just went back to the motel,” I shrugged before narrowing my eyes at her. “How'd you know we were there, by the way?”

Detective Ballard pulled a plastic baggy from the file as if she knew I was going to ask. She held it up in front of me, “We found the motel matchbook on your brother when we arrested him.”

I gritted my teeth, shaking my head, knowing I wasn’t gonna let Dean live this one down. The detective slammed her hand down onto the table, “Let's quit fooling around. Now you were with your brother the whole time you were in Baltimore. Why separate now? Because your brother left you and your sister to go murder Karen.”

“He didn't kill anyone.”

“I heard the 9-1-1 call!” She shouted. “Karen was terrified. She said someone was in the house.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

9 hours earlier.

Dean’s POV

I knocked on Karen’s door twice, calling for her, “Karen, you in there?” I leaned in close to the door, but when I didn’t hear anything from inside, I glanced over my shoulder as I pulled the lockpick from my pocket.

The house was quiet inside. I flicked up the light switch next to the door, but the power refused to come on. I flicked the switch up, down, up, down. Nothing.

This can’t be good.

I glanced around the first floor, not finding much until I made my way up the stairs. I pressed my back up against the hallway, lightly pushing the bedroom door open, my heart sinking at what I found inside. Karen was laying in a pool of her own blood, soaked into the carpet. I sighed as I inched closer inside. Her neck was slashed, just like her husband’s had been. I shook my head at the sight, noticing something familiar at the scene.

The paper was sitting at the opening of the printer. I took it off the tray, reading the words DANA SHULPS over and over again, just like in Giles’ office. “Seriously, what the hell?”

I looked around the paper back down to Karen’s body. I crouched down next to her, noticing the purple bruises and blood oozing from both of her wrists. I gently picked one of them up, examining it when a booming voice came from behind me, “Freeze!”

I instantly whipped around where two officers had their guns trained on me. I threw my hands in the air, silently cursing myself for not just getting the hell out of there when I had the chance.

“Stay on your knees. Hands where I can see them. Now!” The second officer shouted at me, glancing to the officer beside her. “Cuff him.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Detective Ballard’s POV

I sighed as I left Ellie’s interrogation room. These two were some of the most exhausting people I’ve ever had to interview. I made my way through the station before spotting Pete in the viewing room where he was watching Dean Winchester through a pane of one-way glass. He smiled back at me as I came in, sitting on the edge of his desk, “You getting anywhere with him?”

“No. Just a lot of wise-ass remarks,” Pete sighed, running his clasped hands over his lips. “You?”

“Sam and Ellie’s stories match Dean's to the last detail,” I said.

Pete nodded as he stood, “Yeah, well, these guys are good. I'll give 'em that.”

I followed Pete out of the viewing room, down the back hallways of the station, “If we don't get Sam to flip, we have nothing but a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

“Hey. We've got Dean at the crime scene with blood on his hands. Juries have convicted for less,” he pointed out. He was always so confident about these things and, usually, his confidence would convince me, too. But now, I was just questioning myself more and more.

“Yeah, but, I mean, where's the murder weapon?” I asked. “What's the motive? You talk about reasonable doubt-”

“Diana. Do you have reasonable doubt?” He interjected, stopping in the hallway to look at me. I hesitated, making Pete hold my shoulders. “We keep leaning on these guys, one of them will tumble. And don't forget about St. Louis. I'm telling you. This Dean guy is our guy.”

I wanted to believe him, I did. I was always able to trust Pete, but my instincts were something that were never wrong when it came to these situations. I kept following him, “I know Tony Giles was a friend of yours.”

“Yeah. He was, he was a good friend.”

“And I know you want to clean this mess up quick. But come on, Tony knew a lot of criminal types, I mean, maybe we're just-”

“Criminal types?” Pete said, letting out a chuckle as we stopped next to a vending machine, leaning up against it. This was one of the only places we could be alone. “He was a defense lawyer, for god sakes, of course he knew criminal types.”

I looked up at him, a small smile playing at my lips. Maybe I was just being paranoid. I mean, all the evidence stacked against Dean, who else could it be? I sighed, turning back to the interrogation rooms, “All right, let's get back at 'em.”

“No, you know what? Let 'em stew in their juices for a bit,” he said, bringing me back in front of him. He smirked, his eyes darting down to my lips and back up to my eyes. “Come here.”

It was instinct now as I leaned in, kissing him lightly on the lips. I smiled, looking up at him, running a hand over his smooth jaw. Pete gave me one last, reassuring squeeze on my arm before I turned, winking at him before retreating back to work. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean’s POV

“Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps,” I repeated to myself, my eyes closed, willing the words to make some kinds of sense. “Dana Shulps Dana, Dana Shulps...”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Sam’s POV

I pulled the file toward me Detective Ballard had left on the table, flipping it to the back as I wrote out the words: Dana Shulps. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie’s POV

I ripped a few of the articles down from the bulletin board, tearing out letters to form our mystery name. I arranged them on the table in front of me, highly aware of the fact that I probably looked like a serial killer getting ready to make a ransom note.

I stepped back from the table, hands on my hips as I narrowed my eyes, an idea coming to my head, frowning. “Maybe it's not a name.” I began to resituate the letters, holding my tongue between my lips as I worked, mumbling to myself. “Maybe it's not a name.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam’s POV

“Anagram, maybe?” I thought aloud to myself, bringing the pen back down to the folder and began writing.

ANDA SH- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Dean’s POV

“Mr. Winchester?” A voice said, pulling me from my thoughts. I opened my eyes again, looking toward the open doorway where a short man in an oversized suit came in, a briefcase in hand. “I'm Jeffrey Kraus. I'm with the public defender's office. I'm your lawyer.”

“Oh. Thank god. I'm saved,” I said sarcastically as the man sat in the chair adjacent to me. “Hey, could I steal a pen from you? Some paper?”

“Sure,” he agreed, patting his pockets for a pen and then sliding a pad of paper toward me. I instantly began writing, drowning Jeffrey out as he spoke. “Uh, well, the police haven't found a weapon yet. So that's good. But, uh, they got your prints. And literally blood on your hands. And with your police record...” he paused as he eyed me, but I kept writing. “Mr. Winchester? What are you doing?”

“I think it's an anagram.”

“A what?”

“An anagram,” I repeated. “Same letters, different words.”

My eyes scanned what I was able to get from the letters:

DNA SHULPS DAN SHULPAS LAND PUSHAS SUPASH LAND PUSH LANDAS PLUSH DANAS

“Uh, do me a favor?” I asked, pushing the pad of paper toward him. “See if you recognize any of these words, you know, local names, places, anything like that?”

Jeffrey hesitated, “Do you understand how serious these charges are?”

I brought my cuffed hands up, “I'm handcuffed to a table. Yeah, I get it. Humor me. Take a quick look.”

He let out a breath as he grabbed the paper, narrowing his eyes, “Well, S-U-P, I don't know about that,” he began, scribbling out the three letters, “but Ashland is a street name. Not far from here.”

I raised my eyebrows as I pulled the pad of paper back, “A street.”

“Let's start with where you were the night Anthony Giles died,” he said, changing the subject, but I continued to drown him out. I tore the top piece of paper away, writing two separate notes.

“Can you get in to see my brother and sister?”

“Mr. Winchester…you could be facing the death penalty here.”

“Hey, thanks for the law review, Matlock. But. If you want to help me...” I held up the two scraps of paper between my fingers. “I need you to see my brother and sister.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Ellie’s POV

I read and reread the scrap of paper our lawyer had brought to me, saying it was from Dean:

HILTS— IT'S A STREET ASHLAND. -MCQUEEN

I ran my tongue over my teeth as I folded it, looking up at Jeffrey, “I hope that's meaningful. But I'd like to discuss your case now.”

I nodded, gesturing for him to sit across from me, “Sure thing, Matlock.”

Jeffrey let out a low chuckle, “You two really are siblings, aren't you? Now. As you know, the DA might be interested in-”

The door behind Jeffrey suddenly opened. We both looked up to Detective Ballard who stood in the doorway, glancing to me before looking back to our lawyer, “We need you. With the other one.”

Jeffrey shot me a glance and I smiled a tight-lipped smile, “See ya, Jeff.”

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

Dean’s POV

I sat forward against the table; my hands clasped in front of me as I stared down the lens of the camera directed at my face. I glanced up toward the glass in front of me, knowing it was probably packed with onlookers on the other side.

The door opened again, Detective Ballard and Jeffrey coming back into the room. Pete looked back at them, smirking, “Counselor, your boy decided to confess.”

“Mr. Winchester, I'd advise against that strongly,” Jeffrey said.

“Talk directly into the camera, first stating your name for the record,” Pete interjected, obviously giddy that he thought I was getting ready to put this thing to rest.

I smirked as I leaned forward, “My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women.” I looked up to Pete whose jaw was set. “And I did not kill anyone…but I know who did. Or rather what did. Of course, it can't be for sure because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory was that we're looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”

Detective Ballard raised her eyebrows, “Excuse me?”

“You know, Casper the bloodthirsty ghost? Tony Giles saw it. I'll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain't easy,” I said. I could tell Pete was getting fed up, his face turning red. “You know, sometimes the spirits, they, they get things jumbled. You remember ‘REDRUM’. Same concept. You know, it's, uh, maybe word fragments...other times, it's anagrams. See, at first, we thought this was a name, Dana Shulps. But now we think it's a street. Ashland. Whatever's going on, I'll bet you it started there.”

“You arrogant bastard!” Pete boomed. “Tony and Karen were good people, and you're making jokes.”

“I'm not joking, Ponch.”

He came around the table, leaning in close to my face, “You murdered them in cold blood just like that girl in St. Louis!”

“Oh, yeah. That wasn't me either,” I chided. “That was a shape-shifter creature that only looked like me.”

Pete’s jaw clenched as he grabbed me by the collar, throwing me against the brick wall behind us.

“Pete, that is enough!” Detective Ballard yelled at him.

“You asked for the truth,” I groaned against his fist that was digging into my throat.

Pete looked as if he could’ve ripped my head off right then and there. “Lock his ass up.”

An officer flipped me around, shoving me against the wall as he cuffed my hands behind my back. I groaned, praying that Sam and Ellie got the message and that it wasn’t too late for them, at least.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Detective Ballard’s POV

I kept my distance from Pete as we made our way back to the interrogation rooms. I tried to push the picture away of Pete throwing Dean up against the wall. I’d never seen him like that. Pete took Ellie’s door and I took Sam’s, the two of us stepping inside at the same time. However, my eyes widened at the empty room.

“What the hell?!” I heard from next door. I quickly left the room, turning into Ellie’s where Pete stood, looking around questioningly. “Where is she?”

“Sam’s gone, too,” I said, watching Pete as he glanced out the open window.

“What'd they do? The fire escape's way over...what?”

I picked up the unfolded note sitting on the table among scraps of torn out letters. I suppressed a humorless chuckle, handing the note to Pete, shaking my head, “These three.”

Pete cocked an eyebrow, “Hilts and McQueen?”

I nodded, “Hilts is Steve McQueen's character in The Great Escape.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Dean’s POV

The door to the interrogation room opened again. I picked up my head from where it was resting on my hand. It had to have been at least twelve hours that they kept me in this damn room. Detective Ballard came in, carefully shutting the door behind her.

“Can we make this quick? I'm a little tired, it's been a long day, you know, with your partner assaulting me and all.”

“I want to know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier,” she said.

“Time Life. Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up.”

She stopped at the other side of the table, “Let's pretend for the moment you're not entirely insane…what would one of these…things be doing here?”

“A vengeful spirit? Well, they're created by violent deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one,” I said, unsure why she was even asking. “Like revenge on the people that hurt 'em.”

“And uh, these…spirits…they're capable of killing people?” She brought her hand up behind her neck, the sleeve of her suit pulling down slightly.

My face fell as I noticed the dark purple bruises over her wrists. I narrowed my eyes, “Where did you get that?”

She pulled her hand away, pulling her sleeve down. She shook her head in confusion, “I don't know. It, it wasn't there before.”

The fear in her voice was evident now, everything beginning to click into place. “You've seen it, haven't you? The spirit?”

She gulped, “How did you know?”

“Because Karen had the same bruises on her wrists. And I'm willing to bet that if you look at Giles' autopsy photos he's got 'em too, it's got something to do with this spirit, I...I don't know what,” I admitted. Detective Ballard turned away from me, looking at herself in the mirror behind her. “I know. You think you're going crazy. But let's skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing died, pretty soon after. You hear me?”

“You think I'm going to die.”

“You need to go to Sam and Ellie,” I said, making her turn toward me. “They'll help.”

She squinted, rubbing absentmindedly at her bruised wrists, “You're giving your brother and sister up.”

“Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Look for either Jim Rockford or Sarah Nettles- it's how we find each other when we're separated. Now you can arrest them if you want,” I began, leaning forward on the table, “or you can let them save your life.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie’s POV

“So, Ashland, huh?” I recalled, thinking about Dean’s note. “How do you think he figured that one out?”

“Who knows,” Sam said, shuffling the papers in his hands. “But we gotta find out whatever’s there and kill it before-”

A knock on the door interrupted Sam. I furrowed my eyebrows knowing that nobody ever came to our motel unless it was one of the three of us. Sam slowly rose, holding his gun close before pulling the door open in one swift motion. My heart sank at the sight of Detective Ballard on the other side. Somehow, she’d managed to find us, again.

However, there was no SWAT team with her this time, and I could’ve sworn she looked terrified. I rose from my chair, “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help,” she said. Sam glanced around outside before letting her in. We watched as she rolled up her sleeves, revealing the dark bruises on her wrists. “I saw it. I saw the spirit.”

I glanced to Sam before looking back to her, “How do you-”

“Dean,” she said simply, making me nod.

Sam watched her, concerned, “These showed up after you saw it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“All right,” he nodded. “You're going to have to tell us exactly what you saw.”

“Wait,” I interrupted, shooting a glance to Sam. “Can I talk to you?”

Sam watched me confused before following me toward the adjoining kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder, lowering my voice, “Sam…what’re we doing? This woman – that whole police force wants our heads on spikes.”

“So we’re just gonna let her die?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at me when I didn’t answer him. “We’re not letting her die!”

“No, I know, of course not, but…but what are the chances that after this is done, she just throws us behind bars anyway, huh? Dean won’t make it out of there alive, not with what they think he’s been up to.”

“We have to help her,” he said seriously, standing his ground. “We’ll figure all that out later but right now, we’ve gotta help her.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth before turning on my heels toward Detective Ballard who was now sitting at the end of one of the beds, “Okay. What happened?”

“You know, I must be losing my mind,” she shook her head. “You're fugitives. I should be arresting you.”

I dragged my eyes over to Sam, shooting him a silent I told you so.

Sam sighed, looking from me back to the detective, his hands held out in an attempt to defuse the situation, “Well, you know what? You can arrest us later, alright? After you live through this. But right now, you've gotta talk to us. Okay?” She slowly nodded. “Okay, great. Now, this spirit. What did it look like?”

“She was, um, really pale, and her throat was cut, and her eyes, they were like, this deep dark red,” she shivered. “It appeared like she was trying to talk to me. But she couldn't. It was just...a lot of blood.”

“You know what? Here,” Sam said, returning to the table and picking up the stack of autopsy photos we were looking through. Ballard followed us to the table. “We've been researching every girl that's ever died or gone missing from Ashland Street.”

“How'd you get those?” She asked. “Those are from crime scenes and booking photos.”

“You have your job, we have ours,” I said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“Here, I need you to look through these, tell me if you recognize anyone.”

Ballard took the stack from Sam’s hands as she sank down onto the bed next to us. We watched her closely as she shook her head at each picture before landing on one that made her sit up a little straighter. She handed it back to Sam, “This is her. I'm sure of it.”

“Claire Becker?” Sam said, reading her file. “Twenty eight years old, disappeared about eight or nine months ago.”

“But I don't even know her. I mean, why would she come after me?”

“Well, before her death, she was arrested twice. For dealing heroin,” I read, looking back over to her. “You ever work narcotics?”

She nodded, “Yeah, Pete and I did. Before Homicide.”

“You ever bust her?”

“Not that I remember.”

Sam rifled through another stack of papers before pulling out the police report from her disappearance, “It says that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn't find anything…Guess we gotta check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body.”

“What?” Ballard asked in confusion, following us up as we gathered our things.

“Well, we gotta salt and burn her bones,” I said. “It's the only way to put her spirit to rest.”

Detective Ballard let out a short, unamused chuckle, “Of course it is.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

2911 Ashland Street turned out to be an abandoned building just off of the main road into town. We filed into the dark building, staying close together as we shined our flashlights over the room.

“So, what exactly are we looking for?” Detective Ballard asked.

“I'll let you know when we find it,” Sam said as he shined his light over a second level. He turned to me. “Stay with her, I’m gonna go check out the upstairs.”

“You’re gonna leave me with Law and Order over here?”

Sam glared, “Just keep an eye on her, alright?”

“Fine,” I groaned, glancing at Ballard over my shoulder who was examining the room. I peeked around the shelves, under large tarps, anywhere a body could be hidden but so far, nothing.

“You could be a detective, you know,” Ballard said from across the room.

I furrowed my eyebrows, “What?”

“I see a lot of me in you, Ellie,” she said, rounding the room as she came to stand by me. “You’re a smart kid. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

I scoffed, “Yeah, I think that bright light might be hellfire.”

She stopped, eyeing me, “What happened to you, Ellie?”

I narrowed my eyes, “What?”

“Nobody distrusts people like you do for no reason,” she said, making me shift under her watchful eye. “Whatever’s happened to you in the past, it’s in the past. You can’t change it, but you can change where you go from here, Ellie. Just saying.”

I watched as she wandered away, her words running through my mind. I continued glancing around the abandoned room when a loud shriek came from where she’d gone off to.

“Sam? Ellie!”

I was instantly running toward her, dodging between shelves as I skidded to a stop where she was backed into a corner of the basement, her eyes wide. Sam came down a few seconds later, glancing around the room, “Hey! Hey, we’re here, what is it? What happened?”

“Claire,” she breathed out shakily.

I looked around, suddenly feeling the weight of having no weapons since the car was impounded, “Where?”

“She, she was here.”

“Did she attack you?”

“No. No, she was just like, reaching out to me. She was over there by the window,” Ballard pointed as she stepped closer to a large shelf up against the wall, looking back towards Sam and me. “Here, help me move this.”

We pulled the shelf away from the wall where a window was nestled behind it, the words ASHLAND SUP staring back at us. I was just able to make out the rest of the word, squinting: Ashland Supplies. “Our little mystery word.”

“Now the extra letters make sense,” Sam said, pulling out the EMF meter from his pocket. Ballard narrowed her eyes at it as he switched it on, the lights coming to life.

“What is that?”

“Spirits and certain remains give off electromagnetic frequencies.”

“So if Claire's body was here, that would indicate that?”

I shrugged, “Yeah. Well, that's the theory.”

We watched as Sam scanned the room, running the meter up over each wall when finally, he hovered it over the wall behind the staircase, the red lights instantly lighting up. Sam shot me a look as we each picked up two long pipes that laid abandoned on the floor.

We jammed the pipes into the brick, watching them crumble easily to the ground at our feet. We continued hitting the wall until finally, there was a hole just big enough for Sam to shine his flashlight into, “Yeah. Yeah, there's definitely something in there.”

Sam and I continued to hit at the wall. I panted, looking to Sam and Ballard, “You know? This is bothering me.”

“Well, you are digging up a corpse,” Ballard pointed out.

I chuckled, shaking my head, “No, not that. That's, uh, that's pretty par for the course, actually.”

“Then what?”

“It's just, I mean, no vengeful spirit I've ever tussled with wanted to be wasted, so why the hell would Claire lead us to her remains?” I ended up dropping the pipe to the floor, using my elbow to cave the wall in instead. “It doesn't make any sense.”

Sam pushed the last of the bricks from the wall, the hole now big enough to pull out what we hoped to be Claire’s remains, “All right, here. Give me a hand.”

Sam pulled out the body, wrapped in a bed sheet and secured with rope. I grabbed her legs as we gently led her to the floor. Sam took out his pocketknife, cutting through the brittle rope in one go before unveiling Claire’s now skeletal body.

I sighed, shaking my head. Who could do this to a person was beyond me. I watched as Detective Ballard pulled the material of her sleeves back, glancing down at her wrists and to Claire’s. I lightly turned Claire’s hand, nodding, “Her wrists. Yeah, they'd be bruised just like yours.”

Ballard’s eyes shifted then, just a little upward where a silver necklace dangled in between Claire’s exposed ribcage. Sam glanced over at her as the pendant balanced on her fingertips, “That necklace mean something to you?”

“I've seen it before. It's rare. It was custom made over on Carson street,” she said. I furrowed my eyebrows, wondering how she knew so much about it. Ballard reached into the collar of her shirt, pulling out the same necklace Claire was wearing. “I have one just like it. Pete gave it to me.”

I thought about it as I stood, turning around to Sam and Ballard who watched me, “Now this all makes perfect sense.”

“What?” Sam asked, confused.

“Sam, Claire is not a vengeful spirit,” I began, the pieces suddenly coming together at high speed, “she's a death omen.”

“Excuse me?” Ballard said this time, the two of them standing.

“Claire's not killing anyone. She's trying to warn them,” I said, making Sam think. “I mean, sometimes spirits, they don't want vengeance, they want justice. Which is why she led us here in the first place…she wants us to know who her killer is.”

Sam turned to Ballard, “Detective, how much do you know about your partner?”

Something seemed to click in her mind as realization seemed to settle on her features, “Oh my god.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said.

“What?” Sam asked, more sympathetic.

She hesitated before speaking, “About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously, it was a cop. We never found out who did it…but whoever did it would need someone to fence their product.”

“Someone like a heroin dealer,” I said, making Ballard shift her gaze from me. “Somebody like Claire.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean’s POV

The paddy wagon Sheridan threw me into was less than comfortable. My body jostled harshly on the metal bench, the cuffs on my wrist aching as they pulled against the chain attached to my feet. I glanced through the grate separating the front and where Sheridan was silently driving, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“So I'm being extradited to St. Louis, huh?” I asked, but Sheridan kept his beady little eyes straight ahead. “And you just decided to transfer me yourself, eight hundred miles? At two in the morning?” He continued to stay silent, my gut telling me that this was not going to end the way I wanted it to. “This can't be good.”

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

Ellie’s POV

I glanced out of the backseat of Ballard’s car as she spoke into the phone, “All right. Thanks.”

“What is it?” I asked when she hung up the phone.

She hesitated, her eyes darting to me and Sam before speaking, “Pete just left the precinct. With Dean.”

“What?” I asked, eyes wide. I leaned forward in the seat, praying I’d just heard her wrong.

“He said the prisoner had to be transferred, and he just took him,” she said. “Dispatch has been calling but he won't answer the radio.”

“Radio?” Sam asked. “He took a county vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then they should have a lo-jack, you've just gotta get it turned on.” - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean’s POV

We drove for a few more miles before I felt the van swerve off of the road, the terrain becoming rockier. Complete darkness filled the van now that we were away from the streetlights lining the road. I watched as Sheridan threw the van into park.

“Pee break? So soon? You might want to get your prostate checked,” I said. Sheridan killed the engine, sliding out of the front seat. I grit my teeth as I heard him make his way toward the back of the van. “Son of a bitch.” Sheridan pulled the back doors open. “Hey, I'm cool in the van, you go do what you gotta do- “

In an instant, he grabbed me by the shirt collar and pulled me from the trunk, throwing me to the forest floor. I groaned, rolling over onto my knees.

“You're a cocky son of a bitch,” he snarled as he loosened the tie around his neck. “You think those people in St. Louis are gonna buy that crap you're peddling? Here's the thing. You're not gonna make it to St. Louis. You're gonna die trying to escape.”

Pete whipped his gun from his holster, pointing the barrel until it was inches from my face. I stared down it, my heart rate picking up as I brought my cuffed hands up, “Wait! Wait. Let's, let's talk about this. I mean, you don't want to do something that you're gonna regret later.” Pete ground his teeth as he cocked the gun. “Or maybe you do.”

“Pete! Put the gun down!” A voice from behind us called. Sheridan and I whipped around where Detective Ballard held her gun out at him, Sam and Ellie close behind her. I let out a breath of relief knowing they were okay.

“Diana?” Sheridan whispered, confusion lacing his voice. “How'd you find me?”

“I know about Claire,” she said, changing the subject.

Something in Sheridan’s demeanor changed, his posture shrinking a little as he shifted the gun to his other hand, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Put the gun down!” She shouted at him.

“Oh, I don't think so,” he said, glancing back down at me before looking to her. “You're fast. I'm pretty sure I'm faster.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I didn't do anything, Diana.”

Detective Ballard grimaced, “It's a little late for that.”

“It wasn't my fault. Claire was trying to turn me in, I had no choice.”

Sam and Ellie looked to me, hopeless. We had a silent conversation, and I knew what they were thinking. I slowly shook my head. They were empty handed, and Pete was the one with the gun here.

“And Tony?” She asked. “Karen?”

“Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I'm sure he told Karen everything. It was a mess; I had to clean it up. I just panicked!”

Ballard stepped closer, “How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?”

“There's a way out. This Dean kid's a friggin' gift,” he said, jutting the gun in my direction. “We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just, just one more dead scumbag.”

“Hey!” I shouted defensively but quickly raised my hands as he glared, steadying the gun in his hands.

“No one will question it. Diana, please. I still love you,” he begged. I watched as Ballard, our only hope of getting this thing out alive, slowly lowered her gun to the ground. Ellie and Sam’s shoulders slumped at her movements, their eyes darting between the three of us. Pete sighed in relief. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Sheridan turned back to me, but the instant he did, a gun went off. I quickly rolled away, watching as Pete fell to the ground in pain, holding his left leg, smoke still rolling from Ballard’s gun, “Then why don't you buy me another necklace, you ass?”

Pete lunged, grabbing Diana by the knees as he pulled her to the ground, taking her gun from her hands as Sam raced towards her and Ellie raced toward me. He quickly rose from the ground, cocking the gun at them now, shouting a warning of what would happen if they came any closer, “Don't do it! Don't do it!”

He hopped backward on his good leg, training the gun on me, too before looking down at Ballard, but her eyes were trained just behind Pete.

The spirit stood inches from his back, blood spurting from the wounds in her neck as she reached toward Pete. He stiffened as he turned when two gunshots rang out from Ballard’s gun, the bullets entering right into the middle of Sheridan’s back.

We watched as Pete sunk to the ground, and finally, the spirit disappeared, too.

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

Ellie’s POV

Sam, Dean and I watched Detective Ballard where she stood from next to Pete’s body, folding her arms as she came towards us.

“You doin' all right?” Sam asked.

“Not really,” she said honestly before changing the subject. “The death omen. Claire. What happens to her now?”

“Should be over,” I said. “She should be at rest.”

Dean nodded, “So, uh. What now, officer?”

“Pete did confess to me. He screwed up both your cases royally. I'd say that there's a good chance that we could get your cases dismissed.”

We raised our eyebrows in hope as Sam spoke, “You'd take care of that for us?”

“I hope so. But the St. Louis murder charges? That's another story. I can't help you,” she said, glancing to Dean who nodded understandingly. “Unless...I just happened to turn my back, and you walked away. I could just tell them that the suspects escaped.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, she's sure, Sam,” I said, slowly walking backwards before she changed her mind.

“No, it's just, I mean, you could lose your job over something like that,” Sam said, Dean and I sharing a look at the fact that Sam was basically handing the detective the option to take us back into custody.

“Look, I just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I'll sleep better at night,” she reassured. “Listen, you need to watch your back. They're gonna be looking for both of you right now. Get out of here. I gotta radio this in.”

We nodded, turning on our heels before Dean turned back to her, “Hey, uh, you wouldn't happen to know where my car is, by chance?”

“It's at the impound yard down on Robertson,” she said, instantly noticing Dean’s gears in his head begin to turn. “Don't...even think about it.

“It's okay, it's all right, don't worry. We'll, uh, we'll just improvise,” Sam said. “I mean, we're pretty good at that.”

“Yeah. I've noticed,” she smiled softly. We turned away, beginning to walk back down the dirt road when she called out to me. I turned, hands in my pockets. “Remember what I told you, alright?”

My eyes bounced from Sam to Dean and back to Ballard, remembering our conversation at the warehouse, “I will.”

“What was that about?” Dean asked as we turned back around. I shook my head, dismissing it.

“Nice lady,” Sam said.

“Yeah, for a cop,” I agreed. “Did she look familiar to you?”

Sam shook his head, “No, why?”

“I don't know,” I said.

Dean sighed, “Anyway, you two hungry? For some reason I could really go for some pea soup.” I laughed, nudging his shoulder as we continued down the long, long stretch of road.

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

PREVIOUS: NO EXIT

NEXT: CROSSROAD BLUES

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

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EPISODE REWRITE TAG LIST

@nightshade7117 | @strangedeerconnoisseur | @artemisandromedaathena-blog | @itsafreakingtouque | @peterquillzsblog

WINCHESTER SISTER TAG LIST

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*DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS.

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champhangman · 4 years

Text

Bleed Into the Night

Title: Bleed Into the Night Part: Six / ? Characters: Hangman Adam Page x OFC Summary: She wasn’t looking. Neither was he. For a brief flash, they found each other. Word Count: 8,701 Warnings: Explicit sexual descriptions, blood (not from the sex), fighting (not in the sex) Previous: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | A/N: :)

Tagging: @adampage / @cowboyshit / @baylynch/ @lilmisswhiskeygypsy / @bigpixiefoot / @mindofasagittaruis / @kalliravenne / @sadlittlecountess / @baronsbelleevangeline / @brie-mode-activated / @xbreezymeadowsx / @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch / @allizoneme / @heelsamizayn / @what-does-mine-say / @waywardwrestlewritingwaif / @drewshoneybadger / @mysteryoflovve / @knnyomega / @rampagewriting (I HOPE I got everyone)

Six

Serena had stunned him with her question, but Adam recovered in what he thought was record time. He was glad he hadn't been eating or drinking when she'd said the words, or he'd have been choking. Trying his best to ignore the way his cock had hardened at her suggestion, he sucked in a breath. "You mean that?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." She looked away, and he hated the way her lips turned downward. "If you don't want—"

He grabbed her arm and hauled her to him, cutting off the rest of her statement. Arm locking around her waist once she was close enough, he brought his other hand to her chin and gently turned her head so he could look into her eyes. "Oh, I want," he whispered. "I've wanted for weeks, baby."

"Really?"

"Ever since the first time you called me a good boy," he admitted.

Her smile was brighter than the sunshine filtering through the rippling branches of the tree. "That turns you on, huh?"

"One of 'em."

"What else turns you on?"

Her smile. Her lips. Her fingers dancing on his thighs. Her thighs. The way she said his name. "You."

"Adam," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Shut up, it's true," he murmured.

"Adam," she said again, her hands slipping up to his shoulders.

"Serena."

"Kiss me?"

He almost crashed against her mouth as he'd been longing to do for weeks. But he remembered that he wanted to do it right. She deserved the best kiss he had to offer. He released her chin and lightly cupped her cheek then slowly brought his lips to hers. He intended it to be gentle, to draw out every movement, but touching her lips started a fire in his veins.

Her lips were delicious. He'd known they would be. Had fantasized how they would taste thousands of times. He kissed her as though he were drowning, and she was oxygen. It made him drunk, drunker than any amount of alcohol ever could. His hands shook as he held her. He was glad they weren’t standing, because he knew his legs wouldn't have been able to keep him upright. His head was reeling. His pulse was racing. His body burned with longing and need and during the eternity he spent kissing her she held onto him. Like she was drowning, too.

He wanted to taste her everywhere. Needed to find out for sure that every inch of her was as delicious as her lips. Shifting, he moaned when her fingers slid into his hair. He focused on memorizing the flavor of the cookies on her tongue. Felt his hair loosen. Felt her tug at it and whined, guiding her down.

"Was gonna take this slow," he mumbled between kisses, drawing them out so he could attempt to catch his breath. He trailed his lips down the side of her neck, enjoying the little gasps she made.

"This is slow," she pointed out in a whisper. Her hands were still in his hair, fingers flexing, and it occurred to him that he loved it. When, usually, he hated for people to mess with his hair. Her fingers sank deeper into the curls until he could feel her nails lightly digging into his scalp and he moaned against her throat. Felt her tremble beneath him.

Lifting his head, he propped one hand on the blanket next to her shoulder. Her lips were swollen. Her amber eyes had darkened and glittered with flecks of sunlight. With each gasp of breath he could feel her chest push against his. Searching her eyes for any hint of hesitation, he sighed with relief when he found none and dipped his head for another kiss.

She was heavenly beneath him. Soft, plush, warm. The thighs he'd dreamed about late at night wrapped around him and he growled, nipping at her lips, then dragged his hands to the hem of her tank top. She giggled into his mouth when his fingers trailed up her sides, and he sighed with regret as she was forced to pull her hands from his hair so he could pull the top over her head. Leaning back slightly, he snatched his shirt off as well, sucking in a breath as the movement caused his hips to nestle deeper between her thighs.

He could feel the heat of her, and his hips gave an instinctive roll. Her little moan caused his cock to jerk. Her fingers brushed down his chest, swept over his abdomen. He gulped for air when she lightly dug her nails into the soft layer of fat over his abdomen and met her eyes again.

"I like this," she said, biting her lip. "You're such a gorgeous man, I like that you're not too perfect, y'know? And I know you get a little insecure about it…"

She did? How?

"But I love it."

The words were pure exhilaration rippling throughout him. "You do, huh?"

"I really do," she murmured, flattening her palms over his abdomen. "Makes you soft and cuddly. Especially this week when you've held me every night."

"You know what, Dimples?" he asked, leaning down for yet another kiss.

"Yeah, Cowboy?" she whispered.

"I like soft and cuddly, too."

"I got plenty of that," she murmured. But there was no self-deprecation. Just…

Happiness, he decided, sinking into her as their lips and tongues melded again. She was happy. And even though there was a tiny voice in the back of his mind saying it wasn't because of him, he liked to think it was. Not all of it. But maybe a little. Breaking the kiss on a gasp, he resolved to do everything he could to keep making her happy.

"Adam…"

"I wanna taste you," he said by way of explanation, inching his way down to her chest. Her breasts were still confined in her bra. Brushing kisses over the tops until she was gasping, he hooked his fingers in the soft purple lace and dragged it down, lips closing around her nipple. Her whines and moans were music to his ears as he suckled and licked and nibbled, fingers pinching and rolling and pulling the other nipple. He made sure to switch, to give both delicious parts of her body the same amount of attention.

God, but he didn't want to move from between her thighs. Didn't want to pull away from the heat pressed tight against his cock. He rolled his hips, pushing tighter, and would have sworn he could feel her growing damp. Her fingers were in his hair again, tugging, but ignored the pull and leaned back, hands reaching almost frantically to remove her shorts. She gave a little squeal of surprise and he froze, fearing he'd gone too far.

"Okay?" he asked, hands splayed at her hips.

"We're outside," she hissed.

Adam blinked and slowly looked around. The sweeping branches of the willow concealed them. He could just see the rest of the lawn through the leaves. He knew that on either side of the lawn was a line of towering trees that blocked out any possible nosy neighbors. Looking down at her, he drew in a deep breath. "You wanna go inside? Can't nobody see us."

She licked her lips and he was briefly distracted, wondering how her tongue would feel on his body. Then she spoke and he had to hurry to catch up to what she was saying. "…Tony doesn't have cameras in the trees?"

His brain, foggy with lust, spun to comprehend the full question, then spun harder to remember what Tony had told him about security. The alarms, the security lights. And… "No. Just a camera on each door of the house and the one at the end of the driveway."

Serena swallowed. He watched her throat work, this time imagining it work to swallow him. "Okay."

He eased his grip on her hips and began tugging at her shorts. His eyes didn't know what to look at. Her eyes, which were even darker with passion. Her lips, swollen and damp. Her breasts, swelling with each breath. Her nipples, tight little peaks. She reached down and there was a delicious tangle as she wriggled to help him rid her of the shorts. Before he could even get a glimpse between her thighs, though, she was tugging at his shorts and he enjoyed that tangle, too, hands clapping over her thighs when she jerked his boxer briefs down and cupped her hand around his cock.

"I ain't finished tasting you," he protested, even as he shivered and moaned at her touch.

"What?" she asked, blinking up at him in surprise.

He leaned down, hissing as his dick slid between her thighs. Her pussy was wet. He shifted his hips, moaning into her mouth as her hand guided his cock to rest at her slit. "You think we're gonna go this far without me eating your pussy?" he asked, forcing his hips back.

"I figured so, since no one else has ever done it," she said.

Adam froze. Lifted his head slightly so he could look into her eyes. "What?"

"No one's ever gone down on me," she murmured, cheeks darkening.

"Are you fucking – Are you kidding me?"

"Yeah, like I'd lie about that," she muttered. She gave her head a shake. "It's not a big deal, Adam—"

"The fuck it ain't. You're telling me you're…" He paused. "How old are you?"

She snorted on a laugh. "Twenty-four."

"You're twenty-four years old and never got eaten?" A thought occurred to him and he cleared his throat. Somehow managed to keep his tone soft for his next question. "Are you a virgin?"

"No. I've done a lot of things, but…" She shrugged. "Never had a man that wanted to."

"You've got one now," he promised, dipping to give her a quick kiss.

"You don't have to—"

"Yes I do."

"No, really, you don't. I know most men hate—"

"Please don't tell me about other men you've been with that refused to go down on you," he groaned. He didn't like thinking of her being intimate with others. Hated the thought that she'd done a lot of things – he made a mental note to ask her about those things later – but no man had seen fit to give her ultimate pleasure.

"Sorry," she said faintly. Then she huffed. "You're not gonna tell me about all the women you've been with that you've gone down on, are you?"

"No." He rained kisses down her chest. Made sure to press tender kisses to her stomach, to the softness he knew was one of her bigger insecurities. And over her hip. He licked his lips as the scent of her arousal filled his senses. "They don't matter, okay? Just us."

"Just us," she echoed, and he heard the smile in her voice. Her hands slipped down, covering his and giving a quick squeeze.

***

Serena dragged in a shaky breath and forced her body to relax while his hands guided her thighs apart. It was ridiculous that she was so nervous about him going down on her. Just because he was the first man to ever do it didn't mean she had to be all anxious and jittery. She wasn't a virgin, for crying out loud. And yet, beneath his gentle but firm fingers, she felt like one. It was as though no other man had mattered.

Maybe they hadn't, she thought, shivering when his breath fanned across her inner thighs. Then it was between them, coursing over her.

"Fuck," she gasped as a finger glided along her slit. His hand slid to her thigh and she bit her lip in anticipation, another gasp sucking from her lungs at the first touch of his tongue.

He wasn't hesitant. His tongue moved in broad, smooth strokes. She felt her pussy clench, heard a soft moan from him. She'd been grasping the blanket but let it go, needing to feel him, to touch him, and sank her fingers into his unruly curls. He pushed her thighs further apart, his tongue still flat against her slit. Above her gasping she could hear him slurping and moaned, head falling back, as the tip of his tongue began to probe.

She lost track of time while he seemed focused on consuming her. His tongue worked steadily, alternately working in steady licks and rapid flicks. It circled her clit then dipped down, slipping inside her, sucking noisily. Each time her pussy flooded his tongue was there to catch it and he was moaning appreciatively, as though she were some decadent dessert meant to be savored. She felt overheated, felt beads of perspiration on her skin, felt the tightening heat in the pit of her belly that she recognized.

"Adam," she whined, tightening her hold on his hair.

His tongue glided upward, circling her clit before fluttering over it. When her thighs began to squeeze he held them down, fingers digging into her flesh, and she released a soft cry as the heat spiraled tighter. He gave her clit a hard suck, his deep moan sending shockwaves through her, and when she began to writhe he dipped to press his tongue at her entrance. She wasn't sure what was louder, her whines and moans or the sounds of him slurping down every drop. When his tongue plunged inside and curled, seeking, she arched, shrieking. Pleasure ripped through her, stunning her into silence with its intensity.

She pushed at his head, sobbing, whimpering with relief when his mouth released her. Panting, trembling, she could only hold onto his hair, whining with each delicate lick he gave her pussy. And when his lips pressed to her hip she released a shuddering breath.

"Oh my god," she gasped, pulling her shaking fingers free of his hair. Bringing her hands up to her face, she was surprised to feel the wet of tears and pressed her palms over her eyes, another ripple of delight rolling through her as Adam guided her legs from over his shoulders.

"You're okay," he whispered, lying over her. He gently pulled her hands from her face. Guided her arms around him. "Serena, baby, look at me."

She did, breath stuttering at the intensity in his blue-green eyes. His neat beard glistened slightly in the light and she sucked in a breath. "Adam…"

"Shh," he soothed, hands softly cupping her cheeks. "Breathe, Dimples."

"I'm trying," she promised with a shaky laugh. She felt too weak to hold onto him but curled her fingers into his back. "That was… Jesus, Adam…"

"I know," he murmured. He stayed over her, not shying away when she tipped her head for a kiss while faint tremors still rippled through her body.

She enjoyed the taste of herself mingled with the taste of him and sighed, languid, pressing her face into he crook of his neck. Listened to his soft, reassuring words. Heard the whisper of the breeze through the branches around them. Enjoyed the weight and feel of him over her while her body calmed.

He shifted so he lay next to her, propping up on one elbow so he could look down at her. "You need anything?"

She shook her head. "Just give me a few minutes, okay?"

He chuckled. "Take all the time you need, baby."

Slowly, she rolled onto her side so she faced him, sighing as hand gently massaged her shoulder and arm. He stroked her side. Her hip. Her thigh. He guided her close to him, palm and fingers kneading her back. His touch was soothing, relaxing. Loving. The thought made her smile. She wasn't quite sure if it was just her post-orgasm glow or not, but she had the sudden inkling that she was starting to fall for him.

Sex with him would mean something. And she wasn't sure she was ready for that. She didn't know if she could handle that something just yet. She didn't know for sure that it would mean the same thing to him. And if it didn't, she wasn't sure she could handle that it meant something to her and not to him. Because she would know as soon as they finished if he felt the same something she did or not.

"You having second thoughts?" he asked softly, and she wondered when he'd gotten so good at reading her.

"No…"

"You're a shitty liar, Dimples."

"I just—" She scowled. "I'm not lying."

"You just what?" he murmured.

"I don't want to come across as some selfish bitch. Like, hey, I came, tough luck for you, you know?" Frowning, she shivered when his fingertips trailed from her shoulder to her elbow. "But this isn't really baby steps, is it?"

"It's okay," he said, smiling faintly. "I can get myself off."

She'd like to see that. She wanted to see how he touched himself. Wanted to know if he was slow or gentle or hard or fast. Then, suddenly, she didn't. She wanted to do it for him. "I'll get you off, Cowboy."

"Dimples—"

"You ate my pussy like a starving man, the least I can do is give you a hand in return." She sat up, licking her lips. "Or my mouth, if you prefer."

"Jesus," he muttered, closing his eyes briefly. "I ain't gonna complain either way."

"Lay back," she said, gathering her hair into a ponytail. Her scalp was damp with sweat. Her whole body was. Watching him stretch out on the blanket, she couldn't help the way her lips curved into a smile. "Good boy."

"Why do I feel like you're gonna say that every time you want me to do something?" he asked, pulling his hair back with a groan.

"Wouldn't I say it after you do something I want you to?" she countered, letting her eyes sweep along his body. It wasn't fair, she thought, that he was beautiful and had a great physique. It wasn't fair that his arms and thighs were thick and his hair shone and his eyes glittered. It wasn't fair that, even after weeks of seeing him, she wasn't accustomed to his good looks. And she wondered if the Greek and Roman gods and goddesses hadn't been ethereal figures, but instead had been men and women too stunning for normal looking people to believe. If that were so, she would understand completely, because even before he'd given her an orgasm she'd had difficulty believing he was as magnificent as he was.

"Dimples?"

"Yeah?" she sighed, watching the mottled sunlight dance across his chest.

"Thought I lost you there for a minute."

"No, no, I'm still here," she promised. "Just thinking how beautiful you are."

He grinned. Shook his head. "Stop stroking my ego, ma'am."

"And start stroking something else?" she teased, fastening the band to hold her ponytail and moving to kneel between his thighs.

"I'm not that much of an asshole," he sighed.

"No," she agreed, trailing her fingers along hair-roughened flesh. She felt his muscles tense beneath her touch and did it again, watching her fingers glide over the fine curls that scattered his thighs. Moving her gaze up to his face, she let them dance over the soft cotton of his boxer briefs then hooked them in the waistband and tugged. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"

"Trying real hard to be," he said, throat working jerkily.

Keeping her fingers curled in the waistband, she dragged her eyes downward, admiring the way his cock lay against his abdomen. She lowered her head to lick the wet from the tip. Heard the air hiss between his teeth and did it again. She wanted to be languid, to take her time exploring and learning how he liked to be touched but felt such a thrill when he moaned that she took the tip into her mouth. Enjoying the tang of him on her tongue, she pulled her hands from the bunched cotton and began stroking him gently.

"Fuck," he moaned.

His hand covered one of hers and squeezed, and she heard his shaky breath when she adjusted her grip. When she began stroking him harder his hand slid to her cheek, and as his fingers slid into her hair, she closed her eyes. She opened them immediately, though, because she wanted to look up the length of his body and see what she could of his face. Sucking more of him into her mouth, she watched his teeth clamp his bottom lip and felt a surge of command when his head tipped back.

He moaned. Gasped. Hissed. His hand stayed gentle in her hair but she could feel his fingers trembling against her scalp. That surprised her, because she had expected him to pull on her head, and she was warmed at the thought that he trusted her to please him without guidance.

She lifted off with a soft gasp when he released a long, deep, guttural moan. Overhead she heard the chatter and fluttering wings of startled birds.

"Don't stop," he panted, raising his head. "Please—"

"I've got you," she promised, guiding the tip of his cock into her mouth again. Focusing on it with her tongue, she stroked harder and felt him swell. His fingers scrabbled deeper into her hair, twisting almost painfully, and she watched in awe at his eyes snapping shut. His mouth stretched so tight it looked like a pained grimace, upper lip pressed white against his teeth, and she felt euphoric when he came. A series of garbled shouts filled the air around them. His hips lifted and his stomach sucked in, his face disappearing as he filled her mouth.

She swallowed, easing her strokes and the flickers of her tongue while he collapsed back. Pinpricks of pain scattered her scalp when his hand dropped, dragging several strands of her hair with it, but she focused on catching every drop and then on licking him clean, his high-pitched gasps ringing in her ears as she slowly sat up.

"Fuck," he panted, arm flopping across face.

Serena allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction and reached for the glass of tea next to the picnic basket. After taking a gulp, she wiped her chin with her palm and tentatively laid next to him. Unsure if he wanted to be touched anymore, or even if he wanted her at his side, she hesitated, delightfully surprised when he caught her and dragged her close. She rested her head on his damp chest, breathed in the scents of sweat and sex that mingled with his cologne and shampoo. Curling close, she kept her touches light, occasionally pressing kisses over his pounding heartbeat.

After several long moments he gently tugged until she scooted up, his lips meeting hers in a tender kiss. He didn't speak, so neither did she, content to lie with him.

And knew that it had all meant something to him, too.

***

Head tipped back, Serena held her breath out of habit as the makeup artist applied her eyeliner. She knew her makeup was almost done and it only increased her anxious energy, but she kept herself as still as possible so it wouldn't have to be redone. The fact that her phone kept chirping with incoming messages didn't help. She didn't know for sure, but she had an inkling they were from Adam. He tended to text in strings as opposed to sending long paragraphs. Not that she minded, because it was like getting his thoughts as they came to him, and she loved reading or hearing his thoughts.

She loved…

"All done, sugar."

"Thanks so much," Serena gushed, sitting upright and looking to her reflection. Admiring the shade of eyeshadow and how it perfectly matched her new gear, she reached for her phone and snapped a quick selfie before hopping out of the chair. She still had to change. The show was about to start, and there were still a million things to do before she made her entrance.

For the main event.

She pinched herself again. Nope, still not a dream.

"Hey, Mermaid, I found this loser hanging around…"

She whirled at the sound of Cole's voice. Felt a rush of giddiness at the sight of Adam. It had been over two weeks since they'd been together in the same room, and her heart tripped over itself a thousand times in the seconds it took her to meet him in the hallway, a silly giggle rising when she saw he was grinning. "You came," she breathed in surprise, stepping into his arms for a brief hug. "You're really here."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he murmured. His arms squeezed, and she felt his cheek against her hair. "I know you ain't got long, I just wanted to see you before I went to get in my seat."

"I've got a few minutes," she promised, pulling back and reaching for his hand. Two weeks of FaceTime and texting and phone calls hadn't been enough. She had missed the man. Missed his laugh in her ear and his warmth around her and his arms holding her. And, even if she'd only had one full day of them before he'd had to leave, she'd missed his kisses, too. Guiding him to a quiet nook, she leaned against the wall and stared at him. "Hey."

"Hey," he said with a grin. "You're not dressed yet?"

"I'm going to do that in a minute." He was really there. She wanted to know how he'd managed to make it happen, but at the moment she was content just to look at him. To just breathe in his scent and be calmed by the knowledge he was there.

"You okay?"

Serena nodded, even as she sucked in a shaky breath. Her hands twisted and she felt her knuckles crack. "Just a little nervous," she finally whispered. She was still awed that the match was going to happen. Had pinched herself when she had been taken aside earlier and told the outcome, which hadn't been decided until fifteen minutes before she'd gone to get her makeup. And now time was speeding by and she had to get ready to perform. Added to that was the fact that Adam was truly there, prepared to root for her like the good boyfriend he was turning out to be.

Even though she still worried. He hadn't brought up sex again after that afternoon at the lake. Hadn't even attempted anything beyond kisses that night, when she had thought in the back of her mind that if he'd asked she would have said yes. But she'd held back, fretting that she wasn't pretty or skinny enough for him to truly want her. Because no matter what he said, no matter the words that had brought tears to her eyes, she had an inkling he would have no trouble finding someone better than her to lie under him.

But if he felt that way, would he still reach for her hand when they were near each other? Would he still put his arm around her shoulders anytime she stood next to him? Would his lips find her forehead for those sweet kisses? Would he smile when he caught her looking at him? Would he hug her so fully and gently? If he didn't think she was even almost good enough, would his pinkie hook around hers every time their hands bumped?

Oh, how she needed a hug now, she thought, twisting her fingers until her knuckles cracked again. She could hear his voice but the words didn't register and she suddenly reached out, grasping his arm.

"Can I have a hug?" she blurted. She stomped right into the middle of whatever statement he'd been making but at the moment she didn't care. She just needed his arms around her. To feel his warmth and strength and that sense of comfort. That comfort she was just starting to admit to herself she'd never found in anyone else's arms.

She watched the flash of confusion ripple across his face. His lips ticked up into that warm smile she was growing to love, and his eyes softened with understanding.

"C'mere," he murmured, spreading his arms.

She stepped into them gratefully, turning her head so her makeup wouldn't smear on his shirt. Her shirt, she realized suddenly, recognizing the outline of her face with the swoop of neon pink hair on the front of the black shirt. It almost made her want to cry.

Serena sighed, wrapping her arms around his middle and holding tight. Breathing in his scent, she squeezed her eyes shut when his arms tightened. She felt his chin rest on the top of her head, felt his deep sigh that matched hers. Her fingers curled against his back and she gave the shirt a slight tug. Just enough to free it from his jeans. Just enough to slip her hands beneath so she could feel the heat of his skin. Selfish, she knew, but she'd grown addicted to that warmth in those days he stayed in her apartment. She would never admit it to him, but she hadn't washed the case on the pillow he'd used until his scent had dissipated. Had held it close each night to get the same comfort holding him had brought.

She flattened her hands on his back and held on, inhaling deeply and releasing it slowly. Feeling the stress and worry ebb with her breath. His hands moved in slow circles, caressing her as he brought her even closer.

She could have stayed there all night in his arms. Would have been content to hold and be held. To hear his heartbeat directly beneath her ear. To feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. To soak up the comfort and warmth he was so freely offering.

"Okay?" he whispered.

She nodded, squeezing her eyes tighter at the feel of his lips against the top of her hair. "Sorry," she said, slowly pulling her hands from beneath his shirt and attempting to tuck it back into place. Lifting her head, she opened her eyes, breath leaving in a shaky gasp when his hand raised and his fingers swept over her cheek. "Sorry."

"I'm ain't gonna complain about a hug from you, Dimples."

Her lips pulled into a smile. She knew he spotted her dimple when his eyes lit up, which only made her smile harder. "You always know just what to say, Cowboy."

"Only with you," he murmured. His fingers grazed her cheek again. "Only with you."

She hoped that were true. God, she really hoped he meant that. She heard someone approaching and knew she had to hustle to get ready for her match. "I better go. I still have to change."

"I'm still pissed you won't let me see it before you go out," he muttered. He leaned to kiss her forehead, lips lingering for a few seconds. "But I understand. I better get out there so I can see every detail."

She opened her mouth to say she would look for him. But would that be too much? She didn't care. "I'll look for you."

"I know you will, Dimples." He cupped her cheek, forehead resting against hers. "Knock 'em dead, baby."

"You fucking know it." Relaxed now, and happy, and excited and joyful and, she realized as her heart did a series of somersaults, a little bit in love.

***

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"What?"

"How the fuck is this inconspicuous?" Adam gestured at the ringside seats. The only thing between them and the ring was a thin barricade and about seven feet. If he sneezed, people in the ring would probably feel the air ripple. Remembering that he was standing in front of someone, he muttered an apology, faintly recognizing the woman as Finn's wife, moving out of her way.

"Sorry, man, but I got my orders." Cole shrugged and slid into a seat, then patted the empty one next to him.

"Your boss don't want me sitting here where everyone can see," Adam grumbled, sitting down and situating himself. He'd been perfectly content in the seat he'd had earlier in the show. Where he could watch without being obvious. But when one of the security staff had tapped him on the shoulder and told him Cole wanted him to sit closer during Serena's match, he'd complied. Mainly to shut his friend up, but also because he did want to see Serena in action up close. "They're gonna point a camera at you, aren't they?"

"Of course." Cole smoothed his shirt. "Everyone knows I helped train her when she started at the PC. Everyone knows I'm one of her closest friends in the company. That I'm like her brother. That—"

"Stop before I puke," Adam sighed. It would be alright, he told himself. Besides, he was wearing regular clothes. Serena's new shirt and jeans. His hair was pulled up. He even had his glasses on. Feeling an ache beginning in his back, he groaned. He'd slouched down. He pushed himself up in the chair, leaning close to his friend while the video package continued to play. "Do you know if she's gonna win?"

"Yeah."

Adam blinked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"She's—"

"Hunter wouldn't tell me. Said I'd have to wait and see."

"She wouldn't tell you?" Adam grunted in frustration. "Then how can you know she's gonna win?"

"Because it's time for her to win." Cole took out his phone. "Besides, she's like my little sister. I have to believe she's gonna win."

The package ended and Adam blinked as the lights came up. The crew members that had been switching out the canvas in the ring were gone, and he looked on while a referee came out, then as the announcer approached the ring.

"Cowboy shit!"

Adam couldn't help but grin as the chant rose in volume. But he made a slicing motion across his throat, shaking his head, in hopes they would stop. Next to him Cole laughed.

"Hunter's pissed," he announced with glee, leaning to show Adam his phone.

Adam read the words on the screen and laughed. "They showed me on camera?"

"Apparently. Or at least enough for people to know who you are."

Adam felt a twinge of guilt. This was Serena's big match. Granted, all her matches were her big match. She treated a warm-up match before the show with the same reverence and dedication as she would a main event. But this was the big match. Her first pay-per-view main event. And it was for the title. He didn't like the feeling that his being spotted in the crowd may have taken some of the spotlight from her. Where it firmly belonged.

"He wants you to move," Cole said as the chants finally began to die down.

"Fuck him," Adam snorted. "I'm here to watch my girl kick ass. Tell him he can suck my left nut."

Cole opened his mouth to respond, then bent to tap on his phone.

"You motherfucker," Adam growled, leaning to make sure his friend wasn't telling the man exactly what he'd said. Seeing that Cole had merely sent a message saying the match was starting and he had to pay attention, he relaxed and turned his attention to the stage just as the lights went down.

She'd told him little about the plans for her entrance. Only that it was going to be amazing. Ripples of light danced across the crowd before shifting and focusing their beams on the entrance ramp. Through his peripheral vision he could see pinpoints of light from phones, like a blanket of stars across a midnight sky. Choral chanting began softly and Adam leaned forward in his seat, watching as figures moved to line either side of the ramp. He recognized the melody of the chanting as her entrance theme and was almost startled out of his seat when the chanting gave way to a guitar solo.

The guitarist was at the head of the ramp, playing out the main portion of her theme, smoke billowing around until they were concealed. The guitar stopped and the chanting began again, and he felt the ripple of excitement in the crowd as the lights changed from white to purple. Her theme kicked in fully, the lights swung over the audience, and when they returned to the stage there she was, stepping through the smoke, wearing a robe just like the figures along the ramp.

She strode down the ramp in time to the music, stopping halfway as the robed figures circled her. When they moved away the plain robe was gone and Adam felt his breath hitch when he saw the pink leather jacket over her new gear. No wonder she'd told him it was going to be a surprise. If he'd seen her wearing it backstage he wouldn't have been able to speak. Even now he could feel his throat going dry. She'd finally ditched the long pants and concealing top. Her thighs were on display, as were the rest of her delicious curves, the bright pink contrasting so perfectly with her sun-kissed skin and matching her hair.

"Damn," he said, eyes on her as she circled the ring. She stopped almost in front of he and Cole, her eyes focusing on him. One corner of her mouth tilted into a slight smile, and he returned her wink before she turned to go up the steps. "…Damn."

He barely noticed the champion's entrance. All he could focus on was Serena as she spoke to the referee and lightly bounced in place. Blinking when the dizzying lights ceased and the lights above the ring became bright, he felt his knee begin to bounce with excitement as the announcer introduced each competitor.

She was definitely over with the crowd. Both of them were, the thunderous cheers for each almost the same volume and just as enthusiastic. He reached for his phone while she shrugged off the jacket, and had his breath snatched away yet again. He noticed the time. Saw that it was over thirty minutes left for the match. Remembered her saying it was going to be fucking amazing. He could see the excitement in her eyes as the bell was struck to begin the match and knew that his face showed the same excitement.

It was beyond fucking amazing.

There was a slow start, each woman seeming to feel the other out as they circled the ring. Until Serena stopped and motioned for Shayna to come at her. She did, slowly, extending one hand as a show of good sportsmanship. Serena looked to the hand with curiosity, then revulsion, one foot flying up to kick it away.

Strikes. Kicks. The action was fast-paced, both women moving fluidly and with speed, until they locked up and Serena threw Shayna with a Northern Lights. Adam joined in the applause and cheering. He cheered for them both, appreciating the talent and charisma, and letting himself just be a fan of good wrestling.

His breath hitched when Serena was sent over the top rope to the floor and he rose with everyone else, not realizing then that he wouldn't be sitting down for the rest of the match. He had always enjoyed Serena's selling, how she wasn't overdramatic about it, and even made him think she was legitimately hurting from a well-executed move. And he loved that both women were able to tell the story of their friendship and rivalry, emotion closing up his throat when Serena blocked a move and countered with the same move then retreated to the corner and covered her face with her hands.

His heart stopped when she climbed onto the top turnbuckle. And when she threw herself into a moonsault his heart soared through the air with her, landing with a juddering crash that rattled in his chest.

And when she rolled out of the ring after breaking out of a submission hold, he sensed that she wasn't going to win. Half the crowd was joining in the count of the referee, the other half was clapping rhythmically until she dragged herself up and crawled onto the apron. She slid beneath the rope just at the count of nine.

Maybe she was going to win after all? He honestly didn't care one way or the other.

The rest passed in a blur that stopped when an elbow to the face left her with a bleeding lip. It sped up again, and Adam knew he would have to watch it over again later because one moment she was knelt in the corner, the ref leaning over her, blood staining her chin and neck. And the next, she was charging forward, then going for the pin.

One. Two. Three.

The arena erupted. Adam couldn't even hear the bell ringing, or her music kicking on. Only the roar of the crowd.

He loved her.

Staring as she knelt in the center of the ring, he could feel the emotion radiating from her. Serena the person held her head in her hands because she had achieved a dream. Had, somehow, made those in charge believe in her enough to give her the gold, and couldn't believe it was happening. Was so overcome that she had to hide her face so the world couldn't see her tears. Serena the character was overwhelmed because she had finally done it, had finally proven the naysayers wrong. Had finally shown them all that she was the badass she said she was.

Adam wasn't sure what was louder. The pulse and blood rushing in his ears or the crowd, overcome and ecstatic from a stellar match. He heard his own voice cheering for her. And when she finally accepted the belt from the referee, he felt the heat of tears in his eyes.

He loved her.

The understanding hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him winded and able to only stare as she celebrated her victory. He felt Cole's hand on his shoulder, heard his friend shouting with happiness, but couldn't articulate a reply. Could only watch her while confetti rained down and she clutched the belt to her chest.

Then, suddenly, she was rolling out of the ring. Moving closer. Towards Cole.

Towards him.

Bits of confetti clung to her cheeks, streaked with her tears. There was a glow in her eyes that he wished he could have put in them. Without thinking, he cupped her face in his hands and gently brought her close. Pressed his forehead to hers, her soft gasp of his name drowning out the fans around them.

"I love you," he whispered before catching her lips in a tender kiss.

***

He'd wanted to savor the liquor and enjoy the extended night with their friends. He'd wanted to spend hours in the bar celebrating her win before taking her back to the hotel where they could celebrate in private. But, seeing the way her eyes glittered after each kiss, he found himself downing the whiskey in one gulp. It burned and he hissed, turning to signal to the bartender that he wanted another. They'd have another drink then he'd guide her to the exit.

He felt buoyant, as though he had been the one that had won the match. As though he were a new champion. He was giddy, he was grinning, and each time he stole a kiss he felt his heart soar. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so happy, so not anxious about what was to come.

Fresh drink in hand, he slipped his arm around her and pulled her to his side while walking her away from the bar. Hailed by Keith and Finn, he guided her in that direction, making sure she took a seat at their small table before dragging a chair over for himself. He could tell the conversation would become lengthy and kept a hand on her thigh, occasionally squeezing so she would know she was still at the forefront of his mind.

Then, suddenly, he felt her stiffen. It was brief, but he knew it had happened. He knew she wasn't bothered by talk of being busted open during a match, otherwise she wouldn't be talking about her own recent injury, or pulling out her bottom lip to show the little gash she'd just gotten a couple of hours before.

Except she wasn't talking anymore. Her voice had faded and so had she. He could feel her shrinking back in the chair. Felt her trying to make herself invisible. Turning to ask her what was wrong, he felt the words lodge in his throat as his gaze landed on a figure walking towards the table. The man was vaguely familiar. Adam couldn't recall his name but knew their paths had crossed at some point.

"What's up?" he greeted, stopping at the table. His icy eyes landed on Serena.

Serena, who was looking at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap.

The man sneered and began to walk away before Finn or Keith or Adam could reply to his greeting.

And Adam knew who he was. He still couldn't remember his name, but he knew he'd just come face to face with the bastard that had crushed Serena's soul.

Without thinking, he pushed his drink onto the table and scraped his chair back. Serena's head lifted and he caught a glimpse of pain in her eyes. But he didn't hear whatever words came from her parted lips. Instead, he focused on the retreating back.

***

"They got beef?" Keith asked, frowning as Adam headed away from the table.

"I don't think so," Finn said. He was frowning as well.

Serena felt both men look at her. As well as Mia and Vero, who'd just returned from the restroom. Still feeling shaky, she pulled her gaze from Adam's drink, which was still rippling after being set down so quickly, and bit her lip at the sight of Adam approaching Shane. What the fuck was he doing?

She couldn't look away even though she didn't want to see what happened. She had an overwhelming sense of dread, especially when Shane turned and the light caught his sneer. It sent a chill through her, made her remember things she had strived to forget. Things that, until a moment ago, she had forgotten.

You thought I liked you? You? A cruel laugh. I only did you on a dare.

Despite the music she could hear silence. Chatting had stopped. There was an air of anticipation, and she jumped slightly when she heard chairs scraping back. Bit her lip harder and tasted the copper of blood when Keith walked towards Adam and Shane. He blocked her view and she flinched at the sound of a punch landing.

A yelp.

Shrieks.

Yells and clamoring for someone to fuck him up. Flashes from phone cameras went off, giving the scene a dreamlike appearance, and Serena didn't know she was standing until she felt Mia's hand on her arm.

Keith moved and she gasped. Shaking her arm free, she pushed forward, even though she hated to be within ten feet of him. Hated the air of disgust that emanated from him every time he saw her, as though she had ruined his self-esteem. Licking the blood from her lip, she put a hand on Adam's arm, dread growing as her eyes flicked to Shane and she saw his hands over his nose. Saw blood gushing from beneath his fingers.

"Adam?" she whispered, tightening her hold. What had happened? Why had he punched Shane? What had Shane done to him? Or said?

She didn't like the look on Adam's face when he looked at her. Fury and anguish and disgust. Dropping her hand as though it had been burned, she swallowed anxiously. She could still taste blood. And the dread continued to grow.

"We should go," she said, her voice faint to her own ears. Did he even want to go with her?

He blinked. Reached for her as Keith carefully guided them away from Shane, who was beginning to howl about a broken nose. A shaking hand caught hers, pulled, and when her eyes met his she felt the dread slip away.

"Why?" she asked when he kept walking. Past the table they'd been at. Past other tables, ignoring the people that called out to him. "Adam, why?"

He didn't answer. His hand was still shaking, even as it clutched hers tightly. She brought her other hand to his arm, rubbing in what she hoped was a comforting way, and when he steered her out the exit and onto the sidewalk she drew in a breath.

"Adam…" She felt scared. Silly, maybe, because she knew he wouldn't hurt her. But she hated seeing him like this. Hated not being able to get a sense as to what he was feeling or thinking. Hated the fear that clawed at her heart. She wanted to know what Shane had said or done to cause him to react in such a way. But mostly, she just needed him to speak.

He didn't. Not on the short walk to the hotel. Or in the elevator. His hand had stopped shaking but he was still a hulk of silence. And when they entered her room, he let go of her hand and dropped onto the foot of the bed with a bone-weary sigh.

She approached timidly. "Cowboy… Talk to me?"

"I cain't." His voice was wreathed with pain.

"Sure you cain," she murmured without thinking.

He looked at her again, eyes narrowing.

"Sorry. Is it can? Or cay-un?" she asked, needing to lighten the mood. "I don't speak Virginian."

Adam said nothing, just shook his head and exhaled harshly.

"What did he do?"

"I don't know."

"Okay…" She cleared her throat, trying to dissect just why he would slam his fist into a man's face if the man had done nothing.

"But I know he did somethin'."

Serena froze. "What?"

"To you."

"Who – Why – How?" she choked out. She'd told no one. Only Cole, and she knew that he wouldn't have told Adam. He hadn't even told Britt.

"I knew someone had hurt you," he mumbled, kicking at the corner of his suitcase. "Cole wouldn't tell me who, but he said someone had hurt you a while back."

"Okay." But that didn't explain—

"And tonight, when I saw the way he looked at you, and then you…" He sighed. "You tried to disappear. And I knew it was him."

"Oh," she whispered.

"Wasn't it?"

She nodded. Or, tried to. She did manage to bob her chin down once, but that was all.

"That's why."

"But it was months ago—"

"And you're still hurting from it." He frowned. "You still hurt because of him."

"Not him," she said. She drew in a breath and rubbed at her bare arms. Wished she hadn't agreed they go out to a bar. Wished she'd asked him to just come back to the hotel with her so she could lose herself in him. If she'd done that, she wouldn't be feeling so cold and small and stupid. "He just… Drove in that what I think about myself is true."

"It's not," he ground out. "I don't give a fuck what he said or what the fuck he did, it ain't fucking true."

"Adam—"

"And if I have to spend the rest of my goddamn life proving to you that it ain't true, I will."

Startled by that, she stared as he rose to his feet. Drew in a shaky breath. "What?"

"You heard me, Dimples." He stepped forward, and she felt the wall meet her back as his hands framed her face. "I ain't leaving this room until you believe you're the prettiest, most beautiful, most devastatingly fucking gorgeous woman in the world."

She gulped. "I-I… I do have to go to work, y'know…"

"Fine," he groaned, dipping his head and brushing his lips over hers. "I'll just spread it out over time, baby."

"Adam?" she whispered, clutching the front of his shirt.

"Yeah?"

"I'm ready."

"Ready for what?"

"For you."

#adam page fanfiction #hangman adam page fanfiction #aew fanfiction #my fics #multipart:BITN #be nice guys i did the best i could with the match scene #also this was going to be posted this morning but I - a dumb ass - had to rewrite the first scene three fucking times

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drkfought · 3 years

Text

─ the mirrors surrounding you did as they were meant to , reflecting back a spitting image of jensen ackles - but it’s clear something is wrong from the moment that a vision of 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘦��𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘥 strikes you . perhaps it was a passing daydream in the frenzy of the funhouse . you reassure yourself - you’re 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 , a 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 year old 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗘 𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗘𝗙 whose virtue lies in your + loyalty & + selflessness , although you’ve been told that you tend to be quite - short tempered & - self loathing , and you’re associated with 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏, 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒌𝒏𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒅 , by those around you . suddenly, however, you’ve found 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍'𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 on your person - was that always there ? from the moment you leave the funhouse , memories from your life in 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙡 have begun to return - leaving whoever you had been before in the mirror’s reflection behind you . you can almost hear 𝚁𝙰𝙼𝙱𝙻𝙴 𝙾𝙽 by 𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝚉𝙴𝙿𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙸𝙽 following in your wake .

hi i love dean winchester so stinkin’ much ... i am .... so excited . he deserves a life where he wasn’t hunting monsters all the time ! one where he got a job & had kids & is just living life ! let dean have a life !

full name : dean henry winchester . alises : the righteous man . the sword of michael . squirrel . age : forty one . gender & pronouns : cis male , he / him . sexual & romantic orientation : bisexual / biromantic . species : human . identifying marks : multiple scars across his body . some looking like they came from knives , others from guns . his memory on how he got most of them is fuzzy

─ 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 .

i will try to make this short . dean was born to mary & john winchester & for four years he had the most simple apple pie life a four year old could ask for . in 1983 , a demon went into the winchester house to visit their newborn son : dean’s younger brother sam . when mary interrupted the demon’s visitation , he killed her . slashed open her stomach & burned her on the ceiling . dean’s father , john , witnessed the terrible end of his wife’s life & though he made it out alive with both sam & dean , the event would irreversibly change him .

john became obsessed with discovering what it was that killed mary . he learned to hunt the supernatural & ruthlessly trained his sons to do the same . dean’s toddler life of toys turned into tinkering with guns , his warm bed into dirty motels , & his carefree existence into only worrying over his younger brother . he became the perfect killer but it took a toll on him . his father , far from perfect even before this , became harsh on dean . molding him until he was more dutiful soldier than he was boy . dean did everything his father asked & followed his every order with blind faith & even then he would never be the perfect son to john . sam , on the other hand , rebelled against the life john gave them . though dean tried constantly to settle their explosive arguments as best he could no matter his thoughts on the matter at hand , desperate for peace between the two , he still couldn’t stop sam from running away in the end . he wanted to hate sam for it at first , but he never could .

years later when john went missing on a hunt , dean reached out to his estranged brother for help . the job was supposed to be a simple one but after coming back unsuccessful to the tragic death of sam’s girlfriend ( same as their mothers , in fact ) sam entered back into his life for good .

though the plots of both heaven & hell , sam & dean became pawns in the story of the world’s end . the apocalypse slowly set into motion & started with the winchesters at the center of it all . even though they managed stop the world’s end , though , it was hardly the last threat to humanity . as years passed , the brothers found themselves thrust into apocalypse after apocalypse . an endless cycle that they , eventually , discovered was god’s doing all along . they were simply the main characters of a never ending tragic story that god was writing . furious , the two brothers , with help from their rebel angel best friend & the half angel son on lucifer himself , devised a way to defeat god for good . in the end they succeeded . jack , the mentioned son of lucifer , took god’s place after his defeat . the world is their’s in the end . they , for the first time , get to choose their own paths .

─ 𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 .

there was still a fire at the winchester house when dean was four years old . an accident this time . an electrical fire . a normal tragedy . their mom was still lost but dean , holding onto the bundle that was his little brother , watched as the fire fighters pulled his dad from the flames . sitting with them , brother in his arms , while they consoled him & let him wear their helmets would always be a far more comforting memory to dean than the ones his father gave him in the years to come . john winchester became distant . negligent . borderline abusive . dean did his best to take the bulk of what their grief drowned father put on them , trying to shield sam , & gave a lot of his life to helping raise sam where john fell short . they moved around a lot , finally settling in alucard when dean was around seventeen .

when he was a late teen if he wasn’t at home or sneaking out for a smoke & some girls , dean worked at being a volunteer firefighter . it was something , he thought , slightly productive to do with his life as it was already obvious to him that he wouldn’t be able to go to college with sam still needing him around . at age eighteen , with his high school diploma stating he graduated with average grades , dean officially joined the fire force at an entry level & began saving up money for his own place . a place away from his father but close enough that sam could use it to get away at any time as well . though , as the year went on , he found that john would have been unlikely to allow dean to live under his roof anyway .

dean was notorious with women & thought himself as careful but clearly not as careful as he thought . when he found out he was going to be a dad at eighteen he initially rejected the idea , wanting nothing to do with the child out of fear of turning into his father . sam was the one who talked him down from the anxiety . with his encouragement , dean slowly worked to learn how to be a parent . preparing a room . reading parenting books . anything . it came as a shock a month before the due date to when he found out the mother was backing out of keeping the child . she had been the one initially for raising it at first but suddenly felt she couldn’t do it . though he’d be on his own , dean had steeled himself to becoming a father too much to let the girl to go up for adoption . beverly winchester was born feburary 13th & dean took full custody as her sole guardian . he kept in touch with bevery’s mother still , who went on to study psychology outside alucard .

being a single father was far from easy but dean managed , always taking help where he could from his brother or from friends . one friend even got closer than others . when beverly was nearing three years old , dean started seeing a foreign exchange student from england who was taking classes at the local university & the casual feeling of the affair wasn’t there for long . things blossomed into something serious & when it was discovered she was pregnant , this time dean was far more sure about things than when he was twenty . the wedding was small & around nine months later dean became a father of two as simon joined the winchester family .

for a few years this seemed the perfect arrangement . dean worked up through the ranks at the station , setting himself up to be the new fire chief one day , & raised his kids happily with his wife . but perfect sometimes doesn’t last long . their relationship , after all , had been a rushed one . after around six years , things simply didn’t have the same spark as they used to . the divorce wasn’t nasty , they knew it was a mutual thing , but it still stung . he left the court as a single father again , now with joint custody of his son . he didn’t seen simon much after the divorce . shortly after , he & his mother moved back to england which dean was always bitter about . though simon came to visit sometimes & dean called whenever he could , he always felt like he was far from the boy .

at fourty one , years later , he’s gotten well back on his feet . no serious relationships seem to stick but at work he’s finally gotten fire chief . he misses being in the middle of the action sometimes , but he loves his job nonetheless . if not at work he’s visiting his brother , the bar , fixing his car , or dedicating time to beverly & simon who has recently moved to alucard to be around dean , much to his delight . as his life is coming back to him , though , it is stressing him out . the world was already dangerous without remembering monsters . he feels as though this is just another story he’s now lived out & isn’t even sure whats real .

─ 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 .

father to BEVERLY MARSH & SIMON SNOW in alucard . he will absolutely go off on you if you are mean to his kids . yes , this includes other kids who bully his kids . he doesn’t care he’ll yell at you for being an asshole no matter your age . absolutely no one messes with his kids .

has had beverly around since she was born but has seen simon infrequently since he was about six since simon’s mother took him back to england with her . he doesn’t love simon any less , but he ‘s struggling with fact they don’t know each other as well as dean would like . he hates that his son grew up so far away from him with visits & phone calls too few & far in between .

is also now having to cope with the fact that , in this new life he remembers , he doesn’t even HAVE his kids . closest thing he has to a child there is jack & he doesn’t even know if jack is okay .

still has the impala here . can’t have dean without his car .

while he is the fire chief , fixing cars is a huge hobby of his . if he didn’t love his job , he would absolutely leave it to work as a mechanic at the local garage .

while he mostly works on his car himself , he still brings his car to the garage a few times a year for things that his own garage doesn’t have the tools for . they know him there from his recognizable car .

his father has been alive for sometime but he’s recently found out he died from a stroke in his sleep . dean is stuck between the duty of giving his father a proper funeral & his own bitterness at the man for how he treated him & sam . this is only worsened by the memories of john that will come back .

he is bisexual ! because i’ve watched this show & have eyes ! i know ! is he repressed a lot & hasn’t exactly had an offical coming out ? also yes ! doesn’t mean he HASN’T made out & gotten with a guy or two in the past . just means he never felt like he could say anything about it all growing up & now just figures it’s too late .

uuuuuuuuuuuuh anyway . i’ll add to this more if i think of more .

#dean: intro #duality.intro #THIS IS LONG im not sorry #neglect tw #abuse tw

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krreader · 5 years

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the jeon twins | jk ending version.

pairing: jeon jeongguk (jk) x reader fandom: bts warnings: language ; twins!au ; non idol!au genre: angst ; hints of fluff previous: x word count: 2.9k+

summary: everything was his fault, everyone knew that.. everything that had happend was because of JK and to his surprise, the only one that wanted to help was the one he hurt so much.. the one that had deserved the world that he was willing to give, even if it messed up his entire life.

a/n: long overdue, but here it finally is, the jk version. the kookie version will be posted tomorrow - hopefully lol ♥ (don’t get me wrong, it’s already done, but idk if I’m happy with it so we’ll see)

This was all his fault.

Kookie never would have made this decision if it weren't for his twins’ stupid actions.

“But you have so many good job offers here,” his mother tried arguing, “Why.. why does it have to be the US?”

Kookie hated to see his mother so sad and no doubt, he would miss her and his father terribly, but this was the right thing to do.. he needed to leave.

“I need a fresh start, mom,” he said with a sad smile, gently holding her hand.

JK didn't look up once, his shoulders were slumped and he was both embarrassed of himself as well as ashamed. He would have assumed his mother would cry, but instead she was consumed with anger. Anger towards JK. Because she knew he was the reason her baby was leaving.

And then suddenly she was all over him, hitting him over and over again, his father trying to stop her while Kookie just watched with a heavy sigh.

JK didn't try to stop her. If anything, he wanted her to continue.. as if it would make things better.. his actions from before less horrible.

“This is all your fault!” she cried out, “It's all your fucking fault! Get out of this house! I don’t want to see you ever again!”

JK gulped down hard, getting up without arguing about it and quickly brushing away a tear that escaped his eye while doing so. He had no right to argue.. he had lost that when he broke his brother’s heart.

How did this even happen?

He used to be so happy.. popular. He had everything and everyone.

And now he was wandering the streets of Seoul, knowing that there was no one left.. and all because he wanted what his brother could have had.

Love.

He had never known love before you. Flings, flirts, sex, but never love.. that he only ever experienced with you.

The first.

The only.

This love carried him to your apartment complex. Not knowingly, though, he didn’t have a place in mind when he started walking..

It's been more than three years, so he doubted you'd still remember him. If you did, then definitely not in a good light.

You were probably telling your friends about the “guy that lied to you all along” or the “bastard that broke your heart”.

That's what he was.. a liar, a backstabber, an asshole, a horrible son and brother.

The longer he stood there, staring at your window and seeing you and him from years ago when you were standing exactly there, happily smiling at each other, the more he drowned in self-pity.

He would have gone to the nearest convenience store, would have bought himself a shit ton of Soju bottles, would have sat down somewhere at the Han river and would have drunk himself until he couldn't stand anymore, hoping the alcohol would make it all go away..

But the moment he wanted to turn away was the moment you arrived.

JK couldn't help but let out a breath he had apparently been holding.

You were looking more or less the same, but.. god, somehow you managed to get more beautiful?

No wonder his twin brother had been so infatuated with you. No wonder he had ended up falling for you.. and no wonder he could never forget you.

You were looking for your keys, rummaging through your bag for about a minute before you let out an annoyed sigh and started looking around..

It was probably just a reaction of you realizing you had left your keys inside your apartment earlier this morning when you had left for work, but you looking around made you spot him.

You didn't think it was creepy given the fact that this was the first time you had seen him in three years. He also didn't seem like he had been waiting for you here for a long time.

Even from this distance you could tell that he was having a bad day, though, his shoulders were slumped, he looked.. tired.

You had often thought about contacting him again.. and about contacting Kookie.

But no matter what JK had tried telling you, you didn't fall in love with Kookie, you fell in love with JK. Because deep down it was always him when he was with you. You realized that months after your break-up, after you had finally accepted what had happened.. and you didn't hate him for it. At first you had, naturally, but then you started to forget, or at least tried to.. and eventually, you were okay again.

And now you saw it from a different perspective, not saying that what he did was right, but you weren’t as affected by it anymore..

JK was surprised when you crossed the street and stood in front of him a moment later.

“I.. I wasn't..-”

“I know,” you said with a small smile, “I'd like to say you look good, but I'd be lying.”

JK managed to let out a genuine laugh, then nodded, his eyes now on the ground, “Yeah, it's not been a good day.”

“I can see that,” you waited a few seconds, then you said, “I left my keys inside the apartment, so I need to wait till my neighbor comes back from work so he can give me his spare key. In the meantime.. do you want to get a drink? Tell me what's wrong?”

JK shook his head, “No, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Because of your brother?” you sighed, “JK, it's been three years.. and besides, it's only a drink. I feel like you'll drink tonight anyways. I'd feel better if I could keep an eye on you. Whatever happened to you, it makes me worry now that I’ve seen you, I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing I’d just let you go.”

“After everything that happened?”

“As I said, it's been three years.. that's a lot of time to get over someone.”

Well.. he was glad to hear that you got over him when he never got over you.

But he still felt guilty when he accepted your offer. He knew that Kookie had long lost interest in you and he knew that that was his fault. So maybe he owed it to his brother to say no.. say no because he took his brother's shot at happiness and swooped it up for himself.

But he was selfish once again tonight when he said yes.

He wanted to talk to you, wanted to spend time with you again.. because right now, you were the only person that mattered that was willing to be by his side..

You ended up going to a Korean barbecue place, with JK drinking almost an entire bottle of Soju himself in the first twenty minutes.

You didn't talk much in that time, mostly small-talk. But you watched him like a hawk, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

And the only thing that came to mind was the reason he ended things between you two.

“Is.. Kookie okay?” maybe he had died..

“Yeah,” JK nodded, “He got a job,” he smiled proudly.

“But that's great news,” you smiled as well, “I'm happy for him.”

“Yeah, me too,” but then the smile faded, “But it's in the US. He's moving in two weeks.”

Ah, so that was it.. his brother was leaving him and..-

“You think it's your fault, don't you?”

Again, despite what he had told you, you felt like you had gotten to know JK, not Kookie, despite him apparently acting like Kookie. But you knew him.. you knew the guilt in him.. because it was the same guilt that he had the day of the break-up.

It was that same look on his face.

Suddenly it was as if no time had passed.

“It is my fault,” he gulped down another shot of Soju, “My mother, my father.. they all know it.. they all know the reason he's leaving is because I betrayed him.”

“JK,” you tried reaching forward, but he immediately pulled back his hand like yours was fire.

“He really loved you, you know..-”

“No, JK, he didn't,” you shook your head, “Listen, I was angry with you for so long and I thought.. I thought about calling Kookie so many times, but at one point I realized that there was no way he could love me like you loved me in the end. Kookie never even talked to me, he didn't know me. You did.. you were there when I had my bad days, you were the one holding me and telling me it would be okay. That was you, JK.”

“But it shouldn't have been me!” he cried out, trying his hardest to keep calm so that nobody around you would realize he was crying, “I shouldn't have pretended to be him, I should have gone up to you and told you that he liked you, I should have given you his number, I should have..-” but then he fully started sobbing.

You could tell that it was both the alcohol, as well as the guilt.

You quickly switched seats so that you were sitting next to him, one hand now rubbing over his back and he let you. He needed the comfort now, he couldn't deny it.

“You can't change the past, JK. And.. maybe.. I don't know, maybe Kookie will meet the love of his life in the US and he will live a lot more happier than he ever could have done here,” you grabbed his chin and made him look at you, “Things happen for a reason, I truly believe that.”

“But this wasn't a coincidence.. this was me knowingly taking something that I shouldn't have. His opportunity.”

The thing is.. you knew he was right.

What he did was horrible, especially because it wasn't just a friend he betrayed, but his twin brother.

But nothing could be changed now..

All you could do that night was comfort him as best as you could and the fact that you weren't angry with him anymore helped JK massively.

“Thank you,” Kookie smiled at the woman in the café and sat down at one of the empty tables, opening up his laptop and answering emails when you joined him.

And boy, did he look shook.

“I know.. this is kind of overdue, isn't it?”

“Three years ago I would have been the happiest man alive,” Kookie said sadly, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I heard the whole story. I also heard that you're moving to the US soon. Congrats on that, I heard about the job.”

“Yep,” Kookie nodded, “I felt like I had to get away from here..”

“You mean him,” you said bluntly, taking a sip from your coffee and then staring at the cup for a few moments before continuing, “What your brother did was a backstabbing move and I won't pretend to know what it must have felt like for you, but I was on the other end, Kookie. I've been involved in this situation as well and if I know one thing, it's that your brother never meant to hurt either of us.”

“And you know that how? From what he told me, he pretended to be me all throughout your relationship..”

“Yeah, see, that's the thing.. he tried really hard, but.. he's not that good of an actor. Younger me was naive enough not to see it because she was in love and she just fell in love with the man that cared for her, but me now.. I know.”

Even though he said he wasn't interested in you anymore, you saying you loved JK made him flinch a little.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”

“To tell you that your brother regrets what he did.. more than anything in this world. If he could turn back time to change it, he would.”

“But he can't.”

“I know that and nobody knows that better than him,” you leaned forward, your hand on his, “I'm asking you to talk to him one last time. I'm not asking you to forgive him because that is your decision, but I'm asking you to give him a chance to explain himself again. Because if you leave without doing that, it's going to destroy him.”

“How do you know? Did he..- did you two meet up?”

“I found him in front of my apartment building one night. He was ready to drink himself to death.. I later found out why. He's been staying at my place ever since your mother kicked him out, but I rarely see him. I hear him come back in the morning and I can smell the alcohol on him.”

“Why are you letting him stay at your place when he's like this? And especially after everything he put you through?” Kookie’s eyebrows were furrowed, “You should hate him as much as me, if not more.”

“Because I know JK is not a bad guy.. he's just someone who made a stupid decision in his youth. And I feel like I owe you and him one. After all, I'm the reason you're like this..”

Kookie immediately shook his head, “You don't owe us anything..”

“Please.. just.. sit down and talk to him. One last time. If you really cared about me at one point, then do me that favor..”

Kookie tried to tell himself that he hated his twin brother more than anything in this world, but deep down he knew that it was not true. He knew that if he left without saying goodbye or trying to reconcile, he would regret it for the rest of his life. But the hurt.. the hurt was still so bad.. even after all this time.

You wrote down something on the napkin he got with his coffee, then handed it to him.

“This is my address. Please think about it.”

And with that you left him to his own thoughts.

“Here,” you put a soup in front of JK, “Eat it.”

“I'm not hungry.”

He looked horrible, even worse than a few weeks ago.

He didn't eat anymore, only drank alcohol and only took a shower because you forced him to.

He was falling apart, more and more, every day, and the only one who could stop it from happening any further was his brother.. the brother that would leave for the US tomorrow morning.

You had hoped that your little talk at the café would help, that Kookie would stop by, but.. apparently not.

“Just try it, please..” you said in despair.

“I'm not hungry,” he repeated.

He knew this wasn't fair to you. The only reason he was here was out of the kindness of your heart, but the self-pity in him was destroying him..

You let out a sigh, wanted to eat your own soup and let him and his thoughts be on his own for a moment when your doorbell rang.

“This is probably the delivery guy.”

But it wasn't.

When you opened the door you were greeted with a man you didn't think you'd ever see again.

He looked uncomfortable, unsure of why he was here, but you let him in.

“JK.. there's.. someone here to see you.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, turned around and then immediately stood up when he saw his twin brother.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment and the longer you stood there, the more awkward you felt.

Ultimately, you decided to continue eating in the living room and give the two some space.. they needed to be alone for this.

“The only reason I'm here is because of (Y/N),” Kookie said, “She asked me to come and talk to you again.. because she's worried about you.”

JK's shoulder slumped only more at that, “I'm sorry..-”

“You really don't deserve her, you know?”

“I never did.. that was always you.”

“No,” Kookie shook his head, “Neither of us could deserve someone like her. Not you and not me. But I only realized that when she talked to me.”

“Kookie, I..-”

“No, let me,” Kookie sat down with JK, but there was a lot of space between them.. quite fitting, “You apologized countless of times and I'm tired of hearing it over and over again. What you did is in the past.. neither of us can change it now, I know that. All we can do is move forward. And (Y/N) was right.. I don't want to leave like this, I don’t want us to be like this forever..”

JK was hopeful, the first time in weeks, “Okay.”

“I talked to mom and dad and told them not to be angry with you anymore.. because I'm trying not to be as well. I'm trying to be the mature one..”

“You've always been the mature one,” that made both brothers chuckle, because they knew it was true.

And for a moment it was like it was all okay again..

..but it would take a lot of effort for things to go back to normal again between them.

“Tell me what I need to do for you to forgive me. I'll do anything,” JK promised.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. The only one you should feel sorry for is (Y/N), after all, she's the one housing you and playing your mom right now when she really shouldn't.”

He nodded, “I'm trying to find my own place right now.. a job.. something, you know?”

“Good. That’s good.”

The two of them talked for about two hours, you ended up falling asleep on the couch at one point when the exhaustion took over.

It was only when Kookie left that the two of them saw you sleeping there.

“You know.. I'm really excited to start my new life in the US,” Kookie said with a genuine smile, “I can't wait to meet someone I'll really fall in love with..”

“You loved her..”

“I thought I did,” Kookie shrugged and buried his hands in his pockets, “But maybe it was never me that was meant to be with her,” and with that and a clap to his shoulder, he left.

But he left with no hate for his brother anymore.. he left with a promise to call as soon as he landed. And that was more than JK ever thought he’d get from him after everything.

And as JK watched him leave and closed the door behind him, he walked back into the living room and sat down on the couch with you, smiling when you shifted so that your head was lying in his lap as if it was the natural thing to do for you.

He pulled the blanket around your body higher and grabbed the piece of bread that was lying on the table, eating for the first time in what felt like forever.

“I'm proud of you,” you whispered, half-asleep.

And JK couldn't help but start crying again, his fingers brushing through your hair.

And only when he was sure you were back asleep did he say, “I never stopped loving you.. and I never will.”

Maybe you were right..

..maybe all things did happen for a reason.

Maybe this was were he was supposed to be all along..

..with you.

#bts imagine #bts x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #jeongguk imagine #bts #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #reader #jeon jeongguk x reader #requests

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larryssunflower · 4 years

Text

Non-Royal Romance, part ten

read past parts to catch up!

one two three four five six seven eight nine

This is a pretty long part to make up for the shorter ones and boy is it a big one! I hope you guys like it and I have important info at the bottom! Also pls don’t hate me 😅

Tagging usuals let me know if you wish to be added or removed! :) @simplyaiden-blog @butindeed @mfackenthal @axwalker @confessionsofabrokegirl @choices-lurker @american-duchess @drakelover78 @monosodiumglutamateme @crookedslimecreatorpasta @mrsdrakewalkerblog @traeumerinwitzhelden @gardeningourmet @speedyoperarascalparty @agent-zephyrkah @liam-rhys-x-mc-x-constantine @snyggflicka @texaskitten30 @annekebbphotography @irishwhiskys-blog @nomadics-stuff @msjr0119 @catlady0911 @twinkle-320 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @drakewalker04 @bigmemesplz @jovialyouthmusic @sleepwalkingelite @pintobomb @moneyfordiamonds @mskaneko @lauzales

—

My dance partner twirls me around the dance floor, in sync with the rest of crowd as we perform the Cordonian Waltz. He spins me out gracefully, then pulls me back in. I was too distracted by figuring out my plans for later when this suitor asked me to dance, I didn’t catch his name. Proof I’m a terrible Noble. I don’t even know the names of most of the suitors in line to marry me. Luckily he’s quiet and a pretty good dancer. He’s probably just dancing with me for formalities, which to be honest, so am I.

As usual, I lose myself in the dance, and before long, the song is over. I thank my partner and walk off the dance floor as fast possible to avoid the many other suitors asking me to dance. I make it to an hors d’oeuvre table by the windows of the ball, which look out to an elegant balcony. “Alana!” Someone calls. I turn to see Liam smiling warmly to me. “Liam! How are you?” I ask politely. “I’m doing well,” He replies, his eyes scanning my face. “And you?” He asks, seeming to sense my anxiety. “I’m great,” I lie, taking a deep breath. “Its just- a big night,” I manage, making him nod in understanding.

“Alana, I hope you know how much you mean to me,” Liam says after a pause, his expression serious. I gulp and smile. “I do,” I say, but he shakes his head. “You don’t understand, I have never felt this way about someone. I think I lo-” He suddenly gets cut off by my Mother. “Alana, a word please,” My mom says to me. I nod, my heart hammering. Was he going to tell me what I think he was going to tell me? “In private,” My mother adds, glancing over to Liam, who just nods quickly. “Yes of course Your Majesty, my apologies. I’ll chat to you later Alana,” He quickly says with a bow, before walking away, casting a curious glance over his shoulder. I turn to my mother. She glances around for a moment. “Follow me,” She orders, going out onto the empty balcony. She nods at the security detail by the doors, who, once we are both outside, close and guard the doors, stopping anyone reaching us.

“Mom, whats going on?” I ask, and she turns to me, a serious look on her face. “Are you confident on who you will choose?” She asks, taking me aback. “I thought you said you wanted to wait-” I start but she sighs impatiently. “Well after some thought to it, I remembered how you can be. You have always been the flighty, wild, and unpredictable child, and I want to make sure Cordonia will have a sure and stable Queen and King,” my mother says, pausing for a moment. “This is a big deal Alana,” She adds, making a surge of anger start to flow within me. Like I don’t know that? Like I haven’t been lectured that exact thing my entire life? “I’m sorry Mother, but you are the one who forced me to do this. I never had a choice! I was born into a family which thrust me into a life I had no control over. I am doing the damn best I can!” I argue, my heart starting to race in anger. “Don’t talk to me like that. You are going to choose Liam, correct?” She asks, looking down at me, less like a question more like a threat.

I scoff. “You know what? No. I’m not in love with him. I love someone else. Someone my judgemental mother would never approve of,” I practically spit at her, crossing my arms. She raises her eyebrows, a sour look crossing her features. “Who is it?” She asks, her eyes glancing over my shoulder. I follow her gaze through the ball windows to Drake, who is standing inside, his hands clasped in front of him. “It seems like you already know,” I say coldly, my heart hammering in fear. Will she kick me out? Fire Drake?

There is a definitive pause between us as my Mother thinks. She finally comes to a decision, making me gulp in anticipation. “You will choose Liam. I don’t care about your careless flirtations or affairs, but for the good of this country, you will choose Liam. Don’t disappoint me.” She says, her words acid. I look down, trying to hide my emotions. Without another word, she walks past me, entering the ball again. Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them away. I turn, clutching onto the stone wall and looking out onto the grounds. I take a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. I blink in confusion as I spot a strange flash of light on the grounds, by the maze. I squint my eyes, trying to get a better look or see if I can make out anything. After staring at the same spot for a minute, I just shake my head at myself. I’m clearly not thinking straight. I take a deep breath once again, and turn to the ball.

I’m ready now.

As I walk into the ballroom, my eyes find Drake within seconds from instinct. He was scanning the room with those eyes, and stop as they meet mine. Just eye contact with him ignites a fire in my chest. He isn’t just some affair or flirtation as my mom would put it. He’s more. So much more. My mom thinks I’m wild and unpredictable, so let her. I nudge my head towards the exit discreetly to Drake, and make my way out. I don’t look over my shoulder, but hope with all my being that he trusts me and will follow. I make my way up the grand staircase, and halfway up, glance back to see Drake walking out of the ballroom looking around. He came, I think, my heart swelling. I whistle, making him snap his head in my direction, he smirks, shaking his head at me. I bite my lip, making my way up the stairs.

I eventually make it to my hallway, his footsteps following me. I reach my door, turning to look at him. He stops, looking at me with confusion. I smile and unlock my door, going inside. I wait for him and he comes in, closing the door behind him. “What’s up?” He asks, looking at me with genuine concern. I don’t answer, walking up to him. I stand in front of him for a minute, just looking into those intoxicating eyes, basking in our rare proximity.

I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. I melt into his strong build, and he supports me, pulling me closer to his body. My nerves are on fire as our kiss deepens, my arms wrapped around his neck and his hands roaming my back. I will never get over the feeling of being with him. It’s like my whole world become centered around him when we are together. Nothing else matters. The only thing I fathom is the feeling of his lips on mine, anchoring me to earth, giving me breath.

I can’t lose him.

God, what will I do if I lose him?

A sob chokes at the back of my throat to my own surprise, making Drake stop, pulling away and examining my face, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. “What is it?” He asks, and as much as I wish it wouldn’t happen, my eyes brim with tears, the urge to cry overwhelming. I swallow, and look up at his kind, worried, beautiful eyes. “I... I’m scared of losing you,” I choke out, tears falling from my eyes. “oh,” He sighs softly, bringing me into a tight hug. He pulls me toward him, his arms wrapped snuggly around my body. I burrow my face into his shoulder, feeling safe. We stay like that for a while, comforted by each other’s embrace. I want to tell him how I feel but its so scary thinking of actually saying it out loud to him.

It’s more scary thinking about how I could lose him tonight. He loosens his grip of me, leaning back to see my face. He brushes his fingers softly across my cheeks, wiping my tears away. I just blink up at him, realizing how lucky I have been just to have these few moments in between with him. If that is all I get, its alright. “I know, it’s a hard decision you have to make. But I will never be upset with you, no matter what you choose to do.” Drake tells me softly, and I nod, swallowing my tears. I sniffle, looking down suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Sorry for crying,” I say with a self conscious chuckle. His eyes crinkle around his eyes fondly as he looks at me. “You don’t need to be sorry,” He says kindly, caressing my face.

We just look deeply into each other’s eyes for a moment, and I don’t ever want to look away, but he does, as he looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry this happened. You were supposed to find the love of your life these past few weeks, and I took that away from you. I should have been stronger. I should have pushed you away,” He says, his hands falling to his side, regret laced in his voice. His words are like daggers to my heart. “So you regret it all?” I ask, my heart pounding in my ears. He winces, slowly bringing his eyes to meet mine. “I was selfish Alana. Looking back, I wanted nothing more than to be with you, which isn’t fair to you. You have so much on your shoulders, especially tonight and forward. You are becoming Queen Alana. I only regret that I made that harder for you.” He says. I’m lost for words for a moment, soaking in his words. I realize how cold I feel, without his arms around me.

He turns, his hand on the door handle. “Drake,” I say, and he stops, still facing away from me. “I wouldn’t have been able to survive if it wasn’t for you. You don’t seem to understand how much you mean to me. I would have been stuck in the world I hate, suffocated by the rules, the nobles, the stupid balls and the inevitability of my title. You were my breath of fresh air after twenty-four years of being drowned. You mean everything to me.” I say, my heart hammering in anticipation of his response. He glances over his shoulder back at me, a troubled expression on his face. “It’s better this way,” He says with finality, opening the door, walking out. I sigh, tears burning behind my eyes yet again.

I look down, a tear falling from my eyes. I’m going to lose him.

No.

Fuck that. I don’t care about what Drake thinks. I am not going to walk away from him. Fuck playing it safe, allowing myself to roll over and let my expectations dictate my life once again. I take a deep breath, checking myself in the mirror. Red cheeks, slightly swollen eyes, but makeup is alright. I fix some of my hair, straightening out my gown. I can do this.

Opening my door, I march through, and down the hall, determination flowing through me. It’s better this way my ass. I’m no longer going to allow my happiness be sacrificed for what others want. Eventually, I reach the ballroom, everyone still dancing. I make my way to my mother, knowing the ceremony should begin shortly. My mother watches as I stand beside her, overlooking the ballroom. “Remember what we discussed,” She mutters to me, and I nod. “Oh I remember, trust me,” I say, glancing around the room at all the nobles enjoying themselves. Drake isn’t far from me, standing about ten feet away, staring straight forward at the ballroom, not even glancing in my direction. Just you wait. I think, looking forward to seeing his face once I tell everyone just how much he means to me.

The song slows to a stop, and it’s time. The nobles face my mother and I, knowing whats about to happen. I find Liam, grinning up at me. I also spot Maxwell and Allie near the back, who both give me a thumbs up, smiling. I smile back at them, grateful for their support. A man hands my mother her microphone and my heart starts to race nervously. One more thing I suck at, public speaking.

My mother is about to speak when all the lights suddenly shut off, gasps and screams erupting throughout the ballroom. Must just be an electrical issue, right? As the lights switch back on, the ball is swarmed with people in dark clothing, ambushing nobles with assault rifles. The room is chaos, people screaming, running in multiple directions as assassins shoot, making me stagger backward, my heart pounding as I shake my head in disbelief. Before i can decide my escape route, an assassin comes up, his weapon trained on me. Panicked, I throw my hands up in defense, my heart so loud at this point, I feel that it will burst out of my chest. I’m frozen in fear as the assassin nears me, his weapon not wavering from being pointed directly at me. No, not like this.

I spot Drake sprinting over to me, a determined look on his face. I glance back the assassin who turns his head to the side, looking me over. “Any last words Princess?” He asks, making my stomach flop horribly. I just stutter, shaking my head back and forth. The assassin, without missing a beat aims and fires, just as Drake jumps in front of me. I get thrown on the ground, pain shooting through my body. My vision is blurry as I try to focus on whats going on around me to no avail. The screams and gun shots seem to get further away as my vision blackens until nothingness surrounds me.

-----

As I start to become conscious, all I can hear is a faint beeping noise. I blink slowly at the bright lights above my head, my whole body aching. I try to sit up and gauge my surroundings, but my mother’s face comes into view. “Oh Alana!” My mother cries, hugging me. I cringe as pain shoots through my arm. “Oh, baby I’m so sorry,” She apologizes, getting off me. I finally realize I’m in a small hospital room, a beeping monitor next to me, and my mother sitting beside me in a chair, watching at me worryingly. She isn’t in her gown, so it must be after the ball. holy shit, the ball! “What... what happened?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “I’m not sure how much you remember, but a couple days ago on your coronation night, there was an assassination attempt. And, well, you were shot,” My mother explains, tears springing to her eyes, taking me by surprise. “But I thought Drake-” I start, and she makes an unimpressed face. “Yes well he tried to jump in the way, but the bullet merely grazed him and hit you in the shoulder” She explains, as if jumping to take someone else’s bullet isn’t impressive. I’m just happy that he’s alive.

I look over at my shoulder, which is heavily bandaged. “Did anyone else get hurt?” I ask, my stomach twisting unpleasantly. All those people came there that night for me. Doesn’t that make it my fault? “Yes, some of your suitors were hurt, and Liam suffered some hits when he was fighting off the assassins, but luckily, no deaths.” My mother reports, making me breathe out a sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad everyone is okay,” I mutter, looking down. I can’t believe this. We are a peaceful country. I didn’t think we had any enemies, let alone anyone who would want to kill me.

A nurse comes in, checking my vitals and asking me questions about who I am and all that to make sure I didn’t suffer any brain damage. “All right, you seem to be doing well your Highness, we’ll be back later to check up on you,” She says kindly, to which I thank her as she walks out the door. My mother turns the television on the wall on, and we sit there awkwardly for a moment. “I hope you know who you were going to choose.” My mother says, making me sigh. of course. “Mom, I was literally shot, can’t this wait?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “I know honey, but this is very important, and the quicker we get it out there to calm the people the better,” She says, but I just shake my head in disbelief. “I was going to choose the man I love,” I say simply, looking at the wall.

“Alana, You know we can’t allow that.” Mother says, grasping my hand. I turn to her. “That was my decision. Sorry to disappoint, but its the truth. I’m sorry if you can’t handle that,” I say simply. She just looks at me, staring into my eyes. I can tell she’s aggravated. She suddenly gets up, adjusting her dress. “I am going to grab a coffee and once I’m back maybe you will have thought about your decision,” She says calmly, getting up, and stalking out of the room. “Yeah you do that,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. When will she understand that I am not going to do everything she wants?

A while later, theres a knock at my door. “come in,” I say, and the door opens to reveal Drake in a plain shirt and jeans. I struggle to sit up to say hi, and he rushes over, helping me with my pillows. I can’t help thinking about how awful I must look, pathetically lying in a hospital bed. “Thanks” I mutter, and he nods, grabbing the chair and sitting close beside me, his knee bouncing nervously. “I’m so sorry Alana, I should have blocked the bullet, if I just ran over quicker- I would be the one in that bed right now-” He rushes out, barely being able to look at me. I reach over, placing my hand on his, making him stop, looking up at me.

“You cannot possibly blame yourself for this Drake. It was just unlucky. If you weren’t there the bullet probably could’ve hit me somewhere fatal,” I reassure him and he lets out a breath shakily, looking deeply into my eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s slept at all. “God- it was horrible. You were on the ground, blood pouring out of you. There was so much- I thought you were-” He can barely finish his sentence, his voice cracking as a sob escapes him. “Oh Drake... I’m so sorry you had to experience that,” I say, wishing I had the strength to reach over and hug him. “It’s over now, and we are both okay. That’s all that matters,” I comfort him, and he nods, wiping at his face.

“I just- couldn’t face the fact that you would have died thinking I didn’t want to be with you. I never told you that... I love you,” Drake says softly, looking up at me nervously.

I grin widely, my heart bursting with happiness. “I love you too,” I giggle - god this man has turned me into a woman who giggles- making him break into a smile. He leans over, giving me a sweet and gentle kiss. We stay there beside each other, laughing and talking. I told him that I was going to choose him, making him shake his head in amusement. ‘always so stubborn,’ he said with a grin.Nothing could make me happier than being here, in this moment.

My eyes glance over Drake’s shoulder to see through the blinds of my window, and see my mother watching us in the hall, a look of realization / regret on her face. I slightly frown. Where’s the coffee she was getting?

A sudden voice on the television grabs my attention. “Breaking News! The Queen Mother Regina has officially announced through a small press conference just minutes ago that princess Alana is awake and healthy, doing well! Not only that, but Alana just could not wait any longer to announce her future husband, Liam of Valtoria!....” The voices of the news anchors fade away as I bring my hand up to my mouth in shock. I glance over at Drake, who is looking at me, confused. My heart sinks and I look down, shaking my head. How could she have done this to me?

“The happy couple will depart on their engagement tour in just a few months once they have fully healed, so stay tuned Cordonia! Love is in the air!”

----- end of season one -----

Ahhhhh! Crazy huh? flipped the switch on you guys on that on hehe ;) So yeah, as many of you voted, you wanted me to continue the series further, and I thought this was a good way to organize it, by “seasons” I guess. So season two will be coming soon! I’m sure you guys can guess what will be going on lol. But i’m excited for you guys to read it, and to write it! I hope you guys have enjoyed this so far! Love you all and hope you guys are doing well and are healthy!

#trr #tnnr #The Non-Royal Romance #drake #drake walker #drake x mc #part ten #choices #playchoices fics #fic #the non royal romance #end of season one #season one #choices fanfiction

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iraacundus · 4 years

Text

STEALING

doyoung x reader - ceo!au

he had nothing to gain from stealing the snowman, he just wanted to feel totally alive, a feeling he didn’t get much anymore, he didn’t expect his employee to catch him

words: 5.7k

based on this poem i read in school (back when we had that whoo) - ‘stealing’ by carol ann duffy’

“Mostly i’m so bored i could eat myself”

----

It was two am and a cold as hell January morning. You had been lying for hours, trying to sleep but there was a storm outside. It wasn’t that you were scared of storms particularly, just that the wind was blowing so fiercely it would have unsettled the bravest of souls.

It was two twenty-six am when the blizzard finally stopped, the calm in the storm. It was the quiet that was unsettling now, you still couldn’t sleep. After tossing from side to side you decided to peak and see what damage the storm had done to the garden outside. You tugged part of your blinds apart ever so slightly and stared into the street where the snow looked perfect somehow. The blizzard had covered the footprints of anyone who had previously walked by. It had made the snowman that the kid from next door had made look just that little bit fatter, which was a comforting sight.

Your eyes snapped open once again at eight forty-six am, even though you were not quite sure when they had shut. You stood up and went to look out of your blinds again. You opened them mindlessly only to be taken aback. The slightly fatter snowman that had been there only hours before had disappeared. There was no sign of melting, it was much too cold, it just ceased to exist in the location it once had. Only a track in the snow was left. The only explanation that came to your mind was that someone had dragged the snowman away. You thought this to be a particularly strange occurrence. Because it was a strange occurrence. Somehow it didn’t stay in your brain long enough for you to care though.

You trudged through the snow in your boots all the way to the underground train station. The storm had been loud but there still wasn’t enough snow to merit a day off from work. Your headphones blared music loudly enough to drown out the sounds of the world around you so that when you took a seat down on the train you failed to notice the snowman thief, partly because he didn’t look like one. Mostly because you didn’t know what a snowman thief looked like. Partly because in real life people like him didn’t frequent trains. But one-hundred percent because you hadn’t seen the theft so how would you have known.

Work was work it dragged by, meeting after meeting. The only excitement in your day was when CEO Kim came to give you the sales files personally. He had never spoken a word to you on a non-work issue and he always had a sort of forced smile upon his face. Yet you still had the most massive crush on him. He was undeniably one of the best looking people you had ever seen... but that wasn't it. It wasn’t what drew you to him. He just did everything so carefully, like his life was controlled and like he had a purpose. It sounded strange but you just were enthralled by Doyoung’s sense of purpose. Maybe it was because it was something you had never had yourself.

“The spending needs to go down, current marketing costs are just unsustainable,” Doyoung summed up for you. You nodded, thanking him for the papers. You just had to make the full report and then, as always, you could leave for the day. But it turned out the marketing problem was huge, just as Mr Kim had said and by the time you had made it home it was ten forty-one pm. The kids from your apartment building had made a few new snowmen. Three to be exact. One was fat and short, the other tall and wobbly and the third seemed almost perfect. The smoothness of the snow all balled up was almost mesmerising to look at - so satisfying. However, you didn’t stop to gaze for long. It was just a snowman after all.

By the time you had made coffee, eaten what little leftovers you could find and showered it was nearing midnight. You took one last peek out your blinds to check there wasn’t another storm coming. You never trusted just the weather app. When you gazed out you saw no signs of a storm in the freezing air, however, there did seem to be a man in front of your house wearing a blue bobble hat. And that man did appear to be dragging the perfect one of the three snowmen towards the street.

You pulled harshly on your blind cable, pulling them upwards, allowing you to press the button and swing your window open to get a better look. You stuck your head out but you still couldn’t quite see the mans face. Fortunately, due to the fact he was lugging a large snowman, you reckoned his pace wasn't that quick. This allowed you time to throw a coat and wellies on before running down the back staircase and out of the front door almost tripping over your own feet. You hadn't cared much about the snowman before, but now witnessing the theft you felt oddly aggrieved by it.

You hurtled over to the man and stopped right in front of where he had taken a pause to check his phone for the time. This slight pause meant he had missed your headlong dash across the pristine white lawn.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” you asked him not so politely, you didn’t take kindly to people who stole from children, even if it was just snow you had decided. You crossed your arms and made your best attempt at a reproachful look. One that the guy didn't even see.

“I’m taking this snowman,’ the guy replied without even looking up from behind the stolen object. He said it as if stealing a snowman at midnight was a perfectly fine thing to do. Which for the record it was not.

“That’s.. like seriously what the?” was all you managed to say back. You were not really sure how to deal with this situation but you really wanted to understand what the actual hell was going on. You wanted to say you were defending the kids but really it was just the most exciting thing that you had seen happen all year.

You stared at the snowman until you suddenly saw the man look up from his phone and look you dead in the eyes. Upon seeing his face you expected panic of some sort or even embarrassment followed by a sudden hasty explanation but his eyes just seemed blank. You had also expected some college or high school kid out on a dare but instead, you saw CEO Kim staring back at you. With eyes as dead as ever yet right at that moment, you could have sworn they had a small spark in them despite the lack of soul.

You were at a loss for what to do. On the one hand, you just had to know what was going on, you were so invested at this point. On the other hand, you didn’t feel like interrogating your boos on his rather interesting free time activities. It almost stopped you from saying something, you almost dashed back inside. They always say curiosity killed the cat. Still, you just had to find out. And defend the children of course.

“Why would you steal snow?” was the first question you asked him, quickly followed by, “Do enjoy the pain of children?” and then “what's wrong with you” all in succession as if you couldn’t decide what you wanted to know first.

“I’m bored.” was all he said. No one spoke for a few seconds. When you managed to talk yourself into looking him back in the eye you noticed the wild spark had gone. The purposeful mundane had returned to Kim Doyoung’s face and he honestly looked like a ghost. You suddenly realised how sad the man you saw every day really looked. It didn’t stop curiosity though, you needed a better answer.

“Most bored people like watch a movie or something.” you pointed out.

“And I steal worthless objects.” Kim Doyoung retorted. He had let go of the snowman but he didn’t leave or say anything else. He just continued to stare you down, only moving to blink and only blinking very occasionally. The silence was once again unsettling and the cold was really starting to get to you.

“Don’t steal from kids it's really not very nice,”

“I am not here claiming to be a model citizen,” he replied. He then said nothing more. You knew he probably never would so you turned on your heels and walked away, hoping he wouldn’t fire you tomorrow.

When you pulled the blind in your window down, you glanced out to see if he was still there, but the only thing left was footprints in the snow - he had taken himself back home and the snowman with him.

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

When you sat down at work, to say you were nervous would have been a gross understatement. Even the simple sound of a stapler set you on edge. You were kicking yourself for confronting Mr Kim last night in such an extreme way. The apartment building you lived in was kind of pricey and finding any accommodation you could afford was difficult so you really couldn’t afford to lose your job.

So when you heard the footsteps coming towards you, the footsteps of whoever would deliver the key report information that day, you were praying to any god that it wasn’t CEO Kim, you also were praying that you didn’t get called to his office. When the footsteps stopped you didn’t dare look up to see who it was. It was only when the person cleared their throat you managed to drag your eyes up to look at them.

You had never been a particularly lucky person and that luck certainly didn’t seem to be starting today for when you looked up the dull eyes of Mr Kim looked right back at you. At this point all you could do not to run away was to repeat please don’t fire me over and over in your brain. Unfortunately, you came to the realisations that one or two of your please don’t fire me’s must have been said aloud as Mr Kim gave you a rather confused look.

“Why would I fire you, what you do or say in your free time is up to you, just as what I choose to do in my free time is up to me.” You had no clue what to reply to that so you settled for staring blankly at your shoes. “Anyhow, the marketing strategy seems to have improved slightly but it still needs work to fix the deficit. His face remained emotionless before he turned and walked away.

He was the strangest person you had ever encountered and you would have given all the money in the world to know what he was thinking and why he acted the way that he did but for that moment you were mostly satisfied with the fact that he hadn’t fired you. You started working on the report right away. Because while Mr Kim said what you did outside of work didn’t matter, you knew your work performance certainly did. He was a notoriously harsh man.

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

The next time you saw him out of work was almost two weeks later. You had been out at a bar with your friends. It was one thirty-six as you strolled through the cold night air back towards your apartment. You were lost in thought until you saw someone approaching you in the opposite direction.

It was CEO Kim, yet this time he wasn’t dragging a snowman with him. Instead, in his arms, he had Shakespeare’s head. Not the real one, that was long rotted away buried deep under the earth, but a statue. Stealing a snowman that was one thing, the snow didn’t really belong to anyone you supposed. But this statue, you didn’t know where he got it from but it must have been acquired from an art gallery of sorts. To you that was a whole different ballgame, that wasn’t just messing around that was actual theft.

You didn’t know what to say to him when he stopped in front of you, his dull, lifeless eyes once again staring at you. The fact he hadn’t fired you earlier seemed to give you a surge of confidence as you decided to once again confront him about his odd dealings.

“Why did you steal the head?” you asked him.

“Why are you out so late?” he countered.

“I went to see some friends, why did you steal the head?” you refused to relent.

“I’m bored,” he said. It was the exact same answer as before. He frowned slightly, as he looked down at the statue in his hands. “You don’t understand a word I’m saying do you?.”

“I feel like what you’re saying is pretty self-explanatory, I just think that if you are bored you should maybe go out with some mates or join a sports team or something, instead of committing crimes.” Doyoung shook his head in response.

“That’s what I mean, you don’t get it,” he replied. He started to continue walking but he motioned for you to follow. You knew you should have just headed on back to your apartment but for some reason, you felt compelled to follow him. So you did. You fell into step alongside him.

“You see,” he began, “all those things you're suggesting, playing sports hanging out with friends, I don’t find them fun, they become onerous for me.”

“Maybe you need better friends then,” you suggested to which he laughed at. You had never seen a positive emotion on his face until that very moment. Which you decided was a very sad thing. “Maybe I don’t understand, you are young, rich, successful, you have all the things you need for a happy life.”

“And yet I don’t even really feel alive.” He looked down at you, “apart from when I’m stealing.” And you saw it again, the gleam in his eye as he spoke of his crime and he smiled at his Shakespeare head. Except it wasn’t his.

“It's illegal though,” you said. Doyoung shrugged slightly.

“Not what I do. Last time I checked snow didn’t belong to anyone, this head,” he said lifting it up slightly, “I stole from the COO’s office, the COO of my own company, who I pay so I don’t feel bad.” That relieved you slightly. Until that point, you had been afraid the police would come out of nowhere and arrest you as an accomplice to his crime.

After a while, he stopped walking. You realised you had stopped in front of a rather fancy house. Doyoung nodded to it.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked politely, it reminded you more of who you had once perceived Doyoung to be – the overly polite and cautious, pedantic boss. You were in two minds, this could go very badly, he clearly didn’t have a lot of morals so there was a small chance he may murder you. But you were also enthralled by him, you just wanted to find out more. So murder was a chance you somehow were willing to make. You also had a strange feeling that if he had to murder someone he wouldn’t pick you.

“Can you hold it?” he asked, referencing the statue as he placed it into your arms. It was heavier than expected but you only had to deal with the weight for a few moments before he opened his front door. The inside of Doyoung’s house was pristine. It looked like a showhome, but you didn’t know what else you had expected.

He set the statue down on his kitchen table. Before turning back to you.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, once again very politely, “I’m going to make some tea, it's so cold outside.” You nodded.

“Yes, thank you,” you added, suddenly feeling like your politeness needed to match his, your previous need to confront him was lost.

Now you were inside you became acutely aware of how cold you were, you took a seat at Doyoung’s kitchen table, shivering ever so slightly. He seemed to notice this because as the kettle boiled he opened a separate cupboard to reveal a blanket. He took a few steps over to you before draping it carefully over your shoulders. You smiled at him in thanks. The smile replaced words that were not forming in your mouth. You reckoned this was because you realised where you were.

It was almost two am and you were sitting in your bosses kitchen. The same boss who happened to be both a snowman and statue thief. Yet weirdly you weren’t uncomfortable. Chilly yes, unsettled no.

“Here’s your tea,” Doyoung said, causing you to be drawn away from your thoughts. He sat down opposite you, moving his chair out very carefully, as not to scratch the floor. Your eyes narrowed.

“That’s what I don’t get,” you told him.

“What is?”

“How you can be so precise – about when you give me files, about how you order the office, your house and so on. But yet you also go out and steal meaningless things, and cause mini havoc.”

Doyoung shook his head, his eyes changed from bored to almost angry but not quite angry. You weren’t sure what emotion it was, but it was more than just bored.

“They aren’t meaningless. I live a privileged life, I have money and a good job. But I have nothing else – I can’t seem to find things that make me happy. To be honest I almost don’t feel at all. But stealing, stealing causes a rush in my veins, it allows me to capture a moment of happiness that someone else created. The snowman was made by children playing having fun, Shakespeare wrote about the most powerful loves. I don’t have any of those things so I steal them.”

You didn’t say anything back. You didn’t think you could. What do you say to someone so numb? You didn’t know. So you both sat there in silence drinking your tea. It was two twenty-three am. Fuck it you thought, before standing up abruptly. Doyoung barely looked up but that wasn’t going to stop you. You walked around the table to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

“What are you doing?” he deadpanned.

“teaching you how to feel alive again, how to have fun.” You said, “I don’t care how long it takes, we will find something that makes you feel better than stealing does.”

“Impossible,” he said.

It was the challenge of the impossible that lead you and Doyoung to the middle of the city park long after it had closed. It leads to both of you standing before a rather large tree which you intended to climb.

“You’re kidding,” he said. You shook your head adamantly.

“Nope, there’s a good view, and even if there’s not maybe you could steal a leaf or two.” To which he chuckled. You smiled to yourself. It was already going to plan. You pushed up off the ground, ignoring the fact you were in your tights only as high heels hadn’t been optimum for this task. You pushed past any small pain, climbing from branch to branch, only checking now and again to ensure Doyoung was following.

You stopped at one of the larger branches probably twenty feet of the ground, it wasn’t super high but it was enough to feel dangerous, enough to see most of the park around you. You shuffled along the branch so that Doyoung would be able to sit next to you. And he did.

“Better than stealing?” you asked. Doyoung shook his head. “So you are not at all scared of falling?” you were incredulous.

“I don’t feel scared no.”

“So I cut my hand for nothing,” you sighed looking down at where the rough bark had torn the palm of your hand slightly. Doyoung’s eyebrows furrowed together,

“We shouldn’t have done it if you were going to hurt yourself.”

“Not a big deal,” you shrugged, “But it hasn’t worked so on to the next thing.” You motioned for him to start climbing down which he did, you followed on behind. Once you reached the bottom you started to walk back towards the city. Doyoung walked behind you, saying nothing.

You suggested many things and did many activities with him across the night, basketball in an abandoned court, pushing him in a shopping trolly, getting ice cream at four am in winter. But none of these simple things, that were just a bit wild for you, seemed at all interesting to him. So when you saw the sun peak up from behind the old firehouse you began to concede.

“Maybe you are right,” you said to him, as you sat in front of his house, back where you started. “Maybe you can’t feel apart from when you are stealing.” You looked at him sadly, but he wasn’t looking at you. “Please just don’t steal from my house in your future endeavours,” you asked, before standing up and smoothing out your dress. “But I wish you every happiness, Mr Kim.” You put your hand over his reassuringly. And then you walked away, you somehow couldn’t bring yourself to look back. Even when you heard him shout your name. Or maybe it was just the wind.

When you got home it was six twelve am and you just fell into your bed. You hoped that Mr Kim would forgive you from your absence at work. And you never got a phone call, so he seemed to have let you off the hook. Then it was the weekend so you didn’t have to face work until Monday. You were fine with that.

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

Monday came and you started filling out forms and replying to emails much like always. The day was exactly the same as it had always been. At least it was up until the time you usually received the report information. It was four minutes past the set time and nobody had arrived with the sheets of paper. This had never occurred in the three years you had worked for the firm.

You checked your watch one last time before getting up from your desk. You walked out to the front desk, suddenly realising you had no clue where Doyoung’s office was.

“Excuse me,” you said to the man on the front desk, “could you possibly tell me where Mr Kim’s office is?”

“I’m afraid he’s busy,” the man replied.

“It’s just this is important, I have to complete the company report every day and nothing has been brought to my desk,” you explained.

“Could I have your name and job title?”

“Y/n y/l/n Office Coordinator.” The man looked up suddenly.

“Oh right yes, I was just about to send someone to find you, Mr Kim has asked to speak to you, his office is on the fourth floor, speak to his secretary there.” You thanked him before hurrying off. Maybe this was it, he had finally decided to fire you. Once again you thought back to your past actions, kicking yourself for scolding your boss, what a stupid thing to do you thought.

The lift dinged open and you stepped inside. There was no one else in the lift so you took the moment to bang your head against the wall. The lift was somehow faster than you had expected because before you realised the doors had opened again. You were still banging your head against the wall as Doyoung stared into the lift at you, standing in the doorway.

He didn’t say anything but turned around and walked back to his office, and like you had the night he stole the Shakespeare head, you followed behind him. Followed into his office which was just as clean and minimalistic as his house had been.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, pointing towards the rather avant-garde chair opposite his desk, “I’m sorry the chair is so odd, marketing said it would impress people, yet it tends to have a rather opposite effect.”

You smiled slightly sitting down into the chair, you could see why it was unpopular, it was ridiculously uncomfortable. You crossed your legs over but assumed you just ended up sitting as awkwardly as you felt.

“Here’s your information,” Doyoung said to you after a while. You turned your head to face him, slightly confused.

“You aren’t firing me?” Doyoung shook his head.

“I already told you I would only fire you based on what you do inside the workplace. What you do at four am is up to you.” At this you visibly relaxed, it felt like dejavu. He was right, you had already had this conversation before. Doyoung looked at you intensely without ever looking away.

“Why did you call me here then?”

“I have something for you, one second,” he reached down into one of his desk draws and pulled out a small box. He pushed it across the table, opening the top for you. Inside was a silver bracelet with small moon charms on it. As you reached out to take the box your fingers brushed against his lightly.

“Did you steal it?” was the first thing you asked, which may have been slightly rude but you had to know. You couldn’t accept a gift if it was stolen. Doyoung laughed. Not just a small smile or chuckle like before but an actual laugh. You were confused more than anything. You couldn’t think of anyone who had actually ever spoken of him laughing.

“No, I didn’t steal it. I went to a jeweller and I bought it for you.” He said with a hint of what you thought might be a blush.

“Why?” you asked. He chuckled again.

“I might as well have stolen it, I’m under interrogation.” It was your turn to go red.

“I’m sorry,” you lifted the bracelet out of the box, looking at it, ‘it’s really beautiful.” Doyoung’s shoulder’s seemed to relax slightly.

“To answer your question, it’s a thank you, for helping me.”

“Well trying to help you at least,’ you joked, “I couldn’t get you to feel, none of my thrill-seeking activities were exciting enough clearly.”

Doyoung shook his head, he seemed conflicted about what he was going to say next. He didn’t talk for a minute or two – you didn’t mind, the silence was calming, not uncomfortable.

“When I told you I didn’t feel, I talked about why I stole Shakespeare’s head, do you remember?” He asked, leaning back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. You nodded.

“You said that Shakespeare was able to write about the greatest of loves, the kind of feeling you don’t experience.” Doyoung nodded.

“I think I felt that feeling, the excited one also in retrospect I think I had fun, but the Romeo and Juliet feeling, that’s the one I noticed.” He stood up from his seat and walked round to you, placing his hand on yours as you had his two weeks earlier. “It sounds stupid because it’s so simple, but this, this is making me feel alive.”

You were conflicted because what he felt, you could see yourself feeling it too, but right now, you knew it wasn’t what he needed.

“it’s not healthy,” you said to him, “what makes you happy should never be one singular person.”

“I know, but I don’t think that’s it. You only need one person to do CPR to bring them back to life, that one person doesn’t become the only thing you have. So I wanted to thank you, for making me feel alive – in a way that doesn’t require theft.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Would you be my friend?” Doyoung asked you, chewing on his lip. You broke out into a smile.

“I would love to be your friend Doyoung.”

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

You were meant to meet Doyoung and a friend of yours Jaehyun for a night out. It was nine o six when you stood outside the bar when you got a phone call from Jaehyun.

“I have to babysit my niece, it’s a family emergency,” he explained, “give my apologies to Doyoung.” You told him you understood and that you hoped it went okay. By the time you hung up the phone you turned to see Doyoung standing behind you.

You had been hanging out a lot with Doyoung over the past three months, introducing him to your friends as he told you about things he had done of his own accord also. You gleamed when you saw him standing in front of you. He was looking good, you had to admit.

“Jae had to cancel,” you told him.

“Just us then,” he smiled, placing his arm around your back carefully as you both walked into the bar. It wasn’t particularly busy because you had insisted you went out on a Tuesday because the drinks were cheaper. Doyoung had tried to disagree but you told him that he didn’t pay his employee’s enough for them to pass up on cheaper drinks.

You took a seat as Doyoung went to get you a drink, you had insisted you paid for your own one but he was trying to make a point after you had complained you were underpaid.

He came back only moments later with your drinks and sat down next to you.

“I haven't hung out with just you in ages,” he commented.

“I brought you back to life, my work was done,” you said sipping from your drink.

“You may not be the only thing that makes me feel happy,” Doyoung began, putting his drink back on the table, “But you’re the person that makes me the happiest.” He smiled slightly. “I’m sorry if that’s inappropriate to say. You shook your head.

“I want you to be happy, that’s why I helped you in the first place.”

“That’s just because you’re a nice person,” he laughed slightly sadly, “you didn’t know me.”

“I talked to you almost every day for three years even if it was just about work reports, I like to think I did know you, even if there wasn’t a lot to know back then.” Doyoung looked away. From then on your conversation drifted back to more normal things, work, gossip, holiday plans.

“I’m probably just going to watch Netflix for a week, I’m saving up right now so I won’t go away but I still want a week off,” you said.

“I’ll miss you at work because you’re my best office coordinator of course,” he added. You fiddled with your bracelet, It was weirdly awkward, something you had never felt between you and Doyoung before, usually, you got on great but today there was some unspoken tension.

“You still wear it,” Doyoung said, flicking one of the charms on your bracelet with a smile. You nodded.

“It’s really pretty,”

“So are you… shit sorry, I don’t know… I just kinda said it sorry…” You giggled slightly looking down at your feet, then back up at Doyoung. His inner conflict somehow made him look cute. You found yourself drawn to his lips. He leaned over and pushed a strand of hair out of your eyes, that had fallen as you looked down and up so quickly. But he didn’t pull his hand away again, instead he looked you straight in the eye. This time though his eyes were bright not dull, the sparkled despite the low light levels. It was the most beautiful thing you thought you had ever witnessed.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked ever polite, for no matter how much he wanted to kiss you, he would never put your friendship in jeopardy. You nodded and leaned closer to him as he did to you until your lips caught together. He kissed you slowly, almost like it hurt, like he was scared, yet you didn’t know what of. You pulled away, still leaving your hand on his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” you asked him. He just shook his head and pulled you back close, kissing you passionately, his hands lost in your hair. Almost forgetting you were sat in the corner of a bar.

“I love you,” he mumbled between kisses causing you to stop moving altogether, you didn’t pull back, your lips just froze. Doyoung leaned away and stood up, taking your hand in his pulling you up with him. You both walked out of the bar, you still stunned to even say anything. When you stood outside in the slightly warmer air, you did realise that you were just metres away from where you stood the night Doyoung stole Shakespeare.

“I love you,” he said louder this time, “and you don’t have to love me back or say anything but I had to tell you. You may not be the only thing that makes me happy but you know you’re the most important and you make me feel the most alive. I have never felt more alive than when we kissed just now. You are the kindest, most fun person, the only person who helped me, who could help me. I was one step away from grand theft auto when I met you… but Shakespeare was the last thing I stole.”

“It wasn’t the last thing you stole,” you said finally, placing both of your arms around Doyoung bringing him into a hug, “because you stole my heart,” you looked up at him, pecking him on the lips. “I never thought I would end up loving someone who steals snowmen… but here we are,”

“Here we are,” Doyoung agreed before kissing you again and this time you could feel him smile as you kissed you, and both your eyes were shut but you didn’t need to look Doyoung in the eyes anymore to see that he wasn’t the only thief anymore, because you had stolen his heart to.

#nct #nct imagines #doyoung #nct doyoung #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #nct scenarios #nct reactions #kim doyoung

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randomoranges · 3 years

Text

these blurbs are recycled. back in 2015, i had written these for another teacher au verse for another fandom. i never got around to posting them for the other fandom [i don’t think so. if anything they’re on my old LJ somewhere, but anyways.] i decided to re-read them and update them a little. these are based on true events and some wishful thinking.

the wishful thinking part is that i really would like to have an Edward lamao.

Teaching AU

Planning

Étienne had no idea what it was that had possessed him, when he agreed to this contract. Sure, he had a degree that said he could teach, yes, he actually did want to work, but he had no idea how to organise his lessons and the curriculum only helped him so much. He could do anything he wanted and the idea was overwhelming to say the least. That was the way art was – basically, he could have the kids do whatever project he so desired, so long as they ended up learning whatever it was the Progressions of Learning said. It didn’t matter how it was the students learned about primary colours, so long as they did. Étienne would have preferred some guidance – some left over projects from the year before to at least get him started and guided.

He was still a little shell-shocked. This was his first contract, the staff was nice, but the school was enormous and he felt as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. It didn’t help that he was the only art teacher in the building and therefore had no other art colleagues on hand, (why had he agreed, why?) He would have liked to been able to exchange ideas with someone else – someone who knew the program and had done this for a few years – who knew the school.

Étienne sighed and tried to calm down his racing heart. He hated feeling like an incompetent. He could come up with projects easily, but – would the students enjoy them? Would they be able to do them? Would they breeze through the project in thirty minutes instead of the four periods he had planned? And then there was the grading – the groups – so many groups, so many projects and thus, so much grading. How did one manage it all? How did teachers not sign their souls over when they started?

There were high hopes riding on him and he didn’t want to disappoint.

If he was honest with himself, Étienne would admit that he had spent the past two weeks fretting during sleepless nights over this job and that so far, it was more stress than fun. He hated this. He missed his free time. He missed going home and doing something for himself. Something fun. He was always bone tired when he got home and there was always something work related to do; e-mails, grading, planning, preparing, thinking – thinking – thinking. Even when he tried to sleep, his brain would kick into gear and play over the days lessons and over think the upcoming ones. There was no break. Ever.

But he wasn’t one who gave up.

He would show them, damn it. He would show the man who hired him that he had made the right choice.

Even if it meant more sleepless nights and more after hours at school trying to keep his head above water.

Étienne sighed and opened up another tab on his computer, looking for some inspiration. At least the school was quiet now.

Printer

Edward didn’t know why, but somehow or other, he had decided that this year, he would make the new science exam, since apparently, the one the school had used last year was garbage and he had So Many Great Ideas.

Even though he had three other colleagues who equally taught fifth grade science, he had volunteered to do it, to show that he was willing to be part of the team, help out, and get involved. Or something equally wonderful and daft.

That was fine, except now he found himself alone, in the teacher’s room, on a Friday night, two hours after classes had let out, trying to coax life into the printer.

He wanted to go home.

These exams needed to be printed now, so that they could be looked over on Monday and then distributed by Tuesday. Therefore, now was not the time for the printer to stop working, thank you very much.

Edward would have gone to a different printer, but this was the only decent photocopier that could staple and hole punch the documents as well. He would have asked another teacher, but it was past six and no one was left in the school. Well, no one he knew of. No one in their right mind, really.

He was tired, hungry, on the brink of a nervous breakdown because of this stupid printer, stressed, anxious and overworked. He had piles of marking to do this weekend and he had lessons to plan. To top it all off, today had been a day six and he hated those. (It was the one day in his schedule where he didn’t have a specialist and of course it fell on a Friday, when the kids were more excitable. He’d tried to make his afternoon easier by putting on a movie, but that had been met with only partial success.)

It was a lot. It was too much. Why had he ever agreed to any of this? Why did anyone ever agree to this? And most importantly, how could anyone ever even think that teachers’ had it easy? This was anything but. Sure, he loved his students, would do anything for them, but.

He let out a frustrated cry and slammed his hand on the printer. There was no way the paper was still jammed or that the ink cartridge was low. He tried rebooting the machine, but he got the same error message as before.

He was going to give up.

He had let everyone down.

He knew he shouldn’t have gotten so involved; he should have kept his mouth shut.

He should have minded his own business.

He should have – he let out a mangled sob and then heard a soft cough from the door.

Edward spun around quickly and wiped his eyes. He wasn’t alone anymore.

He squinted at the door and saw the new art teacher – Étienne. What was he doing here? At this time? Why wasn’t he home?

“Late night?” He asked, all smiles and casualness, but Edward had a feeling that Étienne was just hiding his own exhaustion behind his friendly smile.

“No – I mean – yes, I mean...” He looked at the printer and wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

“Printer problems?”

“Yes... and I was almost done. Well, for the day. Not like we’re ever done.”

Étienne laughed and stepped inside the dimly lit office. There had been daylight before, but he hadn’t bothered turning the lights earlier, too absorbed in his work.

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead. It can’t get any worse than this. Although, if you fix it, I might just want to kiss you.” He joked and then realised how that sounded. He was about to apologise for the comment, but Étienne offered him a smile and a soft laugh instead. Edward stepped aside and let Étienne have a look. Étienne turned on the lights and Edward squinted at the sudden bright lights.

Étienne looked at the printer and hummed in concentration. He opened the tray, checked for a paper jam, and Edward wanted to tell him that he had done all of that already, but, well, Étienne could have the pleasure of finding that out for himself.

It took Étienne a little over an hour, during which they exchanged polite conversation. Edward tried to print his document, when it seemed that it would work, but every time, without fault, the printer stuttered or printed out blanks, much to both of their discouragement.

Finally, after four threats of setting the damned thing on fire, three litanies of curses and one break to cool off, the photocopier finally spat out Edward’s document.

Edward first kissed the stack of freshly printed-paper and then launched himself into Étienne’s arms.

Art Room

Edward looked at the small mountain of exams he still had to grade and groaned. He hated the end of term for many different reasons and this was definitively one of them.

He had more grading than he cared to do and the report cards needed to be filled in afterwards as if he didn’t have enough to do already.

It was a good thing he was on top of his grading.

He could only imagine what it would be like if he wasn’t.

Actually, he didn’t want to imagine.

At least he only had twenty-eight students to deal with. He had no idea how Étienne managed. He’d drown. He’d never be ahead. There was no way. Sometimes, he looked at Étienne correct projects and he wondered how he did it – how he decided what was full marks and what deserved less. Étienne had explained it to him once; had shown him his very detailed rubric, but even then.

Edward threw his red pen down and fished out his cell phone. He needed a break. He wanted to go home and forget about all of this. He wanted to pretend he was a regular man with a regular 8 to 4 job that didn’t follow him home. He wanted to go on a date with his boyfriend and not pass out on the sofa by nine-thirty like some ancient dinosaur man.

He opened up his conversation with Étienne, typing out a new message quickly.

“Are you almost done?” He typed out. Maybe, if Étienne was nearly done, he could use it as an excuse to head home.

The reply came a few seconds later, “Not even close. You?”

Edward sighed; so much for an earlier night. “Likewise. I need a break. Mind if I pop by yours for a bit?”

“God, please. I need a distraction something fierce.”

Edward put down his phone and stretched luxuriously, letting out a groan. His neck was stiff and his shoulders were sore, but standing up felt good.

Étienne’s art room was two floors below his own classroom and they had made the art room their own little meeting point when they wanted to sit together away from everyone and everything else. The art room’s doors had no windows, there was a comfortable plush couch in the back of it, and there weren’t any other classrooms beyond it. Therefore, it was the perfect place for some quiet time together.

Edward made his way towards the other room and took a moment to listen to the quiet of the building. There was something soothing and a little eerie about a quiet school in the dead of the night. He thought it was calming. It was different from the regular hustle and bustle of the day, with the students running down the stairs after class, before class, during class being their rowdy selves. Now, he could hear himself think and breathe.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Étienne greeted him at the door with a pleased little smile.

Edward couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He liked the fact that he could meet up with his boyfriend like this. He had friends who wondered how it was they ever had anything to talk about when they worked at the same place. It worked for them. They made it work. If anything, it meant that Étienne understood his work reality and vice versa. They both knew how demanding it was to teach and so, they never fought over the other “being lazy and not having done a chore” or something. Edward liked that they had the morning and evening commute together, even if they didn’t say anything. Just being together and sharing the same space was enough.

They exchanged tired, fond smiles and Edward closed the door behind him, before pulling Étienne close for a hug, leaning back against the door.

“God, you look how I feel.” He told Étienne.

Étienne laughed and gave him a one over. “I can say the same about you, Murphy, and yet you’re still a sight for sore eyes.”

“Kind as always, Maisonneuve.”

“Only for you.” Étienne said, soft, and closed the distance between them, cupping Edward’s cheeks with his hands to press a kiss to the corner of Edward’s mouth.

“No. Kiss me proper, damn it. I need something to survive this hell night.” Edward pouted.

Étienne’s laugh was more of a rasp, but he was never one to refuse Edward a kiss. He pulled him closer and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, looking into those eyes he loved so much, before he kissed him properly this time. Edward sighed against him, held him closer and chased another kiss when Étienne made to pull back.

This was by far the greatest perk of working with his boyfriend. It wasn’t as if they used every chance they got to make-out, but it was nice to know that they could. That when Étienne needed a hug they could sneak one in behind closed doors and that when they were both doing their usual unpaid overtime, they could indulge in a little moment or two to make the night a little easier.

After Hours

Parent-teacher interviews were finally over and the desks and chairs had been put away. Tomorrow was a PED day, but at least it meant a reprieve from the kids, even if they still needed to be in at the same time and then have to sit through meetings that could always be summed up in an e-mail but never were.

Even though Étienne was exhausted and he wanted nothing more but curl up in bed and sleep until spring, there was a get together in the staff room and he could go for a little socialising. It wasn’t as if he had time to see his friends anymore anyways.

Being the new teacher, he hadn’t really gotten the chance to make new friends, but Edward was there and so he figured he could hang out with him. If anything, there was free booze from the looks of it and that in itself would make this a little more interesting.

Luckily, being the art teacher meant that even if he didn’t really know the other teachers, they knew of him and that he existed in the school. They all exchanged polite hellos and congratulated themselves on surviving the night, before toasting to that.

Étienne found Edward by the back of the room, sitting on one of the couches. He seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with the other fifth grade teachers and Étienne figured he might as well join them, even if just to sit somewhere.

“Excellent, I thought you had left.” Edward said with a bright grin and Étienne thought that maybe this wasn’t Edward’s first drink, judging by the pink of his cheeks.

“Nah, you’re my ride home, or did you forget?” He joked. Honestly, the rides home and to school were a life saver. He needed to get Edward a proper Christmas thank you gift just for that. And also because Edward had offered him friendship when it seemed as though he would be alone in this new school and drown in his own feelings.

They exchanged a few anecdotes from the night, until one of the gym teachers showed up with a special bottle of whiskey and a stack of mismatched teacups.

“Looks like things are going to get interesting!” Edward grinned at him. Étienne could only nod as he was handed a cup.

The janitor came by to kick them out around eleven, when he had to arm the school. They didn’t mind, really, since they did want to head home and they did have to show up to school the following day, even if the idea of calling in sick and sleeping in seemed oh so alluring.

Étienne’s head was spinning a little and he wasn’t sure if it had to do with the extra cup of whiskey or the fact that Edward had been pressed close to his side, all evening long, with their legs touching and shoulders bumping into each other. However, for once in his life, he was happy to have the cold November air blast him in the face when they stepped out.

If anything, it had been an excellent way to end the evening and he had connected with a few other teachers. Especially Edward. Edward was fast turning into a potentially Real Friend. Friend he could meet up with outside of school type.

“You ready to head home?” Edward asked, bundling up in his scarf and coat. Étienne liked the rosy tinge to his cheeks and wondered if it was the cold, the booze, or a blush. For half a second Étienne had a vision of going to home to someone – of going back home with Edward and he mourned the fact that he wasn’t – that there was no one home waiting for him and to kiss him goodnight.

“Yeah; I’m beat. You?”

“I’m okay. I guess I’ll pick you up tomorrow? Around 7h30?” At least he could sleep in an extra thirty minutes.

“Sure looks like it. Wanna grab lunch during break?” He threw out, feeling bold. They’d never done lunch before. They kept it at the lifts, which were already nice, even if sometimes they were quiet. Edward seemed surprised, but recovered quickly. His cheeks taking on an interesting shade of pink that Étienne wasn’t sure if it had to do with the cold, the booze, or something else.

“Sounds like a plan.” He finally said and nodded to himself.

Étienne grinned feeling light-headed and giddy.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #au #ficlet #teacher au

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roseskiesandbutterflies · 3 years

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Le Démon Déchu - Chapter 1: Nouveau Départ

Summary: The summary is kind of long so please check a previous part or my masterlist if you want to read it.

Warning(s): implied/referenced trauma, swearing (this goes for probably every chapter, but I’ll keep putting it here)

Word Count: 2.8k+

Inspiration: Do You Know What Eternity Is? by Elderly_Worm on AO3, Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise on AO3, Pray For Us, Icarus series by Atalan on AO3, Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm on AO3, Doctor Who (don’t ask) and, of course, Good Omens itself

A/N: This was probably a bad idea, considering I have three other series on the go right now as well as a one-shot that isn’t done yet, but life’s too short so here it is. Updates on all of my works are going to be a bit slower from now on now I’m back at school (I’m in Year 11 too so I have even less time to write these days), so just bear with me. I promise I have a plan for the next twenty chapters at least, I am planning for this to be longer, but I haven’t decided where I’m going to take the rest of the story yet.

By the way, you can imagine Eloise to look like whoever you want because I’ve been a bit vague with her descriptions, but I imagine her to look something like @angelknives13 on TikTok.

As I do for most of my stories, I’ve made a Spotify playlist for this fic! Just copy and paste the link below to listen and remember that I’ll probably keep adding to it. Please listen at your own discretion because some of the songs contain spoilers. Just be wary of that. Also, some of the songs’ lyrics don’t actually make sense/relate to the story, but they’re on there because they fit the general vibe of the story. Hopefully, that makes sense.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6BaXMlb26dBYyhRCqXrEeP?si=6rY8lOkeSSmE8LRDC_Cb5w

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26

Ask or comment to be on my taglist! Let me know if it’s for a specific fandom(s) or series. Full list is in my bio.

Fool (upright) + Six Of Swords (upright)

New beginnings. Transition. Shaking things up a bit.

She called herself ‘Eloise’. That wasn’t her real name. She hadn’t been referred to by her real name for an awfully long time. No, Eloise is what she called herself so Eloise she was. Somewhere along the line, humans had decided that one’s name should have a meaning, and in some cultures that that name should tell of your past and also of your future. Eloise had been all for this notion, thinking it a marvellous idea. She’d then found out that the meaning bestowed upon her chosen name was ‘famous warrior’, which she thought was rather accurate. For before all else, Eloise was a fighter. She had fought tooth and nail to carve out the identity she had cultivated for herself and by God was she willing to fight again to keep it that way. It was an identity that she kept in her metaphorical left breast pocket, right next to her metaphorical beating heart; right where she could have it close to her, always and forever, but also where she could take it out, hold it in the palm of her hand and just admire it from time to time before popping it back in the metaphorical pocket, safe and sound. Art for art’s sake. It was an identity that she had chiselled out of the finest marble, chipped at to perfection or the closest thing to it, so that now it was the image of a Roman bust, of an ancient and long-forgotten deity. It was taller than giants and softer than the clouds above her head, richer than the finest food that the humans could create and more complex than the human mind. It burned with the heat of a thousand fires, never to be doused nor tamed. It flowed freer than the flow of a thousand rivers, winding and twisting through the corners and crevices of her mind–

She looked at it for a second longer before placing it back ever so carefully in the metaphorical pocket. It’s healthy to admire one’s soul every now and again but look into its depths for too long and you will get sucked into your own vanity. So, she returned it home to the pocket, where it belonged.

After all, there were things to be getting on with.

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

I would like to see that light once more. […] The light of the hour before the sun goes down. When every object begins to glow with its own light and gives off its own particular colour.

– Christa Wolf (Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays)

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

There was something about evening sunshine. The sun beats down on every little thing without mercy during the day, but five o’clock rolls around before long and everything turns sweeter. The usually red bricks of identical townhouses glow orange as they cast shadows down on passers-by, the leaves of oak trees turn golden-green as they sunbathe, not all that different to the humans that seek them for shelter. The breeze blows a little cooler, the sun shines a little softer, the sky rejoices in the oil painting below it. Sunbeams caress your face, holding you in an embrace that’s warm and comforting and oh-so-familiar. It feels like returning home, and in some ways it is.

Aziraphale loves to read at this time. Though nothing should be inferred from this, as Aziraphale loves to read at any and all hours of the day and night. Aziraphale would read all day, every day for the rest of time if he could. Unfortunately for him, he can’t do such a thing, but he does read an awful lot, and he likes to make a point of always reading in the evenings. He would swap his east-facing desk for the comfort of his lapis-coloured armchair, where the window that peers over his left shoulder tries to read with him in comfortable silence. The sunlight spills into the room, casting the soft pages beneath his fingertips in a homely, golden glow, illuminating and enhancing the words printed on them. Dust particle dance like fairies in this natural spotlight, but Aziraphale is, more often than not, too engrossed in his reading to pay attention to things like these.

He is not, however, too oblivious to notice sudden noises. Unfortunately for him, Aziraphale tended to find them too loud to ignore most of the time.

His head popped up like a meerkat when he heard the bell hanging above the bookshop door ring, its tune singing out and filling the quiet of the room. The noise of outside chatter and traffic disappeared as quickly as it came as the door swiftly opened and closed. His brows furrowed in confusion, for he was sure that that door had been locked ever since that phone call he’d had with Crowley which had eventually resulted in the latter coming to stay with him, and as far as he knew, Crowley was upstairs somewhere, probably watching yet more reruns of Golden Girls. He rose cautiously and ventured into the main shop, worst case scenarios flooding his mind with every step he took.

“Hello? I’m sorry but we are most definitely closed, as you would know if you read the sign on the door…”

He faltered when he finally came face to face with the intruder. She looked at him with dark eyes wide with curiosity, her gaze intense but at the same time comforting, as if you could get lost swimming, drowning in them if you searched for too long. She then softened with the realisation and nostalgia of reuniting with an old and long-forgotten friend, her smile small but full of unbridled joy. Her voice was no louder than a whisper but held a power that compelled you to pay attention as she murmured, “Oh, there you are.”

Aziraphale’s throat ran dry with an emotion he couldn’t quite pin down, couldn’t quite name, an emotion that was on the tip of his tongue yet so out of reach. He scrambled to gather his senses because for goodness sake, this is a complete stranger whom you have never met until now, pull yourself together. “I-I’m not quite sure how you got in, but the shop is very much closed so I-I must ask you to leave,” he managed to stammer out, much less confident than the Aziraphale from a minute or two ago.

“Oh no,” she said reassuringly, her joyous expression never waning for a second, “I’m not here for a book.”

“Angel!” Crowley suddenly called out from upstairs, melting some of the awkwardness that was hanging around the room like a rather awful smell. Aziraphale noticed how the stranger’s eyes lit up even further, smile grew even wider, and more and more questions swirled around his head. He forced himself to look away from her as he heard Crowley saunter into the room from behind him. “Angel, I’m just about to put the kettle on, did you want a cup of tea or–,” he stopped when he finally noticed the other presence in the room, “I thought the shop was still supposed to be closed?” he asked warily, something in the back of his mind telling him not to trust the stranger.

“It is,” Aziraphale replied uncertainly while she waved awkwardly at them, “I don’t know how she got in, but she said she isn’t here for a book.”

Her face twitched slightly as if she wanted to comment on being spoken about like she wasn’t even in the room, but quickly decided against it for the sake of politeness.

Crowley’s face morphed into the epitome of confusion as he asked, “Well, if you’re not here for a book then why are you in a bloody bookshop?”

She looked at him as though the answer was blatantly obvious, “The bookshop has an owner, does it not? Or two unless I’m very much mistaken. It’s you. I’m here for you two.”

Crowley was quick to defend his image, “’S not my bookshop. I’m just, you know, here,” he gestured vaguely at his surroundings.

She nodded with understanding, then seemed to shake awake, “Sorry, I’m forgetting myself. Do you mind if I sat down? It’s just I’ve been travelling for an awfully long time; it’s been a while since I’ve been able to rest.”

Aziraphale nodded almost immediately, “Yes, yes, of course. Be my guest.” He didn’t think he’d be physically able to refuse her if he tried, there was something, something about her, “Could I get you a drink, or something to eat, perhaps?”

She smiled gratefully as she took a seat on the ancient looking yet somehow almost pristine armchair in the corner of the shop, “A glass of water would be lovely if that’s okay with you.” Aziraphale was gone in an instant, bustling around the make-shift kitchen in his backroom, quite glad to have something to do with himself if he was honest.

Crowley, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes at the stranger ever so slightly. Her story so far wasn’t adding up in his mind; if she’s been travelling for as long as she says she has, then why was her only luggage a handbag that she’d discarded on the floor when she’d sat down? And then there was the nagging in the back of his head that he was trying to stifle as best as he could. He stopped his train of thought dead in its track when he noticed that she’d been staring at him the entire time, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. There was something in her eyes, those damn eyes, that momentarily made him worry if his whole thought process was being projected above his head. She was observing him with a scrutiny that made him positively squirm. Finally, he said something, managing to stutter, “I’m gonna, erm, go, yeah,” he awkwardly pointed his fingers in the direction of where Aziraphale had left before sighing and making his much-needed exit.

She just nodded even though he could no longer see her, then suddenly sat up straight and let out a shaky breath. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered to herself. This was about to be the biggest risk she’d taken in years.

She took a deep breath and let go.

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

“Do we know her?” Crowley asked from his seat on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child and cradling a cup of coffee in his hands, “Or is she just some random stranger who couldn’t read the ‘closed’ sign?”

Aziraphale looked at him as though he wanted to comment on his bluntness but had decided against it for the sake of not wanting to pick a fight, “I don’t recall meeting her at all. Surely, she would have mentioned where we know her from…”

Crowley looked at him knowingly, “But yet she seems oddly familiar and you can’t for the life of you figure out why?” His face softened when Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock, “I know what you mean. It’s off-putting. Her, I mean, not you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled softly at him before looking away and asking, “What do we do? Do we ask her to leave?”

“Okay, you know as well as I do that you’re too curious for your own good,” Crowley smirked, “You want to find out everything you can about her, and that’s exactly what you’re gonna try and do.”

“I, well, um,” Aziraphale stammered out, face flushed bright red much to Crowley’s amusement, “Well, when you put it like that, I sound awfully nosy.”

Crowley snorted, “Well, you are a bit but where’s the fun in minding your own business?”

“Oh, hush, you wily old serpent,” he said, pursing his lips in mock discontent.

“Ah,” Crowley grinned, “Haven’t heard that one in a while. ‘Wily old serpent’. What ever will you think of next?”

“Stop it,” Aziraphale smiled with no real malice behind his words, playfully swatting Crowley with a tea towel that he’d miracled into his hands for that precise purpose, “Now get down from the counter, we can’t put this off forever.”

“Why not?” he asked as he jumped down with a swing of his legs. That earned him another swat from Aziraphale and his evil tea towel.

They continued to bicker as they reluctantly made their way back to the front of the shop, the unease in the atmosphere palpable to point where you could cut it with a knife. Neither one was quite sure why they were so nervous to talk to the stranger.

Crowley noticed it before Aziraphale did, stopping dead in his tracks and holding a hand out for Aziraphale to stop and just notice.

For standing in the middle of the bookshop with her back to the pair of them was the stranger and it was now painfully clear that she was in no way human.

A giant pair of wings sprouting from her back, spread out with pride, not unlike their own except they were the most beautiful shade of grey. The grey of an elephant in the sunlight, of the cobblestones shining in the rain, of shields from empires of long ago. They were the mist that lay on the sea in the moments before dawn and the oh-so-cold breath on a frosty morning. They were the fog that lay on a path yet to be crossed, the ashes of people long gone. They were almost hypnotising with not only their beauty, but also with the colour itself, and a hundred questions were swirling around their heads.

Who was she? Where had she come from? And, how on Earth did she come to have grey wings?

It was only when Aziraphale’s cup smashed to the floor when the stranger whirled around to finally meet their eyes, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked down the mess on the floor, and she smiled warmly at one very shocked angel before forcing the mug to reassemble itself in Aziraphale’s hand with a flick of her wrist, “There, no harm done.” Her smile faltered when she noticed their blank expressions and she sighed, “I think we best sit down, don’t you?”

The pair of them exchanged a nervous glance, speaking a language with just their eyes, before wordlessly following her suggestion and taking a seat on the sofa next to Aziraphale’s desk, while she perched on the chair opposite. “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of questions–”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Crowley scoffed, earning him a small glare and pursed lips from Aziraphale who just wanted to know what was going on, thank you very much.

“No, Aziraphale, it’s okay, he’s right,” she said, holding a hand out to stop him. The silence that followed was thick with unease and uncertainty, but she didn’t notice until it was too late, “Oh, shit,” she said simply, bracing herself for their reactions.

“How do you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name, how do you know it?” Aziraphale asked, the words tumbling out of him before he could even think about what he was saying.

Her eyes widened in alarm as she rushed to settle him, “Aziraphale–”

“Who put you up to this? Who sent you here?” He was standing now, blind with panic because what if they’ve found us, what if this is it, what if these past few months were all we were going to have before they came for us-

“Aziraphale, please,” she cried before looking at Crowley for help, not quite sure what she was dealing with here.

“Angel,” he said, voice as gentle as he could make it, smiling slightly when Aziraphale finally looked at him, “Just hear her out, okay?”

The angel stayed standing for a moment, collecting his thoughts because the worry in her eyes, no one from Heaven or Hell could even pretend to care for him so much. Finally, he nodded and sat down again, a trifle warily, a blush dusting his cheeks with a sad kind of shame.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you like that,” she murmured, voice a lot quieter, a lot less confident, but tenfold more sincere. She let the moment hang and dissolve, and then she perked up a bit, getting back to the manner at hand, “And no, no one sent me here. I came of my own accord, alone, just like I always do,” her eyes trailed away for a split second. They can’t see the memories if they can’t see your eyes. They can’t see the pain if they can’t see your face.

She felt Crowley’s eyes linger on her face with curiosity, grateful that he let the flicker of hurt wash over her face. After a second, he asked, “Who are you?”

Silence followed, for a moment. She sat there, thinking to herself, because who are you is a tricky question to answer when you have things that need to stay hidden. “My name is Eloise–”

She was cut off by a loud noise that must have come from upstairs, sounding not altogether dissimilar to someone crashing through the roof, followed by an overwhelming sense of divinity.

Eloise could only find it in herself to sigh and mumble, “Fuck.”

#good omens #good omens headcanon #good omens imagine #crowley #crowley headcanon #crowley imagine #Aziraphale #aziraphale headcanon #aziraphale imagine #good omens fic #oc

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pitterpatterpot · 4 years

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Lion’s Pride: Chapter Twenty-Three

25.

It would be a lie to say that Aedion isn’t nervous, not that he would ever admit it. His pack is heavy over his shoulder, filled with unnecessary items that Gavriel demanded he’d bring. The forest rustles around them, the sounds of the camp drawing closer. Caius’s letter crinkles in his pocket as a thin and creased warning.

“Aedion,” Gavriel’s warm voice, tinged with humor, rings out. “You do realize that I am not marching you to your death, yes?”

The Lion receives a piercing glare in return. “I’m meeting a fae army.”

“My fae army.”

“You say that as if it’s supposed to calm me,” Aedion growls. “Your brothers and Caius will be there, along with all your soldiers. These males have marched under your command. I have followed your every order. And now they’ll be meeting me.”

“You are a general,” Gavriel says with strong certainty. “Many of them will try to push you, yes, but I believe you will more than be able to hold your own.”

“And if I’m not?”

Gavriel sends him a dry look. Aedion chuckles and flashes a sharp grin.

~~~

“You’re a little short, aren’t you?”

Aedion blinks at the slightly grey-haired fae female in front of him. Her hands are planted on her hips, frowning as she looks up at him. Gavriel himself cocks his head in question, Caius snorting from his position from the fire.

“You come up to my chest,” Aedion flicks his brows up.

“Still,” the female clicks her tongue. “Compared to the Rowan and Gavriel you’re not exactly the longest stick. Do you eat enough? I’ll get you some dinner. Sit down by your father.”

Aedion blinks once again, watching the female stride off in the direction of food. Both Caius and Gavriel cover their mouths to hide their amusement, obviously enjoying the commentary.

“Who,” Aedion turns back to Gavriel, “was that?”

“That was Caius’s sister,” Gavriel chuckles, easing himself down onto a log besides Caius. “Terella.”

“Be prepared to be pampered,” Caius grins. “She’s been desperate to meet you.”

Aedion rolls his eyes, settling onto the log beside Gavriel. They chat for a few minutes, a circle on warriors gathering around their fire. At one point Terrella manages to wedge herself between Aedion and some fae male that decided to join them. She and Aedion quickly sparked a conversation between the differences in their amour and weaponry. Gavriel watches them chatter with a smile sneaking up, eyes glinting in amusement and pride as several males lean forward to hear Aedion’s stories.

“You do know that your brothers are coming, yes?” Caius murmurs, leaning in. “They should be arriving tomorrow at daybreak.”

“I’m aware,” Gavriel nods. “They had the forethought to send an early message this time. Aedion and I look forward to seeing them.”

“That’s good,” Caius lowers his voice further. “There’s something I would like to discuss with you in my tent first.”

Gavriel flicks his eyes over to examine his friend. An unusually grave look has settled upon Caius’s face, the usually dapper male solemn and grim as he stares at Gavriel. Then his eyes flicker to Aedion, something like rage and fear appearing. The change makes something in Gavriel’s chest jolt and in response, he immediately nods and stands.

Aedion looks up at them and grins. “Tired already?”

“Caius is going to show me where our tent is,” Gavriel smiles easily. “It should be right by his. I’ll be back later.”

The night is loud. Half from the warriors laughing around their sporadic fires and half from the crunch of twigs and leaves snapping under the feet of invisible creatures. Gavriel steadily follows Caius to his tent, golden eyes scanning the area and glad to see it devoid of company. Most have set up their fires by the lake off to the side, one of the many rivers that flow from Doranelle. Caius ducks under the tent flap, Gavriel following suit. Inside is a simple chest and bedroll. Both males opt to stand.

“Some bastard has been using ‘Adarlan’s Whore’ an awful lot,” Caius reports bluntly. “Most of the army dismisses it since Aedion’s true alliances to Terrasen are now well known. Many respect him for going to such lengths to revenge his court. However, some believe it would have been… expected of someone like him.”

Of course. The sick knowledge rises up in Gavriel’s throat like a curdled mass of tar. That twisted sense of loyalty that so many fae and courts still have. That he once had to Maeve. So many would nod their heads at the idea of a demi-fae doing such a thing. It would be expected that such a half-breed would be used that way. Unimaginable for a pureblood fae, such a thing would be a disgrace. But a demi-fae? Expandable. A sick way of thinking that Gavriel has encountered many times over the years and never ceased to be disgusted by.

“It’s not only that,” Caius continues. “While some see it as an expectation, others see it as a disgrace. They believe Aedion has no honor, whoring himself to a country he takes an oath to while all along planning to stab them in the back. They see the deceit as dishonorable.”

The words clang through Gavriel’s chest. “He was a child. He did what he needed to do to survive.”

Caius hesitates. “Yes. But he also swore himself to a king he continuously betrayed and plotted to kill.”

“You agree with this?” Gavriel bares his teeth, anger cracking through his usually endless resolve.

“No!” Caius holds up his hands, horror flicking across his features. “Gods above, no. You know me better than that, Gavriel. I’m just trying to make the situation clear to you. To many of the people here, in terms of fae culture-“

“Aedion is dishonest, disloyal, dishonorable and…” Gavriel trails off, the words ticking through his mind like a persistent clock, ever-steady and unending.

“And used,” Caius adds quietly, flinching at Gavriel’s growl. “I’m sorry! I dislike this situation as well, Gavriel. But being whored out, used, taking an oath under false claims and planning betrayal against the king whom he offered services… We know Aedion. I justify everything he has done and your child I see him only in the best light. But there are people here who do not know him. Who only see him as a weak, dishonorable male. I needed to warn you of this before you heard anything yourself.”

“I… I understand,” Gavriel swallows back his anger, hands clenching at his sides and shoulders squaring. “Thank you for alerting me of this.”

“Will you tell Aedion?” Caius eyes the male.

“No,” Gavriel slowly shakes his head. “I will allow Aedion to defend himself if the need arises. The people here shall face the Wolf of the North if they wish to slander Adarlan’s Whore.”

~~~

“I’m not sharing a bedroll with you.”

Gavriel huffs a small breath of laughter as he and Aedion walk towards their tent. “We each have one, Aedion. Caius isn’t that cruel.”

“I am, actually,” the male clicks his tongue, stopping outside his own tent. “Either way, if you bastards hate each other by the end of the night then one of you is sleeping outside because I’m not allowing anyone in my tent.”

With that he ducks inside, the flap falling shut behind him. Aedion blinks.

“He reminds me of Kyllian,” Aedion murmurs to Gavriel, eyes narrowed.

Brows raised, Gavriel turns away. “He reminds me more of you, and I more of Kyllian. I’d have to say that the positions are reversed in this situation, son.”

Snorting, Aedion follows after Gavriel, chuckling quietly. “You think you’re more like Kyllian? Kyllian, who once fell off a tree while drunk?”

“You didn’t know me in my youth,” Gavriel clicks his tongue, holding open the flap of their tent as Aedion ducks inside. “You can ask your uncles once they arrive.”

“I fully intend to,” Aedion smirks, collapsing on his bedroll. “Well, goodnight.”

“Take off your shoes first, and your knives”

“We’re in a war camp. Everyone is armed.”

“Fine,” Gavriel relents. “Just don’t accidentally stab one of your uncles if they come early tomorrow and sneak in.”

They settle down, both familiar with sleeping in tents and on bedrolls. In some cases just sleeping on the bare earth. The heat of Wendlyn presses upon them in a way the cold chill in Terrasen never did. Unlike the quick, sharp knives of frost and ice, the heavy humidity bears down on them like a blanket coated in cement. Smothering their breaths and collecting sweat at the napes of their neck.

“Are you alright?” Gavriel murmurs, noticing Aedion’s displeasure. “I don’t know how you survive with this humidity,” Aedion sighs, wiping the back of his hand against his face.

Gavriel hums. “I’m interested in seeing how you will handle training in it. The environment here is wholly different from Terrasen.”

“Here I’m drowning in my own sweat,” Aedion snorts, shifting.

A comfortable silence drifts across both of them. Gavriel closes his eyes.

“So, does it snow during winter here?”

The corner of Gavriel’s mouth turns up no matter how hard he tries to repress it. “No, it does not.”

“I see.”

Gavriel waits a moment.

“Teralla is nice.”

“She’s lovely.”

“She gave me a knife.”

It takes Gavriel a moment to process the words. Another to compute the happy, simple tone Aedion states this in. A final moment is needed to contain a sigh. Of course, his son would be given weaponry. If he was five years old they would all probably still be handing him swords and shield and the gods know what else.

“And Caius gave me a mace. But that’s not here right now.”

There it is.

“Would you like to show me?” Gavriel asks wryly, asking the question Aedion was obviously waiting for.

His son immediately hands him the blade from Teralla. Gavriel carefully pulls it out of its sheath, even in the darkness of the tent the iron gleaming with its menacing edge. Constellations have been etched into the blade, small and simple yet adding a piece of the night sky into the weapon.

“It’s beautiful,” Gavriel hands it back. “Very finely made.”

“In return, I gave her a knife from the fangs,” Aedion tucks the blade away. “While common in Terrasen they seem to be quite rare here.”

“She would have loved that,” Gavriel closes his eyes. “Tomorrow be sure to tell her about your shields history.”

Aedion hums in agreement. Silence bestows them once more.

“There was also this female that told me she once-“

They stay up for at least another two hours, Gavriel listening attentively to the stories and interjecting when appropriate. He couldn’t help but smile at certain parts, his chest flooding with warmth. Yet when sleep finally came it was a blessing.

~~~

“Why are you so tired?” Caius frowns at Gavriel and the marks under his eyes. “Aedion is awake. You knew you’d be up early.”

“My son contains an ungodly amount of energy that I cannot fathom,” Gavriel rubs at his face. “The youth of today is terrifying.”

“You sound old.”

“We are old, Caius,” Gavriel raises a brow. “We’re two of the oldest individuals here.”

The other male mutters denials under his breath, squinting into the distance. Gavriel smiles at the reaction, turning to watch where Aedion sits atop a boulder to watch for his uncles' arrival.

“Are you sure you won’t tell him?” Caius mutters.

“I’m sure. He’s already impressed half the people here.”

“Yet the more… old-fashioned fae are still stuck in their ways.”

“I don’t care,” Gavriel swallows back a growl. “Aedion can and will handle himself. I’ll only step in if necessary.”

Caius raises his brows yet says nothing. Gavriel ignores the incredulous look, choosing instead to focus as Aedion jumps to the ground. He flings out an arm to point towards a cluster of trees. Two lions prowl forwards from the undergrowth, their muscles sliding under their golden coats and claws sinking into the earth. As soon as they clear the trees a flash of light shines out, two males standing in their place. Marco and Heiral both grin, striding towards them with a purpose. Heiral immediately breaks away to sling an arm around Aedion’s shoulder.

“There’s my favorite nephew,” Heiral grins, jostling Aedion. “How are you holding up with the warriors?”

“Nothing compared to the Bane,” Aedion smirks. “I thought the lot down here would be harder to handle.”

Marco watches them bicker and shakes his head. “How have things really been?”

“Some tension, but otherwise fine,” Gavriel crosses his arms. “The holiday season is repressing conflict.”

“Yet sometimes,” Marco hums, “it put extra pressure on that conflict.”

Gavriel eyes his brother, uncomfortable with the truth in the words. “Are you here to stir that conflict, brother?”

“No,” Marco admits silently. “Not at all. But I’ve heard the rumors. Heiral hasn’t.”

Surprise springs from Gavriel. He glances at Aedion and Heiral, at how they laugh and jostle at each other. If Heiral were to find out blood would spill, not just on the land they are standing on but in Terrasen also. There is no doubt to Gavriel that Heiral would gladly hunt down all offenders that dared to lay their hands on Aedion. If Heiral did decide to hunt so would Marco. Gavriel would have hesitation, if only because he would need Dorian and Aelin’s permission to kill members of their nations. He doubts they would hesitate to give him clearance.

“Keep Heiral away from the dissent creators,” Gavriel orders quietly. “We need to avoid as much confrontation as possible.”

Marco nods, yet doubt clouds his eyes. Gavriel understands, really he does. How long will it take before the strain in the camp snap? He’s seen the way Aedion’s shoulders stiffen at times when his son’s smirk turns threatening instead of jovial. No doubt insults have already been flung. All that can be hoped is that they avoid a full out brawl.

~~~

The answer to Gavriel’s previous question is seven hours. Seven hours later, into midday, is when the shouts ring out and Heiral roars with blood covering his fist and spraying across his chin.

It took three minutes for word to reach Gavriel on the other side of the camp.

One minute for him to tear through the crowds to his brother.

Thirty seconds to haul Heiral off the cursing fae guard.

And ten seconds to register Aedion’s shocked expression, his son standing off to the side.

“What happened?” Gavriel growls, spinning Heiral to face him as soldiers drag the injured fae away.

“He said that Aedion whored himself for the king of Adarlan,” Heiral trembles with his rage, spitting the words. “That he lay with whoever he needed to succeed.”

“Heiral-“

“Those lies-“

“Just-“

“It’s true,” Aedion’s voice slices through them, the younger male pushing forward to claps Heiral’s bicep. “I was Adarlan’s Whore. I had to sleep with many people, both by choice and otherwise.”

Stuttering in his movements, Heiral turns to look at Aedion, something in his eyes softening immeasurably. “Oh, boyo. I’m-“

“We need to go somewhere more private,” Marco interrupts, eyeing the muttering fae around them. “In case you all forgot, everyone here can hear you quite clearly.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Aedion shrugs one shoulder. “They’ve heard the stories and come to their own conclusions. They don’t deserve any concern.”

“Damn right,” Heiral growls, tawny eyes flickering over to the bleeding fae. “Just let me-“

“Now, Heiral,” Gavriel tugs his brother’s arm. “To the tent. We need to keep a full fight from fermenting.”

Indeed, many of the fae are teetering amongst themselves. Whispering stories and rumors to another, some starting small arguments as they look to Aedion than away again. Gavriel mutters a quick word to Caius, who calls out to the warriors and starts to disband them, making his way to the bleeding fae and leading him away. Relenting, Heiral allows his brothers and Aedion to drag him to where their tents stand.

“I didn’t realise there’d be such a fuss over me,” Aedion leans against a tree, arms crossed. “In Terrasen most people just mutter about this shit then move on.”

Gavriel almost feels like calling Aedion out on the lie, on pointing out all the slurs and accusations his son's faces but stays silent. The bravado is there for a reason.

“No one here blames you for what happened in Adarlan,” Marco holds Aedion’s gaze. “None of us do.”

“Some of it was my choice, you know,” Aedion flicks his brows up. “I did make the conscious decision to fuck my way up the ranks at times.”

Gavriel captures his breath in his chest, waiting for his brother’s reactions.

“Of course you damn did,” Heiral frowns. “Who wouldn’t? I remember when Gavriel first started in the military and had a tizzy with his commander, a lovely female named-“

The Lion is immediately shooting his brother a ferocious growl, cutting him off as Aedion whirls around to stare at his father. Marco shakes his head, sending his eyes upwards to the stars.

“What Heiral means,” Marco drags back the conversation, “is that we accept everything that occurred. We are proud of you, not ashamed. For the things that were your choices and the things that weren’t.”

Aedion looks away, mouth set into a hard line as a not-quite-steady breath flows through his chest. All males stand in silence, allowing the weight and emotion of those words to pass through them all before continuing.

“That’s the reason for distaste in the camp,” Heiral shakes his head. “Some people here feel for you while others scorn you. “

“Like usual,” Aedion snorts. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the words leave Gavriel in a rush. “Many here already love you. Terella dotes on you, and Caius sees you as a nephew already.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Aedion’s mouth, joy sparkling in his blue eyes. Gavriel knows that they aren’t the only fae Aedion had connected with, his son meeting many young demi-fae like himself, finding solace in being around people with the same abilities as his for once. It’s been a joy to find his son sparring with others so similar to him in species, build and abilities.

Yet in Gavriel’s opinion his son outweighs them all.

“Caius and Terella are taking care of the male,” Gavriel frowns at Heiral. “They will sort out the situation. For now, it’s best that everyone retires for the night and we allow all this to rest.”

Thoughts swirl so violently through Gavriel’s head that he barely registers how quiet Aedion is. His son collapses on the bedroll and stares at the roof of the tent in contemplation. Gavriel finally notices this when he sits down, realising after five minutes that Aedion hasn’t started a conversation right when they are about to sleep.

“Are you alright?” Gavriel asks quietly.

“I was foolish enough to think it would be different here,” Aedion snorts, folding his hands on his stomach. “The only place I don’t have to put up with this bullshit is when I’m with the Bane.”

“We can go back if you want,” Gavriel ignores the pang in his chest, at the idea that his son is as uncomfortable around his father’s own army, own comrades, as he is everywhere else.

“No,” Aedion frowns, sitting up. “Fuck, no. I’m enjoying myself. It’s just a few bastards pissing me off.”

“Your language becomes appaling when you’re in a war camp,” Gavriel allows a scolding tone to seep into his voice.

Aedion seems to turn just a little sheepish under Gavriel’s stare. “Force of habit.”

“Break that habit.”

“I will when you’re around,” Aedion grins. “So… Caius and Terella are looking after that fae male?”

“They are,” Gavriel agrees. “All though I wouldn’t say they are ‘looking after’ him. No doubt Terella is tearing into him.”

“She’s terrifying,” Aedion agrees happily. “She taught me yesterday how to remove a person's spleen and spine in the same move.”

“Really?” Gavriel perks up. “Did she show you with the dagger she gave you?”

“She did,” Aedion smiles widely. “We should invite her to Terrasen for the holidays next week. Caius too.”

“That’s right,” Gavriel realises it suddenly. “We’re going back tomorrow…. I’ll ask if they want to come with us.”

~~~

That’s how, five days later, the great hall in Terrasen is filled to the brim. Tinsel across the windows, taels laden with food and fine clothes flashing as people dance to the musicians. Evangeline laughs as she dances with other children, Fleetfoot running around her feet and flowers are woven into her hair courtesy of Aedion.

The cadre members, Lorcan, Vaughan and Fenrys all talk by a large fireplace, drinks in hand as Lorcan scowls and Vaughan smiles slightly at Fenrys’s story, the male drawing in a crowd with his tales. Off to the side, on the dance floor, Rowan and Aelin sway together. The queen keeps one hand on her mates chest, the other holding his own as his broad palm presses against her waits. His silver and green suit matches perfectly with her dress that flourishes out from the waist. Aelin mutters things in his ears that cause him to smirk and others to drift away.

Elide stands next to the buffet with a group of witches and Manon, laughing loudly with her friend. The balcony where Abraxos resides is right next to the table, the giant beast sticking his head in to sniff at the meat only for Manon to growl him away. From time to time Lorcan glances over at them, drifting over to allow Elide to pull him onto the dance floor. He glares at everyone’s laughs, only smiling when Elide tips her head back and booms out laughter when he swings her into the air, pounding in mock anger at his shoulders.

Caius, Terella, Marco, and Heiral stand with Aedion and Lysandra. The shifter holds a deep conversation with Terella, the two of them debating furiously over the benefits of claws versus knives. Marco watches on in fascination as Gavriel and watches Heiral and Aedion poke and prod at the giant pile of presents piled in the corner of the room. The two go so far as to pick some up, Gavriel’s gaze the only thing stopping them from shaking the boxes.

Five days until Yulemas. Yet the party, and company, is already flourishing.

______

Special notice: So it’s been about two years and Lion’s Pride has gone on for so long. On AO3 it’s just reached over 10,000 hits, making it one of the most popular fics in the fandom on the site. All of that is because of how well received it was by tog lovers, and I can’t thank you guys enough. This was my first fic and it honestly wouldn't have made it past the first chapter if it wasn’t for you all xxx ❤️

#lions pride #gavriel #aedion ashryver #caius #the feels #tog

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