#he’s so tired he gives in. you’re hundred of miles from anywhere familiar. you think you could stop and start a new life anywhere
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#sleepy in the car :(#james spader#the blacklist#raymond reddington#*#long cross country trips falling asleep in the backseat leaning against each other dembe behind the wheel#or just the two of you taking turns driving while the other rests. he hates doing nothing while you drive but you insist he’s gotta rest#he’s so tired he gives in. you’re hundred of miles from anywhere familiar. you think you could stop and start a new life anywhere#but you’ve got work to do so you drive and drive#he snores a little. wakes up and tells you a strange little story about this group of people he met once. they eroticized car crashes#classic reddington story. you’re not quite sure you believe him#his turn to drive. you doze in and out in the backseat and watch the streetlights#it feels like when you were a child asleep in your parents’ car but you don’t tell him that#you don’t have to—he felt the same way when you were driving. he was a child once too he fell asleep in a car with his parents#it was a long time ago he’d almost forgotten the feeling
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To Be Like You
Read on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30005406
Summary: I’ll kill you and everyone you love. I’ll kill you dead.
Peter closes his eyes to keep the world from spinning. His panic sits like putty in his throat, blocking the air from reaching his lungs. He wraps his fingers around his neck, his pulse erratic underneath like he had just finished running a mile.
Come on Peter. Come on Spider-Man.
Or, the missing scene in Homecoming after the vulture fight.
----
It’s not working out.
I wanted you to be better.
There’s sand in Peter’s eyes, in his cuts. It mixes with his blood and adds to the ache, stinging and burning every inch of his skin like fire.
It hurts, but really it’s nothing in comparison to the heaviness in his chest.
I’m going to need the suit back.
Mr. Stark. Toomes. Homecoming.
He’s not exactly sure how he ended up on the cyclone, everything in his recent memory a dark blur. One moment he’s standing in front of Toomes, the last of his energy spent in cleaning up the beach and the next he’s sitting in the sky. The air is colder up here, but he’s too in shock to really feel it. Besides, it doesn’t come close to how cold it had been on the plane.
Before he had crashed it, of course.
Or when Toomes had dropped him in the river.
I lost the internship.
Logically he knows he needs to move, that he needs to go home, but the low-burning fire on the beach distracts him and steals all his attention along with the breath in his chest. He stares and reimagines the impact of the plane hitting the earth, of Toomes slamming him into the sand. The burns on his hands make them tremble and the pain brings tears to his eyes.
If you’re nothing without the suit you shouldn’t have it.
I’m trying to save you!
He wants to go home, crawl under his covers, bury his day deep underground and let it die. To wake up tomorrow and for everything to go back to the way it was.
But he can’t, the prospect impossible.
May is home.
It’ll break her heart.
Nothing will ever be the same again and the deep-rooted sadness that accompanies the realization threatens him to tears.
You smell like garbage.
Ned could help him. Ned can help-
It’s almost enough to spur Peter into action. But then he pictures Ned at homecoming with the rest of the normal kids and a deep pain separate from his physical infirmities cuts through him like a knife.
Like a talon in his chest.
Ned doesn’t deserve it, Peter realizes bitterly, even if he is his guy in the chair. Besides, Peter can barely fathom the energy to move off the cyclone let alone travel all the way to Ned’s house.
He has no phone. He’s out of web shooter fluid.
He’s out of options.
Hey. I just saved your life. Now what do you say?
Thank you.
A low noise of anguish comes out of his throat, surprising him. Through the smoke and the fire he can see Toomes’s legs jutting out in the sand. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t tried to escape.
I’ll kill you and everyone you love. I’ll kill you dead.
Peter closes his eyes to keep the world from spinning. His panic sits like putty in his throat, blocking the air from reaching his lungs. He wraps his fingers around his neck, his pulse erratic underneath like he had just finished running a mile.
Come on Peter. Come on Spider-Man.
A sob rips through him, and out of everything that has happened tonight, it’s what surprises him the most. Tony abandoning him, the warehouse crushing him, getting thrown off a plane, his fight with Toomes- it’s all too much and he can’t breathe-
Lights and sirens coax his eyes open, though the tears in them make it near impossible to see. There’s ambulances and firetrucks and police cruisers.
To clean up the mess he made.
Is everyone okay?
No thanks to you.
He’s too tired to be relieved.
He doesn’t look for Happy’s car.
Sorry doesn’t cut it.
He should go to Ned’s.
Peter tries to move. Can’t. An overwhelming chill infects his body. He feels lightheaded and woozy and somewhere through the cutting numbness he feels his entire body give up on him. It’s deep, bordering on bone dead exhaustion. When he reaches up his fingers to touch at his chest they come away painted red.
Red, like May’s hair.
Red, like Tony’s armour.
Red, like the suit he had lost.
A deep nausea starts at the base of his gut and his vision shifts like a kaleidoscope. Only now does he realize how badly he’s screwed up, how he’s going to bleed out on the cyclone of all places.
He doesn’t have his phone, doesn’t have Karen or Mr. Stark or anybody. For once his inability to ask for help is entirely his own fault. There are no plan b’s, no second chances.
He’s alone.
It’s scary.
Come on Peter. Come on Spider-Man.
A bus was thrown at him, a warehouse dropped on his shoulders. He crashed a plane and fought a man with metal wings. It had taken strength. More than he’s ever had to use in his life.
And where is that strength now?
He doesn’t even have the energy to wipe the tears off his cheeks.
Through depleting vision, he sees blurred figures approach Toomes, the lights of their flashlights hitting his makeshift prison.
It’s over, he thinks, but it’s empty and cold. It doesn’t feel anything like he had hoped it would. And maybe that’s what it means to be a hero- to feel like you lose even when you win.
He wants to go home.
But he can’t.
The beach turns black, his chin lolling down to rest on his chest.
He’s so tired.
-----
Tony hadn’t quite expected to end his night on the beach and especially not surrounded by the burning remnants of his belongings. The plane had sheared an ugly line on the coast, though the damage is admittedly nowhere as catastrophic as it could have been.
Everyone is safe, they had assured him. No casualties.
Regardless Happy is a mess, unable to look him in the eye. Tony tries hard not to be upset at him.
His friend comes up to him now. His face is pale and ashen, the panic in it accentuated by the low light of the ruin around them. Breathless, Happy gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “We uh- we found something boss. Over here.”
Feet sinking into the sand, Tony stumbles after him. It doesn’t take long for Tony to see their destination, standing straight like a beacon through the destruction. All the valuables on the plane, everything, stacked together neatly. A man is sitting at the base of the pile. The Vulture, Tony realizes darkly.
But it’s not what has the breath stalling in his chest.
It’s the webbing holding everything together.
Peter.
World narrowing and ears ringing, Tony crosses the rest of the distance to stand in front of the criminal. He looks smug, Tony thinks, and a little more than rough around the edges. His clothes smoke on their edges. There’s blood in his hairline and under his nose.
And beside his face, stuck to the mess, a note from Spider-Man.
P.S. Sorry about the plane.
“Where is he?” Tony asks, his fingers curling involuntarily into fists. The rational part of his mind is telling him to calm down, because Peter wouldn’t have been able to clean up the beach if he were dead.
He’s okay. He has to be okay.
Toomes smiles crookedly at him, reflecting behind it some foreign aspect of loss beyond the visible world. Tony has seen it hundreds of times, feels the weight behind it. “Pedro?” Toomes asks lightly, and Tony’s blood turns to ice. “Dead, hopefully.”
Happy holds him back from slamming his fist into Toomes’s teeth, though his own face reddens with anger. “You know who he is,” Tony says instead, accusatory to cover the fear creating a sinkhole in his chest. “How?”
Smirk unfailing, Toomes shrugs as if he hadn’t just been beat by a fifteen year old kid. “He was my daughter’s date to homecoming. Too bad he missed it.”
Happy swears viciously and let’s Tony go, taking a resolved step back. Freed, Tony drops to his knees in the hot sand and wraps his fist around Toomes’s collar. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Listen closely bird man. If you’ve done anything to hurt that boy I swear to God I’ll end you. You’ll never see the light of day again, you hear? Now where the hell is he?”
Toomes doesn’t flinch. Eyes reflecting fire, he returns Tony’s passion in equal measure. “He was the one so hellbent on fighting me. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be his damn babysitter?”
“WHERE IS HE?”
Toomes laughs. Laughs. He spits out blood. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“I’d prefer it.”
Disgusted, Tony releases his grip and stands back. He looks towards the water and wishes he could hear the waves hitting shore instead of the uncomfortable buzz in his ears. “You knew he was fifteen,” Tony says, “and you still did this.”
“You did too. Don’t pretend you’re better than me, Stark.”
It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Something rockhard, something he thought was untouchable, shatters in his chest. It leaves him feeling sick and twisted and he fights the urge to throw up.
What if somebody had died tonight? Different story right? Cause that’s on you.
And if you die, I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.
“Have fun in jail,” Tony says, but there’s no heat behind it. Because criminal or not, Toomes is right. He’s let Peter down. Big time. He turns to Happy and hopes to the universe that the split in his chest isn’t visible on his face. “Leave him. We gotta find the kid.”
“Better hurry,” Toomes says, coughing against the smoke. Some of his bravo is failing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he bleeds out within the hour.” It’s said in anger but Tony is familiar enough with facades to know that Toomes has constructed one of his own. He’s worried.
And if Toomes is worried, Tony is three seconds away from a full blown panic attack. He turns away from the scene without another word, holding his breath so it doesn’t leave somewhere he can’t get it back from. Happy stays by his side, matching his strides with precision and hand outstretched should Tony need it.
“I’ve messed up,” Tony says.
“We all have.”
“I have to find him.”
Happy straightens, eyes cutting across the beach. “He could be anywhere by now.”
If his friend says anything else it dies in the sudden roar in his ears. His eyes attach to a speck of blue and red under the lowlights of the amusement park as if the gods themselves have orchestrated the connection. Even from the distance Tony knows without a doubt that it’s Peter.
I tried to tell you about it but you didn’t listen! None of this would’ve happened if you had just listened to me!
If you cared you’d actually be here.
“I see him.” His mouth is numb.
“What?”
“I see the kid.”
“Where?”
“Oh God. I need a suit.”
“Tony calm down-”
“I need a suit!”
And they’re running.
----
Peter is prodded back to existence by something warm on his shoulder. A faint murmur registers in the back of his mind, like TV static or hearing someone talking from a different room.
So tired.
“Kid? Peter?”
The surface is painful, he decides, so he sinks further.
“Parker! Open your eyes right now. That’s an order, you hear me?”
The voice is familiar. He wants to listen. He tries, but his eyes stick as if fused together with cement.
Cement. The warehouse. Thousands of pounds crushing him, making it impossible to breathe-
He gasps, his body jerking involuntarily with the movement. It makes every ache and pain in his chest triple and he can’t breathe and he can’t move and he’s being crushed. It’s cold. He sees nothing but sky and loses his grip.
And then he’s falling.
The ground rushes up to meet him in a disorienting blur and it’s only then he remembers. Toomes. The beach. The cyclone. The fact that he’s out of web fluid.
He doesn’t have the time or energy to scream before his descent is halted, the warmth from before attaching itself around his biceps and lowering him gently to the ground. Peter collapses against it, grateful, and looks up to his rescuer.
An Iron Man suit, the eyes blank and angry.
Sorry doesn’t cut it.
Something heavy rolls through him and he scrambles back, his breathing ratcheting up like clockwork. The blood on his hands leave marks on the pavement. “Mr- Mr. Stark. Oh man. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-”
Tony emerges from the suit and it’s him, really him. Just like after the ferry. It’s surprising enough to stop his backward scramble and stare at the worried lines in Tony’s face, in the transparent fear in his eyes. He rushes to close the distance Peter had made between them, squatting down close. “Kid?” he asks, his tone thick with something foreign.
He should be angry. He’s supposed to be angry. Why doesn’t he look angry?
“I’m sorry,” Peter says again, blinking slowly.
“Don’t be sorry,” Tony says. Behind him, a sleek black car pulls up. Happy exits from the driver’s seat and Peter forgets how to breathe again.
Is everyone safe?
No thanks to you.
No thanks to me?
“I messed everything up,” Peter murmurs, backing away further until his back hits something cold and metal. “Oh man. Your- your plane. I’m so sorry.”
Everything blurs again. Distantly he’s aware of Tony approaching him but Peter must make a noise because he stops short.
“You’re hurt,” Tony says, something like pleading in his voice.
“No. I- I’m fine.”
“No, Peter. You’re not.”
I was the only one who believed in you. Everyone else said I was crazy to recruit a fourteen year old kid.
I’m fifteen-
No. This is where you zip it! The adult is talking.
“I said- I said I’m fine.” As if to prove it, Peter struggles to his feet because he doesn’t need their help. Tony walked away. Happy ignored him.
These are the facts.
Standing is harder than he anticipates and he can’t help but cry out against the new pain it brings, swaying when it makes him dizzy. Something warm trickles down from his chest and back. He sees double. “I’m okay,” he pants, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not fine!” Tony yells.
Peter flinches.
Tony does too.
He wants Ned. He wants May. He wants everything to be okay.
It’s not working out. I’m going to need the suit back.
“I gotta go,” Peter mumbles, but the world is dissolving. He tries to walk away, to show them that he’s as independent as they want him to be. “I gotta go home.”
He doesn’t even make it two steps.
Tony catches him when he falls and Peter doesn’t have the control or strength to push him away.
I just wanted to be like you.
And I wanted you to be better.
“Help me get him to the car.”
And like a mountain of cement crashing down over his head, everything turns dark.
-----
Peter collapsing chalks up to be one of the most terrifying experiences of Tony’s life. It’s worse than when he had fallen off the cyclone just minutes before, worse than finding Peter strung up between a divided ferry.
He catches the kid before his head hits the ground and promises himself that from here on out, it’s a permanent part of his job description.
Together they manage to haul Peter into the back of the car. Tony crawls in beside him and brings Peter’s head onto his lap, pressing shaking hands down against the worst of the bleeding. Happy scrambles to the driver’s seat, tires kicking up smoke as they peel out of the lot.
Peter looks terrible.
He looks dead.
Pale and bloody, his eyelids bruised and tear tracks cutting through the ash and grime on his cheeks. He’s wearing his original suit. Pajamas, as he had first referred to them as. They’re ripped to shreds, charred and stained with crimson.
I’m going to need the suit back.
Tony’s hands are red. He did this.
“Drive faster,” he says.
“I am.”
“Driver faster!”
“Tony-”
“Just do it.”
Peter’s head lolls with the movement of the car. He looks small and weak and fragile. He looks exactly how Tony never wanted to see him.
He should be at homecoming dancing with his friends. Not here, not hurt.
Your fault, his mind screams at him. This is on you.
“How much farther to the Tower?” he asks, throat constricting.
Happy’s sympathetic eyes find him in the rearview mirror. “The Tower’s empty, remember? We’re going to the hospital. Ten minutes tops.”
Christ. Of course it’s empty.
Because he left. He walked away and took Peter’s only protection with him.
Your fault. All your damn fault-
“Make it five.”
Peter moans, scrunches his eyes before opening them. Tony pats his cheek lightly in hopes to rouse him further. “Underoos?” he prompts. “You back with us?”
Cloudy eyes meet his own but don’t connect.
“M’ St’k?”
“Y-yeah kid. You’re going to be okay.”
Peter’s breath hitches, speeding up. “I’m sorry,” he whispers in anguish. “‘M so s’ry.”
“Peter don’t-”
“Wanted to be better,” he slurs. Weak and uncoordinated fingers latch onto Tony’s sleeve, leaving smudges of red. “‘M sorry. Wanted to be better.”
Happy stiffens. Tony forgets how to breathe.
“It hurts Mr. Stark.”
He’s out of his depth, drowning in the deep end.
“Comfort him!” Happy snaps from the driver’s seat.
Tony feels dizzy. He pats Peter’s head once, twice. More blood transfers onto his palm. “It’ll be okay bud. We’re getting you help. It’ll stop hurting soon I promise.”
Peter closes his eyes. “W’nted to be better.”
Happy accelerates.
----
Happy Hogan’s defenses are crumbling.
Cracking, tumbling, like Humpty Dumpty on his goddamn wall.
Because it’s Peter, and it’s the plane, and none of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t been such an idiot.
Everything after pulling up to the hospital is a blur. He remembers parking behind an ambulance, remembers his hands shaking too badly to twist the key out of the ignition. He remembers Peter tucked against Tony’s side in the back seat, dead quiet as Tony hyperventilates.
“He’s- he’s not waking up Hap.”
“He’s going to be fine.”
“He’s- he’s-”
“Breathe Tony.”
And then they’re inside, carrying Peter between them like a ragdoll. He doesn’t make a sound, lax and broken and it’s all his fault.
It doesn’t take long before Peter is scooped up by a team of doctors. The loss of the kid’s weight leaves Happy feeling cold. He stands in the middle of the hall and watches as Tony follows the staff pushing Peter along on a stretcher. Even from his position he can hear Tony talking frantically about NDAs and giving Peter the best treatment they’ve ever given anyone in their entire careers or so help them-
Eventually Tony can’t go any further. He stops at the swing of a double door, his palm resting on the glass as Peter is whisked away.
The hand curls into a fist.
Crimson smears under the movement.
Happy finds the strength to move. One step, two, until he’s at Tony’s side. He’s scared to touch him, to break something else, but finally works up the courage to lay and hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s sit down,” is all he can manage.
Tony doesn’t say anything, looking nearly as pale as the kid had been. He allows Happy to steer him into the waiting room and flips off other visitors as they gasp and stare. They find a quiet corner and sink into separate chairs.
They don’t speak for an hour.
Cho finds them at the tail end of the time. Happy is surprised to see her and figures somewhere in this whole mess Tony reached out to her. Her hair is windblown and her eyes are wide and alert, ready to jump in and intervene.
“Where did they take him?” is all she asks.
Tony moves for the first time, pointing towards the doors of surgery.
As quick as she had appeared, Cho is gone.
“Damn it,” Tony whispers, sinking low into his chair. The blood on his hands is dry now, flaking off his skin when he reaches up to rub tiredly at his face. It’s only now that Happy realizes his own hands have Peter’s blood on them too.
“It’s not your fault,” Happy says. The walls are closing in, the temperature seeming to increase by ten degrees.
“It is my fault. I dragged him to Germany. I gave him a suit, I gave him protection, and then I just yanked it all out from under his feet. I didn’t even have the guts to wait and see if he stuck the landing.”
Happy swallows. “Peter is stubborn. We both know that. You did the right thing-”
Tony shakes his head violently, throwing up a hand to cut him off. “No, no. You don’t understand. That kid is fifteen years old!”
“I know, Tony.”
“He should be at homecoming with his friends right now.”
“I know.”
“He’s bleeding out in a set of glorified pajamas because I was too scared to trust him.”
“We’ve all made mistakes here.”
Tony is quiet, looking at him with red rimmed and bloodshot eyes. “He’s just a kid, Hap. He didn’t even call for help. He doesn’t- he doesn’t trust me anymore. And he still saved all my crap. Do you know how much damage that stuff would have caused in the wrong hands?”
Yes. Stomach sinking, Happy looks to the doors Peter had disappeared through. He wishes for the kid to come cartwheeling out in his usual energy, in one piece and alive. Bragging about churros and bike robberies and Star Wars-
“Happy?”
Tony’s voice is disant.
“Happy.”
“What?” His throat is dry.
“What are you not telling me?”
Pretending not to feel the blood on his hands, Happy shifts uncomfortably in the cheap hospital chair. “I was stressed about the move,” he says slowly, “and you know what the kid’s been like. Calling and texting about every little thing since Germany.”
Tony is silent, the tension between them thick enough to cut.
“His friend called tonight. Before the plane went down. To warn me, I’m sure.”
“And?” Tony prompts, but the tone of his voice tells Happy he already knows the answer.
“I didn’t hear him out. I hung up. It’s my fault Peter had to do this alone.”
Keeping his focus anywhere but Tony is easy but it doesn’t save him from the reaction. He hears a sharp intake of breath, a muted curse. Tony stands, towering above him. He walks away, disappears, and for a moment Happy thinks it’s over. He hangs his head between his knees.
Then Tony’s shoes come into his field of vision. “We all made mistakes here,” he says.
And that’s it.
Tony sits back down and Happy holds his breath until Cho comes back through the doors. She approaches them quickly, her face completely neutral.
She looks at Tony and Tony alone, his face pained enough to know it must be the priority.
“Is he-?”
“He’ll be fine.”
Tony sags against the chair and covers his eyes with his hands, gasping for breath as if emerging from deep water. Cho waits patiently for Tony to collect himself and it gives Happy equal opportunity to blink the relief out of his eyes.
He’ll be fine. He’s okay.
“Thank you,” Tony says, his voice cracking on the end. “Oh God. Thank you.”
Cho’s expression turns into something gentle, her voice even more so. “He’s young,” she says.
“I know.”
“He sustained a lot of injuries. And though he’ll heal fine on the surface,” she pauses, taking a step closer, “just remember that there are wounds that you can’t see.”
Tony straightens, jaw setting.
It feels like a mantle being set.
“I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Tony promises.
“Good.” Cho stands straight and pulls the clipboard that had been hanging at her hip in front of her. “Before I let you see him, there’s something I think we should discuss.”
Happy holds his breath again. It sits heavy in his chest.
“What?”
“Peter received a variance of injuries. Puncture marks, burns, a concussion, a fractured wrist, multiple bruises and lacerations, the list goes on. All seem to coincide with the plane crash and following fight with Adrian Toomes.”
Tony stiffens, his fingernails splitting the wooden armrests of his chair. “And?”
Cho shuffles on her feet. Happy has never seen her nervous, but she looks it now. “There was something else too,” she says. “Deep bruising around his torso with several of his ribs fractured or broken. I believe something else happened to Peter, perhaps before he got on the plane.”
Happy clears his throat, finally finding the energy to enter the conversation. Tony is sheet white, eyes blank and unblinking. “What’s your best guess?”
Sympathetic, Cho dips her head. “In my best opinion, I would say he was crushed under something with a substantial amount of weight, probably for an extended period of time. There was concrete dust all over his clothes.”
Tony sucks in a shallow breath and doesn’t release it.
“But of course it’s all hypothetical. We won’t know anything for certain until he wakes up.”
“Which will be when?” Happy asks.
“With his metabolism I can’t be sure. Most likely within a couple hours.”
“Can I see him?” Tony asks, voice small.
“Of course. Follow me.”
Tony stands and doesn’t ask for Happy to follow.
He figures he deserves it.
So he sits alone, staring at the ceiling and wishing with every inch of his soul that he hadn’t hung up his phone.
----
Tony sits in the small hospital room.
It feels like failure.
It feels like relief.
Peter is small against the sheets and blankets, the tubes and wires. He’s pale and marred with dark bruising but at least he’s not covered in blood anymore.
He never wants to see Peter covered in blood again.
The kid doesn’t stir and Tony almost wishes that he’ll stay that way, that he won’t have to face reality and fess up to his sins; that Peter will remain safe and whole and better off without him interfering.
After a long hour of collecting himself, he calls May and asks if he can take Peter to an impromptu conference for the weekend. She sounds uncertain but ultimately caves, telling Tony to have Peter call her when they get here.
He thanks her and tries above everything else to keep his voice steady.
Hangs up and stares at the phone in his hand.
Hears the machines breathing air into Peter’s nose.
Hears other machines tracking his heart, reassuring it’s still beating.
He lays his head onto the bed and cries bitterly.
It’s quiet. His chest constricts.
Your fault.
He isn’t sure when he stops. He’s exhausted.
The heart monitor changes. The blankets shift.
“M’ St’k?”
The voice alleviates some of the pain in his chest. Slowly Tony raises his head, feeling slightly embarrassed the kid has found him hanging over him like some mother hen. He covers it with a smile and hopes it conveys a confidence he doesn’t feel. “Hi kid. How’re you feeling?”
Peter’s breath hitches. He looks up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, bottom lip trembling. “The roof,” he slurs, “‘s it gonna fall?”
Confused, Tony looks up. “What?”
Becoming more agitated, Peter grabs Tony’s wrist. The contact burns, makes acid rise up through his stomach. “Gonna fall. We gotta- gotta leave.”
Tony shakes his head but feels otherwise frozen. His mind is working double time trying to process that Peter’s hand is latching onto him, looking at him in a way that signals the difference between life and death. “The roof’s not going to fall,” he says. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay now.”
Unconvinced, Peter lays his head back and squeezes his eyes closed, his grip on Tony unfailing. “No. Falling. Hur’s.”
“I’m so sorry kid.”
“Plane fell too. Plane. Fire.”
“Peter-”
The kid’s eyes grow wide, impossibly so. There’s no coherence behind them, only drugs and pain and fear. “Mr. Stark. My- my parents died in a plane crash.”
Tony feels his eyes sting, his throat tighten.
“Thought I was goin’ die. See them.”
Words are impossible.
“Hurts.”
And then Peter relaxes, closes his eyes, goes limp against the covers with a low whine. His hand is still curled tight around Tony’s wrist. He stares and stares and stares.
Then he pulls it away, stumbles to the trash can in the corner of the room, and throws up.
-----
The next time Peter wakes up he’s more lucid, but barely.
“May?” he breathes, his face pinched in pain.
“I handled it,” Tony says.
“The plane?”
“Everything accounted for and safe. All thanks to you.”
Deep breaths. “Happy?”
A sharp pain. “He’s okay, Peter.”
A tear. “Liz?”
“Who’s Liz?”
But Peter doesn’t answer, his eyes closing against another dose of drugs.
The pain leaves his face in an instant.
----
Thirteen hours later and Peter is eating jello, eyes drooping and paler than Count Dracula. Tony sits in the corner, quiet and unsure, unable to stop watching his every move. He catches the kid throwing him hesitant looks and tries not to think of the implications behind it.
“You can go,” Peter says after his jello is gone, setting the empty container aside. “I know- I know you're busy.”
Every inch of Tony’s body goes cold. “I’m staying right here until you're better.”
“I feel better.”
“I’ll let Cho be the judge of that.”
Peter sighs and sticks out his bottom lip. “Fine.”
None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me!
“You should get some more rest.”
“Alright Mr. Stark.”
Something in the kid’s eyes is dark and sad.
And Tony isn’t brave enough to address it.
-----
Tony doesn’t sleep.
Peter does. A lot, though largely in part to the drugs still being pumped through him. It should be a peaceful sleep. God knows he deserves it.
But he twitches and flinches.
Whimpers.
Cries and wakes up gasping.
Tony sits by Peter’s side like a guard dog and talks to him after each episode until he falls back into a restless sleep. He looks at Peter’s bruised hand and is tempted to hold it like his own father never had, to assure in extra measure that everything is going to be okay.
But he doesn’t, wishing instead he were strong enough.
Peter doesn’t reach out for him either.
“It’s okay,” he says, feeling powerless and unsure if Peter can hear him half the time through a panic undesigned for fifteen year old kids. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
It helps a little. Peter apologizes over and over, and Tony tells him not to.
“I wanted to be better,” is the core of Peter’s delirium.
It feels like a knife to the gut.
-----
Sleep is difficult, a plague of concrete dust and sand.
Of not being able to breathe.
Of hitting the ground so hard he thinks for sure all his teeth rattle out of his skull.
He dreams about Mr. Stark standing in front of him, telling him he doesn’t deserve the suit. Of walking home in Hello Kitty pajamas.
He dreams of Toomes pulling a gun on him in his car.
Of the ringing in his ears after the plane had hit the ground.
Darkness. Dust.
It’s not working out. I’m going to need the suit back.
An impossible weight landing on him, grinding him to dust.
Help! Please! I’m down here. I can’t move!
I’ll kill you and everyone you love. I’ll kill you dead.
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe-
“Peter!”
The darkness changes, shifting to a light glow. It’s an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar sounds and smells. A heartbeat, loud and erratic.
“Peter it’s okay. Wake up. You’re safe.”
“Wha-”
He gasps for air, certain there’s none despite the pressure of an oxygen tube against his nose. He claws at his chest and feels the distant sting of cuts.
“Peter you gotta breathe.”
It’s Tony. His face swims in front of Peter, looking just as panicked as Peter feels. Why is Tony here? Where is here-
“Breathe, bud. Listen to me, okay? Use those freaky spider powers to listen to me breathe.”
“Mr. Stark-”
“It’s okay. You can do it.” Peter flinches when Tony grabs his hand. He brings it flush against his chest, rising and falling in exaggeration. “Follow this, okay? You can do it kid.”
He tries.
After a while, he succeeds.
Air has never felt so good.
Peter falls back against his pillows but Tony doesn’t let go. He feels exhausted, chest and ribs burning, his mind foggy. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles through numb lips. “What- what happened?”
Tony’s grip tightens. “You were panicking.”
“Oh.” Something in Tony’s expression tells him that it might not have been the first time.
“How are you feeling now?”
Peter shrugs, eyes fluttering but remaining open. Everything comes rushing back to him now. Toomes, falling off the cyclone, being brought here. Tony, for some reason, refusing to leave his side and bringing him jello. “Mm. Tired. Sore.”
“Do you- do you want to talk about it?”
No.
He shrugs.
Tony is quiet for a long time. “I’m really sorry Peter,” he says. His voice is different, heavy in a way Peter has never heard before. “I should’ve never let this happen.”
The pain returns to his chest and Peter smiles in an attempt to dispel it. He tries for humour, a language they both share. “I’m the one that screwed the pooch, remember?”
Tony stills.
“Peter look at me.”
He does.
“You definitely did screw the pooch,” he agrees, “at the ferry. But nothing after, you hear? That was- that was all on me. I screwed the pooch too.”
Peter furrows his brows, shimmying up his stance against the pillows. It hurts, but this is more important. “What? You did nothing wrong.”
“I took away the thing I specifically designed to keep you safe. We didn’t listen to you. We let you go through that alone. You should’ve been at homecoming, Pete. You shouldn’t have had to go through what you did.”
“Toomes was my date’s dad,” Peter admits, then laughs hysterically. It really is funny. “He pulled a gun on me in the car and then-” his mouth goes sour.
Tony’s eyebrows raise. He isn’t smiling. “A gun? Peter- God. Then what?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Peter sighs. Closes his eyes. Wishes none of this ever happened.
“He kind of dropped a warehouse on me. But it really wasn’t a big deal, I promise! I got out before he got to the plane and everything was fine-”
“Fine?” Tony chokes. “Peter Parker that is so astronomically far from fine!”
To his left, Peter hears his heart monitor double. Tony must notice it too because he visibly relaxes, though a vein pulses at his temple.
“It was scary,” Peter admits, “I- I couldn’t move at first, or breathe. I thought I was going to die.” He pauses, eyes widening, because it’s true. He shakes his head to make the faint ringing in his ears leave. “It’s okay. I got through it.”
Tony’s heart is beating rapidly. Peter can hear it. He doesn’t have the strength to look at the expression on his mentor’s face. “Is that what you dreamt about earlier?” he asks quietly.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
Peter lets his shoulders fall. He picks at a string on his comforter. “Yeah,” he says softly, “it was part of it.”
Tony curses, shifts away. It feels like a gaping distance that Peter doesn’t know how to bridge. “I never should’ve taken the suit away. Your AI would have alerted me. I could have helped.”
If you’re nothing without the suit, you shouldn’t have it.
“I get why you did. I was being irresponsible. All those people on the ferry could’ve died. I get it Mr. Stark, really.”
Tony is quiet. “If we hadn’t found you at the beach-”
“You did though,” Peter assures, even though his voice cracks. “Everything’s okay.”
But it’s not. It’s really, really not.
Tony collapses. Peter thinks he isn’t going to say anything more on the matter. Then, “I’m sorry.”
Tears well up in Peter’s eyes. “I’m sorry too.”
And then Peter is sobbing. He can’t help it. Everything since the ferry crashes over him, drowning him. He tightens his hand over his mouth and tries to hold in the noise, turns away from Tony who is sitting shell-shocked in his chair.
“I’m sorry,” Peter gasps between sobs, “I’m sorry-”
And then Tony is hugging him.
That’s not a hug. I’m just grabbing the door for you. We’re not there yet.
And it makes him cry harder.
“You’re okay,” Tony says into his hair. Confident this time. Sure. “Breathe, Pete. Things will get better. I promise you.”
“It was all so scary,” Peter whispers. For the first time it doesn’t feel like weakness. “The- the warehouse. The plane. I thought- I thought it was going to hit the city. And- and Toomes. He said he was- he said he was going to kill everyone I loved and it was- it was so scary Mr. Stark.”
“You’re allowed to be scared. Hell, I was scared too.”
Peter regains control over his breathing and manages to hug Tony back. They stay like that for a while before separating.
Peter pretends not to notice the shine in Tony’s eyes, too.
“I didn’t know Iron Man was scared of anything,” he says, only partly serious.
“Well there’s not much,” Tony agrees.
And then he laughs.
And Peter laughs too. It’s stilted and disbelieving and relieved.
“No more sorrys,” Peter begs between breaths. “Okay? We’re even.”
“Deal.”
They sit in a short silence. Warmth enters the room.
“You deserve the suit,” Tony says. “I mean it kid. You did good. You did the right thing. You deserve it.”
“Mr. Stark-”
“Nope. Don’t want to hear it. My decision is final. If you proved anything tonight it’s that you’re meant to be Spider-Man. It’s who you are, kid. I’m not going to stop you from that.”
The warmth from the room moves into Peter’s chest. He stays perfectly still to prevent disturbing it. “Thanks,” he whispers, because it’s all he can manage.
“Help me upgrade it,” Tony says. It’s an invitation, but it sounds more like a plea. “Come over to the compound on the weekends. I’ll show you the mechanics of it. We can work on it together.”
“What? Are- are you sure?”
“More than anything.”
Peter smiles as the aches and pains in his body seem to disappear. “I’d really like that,” he says.
If you cared you’d actually be here.
And he is, Peter realizes. Maybe he had been all along.
He’s here. And for now, it’s enough.
-----
A month passes.
It’s one of the best in Tony’s life.
Peter heals and springs back like an elastic band. He smiles and talks enthusiastically about Star Wars and May and acing algebra tests.
His scars fade. He talks to Tony on the bad days when it hurts to breathe.
He gets help.
They’re together now, squished side by side to peer into a magnifying glass. Peter’s leg is bouncing, lips pressed into a determined line as he tinkers with the mask under the table. “Like this?” he asks.
Tony nods, though he doesn’t look. He already knows the kid is doing it perfectly. “Just like that.”
It hits him then, how much the kid means to him.
Though really he knew from the very first day. From the first second.
“Kid?”
Peter looks up, his concentration slipping into an easy smile. “Yeah?”
It looks like trust, like family.
“I’m just proud is all,” Tony says quickly. It’s important. “I wanted you to know that.”
“Oh,” Peter says, pink coloring his cheeks. “Thanks Mr. Stark.”
“It’s Tony, kid.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Stark.”
God. This child will be the death of me. He rolls his eyes and ruffles Peter’s hair, an odd display of affection he never would have thought himself capable of. “Fine, have it your way Mr. Parker. Now get back to work already.”
“Yes sir.” His smile is wider than Tony’s ever seen it.
The kid.
Peter.
He could live a lifetime of this, he thinks in content.
And maybe, just maybe, he will.
#ahhhhhhh#irondad#tony stark#peter parker#happy hogan#adrian toomes#the vulture#post-homecoming#the warehouse#post-vulture fight#irondad fic#my fic#hurt peter parker#peter parker whump#missing scene#hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending#peter parker needs a hug#protective tony stark#tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure#spider-man homecoming#<3
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Love Like War
A Muke One Shot
Pairing: Michael Clifford x Luke Hemmings, Calum Hood & Luke Hemmings
Word count: 5K (on the dot!)
Rating: Mature for implied sexual situations
Content: college AU, enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, a little bit of angst but I promise it’s a happy ending, swearing, implied sexual situations, nothing explicit just very vague, I mean they’re friends with benefits so I gotta at least reference it
A/N: This is part of the club’s fic exchange for the holiday season. Thank you to @allsassnoclass for hosting this!!! I’m a little late, but nothing else is new. This is for the WONDERFUL @glitterblazercalum who gave me everything to work with. I hope you enjoy it, love, because I’ve had a blast writing it. And huge thank you to @spicycal for always being the biggest cheerleader 💞
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AO3 Link
Feedback is always appreciated! 😊
———
There was one constant truth in Luke’s life: everyone leaves - moves on, finds someone new, forgets him. Luke had just hoped that what he had with Calum was different. They’d known each other for so long that he found himself letting go of the fear that Calum would leave too. But here he was, alone, in their shared room for the sixth night in a row.
Luke was well aware of how it felt to be left behind. He told himself that he should know how to handle it by now. But this time was different. For as long as he could remember, Calum had always been the one to help put him back together - through family deaths, through his older brothers leaving for school, through lost loves and failed friendships. So how was he meant to process being left behind when Calum was the one leaving?
As he lays in bed, arms wrapped around his middle and knees pulled toward his chest, he feels tears sting at his eyes. Before Luke can completely give into the anxiety constricting itself around his chest, the lock on the dorm door clicks and Calum shuffles in. It’s late and Luke should have been asleep hours ago but he’d worked himself into a panicked frenzy, meaning sleep would be hard to come by if it happened at all. As Calum toes his shoes off at the door, Luke swipes at his eyes and attempts to clear the panic in his throat that’s making it hard to breathe. Calum starts at the unexpected sound.
“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to wake you. Lost track of time with Michael.” With Michael. Again. Calum seems to spend all his spare time with Michael now and Luke can’t trust himself to offer more than a hum in response.
When they moved several hundred miles away from home for school, they’d decided to live together. Everyone said to branch out and make new friends, that living together can be difficult, but they both hoped a familiar face would help with the inevitable homesick feeling. Calum had been Luke’s biggest comfort over the last decade, his only friend, though Calum had always had other friendships as well. No matter how many other friendships he had though, Luke had always been his number one. And he’d never felt the worry of Calum finding someone he liked better. Until now.
They’ve only been at school for a few weeks but they’ve already settled into an easy routine, buzzing around each other before their classes in the mornings, homework at the library in the afternoons, and always (always) dinner together in the dining hall. But since Calum had met Michael in one of his classes, they seemed to just click, leaving Luke on his own and positive that he knows what comes next.
As Calum quickly puts away his belongings and slips into something more comfortable to sleep in, he hears Luke sniffle as he turns to face away from him in his bed across the room. He knows Luke like the back of his hand and is immediately filled with worry. He stops for a second, staring at Luke as if he’ll be able to see what’s nagging at him. But it’s the wee hours of a Saturday morning and he’ll have time to ask him about it when he’s not fighting to keep his eyes open.
When Calum’s eyes flutter open the next morning, it takes him a minute to register that Luke isn’t in the bed across the room. He checks his phone for the time and any missed messages from Luke, waiting for a little while and hoping to hear him milling around the bathroom, but there’s no texts and the room is silent. He tries his best to ignore the worry in the back of his mind as he gets himself ready for the day, but he can’t ignore that Luke has disappeared before they could go to the dining hall for Saturday morning pancakes.
On his way out the door, Calum shoots Luke a text to let him know that he can find him in their normal breakfast spot. As the lock on their door clicks in place, he hears a phone ding at the other end of the hallway where the study lounge is. Calum slowly turns on his heels and makes his way to the far end of their hall. As he gets closer, he can hear Good Charlotte playing softly and Luke’s familiar voice humming along.
“Hey. There you are. I didn’t know where you’d gone off to.” Calum’s voice is soft, still a little raspy with sleep. Concern quickly takes over his face as he meets Luke’s eyes and sees how tired and red-rimmed they are. Luke grumbles as he reaches over to turn off his music, avoiding Calum’s gaze.
“Woah, woah. Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” Calum asks. Luke hates the pity that’s evident in Calum’s voice.
“It’s nothing, really. Go ahead. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.” Calum balks at the sour tone Luke’s giving him as he makes his way to sit next to the blonde boy.
“Nope. If you think I’m leaving you here with that attitude, you must not know me. C’mon, what’s up?” Calum pushes, trying to meet Luke’s eyes as he joins him on the couch.
Luke rolls his eyes at Calum, thinking he should have chosen someone a little less persistent for a best friend. Calum keeps his eyes fixed on Luke as he waits for a response.
“Just go! Go hang out with Michael. He’s who you wanna hang out with anyway.”
“Luke.” It comes out more chiding than Calum intends it so he tries again, softer this time. “Luke, hey, come on.” Luke finally turns to Calum and he can see everything Luke’s been struggling with pooled in his baby blues. The worry and panic and self-doubt are threatening to spill out across Luke’s cheeks. Guilt hits Calum like a freight train and he reaches out to place a hand on Luke’s knee.
“Oh my god, Luke.” There’s even more pity in Calum’s voice now and Luke just wants to walk away, to not hear it anymore but Calum continues, oblivious to Luke’s frustration. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You’re my best friend and that’s not going to change after a few weeks of meeting someone new.”
“Well it doesn’t seem that way. This is the most I’ve seen or talked to you in the last week! You’re always with Michael.” The biting tone in Luke’s voice is hollow and Calum knows it’s only because he’s scared of being left behind.
“I’m sorry.” Calum means it. He knows Luke and he knows exactly why he’s panicked. He’s not sure what else he can say so he just lets his apology hang in the air until Luke nods his head, accepting it. Calum stays still for another beat, just to make sure that Luke’s not going to break apart into a million tiny pieces. When it seems safe, he stands from the couch and offers Luke his hand. “Why don’t we go get our pancakes, hmm? And then I’ll text Michael to see if he wants to hang out this afternoon, all three of us.”
Luke doesn’t want to hang out with his replacement, but it seems like Michael’s not going anywhere and he really doesn’t want to lose Calum. So he agrees. But he’s not going to like Michael. He’s not.
———
Luke still didn’t like Michael, but after two and a half years as an unlikely trio, they’d discovered they had more in common than either of them were willing to admit. Michael wasn’t particularly fond of Luke either, sensing that the other boy didn’t really want him around at all. They learned to tolerate each other around Calum but all bets were off when they found themselves alone together.
The problem was that neither of them could remember why they hated each other anymore. Sure, Luke had been insecure at first, but he’d gotten past that eventually as he figured out Calum was true to his promise. Calum hadn’t left him, hadn’t replaced him with Michael. Calum and Luke still lived together, and though they’d become more independent over their time in college, they still stuck pretty close. Luke appreciated that some things remained sacred between the two of them, like Saturday morning pancakes at the dining hall.
Luke swiped up the last sticky bite of blueberries from his plate as Calum began to speak around a large mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes.
“So do you have any plans today?” It comes out muffled but Luke’s fluent in Calum by now.
“I should work on my final project for my English lit class, but I’ll probably spend most of the day procrastinating it. What’s up?”
“Michael’s having some kind of party tonight and asked if we could come over to help him set up.”
“Doesn’t he know it’s finals week?”
“That’s exactly why he’s having a party. Everyone’s looking for an excuse to forget about homework for a little while,” Calum laughs softly.
Luke would actually rather spend his day pouring over his finals than with Michael but he finds himself agreeing to tag along anyway.
When they arrive at Michael’s, they find him in the kitchen, or at least what seems to be the kitchen. It could also be a nuclear disaster zone by the state of it. Luke finds himself unsure how one person manages to make that much of a mess but he decides not to push it when he takes in Michael’s flustered appearance.
“Thank god you’re here. I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know where I got the idea to host a party or why I decided to torture myself making all this food.” Michael uses the back of his hand to push his fringe out of his eyes, managing to smear the sauce from the crockpot meatballs all over his forehead. Luke can’t help the amusement on his face at Michael’s state.
Calum encourages him to go take a shower and pull himself together as he and Luke begin to move about the kitchen, cleaning up dishes and plating the food that’s already been assembled. When Michael returns, his hair is damp and a towel is barely hanging around his hips. He’s got a shirt in each hand as he playfully holds them each up to his torso in turn, looking for a second opinion. Luke offers his two cents, hoping with everything in him that Michael doesn’t notice the blush painted across his cheeks at the unexpected lack of clothing. Luke quickly returns to the task at hand, willing Michael back to his room to get dressed.
Michael returns, fully clothed, and Luke breathes a sigh of relief. He’s unsure of what’s come over him, but he’s absolutely sure it was a fluke. Probably just the stress of finals looming over him that’s got him off his rocker. He’d spent years silently hating Michael, resenting him for stealing time with his best friend. Is one shirtless moment really all it took to scramble Luke’s head?
“Hey, uh, Cal. Can you help me grab the supplies and decorations from the other room? They’re in the top of my closet and I don’t wanna pull them down on my head.” Michael laughs at himself. It’s a silly thing to ask, but they all know Michael would find a way to hurt himself trying to get the box of cups and plates down.
“I’m not any taller than you, Mike. And I’ve kind of got my hands full,” Calum says, gesturing to the sink full of dishes that he’s working on.
Without thinking, Luke pipes up, offering to help. He’s just as clumsy as Michael, but he is just the slightest bit taller and he hopes that will be his saving grace. He follows Michael down the hall and into his bedroom. It’s tidier than Luke would have expected given Michael’s typical chaotic nature.
He doesn’t have much chance to look around though, as Michael points out a box in the top of his closet that needs to come down. It’s a stretch to reach the handles on it, even for Luke, and it seems to get stuck on something beside it. Michael slides into the doorframe beside Luke, trying to free the box from whatever it’s caught on. There’s not exactly enough room for both sets of wide shoulders to be digging around.
“I’ve got it,” Luke strains as he tries to wiggle the box out without dropping it on Michael’s head. Though he could definitely be tempted.
“Just be careful. Don’t pull -”
“I can get it, just move.” Luke wiggles the box again and it breaks loose, sending both of them crashing to the floor as plasticware scatters around them.
“Why are you so stubborn? Why do you have to be like this?” Michael groans frustratedly from the floor.
“Me?!” Luke asks incredulously . “I told you I had it! Why didn’t you just let me do it?”
As they sit upright, they find themselves closer than they’ve ever been, noses nearly touching. Luke’s breath hitches in the back of his throat at the proximity to Michael. Had his eyes always had those little flecks of yellow sitting in amongst the green?
Without warning, Michael crashes his lips onto Luke’s. It’s intense, searing even. Luke thinks he could be swallowed up by the sun and his body would be less on fire than it is right now, kissing Michael.
Suddenly Luke’s racing mind catches up and he pulls away from Michael in a hurry. “Oh. I don’t- I mean, I’m not - Uhhh. Sorry.” Luke barely stutters out as he clamors to his feet, not sparing a glance at Michael’s bewildered expression. He makes a hasty exit from the room, leaving Michael to sort out the supplies they’d gone after in the first place. Calum gives Luke a questioning look when he reenters the kitchen but Luke just shrugs it off; the only explanation he offers is that Michael still managed to be a klutz and drop everything.
Several awkward hours later, Michael’s place has been cleaned spotless, there’s more food than strictly necessary, and Michael’s friends are starting to trickle in the front door. Everyone seems relieved to get finals off their mind, even if it’s just going to be for a few hours.
Luke and Michael have been avoiding each other as much as possible, which is now made easier as more people continue to show up. Luke recognizes a few people from around campus and makes a few rounds to make small talk. After Luke’s said hello to everyone he knows, he excuses himself down the hall to find the bathroom. As he rounds the corner in a hurry, his shoulder slams square into Michael’s. They both wince and then stand awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what exactly they are now.
When Luke showed up today, it was clear that they only tolerated each other for Calum’s benefit. But now? Michael had kissed Luke and he couldn’t take that back, as much as he wanted to. Luke’s frantic exit let Michael know that they were clearly not on the same page, but he wasn’t sure exactly where it left them.
Before the bizarre staring contest could stretch on any further, Luke bends down to place his lips on Michael’s shoulder with a mumbled apology. He meets Michael’s gaze briefly as he stands straight again, appreciative that the little yellow flecks in his green eyes were still present. He hurries off toward the bathroom, worried that the longer he stared at Michael, the more he’d find reasons to keep staring. Luke had only meant to show Michael that they were okay. That he hadn’t scared Luke by kissing him.
Well, that’s not entirely true. It did scare him, but not because he didn’t want it.
———
It’s been three months. Three months since the kiss that burned Luke from the inside out. Three months since Michael pulled Luke into his bedroom after everyone else had left that stupid party during finals week.
“Nothing like years of unbridled hatred to make for the best sex you’ve ever had,” Michael breathes against Luke’s neck as they both tug at the others shirt. The last of his friends just left and by some stroke of luck, Luke had agreed to stay. For an hour. For the night. He wasn’t sure, but all that mattered is that Luke stayed.
“What makes you think you’re gonna be the best sex I’ve ever had?” Michael doesn’t abandon his work leaving marks on Luke’s fair skin, keeping him as close as possible, but he can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Michael’s smile matches Luke’s as he pulls back to meet his deep blue eyes. The line between passion in lust and passion in hatred begins to blur as their lips meet in a violent crash, leaving a wake of clothes behind them on their way to Michael’s bed.
They agreed then that it was just a casual thing. There was no need to tell anyone else. It was about stress relief during finals. It was about really, really good sex. But it was never more than that. Michael and Luke both knew that they’d kill each other in a proper relationship. Luke also knew that Michael was the best sex he’d ever had, but he’d never admit that to Michael. Michael knew it too. Whatever they had burned too intense to last, but it was too much to ignore.
They’d hoped that the month of holiday break after the semester ended would cool things off.
When they returned to campus in January though, they’d fallen right back into it without a second thought, burning just as bright. This time though, they’d had to set some rules to make sure it didn’t become anything more. They were still sure that a relationship would ruin whatever it was that they had and neither of them wanted to risk it. It would only mean mutually assured destruction.
“Okay, so rule number one. If we’re going to keep this as a good thing, it’s strictly physical. No feelings. No mushy gushy nonsense. We’re not going on dates and we’re definitely not boyfriends.”
“Friends with benefits?” Luke offers from where he lays with his head on Michael’s chest, reveling in his post-coital bliss.
“Hm, but you have to be friends first. Pain in the arse with benefits?” This earns Michael a laugh from Luke.
“It doesn’t really have the same ring to it, does it?”
“Do you have a better idea?” Michael quips with his pierced eyebrow raised. Luke raises his hand from Michael’s stomach in a show of surrender.
“Okay, what else?” Luke prompts.
“Still no telling Cal. Or anyone for that matter.” Luke has no problem agreeing to that one. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself.
“What about kissing? No kissing on the lips. Pretty Woman rules.” Michael rolls his eyes at Luke but he has to admit that Julia Roberts had a point.
“Okay, no kissing on the lips. It only leads to mushy gushy feelings and that’s against rule number one.”
“Right.” Luke agrees quietly. “So that’s it then. Three rules. We can keep those, no problem.”
“Wait. Rule number four, no sleeping over. Cuddling is fine but I don’t want to give Calum a reason to be suspicious when you’re gone all night,” Michael says, lightly poking at the side of Luke’s rib cage.
“Got it. Four rules.” Luke lifts his head to place a soft kiss to Michael’s chest where his cheek had been resting before detaching himself from Michael and clamoring off the bed to slide back into his clothes.
Michael remembers the rules clear as day. He reminds himself of them often, careful not to push them in any way that would ruin what he had with Luke. It was good. It worked. So why did Michael want more?
It’s been over a month that they’ve been back at school, easily falling into a rhythm that stuck to the rules they set during the first week on campus. Michael’s even starting to look forward to his dates with Luke. Well, not dates. He won’t call them dates, at least not to Luke. But any other term feels harsh and he thinks that Luke deserves everything soft and lovely in the world. Michael wants to be the one to give Luke all of that and more.
He’s not sure when his feelings changed for Luke. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever really hated Luke in the first place. But Luke had been so adamant about not liking Michael that it was easier to just throw that right back at him. And now here he is, waking from a post-sex nap on a cold afternoon in early March, running his fingers through the prettiest blond curls he’s ever seen, limbs inextricably tangled with the other man in his bed. Luke can never manage to stay awake long after they pull their bodies apart. He can’t help that he’s drawn right back into Michael, sleepy face finding a home just above Michael’s racing heart. He’s learned by now that listening to Michael’s heartbeat steady itself out again will lull him to sleep, but he can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Not as long as Michael lets him. They weren’t breaking any of their own rules. And if they were, who was going to fault them?
As the grey light filtering in through the window grows dimmer, Michael begins to muse to himself, voice barely above a whisper.
“What am I going to do with you?”
His hands continue to loop through the ringlets splayed artfully across his skin while soft snores escape Luke’s lips.
“This doesn’t last forever, right? At least not this way. Do you want more too? Want to kiss me again? To know if it still burns red hot? Want to hold hands while we walk down the street?”
His tone is wistful, longing for more than what he knows is realistic. Michael brings his other hand up to trace patterns on the back of Luke’s where it rests around Michael’s middle.
“Do you want to meet my family? Bring me home to meet yours? Do you want to give Calum the biggest smile while calling me your boyfriend?”
Michael takes a second to pull himself out of the daydream fantasy that’s easy to get lost in like this. While Luke’s still here. Still his. Before he feels the need to leave because of that stupid rule Michael had created.
“How does this end? Are we supposed to just move on, never talk about it? How am I supposed to pretend I’m not falling in love with you every single day?”
He lets out the smallest breath of a laugh.
“Rule number one, Michael. Idiot.”
“Don’t say that.” Luke’s voice is firm but still soft from sleep and it gives Michael a start. The slight rumble of Michael’s voice in his chest had stirred Luke from his nap. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Luke leaves a long pause, but Michael can’t get his brain to move fast enough to respond. Luke lifts his head, cheek flushed pink to match the warm spot on Michael’s skin. He pulls his hand up under his chin so it’s not digging into Michael as he faces him. Luke’s eyes are still a little hazy, but Michael can see the sincerity in them. Maybe something else he can’t quite place. “You don’t have to say you love me. No one means it anyway. Everyone just says it but then they leave. What good is love if it’s always leaving?”
Michael feels his heart shatter. Suddenly it’s all clear and crashing around him. The hint of pain behind Luke’s eyes. The reason he was so wary of Calum becoming friends with Michael. The way he’s so guarded with him. Luke can see the shift on Michael’s face. He’s seen this look too many times and he’s never equipped to handle the pity. He immediately begins his retreat from Michael’s bed, from the look on Michael’s face.
Before Luke can completely free himself of Michael’s sheets, his hand wraps around Luke’s wrist and pulls him back toward the bed. Michael’s other hand lands carefully on Luke’s cheek as he pulls their lips together, letting loose of every ounce of the feelings that he’s been withholding. Screw Pretty Woman rules. Julia Roberts didn’t stick to them either.
When he pulls away breathless, Luke is even more unsure of where to go from here. He’s familiar with pity. He’s familiar with leaving. But Calum is the only one who’s always stayed. What was he meant to do now? He screws his eyes shut even tighter, hoping he can make it all make sense somehow.
“Luke,” Michael pleads, breath fanning across Luke’s face. “Luke, look at me. Have I ever lied to you?” Luke slowly blinks his eyes open to find Michael dizzyingly close and his breath catches in his throat. Michael begins to speak again. His voice is calm and he’s mindful of the words he chooses.
“Hey. I’m not going anywhere. I mean it. Have you ever known me to lie to you? Even when we…..didn’t get along.”
Luke takes a few shallow breaths, still reeling, and searches Michael’s eyes. He’s not really sure what love looks like, but he knows lying and leaving and doesn’t find either in Michael.
“Listen, okay? If fighting tells a person’s true nature, then no one knows me better than you. We’ve been at this for years. Do I look like I’m pulling your chain right now? You know me. And this is all of me. This is how I feel about you. I love you, Luke.”
Luke takes a long pause. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” Michael knows that “okay” is what Luke can offer right now. He doesn’t even care if Luke didn’t say he loved him back. At least not in so many words. Michael is miles ahead of where he ever thought he’d be and “okay” is enough. He pulls Luke in for a softer, sweeter kiss than anything they’d ever shared before. He can still feel the tension and the worry etched into Luke’s face as he pulls back and places another soft kiss over the lines across his forehead.
They settle back into the mattress, content to just be Luke and Michael for now. Neither of them were sure what they were now. There were no rules for this part, but they would figure it out the only way they could - together.
———
As the weeks stretch on, Luke finds himself at Michael’s more often than not. He and Michael continue to take it slow as they navigate uncharted waters. It’s becoming more and more difficult to keep it from Calum, though. Luke wants to stay the night with Michael. He wants to stay every night with Michael. He thinks about how strange life is.
One afternoon, the three of them are playing video games at Michael’s and Luke is suspiciously good. He was never this good before they came to school and they only ever play at Michael’s house. When the round ends with Luke besting Calum for the third time, Calum notices the lingering glance he gives to Michael.
“Okay, wait a goddamn minute,” Calum speaks up, pausing the screen and letting the controller fall gently to his side. “Since when are you so good at FIFA, Luke? You almost never beat me!”
“Hey!” Luke protests. “I can beat you! I just did - three times!”
“Whatever, but you were never this good before. What’s going on here? And since when do you two sit that close?”
Luke scoots away from Michael, as if that’s going to help his case now.
“What does it matter? I still beat you both,” Michael pipes up from the other side of Luke with a smug look on his face as Luke smacks his arm.
“I don’t care about the game, man! Tell me what’s going on here?” Calum persists.
Luke and Michael exchange another knowing glance.
“That! Right there! What was that?”
Luke’s eyes don’t leave Michael’s, despite Calum’s frustrated tone. Michael gives Luke a soft smile, one that he only reserves for him, and a knowing nod. Luke swallows hard as he turns back to face Calum.
“Uh, well. We’re, uh…” Luke fumbles. Michael reaches out to lace his fingers through Luke’s and Luke takes a steadying breath. “We’re, kinda, sort of dating, I guess.”
Michael can’t help the laugh that springs from him at Luke’s awkward mumbling and Calum’s thoroughly confused expression as he shifts his gaze between the two of them.
“Kinda, sort of dating, you guess?” Calum questions. Luke just nods affirmatively, offering a smile as he hits Michael’s leg with their combined hands.
“How long has this been going on? When were you planning to tell me?” Calum spirals. “What the fuck? How did this even start? How have you not killed each other yet?”
Luke and Michael just laugh at Calum’s disbelief. Luke presses a kiss to Michael’s cheek as they go pink under his lips, as if that’ll help Calum make sense of everything.
“Oi! One question at a time, mate,” Michael finally puts an end to Calum’s rapid fire inquisition.
“Are you messing with me? Because if you’re joking, I’ll kill you both.”
The three of them collapse into a fit of laughter and then Calum proceeds to spend the rest of the afternoon trying, and failing, to beat them at FIFA. He settles for just beating Luke.
Things aren’t perfect, but looking between Calum and Michael, Luke decides that moments like this are what love is made up of.
———
taglist: @easierlftv @haikucal @mashlums @youngblood199456 @calumbroutledge @alltimesos @another-lonely-heart @castaway-cashton @bloodyoathcal @vapor5sos @myloverboyash @justhereforcalum @karajaynetoday @spicycal @devilatmydoor
#my writing#luke hemmings#michael clifford#calum hood#muke#cake#kinda#michael clifford one shot#luke hemmings one shot#muke one shot#iba im sorry it's so sort and that it's late you deserve better#but i love u and i hope you like this
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Benzaiten Steel and the Case of Mistaken Identity
Ben has a very awkward morning on the Carte Blanche...
Just a fun little scene from a happier, better universe where Ben is alive and happy and committing intergalactic crimes with his brother and their new family.
Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment over on Ao3!
---
Contrary to popular belief, there were a lot of differences between the Steel Twins.
Sure, there was the obvious stuff like the hairstyle and the general disposition, how you could tell which one you’d bumped into on any given day by whether they were smiling or scowling. There was the dress sense and the scars and the tattoos that didn’t match, except for the one. And, of course, the different number of eyes.
But Benten had always thought it was the smaller differences, the ones nobody noticed, that mattered. That made them Juno and Benzaiten, not just the Steel Twins. Not that he resented being seen as one of a matched set, of course not. It was wonderful to work with Juno on the Carte Blanche, to live in the same space as him again and see him every day, tired in the mornings and working furiously into the evenings, to sit with him and have meals as a family with the rest of their crew. To always have him in arms reach, to show him a funny video on his comms or hang off his shoulders as they stood together. To use their nearly but not identical faces in their work, making people believe there was only one of them and seeing their faces when it all fell into place.
Benten knew how it felt to lose his brother and he never wanted to go back to that.
Still, it was nice to have their own individual quirks even if they went unnoticed. Like this, like how Benten was always the early riser while Juno would stay in bed as long as decent society allowed him. He’d gotten used to it as a kid; the three buses he had to take to his dance class had meant getting up just before sunrise six days out of seven. Juno’s hobbies, which were what Ben charitably called his obsessions, his research or his work meant he stayed up late buried in files and data, seeing patterns in it that no one else would, with one eye or two. Often when they were teenagers, he’d be up and about to head out just as Juno was dragging his carcass to bed.
That had led to an intimate familiarity with another difference, how each twin took his coffee.
Benten had the kitchen of the Carte Blanche to himself, the SimSun lights just kicking into gear. Soon the ship would come to life, the noises of some mechanical fix going on from the cargo bay as Jet began his first task of the day, Buddy humming to herself as she sat in her cabin and made the impossible possible, the clatter of Vespa sharpening tools in the med bay either to hurt or to heal, the hammering of fingers on keys as Rita worked at her comms, over the too loud chatter of her stream. And Ransom...well, Ransom doing whatever he did on a morning with his usual eerie silence. All that would come but for now it was quiet, just the sound of his bare feet sticking to the tiles as he moved around and the song he was whistling.
Today was going to be a good day, Benten told himself triumphantly. They were back in charted space which meant he could video call Mick, hearing his boyfriend’s voice and seeing his beautiful, ridiculous grin for the first time in weeks. The thousands of miles between them would shrink to the width of a comms screen and everything would feel better.
And it would start with coffee. He did feel a little pang of guilt at only making two cups, one for him and one for Juno, but it was hard to break traditions that were decades old. He’d always left one waiting for his brother in their crappy little Oldtown kitchen, for when he’d reluctantly follow him into consciousness. He’d always wanted the first thing Juno knew when he woke up was that someone was looking out for him. And to drink some coffee because he probably looked like shit.
Juno liked to pretend he was the toughest, meanest lady around, making Benten wonder if anyone else knew he took his coffee with three sugars and enough cream to make it barely a few shades above white. He mixed in each spoonful of freeze dried coffee and powdered, stasis milk carefully, though it would never taste like the real stuff you got planetside. There was a lot about long haul space travel that sucked. The food was ninety percent of it.
Still, it was hot and sweet and prickling with caffeine, in the mug Rita had painted herself with ‘world’s best boss’ printed on the side, and Benten knew his brother would really appreciate it. It would make him smile in that rough, crooked way he did, the smile that didn’t come out very often but Ben wished it would. People deserved to see it.
He stopped whistling as he balanced the mugs in his hands, trying really hard not to slop any over the sides. Sure the cleaning bots would take care of any spills but Benten had always felt mean about giving them any work to do. The kitchen door slid shut behind him, the mechanism not quite what it had been when the ship was new and making more noise than it should. Juno’s room wasn’t far, none of them had spread out much from the others even with all the rooms to choose from. He should only be a few doors down.
But as Ben moved past the bathroom door, he heard the sound of running water and his brother’s unmistakable rough voice, singing as he showered. Ben grinned to himself, pausing a moment to listen while Juno butchered a peppy, upbeat dance number that had come on the radio the other day. He had a good voice, though he’d never admit it, this just wasn’t his vibe. Still, he sang it cheerily and Ben could imagine him bouncing on the balls of his feet and swaying his hips in time to the beat as he soaped his hair.
Why was he up so early? What had him in such a good mood? Ben wondered briefly before realising he didn’t care all that much. What mattered was Juno smiling, singing, dancing, it didn’t matter why. Clearly, life on the Carte Blanche was doing him good, shaking him out of the dark place he’d been in ever since he’d lost the eye, regained it and lost it again. Just as Ben had hoped when he’d agreed to come with his brother and live as an interplanetary thief.
He had to take a few deep breaths so he didn’t cry then and there, just hearing his brother doing something as simply alive as singing in the shower.
Benten kept walking, thinking he would just leave Juno’s coffee in his room for him to come back to. And then maybe he’d ask him to play video games or watch a stream or ask if he could work on the stuff for their next job in his room. Anything just to be near him and see the light back on in his eye, to know for sure that he’d really got his brother back.
Benzaiten was still lost in his own thoughts as he approached the bunk Juno had claimed as his own, the one with the glitter covered sign that read ‘Mister Steel’s Room’ in Rita’s handwriting, the same as the ones she’d made for all of them on their first day aboard. He was so distracted, he couldn’t even be startled when the door opened before he was anywhere near it.
Or when Ransom stepped through, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of boxer shorts that covered very little and suggested very heavily what they did cover. That and a shirt of Juno’s that Ben recognised immediately, oversized so the neck draped to leave one shoulder bare. A shoulder covered in dark, mouth shaped shadows.
Ben stopped dead, eyes snapping wide. Every time he’d seen Ransom before now, he’d been perfectly made up and poised to the point of near absurdity, in his sleek, expensive outfits and coiffed hair and sharp smile. He’d been practically scared of the guy, not least because of how Juno reacted to him and wouldn’t say why, no matter how many times Benten tried to steer the conversation that way to find out more.
Now he wished he knew less.
Ben opened his mouth but couldn’t get any sound out, he was too stunned at the realisation that Ransom was actually human and not a perfectly styled doll of some kind. So Ransom just yawned, exactly like a cat would right down to the way he smacked his tongue after, and blinked, eyes useless with sleep and without his glasses.
“I thought you were showering, dear heart,” he mumbled, his slick accent muddied and rougher than it ever seemed.
And then, before Ben could make any kind of protest, Ransom closed the distance between them and kissed him languidly, hand slipping around his waist to grab a handful of...something that erased any doubt Ben had been clinging to as to what this man was doing in his brother’s bedroom.
Instantly, Ben froze solid, eyes wide with the kind of panic only rabbits facing down the headlights of oncoming cars and people in this exact situation could experience. A heartbeat later, Ransom did the exact same, unfortunately leaving him in that position for a handful of agonsing, painful seconds. When he finally jumped back, he looked very, very awake. In fact, he looked like he might never sleep again.
“So…” Ben cleared his throat, grimacing, “You’re sleeping with my brother, huh?”
Ransom’s blush was fearsome, more than a master thief’s really should be, “I...my sincerest apologies, Benzaiten, I was only...um, your brother...I…of you have any concerns about his...um, his virtue-”
Ben could have screamed cutting across him quickly, “I really do not want to hear the slightest thing about my brother’s virtue. Just...give him this,” he thrust the coffee at Ransom, “And never speak of this again. To him but especially to me. Agreed?”
Ransom took a deep breath, taking the coffee and hiking the shirt up to his neck, like that would erase the hickeys from existence, “Agreed.”
Eventually Benzaiten would realise he was happy about this. He would recontextualise a hundred glances between him and Ransom, he would learn to read the emotion in Juno’s voice whenever he talked about him, what was masked in the intensity of it. He would realise that finally someone loved Juno exactly how he deserved to be loved.
But for now, he was going to lock his door, call his boyfriend and scream into a pillow and wish with all his heart that more people would learn to see the differences between him and Juno.
#the penumbra podcast#jupeter#ben lives au#tpp#juno steel#benzaiten steel#peter nureyev#aurinko crime family#gonna write more for this ben lives au so if you have an requests send em in#please comment or reblog#pwease...
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Bakugou Tatsuya was born three minutes earlier than his twin and Katsuki had never let that go. They'd competed over everything – their parents’ attention, in sport and the school rankings. It was but a simple sibling rivalry, until it isn't anymore. Not when the heart is out on the frontline and neither of them is known for their mercy.
"Four hundred and eighty-eighty, huh," Tatsuya muses, looking at the scoreboard that was just posted for the first term finals. "We tied up." Not a first for either of them, but considering the prize of their wager. The results are startlingly revealing. "I thought you didn't care."
The weeks leading up to the finals, he'd locked himself in his room and crammed harder than he even did for the entrance exam for U.A., while Katsuki was out with his friends nearly everyday. To play, Tatsuya had thought, but clearly that wasn't the case at all.
He should have known. Identical twins. No matter how many people say that their similarity ended at their appearance, the level-headed Tatsuya and the firebrand that is Katsuki, they're two halves of a whole. It seems falling for the same person is written into the code of their DNA, the fabric of their very being. And neither of them is up for sharing, because for there to be a winner there must be always be a loser. It wasn't always like that though. Tatsuya would cripple his pride for Katsuki, his only and most precious brother, if it comes down to it.
He could take a loss. Or two.
But for the first time in a long time he doesn't want to let go of the hand holding his. Not even for Katsuki. And so the battle line is drawn around Izuku. He just didn't know how serious Katsuki would take it. Unlike Tatsuya, Katsuki had always kept his true feelings locked away and buried it under layers and layers of gruffness and rough exteriors.
He'd guarded it so zealously that it'd fooled Tatsuya. Once.
"I don't." Katsuki sneers beside him. "The bet was who would get a better rank in the finals and I just wanted to kick your ass. It has nothing to do with Deku.”
"Is that right?" He raises a brow.
"Yea," Katsuki says with a dismissive snort.
"So you won't mind me taking Izuku out on a date either way?" Tatsuya says, low and pointed. He'd never need to use his fist to hit where it hurt the most. His words are weapon themselves. "It doesn't bother you at all?"
At his words, Katsuki's jaw clenches as his hands balls into a fist at his side and his body tenses up like a dynamite ready to explode and all his triggers are named Deku. It's hysterically easy to read him like this.
Why couldn't Tatsuya have seen this all earlier?
Before the seed of this searing love toward Izuku took root and grew within him till it became this unmanageable thing, spilling out of him in droves. He doesn't know how Katsuki was able to hide it that long, when it's feels like an impossible millions things stuffed in him and he’s overflowing from it.
"You didn't fucking beat me," Katsuki finally answers, and his voice is unexpectedly cool against the violent storm brewing in his red eyes. "We’re tied up, so Deku isn't yours to take."
"Who you think deserve it then?" Tatsuya presses, pinning Katsuki with a glare of his own. "You, who made him cried countless times in the past?"
A thick blanket of silence falls over them, it's suffocating. Stilted against the noise of the hallway, but expected. This is a familiar battleground. Revisit a hundred times before again and again under a different kind of light and setting. In class, the field, in their home.
It's always been a contest for them. An unending series of question: who's smarter? Who's stronger? Who is the best? Who—? Who—? The answer didn't better so much as the thrill of the chase and the battle leading up to it. But then, the question became, who does Izuku loves the most?
That was when it stopped being a game between them. It’s a full blown war now.
Katsuki flexes his hand, clenching and unclenching it at his side, as though quietly mulling over it. Over the idea whether if he should answer the hit from Tatsuya's words with a physical jab of his own.
Katsuki takes a deliberate step forward toward him, but Tatsuya holds his ground. He won't be move. Not even for Katsuki. If he was a kinder person, a better older brother maybe, he would have step aside for Katsuki, but Tatsuya is tired, so very tired, of being the 'good' one, the good twin as though he only exists to be Katsuki's foil; the approachability of his image to balance out Katsuki's prickliness.
His yang to Katsuki's yin. Opposing forces working in mutual harmony, but to never stand apart.
"Tatchan is Tatchan and Kacchan is Kacchan," Izuku had once said, consoling him after another physical altercation with Katsuki. "I think it's amazing to have a twin." He'd smiled wistfully. "You guys share the same womb for ten months and that bond is stronger than anything, but you're also your own person with your own goals and desires. It doesn't always have to be an and/or thing."
While Katsuki and Tatsuya clashed over everything because they're dumb boys with an over competitive streak a mile wide, Izuku was playing the peacemaker between them. He probably doesn't expect that he would be something the twins would ferociously fight over too one day.
"Are you going to punch me now?" Tatsuya challenges.
Katsuki stops just shy of him, arms still at his side. "I should," he answers with a sharp grin of his own; the spread of his teeth is menacing and purposeful. "I really fucking should, just to shut up your arrogant mouth, but then I would be playing right into your hand."
Tatsuya's eyes narrow minutely. It's easy to forget for all of Katsuki's violence and foul mouth, he's as keenly intelligence as Tatsuya. His score on the board speaks for itself.
"You—" he starts, but the rest of his words are swallowed by a familiar voice calling their name.
"Tatchan, Kacchan!" They both turn toward the noise and catches sight of Izuku running up to them with a breathless joy. "I heard!" He draws to a stop in front of them, breathing heavily and a face flushed with delight. "Congratulation for making it to the top ten out of our entire grade! You guys are amazing to tie for 2nd place." His grin is infectious and exuberance, dolling out affections and admirations like he got an untapped well of it.
Katsuki's face twists in annoyance. "Fuck 2nd place and the rest of the plebs. Should have taken first instead."
Tatsuya hums in agreement. They really should have.
Izuku pouts. "Hey, I got eight place and I'm happy."
"Because you're dumb and don't know how to not settle for what you rightfully deserve," Katsuki snaps, looking pointedly at him. Not that Izuku even catch any of his underlining meaning as he only looks sheepish in answer.
"You did great too, Izuku. I know how hard you study for that," Tatsuya says instead, much to the resentful glare of Katsuki aiming toward the side of his head. Not his fault that Katsuki's clumsy and inefficient way with words get his foot stuck in his mouth often.
His ineptitude is Tatsuya's advantage.
Izuku perks up with a shy and sweet smile. "T-Thank you, Tatchan!" he says. "It's all due to our study sessions. You’d helped a lot!"
Katsuki's miffed scoff can be heard loud and clear, but Tatsuya wisely ignore it to push for his end goal. "Then how about we go out this Saturday to celebrate finishing our finals and making it to the top ten?" he asks with careful deliberateness as he avoids meeting inevitable explosion beside him. He knows what to come after, but Katsuki only goes deathly still and quiet against his provocation.
Izuku's audible gasp is the only thing that can be heard. "Oh," he breathes, eyes widen in surprise. "Um," he scratches his cheek, looking anywhere but at them, "the three of us then?"
Tatsuya shakes his head. "No, just you and me." He pauses. "Will that be a problem?"
Green eyes flash toward him. "N-No, of course not!" he insists, an attractive blush rises to his cheeks. "I would love to join you on Saturday!" He casts a furtive glance at Katsuki. "But, um—"
"We have a track meet this Saturday," Katsuki cuts in, severe and low. The fact that he has been quiet all this time and hasn’t raise his voice since Izuku had joined them is startlingly enough; it's the calm before the storm. Katsuki's ire had been simmering under the surface; Tatsuya doesn't have to see it. He can feel the animosity seeping out in waves.
Izuku scrunches up nose in realization. "Oh, yes I forgot about that. Sorry!"
"It's a practice game against Tohei High, right?" Tatsuya counters, not even considering for a moment to give Katsuki an inch. "Izuku doesn't have to be there. And he's not even an official manager of the club so why do you drag him to these things?"
Katsuki bristles, anger finally getting the better of him. "The little shit begged to join us! I didn't fucking invite his ass," he hisses. "He's such a pest—" his brain catches up to his thoughtless mouth at last and the rest of his sentence died an awful, regretful death.
Izuku flushes, gaze dropping to the floor as his shoulders droop. "I see," he says quietly. "Then it wouldn't be a problem if I go with Tatchan instead."
With only Tatsuya's eyes on him, Katsuki's face goes through a gauntlet self-hatred, guilt and hurt before settling for resentment. "Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want," he snarls, voice twisted in such open derision and disgust that it's a marred of feelings. At himself, Izuku, or Tatsuya, nobody knows, but his anger is palpable enough that Izuku jerks his head up to look at him.
But Katsuki already has his back to them and is making his way out of the quagmire of a situation before anyone can get another word in.
Concern and anxiety etches across Izuku's face as he stares hauntingly at Katsuki's retreating back. It's wrought with worry over Katsuki.
Tatsuya desperately wants to reach out and ease his anxiety, but Izuku made the decision for him. "Kacchan, wait!" he cries out, running after him. He stops momentarily to look back apologetically at Tatsuya. "Sorry, I'll see you this Saturday then!"
And then he's gone. Just like that. After Katsuki.
While Tatsuya is left alone all by himself when there used to be three. He got a date out of Izuku. It's a victory in the most basic definition of it, but it feels hollow. Why is it that Katsuki is the one who ran away, but all Tatsuya sees is defeat in the vacant spaces they had left?
Because, he knows, it's an empty victory. He may have won this battle, but the war isn’t over. Far from it. Izuku has yet to choose his side and Katsuki may have retreated right now, but he hasn't thrown in his towel yet. After all, the best things are always worth the fight.
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Supernatural Rewrite: Season 1 Episode 4: Phantom Traveler
Summary: Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you.
Pairing: eventual Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic)
Warnings: language, show level violence
Word Count: 8,724
A/N: I’ll try to do at least one episode a week. No set schedule.
Dean was in that perfect middle ground state, stuck right in between being awake and asleep, everything a warm, hazy glow, and comfortable. God, was he comfortable.
He took a deep breath, the smell of strawberries hitting him, taking over his senses, his mouth turning up a little at the corner because of the images that were flooding his brain. You. You were the only thing he was seeing. He couldn't help himself anytime he smelled strawberries he instantly thought of you. You always seemed to smell like them, and he found it calming, a constant in an ever changing world.
Dean never really had anything constant, stable, in his life, not counting his brother, but even Sam had went away for awhile, leaving him spiraling for something familiar. That's why he hauled ass to Sioux Falls, South Dakota that night. He needed to be reminded that there were still constants in the world. That there was still one thing he could count on to not change, and you smelling like strawberries was it. He knew it was stupid. It was completely ridiculous that something so simple, so trivial could mean that much to a person. I mean, it was just shampoo.
It was something that he would never admit out loud, afraid of how crazy it would come off. I mean, to say that the smell of your strawberry shampoo was sometimes the only thing that kept him grounded somedays was insane, right?
He found himself dwelling on how outrageous it was sometimes, but no matter the thoughts that crossed his mind, they always ended with you. Then he would think that maybe it wasn't the strawberry shampoo that was the constant he could count on, maybe it was just you, after all. He could always count on you, and that brought a peace to him that he never thought he would have.
The sound of the door opening pulled him from his blissful state, his hand automatically reaching under his pillow for a weapon as he turned his head to see who it was.
"Morning Sunshine." Sam said as he walked in, carrying a tray of coffees and pastries.
"What time is it?" Dean croaked out, you shifting in your sleep and tossing your leg over him.
"Uh, it's about five forty-five." Sam said.
"In the morning?" Dean asked, a little annoyed to be awake that early.
"Yep." Sam replied.
"Where does the day go?" Dean asked as he untangled himself from you so that he could sit up, being careful not to wake you as you were definitely not a morning person. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked once he was free of you, reaching up to move a strand of hair that had fallen across your face.
Sam watched the moment unfold before him, a feeling he couldn't place hitting him, "Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours." he replied.
"Liar. Cause I was up at three, and you and Y/N were watching a George Foreman informercial." Dean said, staring him down.
Sam scoffed, "No, we weren't." he said, knowing just how worried you and Dean were about him.
"Really? Cause I'm pretty sure I heard Y/N talking about how she would kill someone for one of those fuckin' steaks." Dean said, choosing to leave out what else he heard.
"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV, and you know infomercials about food always make her hungry, and then she wants to order whatever it is they are talking about." Sam said, smiling a little about how you always insisted on ordering everything you saw on TV, Bobby's kitchen full of different appliances.
"Did she order the grill?" Dean asked.
"Someone wouldn't let me." you said, sitting up in bed, sleepily rubbing your eyes. "Why the fuck are we awake right now?"
"I, uh, couldn't sleep, but I got coffee." Sam said before thrusting a cup in your face.
You accepted it, looking up at him with a sad smile, "Thanks." you said, wishing there was something you could do to make him feel better.
"When was the last time you got a good nights sleep?" Dean asked.
"I don't know, a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal." Sam said as you got out of bed, making your way over to the pastries he bought.
"Yeah, it is." Dean said.
"Look, I appreciate your concern-" Sam tried to say before Dean interrupted.
"Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep our asses alive. We need you sharp." Dean explained.
You whipped around, powder from the powdered doughnut you were eating covering your mouth, "Hey! I think I've done a pretty good job of keeping us alive so far, but maybe you're right, Dean." you said before turning to face Sam. "I'm officially passing the responsibility of keeping our asses alive to you. Good luck with that one." you said, pointing to Dean, Sam smiling a little.
Dean scoffed, "If he's gonna need luck with anything, it's you." Dean shot back.
"Please, don't be ridiculous, Dean. I'm constantly savin' your ass. Plus, there's the fact that every time you see a pair of boobs anywhere near you, you get distracted." you said, before licking your lips to get the powder from your doughnut.
"Oh, that real cute. Especially coming from the person that told one of the cops a few cases back that she bet she could bounce a nickel off that fuckin' ass, and then if I'm remembering right...pulled a nickel out of her pocket and said wanna give it a try, cowboy." Dean said, a completely serious look on his face as he looked at you.
You threw your hands in the air, "Sue me! The man had a great ass. I was only being nice and giving him a compliment. Plus, that case was over so it doesn't count." you said, crossing your arms over your chest.
Sam sighed, "I forgot how alike the two of you are. It's a little disturbing." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.
The three of you were silent for a few moments, "Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?" Dean finally asked, getting back on track.
Sam crossed the room, and sat down on the other bed, handing a coffee to Dean, "Yeah, but it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you." Sam said.
"You can't let it get to you, Sam." you said coming to sit next to him.
"Yeah, you can't bring it home like that." Dean added.
"So, what? All this it...never keeps you guys up at night?" Sam asked.
"Nope." you said, Dean shaking his head no.
"Never? You guys are never afraid?" Sam asked, reaching under Dean's pillow to pull out a large hunting knife, holding it up as evidence. "And I'm willing to bet there's one on your side, too." he said, looking over at you.
Dean took the knife back. "That's not fear. That is precaution." he said.
You nodded your head, "Yeah, I just call that being smart." you said.
"All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue with you two." Sam said, Dean's phone ringing seconds later.
"Hello." he said, you and Sam focusing on him. "Oh right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania...the poltergeist thing. It's not back is it?" Dean asked, and even though you could only hear Dean's side of the conversation you knew who he was talking to. "What is it?" Dean asked again, after a pause, eyeing you as he listened to the response.
"Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean, Y/N, and your dad really helped me out." Jerry said to Sam.
"Yeah, they told me. It was a poltergeist?" Sam asked, the four of you walking to Jerry's office inside of the hangar.
"Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie." one of the workers said in passing, causing you to chuckle.
"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking. Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something if it wasn’t for those two and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?" Jerry asked.
"Yeah, I was. I'm...taking some time off." Sam answered.
"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time." Jerry said.
"He did?" Sam asked, shocked.
"Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey you know I tried to get a hold of him but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?" Jerry asked.
"Good." you blurted out.
"Yeah, he's, um, wrapped up in a job right now." Dean said.
"Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?" Jerry asked, you and Dean laughing.
"No, not by a long shot." Sam replied.
"I got something I want you guys to hear." Jerry said, the four of you now in his office. "I listened to this, and well, it sounded like it was up your alley." he said, putting a cd into a drive. "Normally, I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours." Jerry said before the recording started to play.
"Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485- immediate instruction help! United Britannia 2485, I copy your message- May be experiencing some mechanical failure..." the voice said before a loud whooshing sound.
"Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure, cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board, and only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh...well, he's pretty broken up about it, like it was his fault." Jerry said.
"You don't think it was?" Sam asked.
"No, I don't." Jerry said.
"Don't worry, Jerry. We'll figure it out." you said.
"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors." Sam rattled off.
"And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asked.
"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage...the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance." Jerry said, Dean frowning.
"No problem." Dean said, you cocking your head to the side, wondering what he had planned.
You and Sam were waiting by the car outside of a Copy Jack, Dean finally walking out as an attractive woman was walking in, the two of them taking a few moments to say hello to each other.
"You've been in there forever." Sam said.
Dean held up three IDs, "You can't rush perfection." he said.
You snatched your ID from his hand, "My perfection never takes that long." you sassed, looking down at the ID.
"Homeland Security?" Sam asked, taking his ID.
"Awesome." you excitedly said, "We haven't done this yet."
"That's pretty illegal, even for us." Sam said.
"Yeah, well, like she said, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times." Dean said, smiling a little at how excited you were.
The three of you got in the car, "All right, so what did you guys get?" Dean asked.
"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder." Sam said.
"Yeah?" Dean asked.
"Oh, fuck yeah, there is." you said, leaning up from the backseat.
"Listen." Sam said, before playing the recording, a scratchy voice saying "No survivors." playing.
"No survivors? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors." Dean said.
"I know. That's what I said, too." you said.
"Got me." Sam replied.
"So, what are you guys thinking? A haunted flight?" Dean asked.
"Maybe." you said shrugging your shoulders, "I think it's a little early to call it just yet."
"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers." Sam said, you and Dean both humming in agreement, "or remember flight 401?"
"Right. The one that crashed. The airline salvaged some of it's parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights." Dean said.
"Right." Sam said.
"Well, maybe it's kind of the same thing here, a similar deal." you said.
"All right, so survivors, which one do you guys want to talk to first?" Dean asked.
"Third on the list, Max Jaffey." Sam said.
"Oh, yeah." you said, nodding.
"Why him?" Dean asked.
"Well, for one, he's from around here." Sam said, you quickly jumping in.
"And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did. This is our fuckin' guy." you said.
"What makes you guys say that?" Dean asked.
"Well, I spoke to his mother." Sam answered, the impala coming to a stop in front of the gate to a building with a sign out front reading RIVERFRONT PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL. "And she told me where to find him."
"This guy has definitely seen some shit." you said, the three of you preparing to interview Max Jaffey.
Max was walking with a cane between Sam and Dean, Dean making sure to keep you close to his side in case any of the crazies, as he called them, got any ideas.
"I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security." Max said.
"Right. Some new information has come up. So, if you could just answer a couple questions..." Dean trailed off.
"We only need a few moments of your time, Mr. Jaffey, and we would greatly appreciate anything you could offer." you said, smiling kindly at him.
"Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything...unusual?" Sam asked.
"Like what?" Max asked.
"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe, voices." Dean said.
"Maybe a strange smell." you added.
"No, nothing." Max said.
"Mr. Joffey." Dean said.
"Jaffey." Max interrupted, correcting him.
"Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?" Dean asked, Max nodding his head, "Can I ask why?"
"I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash." Max said.
"Uh huh, and that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?" Dean asked.
"I...I don't want to talk about this anymore." Max said, clearly uncomfortable.
"See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what." Dean said.
"No. No, I was...delusional. Seeing things." he said.
"He was seeing things." Dean sassed.
"Mr. Jaffey, we would really appreciate your cooperation." you said.
"It's ok. Just tell us what you thought you saw, please." Sam said.
"There was...this...man, and, uh, he had these...eyes, these, uh...black eyes, and I saw him, or I thought I saw him..." he said, trailing off, your body tensing when he said black eyes, hoping he was wrong.
"What?" Dean asked, eager to know the rest.
"He opened the emergency exit, but that's...that's impossible, right? There's something like two tons of pressure on that door." he said, you shaking your head.
"Fuck." you breathed out, lost in your own thoughts.
"Yeah." Dean said before looking over at you, noticing that you were no longer following along.
"This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage." Sam said, confusing Max.
"What are you, nuts?" Max asked, Sam tilting his head at the ironic question. "He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me."
The Impala pulled up in front of a house, Dean looking at you in the rearview mirror as he cut the engine, wondering why you had been so quiet.
"So, here we are, George Phelps, seat 2c." Sam said.
"Man, I don't care how strong you are." Dean said as the three of you got out of the car. "Even yoked up on PCP or something, no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight." Dean said.
"Not if you're human, but maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe in human form." Sam said.
"Does that look like a creature's lair to you?" Dean asked Sam before turning to you. "Back me up, Singer." he said, you just shrugging your shoulders as you walked to the door, both Sam and Dean looking after you in concern.
The three of you were sitting around from Mrs. Phelps, Sam looking at a framed photograph, "This is your late husband?" Sam asked.
"Yes, that was my George." she replied.
"And he was a...dentist?" Dean asked.
"Mmm hmm. He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that..." she trailed off.
"How long were you married?" Sam asked, trying to regain her focus.
"Thirteen years." she answered.
"In all that time, did you ever notice anything strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?" Sam asked.
"What about his eyes? Did they ever look funny to you? Black, maybe?" you blurted out, not able to keep the question to yourself.
"No, his eyes were...fine, never black. He, uh, he had acid reflux, though. If that's what you mean?" she said, looking from you to Sam.
The three of you were coming down the stairs out front, you in the lead.
"I mean, it goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense." Sam said.
"A middle aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified." Dean said to Sam before calling out to you, "What's going on with you, Singer?" he asked.
"Nothing." you said, not looking at him.
"Hey." he said, grabbing your arm to stop you, "Come on, something is up with you. You've been weird since we talked to Jaffey, so what's going on with you?" he asked, holding onto you so you couldn't walk away.
"I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. That's it. I'm fine." you said, knowing that he didn't fully believe you.
"You know what we need to do, is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage." Dean said.
"Okay, but if we're going go that route, we'd better look the part." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.
You were leaning against the car, feeling completely out of your comfort zone in your new wardrobe. The black pencil skirt, crisp white shirt, and black fitted blazer weren't something you could ever see yourself wearing voluntarily. The heels were the only thing you felt slightly comfortable in, wearing them to hit the bars whenever you had a night off.
You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting on Sam and Dean to come out of the store they were in. You finally spotted them walking out, each of them wearing a new black suit with a white shirt. You smiled to yourself, thinking how good both of them looked.
"Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers." Dean said.
"No, you don't. You look more like a seventh grader at his first dance." Sam teased.
"Hey, I look like a secretary from some cheesy porno." you said, twisting your hair up into a bun.
"I think you look really nice, Y/N." Sam said, smiling at you.
"Thanks, Sam. You look really good, too." you said, before looking over to Dean to get his opinion.
"A secretary, huh? Maybe, I can see you in my office later." he said, smirking at you.
You chuckled, "Real funny. Maybe, I'll just come chaperone your dance instead." you said.
Dean shook his head before looking down at himself, "I hate this thing." he said.
"Me too." you said, adjusting your skirt.
"Hey, you guys want into that warehouse or not?" Sam asked.
The three of you walked into the warehouse each of you flashing your badge to the security guard, who nodded and let you in.
You started to walk among the wreckage, Dean reaching into his pocket to pull out a device before placing earbuds in his ears.
"What is that?" Sam asked, eyeing the device.
"It's an EMF meter, reads electromagnetic frequencies." Dean replied.
"Come on, Sam, I know you aren't that rusty." you teased, glancing over at him.
"I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted up Walkman?" Sam asked.
"Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade." Dean proudly said, grinning.
"Yeah, I can see that." Sam said, unimpressed, Dean's grin fading.
You walked over to him, "Hey, I think it's fuckin' awesome. You did a good job." you said, as he ran the meter over a piece of wreckage.
"Check out the emergency door handle." Dean said, before scratching off some yellow dust, getting some on his hand. "What is this stuff?" he asked.
You shook your head, despite having a pretty good idea what it was. You didn't want to say anything until you were completely sure that you were right, thinking there was no need to cause a fuss. Especially if you were wrong in the end.
"One way to find out." Sam said, scraping some of the yellow dust into a bag.
"Shh...listen." you said, the sounds of several footsteps echoing, "Yeah, we need to go like fuckin' now." you added, the three of you quickly making an exit.
Sam and Dean peered around the corner, checking to make sure the coast was clear, while you pulled off your heels, unable to run in them. The three of you walked casually around the corner, until an alarm started to blare, kicking all of you into high gear.
Dean took off his suit jacket and tossed it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence, Sam climbing over without a problem.
Dean started to climb over, but stopped when you didn't follow, "Sometime today would be nice, Y/N." he said, looking over his shoulder at you.
"I can't climb over in this fuckin' skirt." you said, tossing your heels over the fence. "It's so tight I can barely take a decent step."
"You better hike that thing up, or do whatever you need to do, but you better get your ass over that fence...NOW." Dean said.
"Just don't look." you said, pulling the skirt up until it bunched around your waist, checking to make sure Dean wasn't looking. "I'm serious, Dean. Close your fuckin' eyes. You too, Sam!" you said, preparing to climb over the fence.
"You commando or something?" Dean asked, managing to keep his focus on your face.
"We were supposed to go to a laundry mat, but then Jerry called, and we've been too busy." you said as you climbed the fence, quickly throwing your leg over and making your way down the other side, yanking your skirt down before picking up your heels.
"Well, these monkey suits do come in handy." Dean said, as he landed on the other side of the fence. "Hey, Singer, I think I got a nickel in my pocket. How much you want bet I can bounce it off-" Dean got out before you took off after him.
"I'm going to fuckin' kill you." you seethed, chasing after him.
The three of you were standing inside of Jerry's office. Sam had given him the yellow substance he had collected at the scene and Jerry was now looking at it under a microscope.
"Huh. This stuff is covered in-" Jerry started to say.
"Sulfur." you finished for him, all three of them looking at you.
"Sulfur." Jerry said, still looking at you.
"How did you know that?" Dean asked.
"Lucky guess." you said, shrugging your shoulders.
"You're sure?" Sam asked Jerry.
"Take a look for yourself." Jerry said, loud banging sounds from outside catching his attention. "If you guys will excuse me. I have an idiot to fire." Jerry said before excusing himself from his office, leaving you, Sam, and Dean behind.
Dean took a look through the microscope for himself, "Hmmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue." he said to Sam before turning to you, "You want to tell us how you really knew that?"
You sighed, "I had a feeling, ok. I mean, with what Max Jaffey said about the guys eyes, and his strength, then the sulfur. I mean, add it all up and it most likely points to one thing." you said.
"Demonic possession?" Sam asked, you nodding your head.
"It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch." Dean said, looking to you for your opinion.
"If the guy was possessed, it's possible." Sam answered, instead.
"This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean, it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire plane?" Dean asked, you keeping quiet.
"You ever heard of something like this before?" Sam asked.
"Never." Dean said before turning to you. "You got anything else you want to share with the class, Singer? Any feelings or lucky guesses?" he asked, and you could tell that he was upset that you didn't speak up earlier.
"Dean, I didn't know fore sure, and I thought it was pointless to throw it out there until I knew." you said, a little defensively.
"How...how did you know?" Sam asked.
"Come on, guys. You know my dad. I was flipping through lore books before I could even read, and when I wanted to learn he taught me. It's basically an evil asshole encyclopedia up here." you said, tapping your temple. "Plus, I've worked a couple of possessions with dad, but this isn't a run of the mill possession, so...I'm not a hundred percent sure exactly what we are dealing with, but a demon of some sort is probably behind it."
The three of you were in the motel, all busy researching after you told them everything you knew on the subject.
"So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right?" Sam asked, looking up from his computer.
"Yeah, Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it." you said, looking up from the book you were reading.
"Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this." Dean said.
"Well, that's not exactly true." you started before Sam jumped in.
"According to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and manmade. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.
"And this one causes plane crashes?" Dean asked, standing up from his spot on the bed. "All right, so, what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?" he asked.
"Yeah, you know, who know how many planes it's brought down before this one?" Sam asked.
You closed your book, "Well, death and destruction is kind of their gig." you said, Dean snorting as he turned away.
"What?" Sam asked.
"I don't know, guys. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, like Y/N said, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big, and I wish Dad was here." Dean said, obviously stressed.
"Yeah, me too. "Sam said.
"All right, boys, I know we are kinda up shit's creek without a paddle right now, but we all need to put on our fuckin' big girl panties and figure this shit out because I don't think this asshole is done fucking shit up." you said.
"This coming from the person who certainly wasn't wearing her big girl panties today, or any panties if I remember correctly." Dean said, his phone ringing before you could reply.
"Hello." he said, you and Sam both looking at him, only able to hear Dean's side of the conversation. "Oh, hey, Jerry." Dean said, a sick feeling over taking you. "Wha-Jerry...I'm sorry. What happened?" Dean asked.
You and Sam listened to the rest of the one sided conversation, "Another crash?" Sam asked.
"Yeah. Let's go." Dean replied.
"Guess, I was right about it not being done." you said, grabbing your jacket.
"Where?" Sam asked.
"Nazareth." Dean answered.
"And there's the fuckin' irony." you breathed out.
Jerry was looking through the microscope again, even though the three of you knew what the substance was.
"Sulfur?" Dean asked, Jerry nodding his head. "Well, that's great. All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him." Dean said.
"With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news." Sam said.
"Yeah, I wouldn't count on that. I don't think the asshole is done." you said.
"What's the bad news?" Dean asked.
"Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight, and get this, so did flight 2485." Sam said.
"And you're sure it was forty minutes for both?" you asked.
"Forty minutes? What does that mean?" Jerry asked.
"It's biblical numerology." you replied.
"You know, Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death." Dean said, going in to more detail.
"I went back and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in." Sam said.
"Any survivors?" Dean asked.
"No, or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?" Sam asked, you nodding your head.
"No survivors." Dean said before pausing for a moment to think, "It's going after all the survivors."
"Fuck, it's trying to finish the job." you said, shaking your head.
Dean was driving while Sam was finishing up a phone call. You were in the backseat flipping through John's journal.
"Really, well, thank you for taking our survey, and if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks." Sam said before hanging up. "All right, that takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon." he said.
"So, our only wildcard is the flight attendant, Amanda Walker?" Dean asked.
"Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job." Sam said.
"Indianapolis, really?" you asked, closing the journal. "I really don't know why I'm surprised." you added.
Dean nodded his head, "That sounds like just our luck." he said.
"Dean, this is a five hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel." Sam said.
"Call Amanda's cell phone again. See if we can't head her off at the pass." Dean said.
"I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off. God, we're never gonna make it." Sam said.
"We'll make it." Dean said, pushing down on the accelerator, determined to make it in time.
Sam looked over his shoulder at you, "Hold on tight, Sam." you said.
The three of you rushed into the airport and checked the departure board, relieved to see that you had made it in time.
"Right there. They're boarding in thirty minutes." Sam said, pointing to the board.
"Okay. We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone." Dean said, spotting a courtesy phone.
"Airport services." the person on the other end said.
"Hi, gate thirteen." Dean said.
"Who are you calling, sir?" they asked.
"I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, uh, flight 424." Dean said.
"Amanda Walker. Amanda Walker, you have a phone call. White courtesy phone, gate thirteen." the PA voice announced.
"Come on." Dean said, growing impatient.
"This is Amanda Walker." she said.
"Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here." Dean said, you and Sam standing back watching.
"Karen?" Amanda asked.
"Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so-" Dean got out before Amanda interrupted.
"Wh-what? That's impossible. I just got off the phone with her." she said.
Dean paused for a moment, "You what?" he asked.
"Five minutes ago. She's at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?" Amanda asked.
"Uh, well...there must be some mistake." Dean said.
"And how would you even know I was here?" Amanda asked, you and Sam trying to stand close enough to Dean to hear what was going on. "Is this one of Vince's friends?"
"Guilty as charged." Dean said, shrugging his shoulders and just going along with her.
"Wow. This is unbelievable." Amanda said.
You looked up at Dean and mouthed, "Say he's sorry."
"He's really sorry." Dean said, following your lead.
"Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?" Amanda ordered.
"He's a mess." you mouthed.
"Don't be like that. Come on, the guy's a mess. Really. it's pathetic." Dean said.
"Really?" Amanda asked, you furiously nodding your head.
"Oh, yeah." Dean said.
"Look, I've got to go. Umm...tell him to call me when I land." she said before hanging up.
"No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!" Dean said.
"Fuck." you shouted, a little louder than you meant to, drawing a few stares.
"Damn it! So close." Dean said.
"Well, I guess we have one option left." you said.
Sam nodded his head, "It's time for plan B. We're getting on that plane." he said.
"Yep." you said.
"Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second." Dean said, wide eyed.
"We don't really have a second, De. We need to haul ass." you said.
"Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash." Sam said.
"I know." Dean said.
"Okay, so, we're getting on the plane. We need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and Y/N get whatever will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes." Sam said, laying out a game plan.
You nodded your head, and grabbed Dean's arm, ready to pull him back to the car, "Hey, come on. It's gonna be ok." you said, as he stood in one spot looking between you and Sam anxiously.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked.
"No, not really." Dean said.
"What?" What's wrong?" Sam asked.
"Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh..." Dean trailed off.
"Flying." you finished for him before looking over to Sam. "He's scared to fly."
"It's never been a problem until now." Dean said.
"You're joking, right?" Sam asked.
You shook your head, "He's not." you said.
"Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?" Dean asked.
"All right, uh, Y/N and I'll go." Sam said.
"Ok, I'll go get what we need and I'll meet you back here. We need to get this show on the road." you said, turning to walk away.
"What?" Dean asked.
"We'll do this one on our own." Sam said.
"We'll be fine, De. Don't worry." you said.
"Don't worry? What are you guys, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane is gonna crash." Dean said, looking between the two of you.
"What else do you want us to do?" you asked.
Sam nodded his head, "Dean, we can do it all together, or Y/N and I can do this one ourselves. I'm not seeing a third option here." Sam said.
"Come on! Really? Fuck." Dean said.
"Flight attendants please cross check doors before departure." the voice over the intercom said.
Dean was in the aisle seat, anxiously reading the safety card while you sat next to him, Sam on the other side of you.
"Just try to relax." Sam said, taking note of how nervous Dean was.
"Just try to shut up." Dean snapped, the plane taking off, Dean jumping at every rumble and sound.
You grabbed his hand and laced your fingers with his, "You're fine." you said, Dean squeezing your hand tightly as you started to hum, laying your head on his shoulder.
"You're humming Metallica?" Sam asked.
"It calms him down." you said, resuming your humming after speaking.
"Dude, did you just sniff her head?" Sam asked.
"W-what? No, that's crazy. I-I was just trying to take a deep breath. You know, relax." Dean lied, a smile coming to your face.
He had let it slip once when he was drunk that he loved the smell of your shampoo. He said it always calmed him down, so you would often lay your head on his shoulder when he was stressed, giving him the opportunity to breathe you in, never mentioning to him that you knew what he was doing.
"Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? You got to say focused." Sam said.
"Okay." Dean replied.
"I mean, we got thirty two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, anyway, and perform a full on exorcism." Sam said.
"No pressure, huh?" you breathed out, feeling a little nervous that there wasn't going to be enough time.
"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy." Dean said, still holding onto your hand.
"Let's just take it one step at a time, all right? Now, who is it possessing?" Sam asked.
"Well, usually they go for someone with some sort of weakness. They can worm their way in like that." you said.
"Ok, so somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress." Dean said.
"Yet, another reason for you to try to chill the fuck out. I really don't want this thing jumpin' into you." you said, Dean nodding his head.
"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her I'd be pretty messed up." Sam said.
"Yeah, that's true." you said, Dean humming in agreement.
"Excuse me, are you Amanda?" Dean asked the flight attendant next to him.
"No, I'm not." She answered.
"Oh, my mistake." he said, the flight attendant walking away, Dean looking to the back of the plane, "All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and I, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state." Dean said.
"You sure? I can do it." you said, worried about him.
"I can do it. I...I need to move around." he said, finally releasing your hand.
"What if she's already possessed?" Sam asked.
"There's ways to test that." Dean said, pulling out a bottle of holy water, "I brought holy water."
"Yeah, let's not do that just yet." you said, taking the bottle from him and passing it to Sam.
"I think we can go more subtle. If she's possessed she'll flinch at the name of God." Sam said.
"Oh, nice." Dean said, turning to go to the back.
"Hey." you said, stopping him.
"What?" he asked.
"Say it in Latin." you said.
"I know." Dean said, a little annoyed.
"Hey!" Sam called out.
"What?!" Dean snapped.
"Uh, in Latin, it's Christo." Sam said.
"Guys, I know! I'm not an idiot!" Dean said before making his way to the back of the plane.
You turned in your seat, watching him walk away, "Maybe I should go with him, back him up." you said, starting to rise from your seat.
Sam put his hand on your shoulder, "He can do it." he said, "We need to go over the rest of the plan."
"Fine." you sighed, taking one last look at Dean before turning your attention to Sam, "You got John's journal?" you asked.
"Yeah, here.” Sam said, passing it over to you.
You flipped through the pages until you found what you were looking for, "I'm thinking this should work." you said, passing it back to Sam.
"You think?" Sam asked.
"Sorry, I'm not a fuckin' expert, Sam." you snapped, immediately regretting it, "Sorry, I...demons just weird me out. They...I just really fuckin' hate em', and I want to get this shit done." you said, Dean sitting down next to you before Sam could reply.
"All right, well, she's got to be the most well adjusted person on the planet." Dean said.
"Good for her." you sarcastically said.
"You said Christo?" Sam asked.
"Yeah." Dean replied.
"And?" Sam asked, needing more details.
"There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her." Dean replied.
"So, if it's on the plane it can be anyone, anywhere." Sam said, the plane shaking.
"Come on! That can't be normal!" Dean shouted, gripping onto your arm.
"Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence." Sam said.
"Yeah, it's okay." you said, prying his fingers from your arm.
"Guys, this plane is going to crash, okay? So, quit treating me like I'm fucking four." Dean said.
"Well, stop acting like you're fucking four." you said.
"Yeah, you need to calm down." Sam said.
"Well, I'm sorry. I can't." Dean said, reaching for your hand.
"Yes, you can." Sam said.
"Dude, stow the touchy feely, self help yoga crap. It's not helping." Dean said.
"Listen, if you're panicked, you're wide open to demonic possession, so you need to calm yourself down, right now." Sam warned.
"Fuck, he's right, Dean, just breath or something." you said.
"Yeah, cause that has helped me. I've been breathing this whole fuckin' time in case you hadn't noticed." Dean sassed.
"God damn it." you said under your breath before turning in your seat to face him, "You owe me."
"For what?" Dean asked, confused.
"For the drastic measures I'm about to take to save your ass." you said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him to you, crashing your lips to his.
You felt him tense up for a moment, his lips not moving as if he were in a state of shock. You started to pull back, thinking that you may have crossed a line, but before you could pull away you felt his hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place.
The kiss quickly started to heat up, Dean's tongue running along your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You opened your mouth, Dean wasting no time deepening the kiss.
Sam cleared his throat loudly, "Guys." he said.
You pulled away from Dean, "Sorry, Sam." you said, before focusing your attention on Dean. "You good now? You calm?" you asked.
Dean took a long, slow breath, "I'm so fuckin' good." he said, his words coming out a little breathy.
You tapped his cheek a couple of times, "You're welcome." you said.
Sam cleared his throat again, "Good. Now, we found an exorcism in here that we think will work. The Rituale Romanum." Sam said to Dean.
"What do we have to do?" Dean asked.
"Well...it's two parts." you started, Sam jumping in to say the rest.
"The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest which actually makes it more powerful." Sam explained.
"More powerful?" Dean asked.
"Yep." you said, popping the p.
"How?" Dean asked.
"Well, it doesn't need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own." Sam said.
"Oh, and why is that a good thing?" Dean asked.
"Well, cause the second part sends that fucker back to hell once and for all." you said.
Dean nodded his head, "First things first, we got to find it." Dean said before standing up to walk the aisle with his EMF meter, getting odd looks, but no readings.
You and Sam walked up behind him, you clapping him on the shoulder causing him to jump, "Ah! Don't do that." Dean scolded.
"Sorry." you said.
"Anything?" Sam asked.
"No, nothing. How much time do we got?" Dean asked.
"Fifteen minutes. Maybe, we missed somebody." you said, looking around at the other passengers.
"Maybe the things just not on the plane." Dean said, causing you to scoff.
"You believe that?" Sam asked.
"Well, I will if you guys will." Dean said, looking down as the EMF meter spiked, the copilot exiting the bathroom and heading towards the cockpit.
"Christo." you blurted out, the copilot slowly turning to face you, his eyes black, "Fuck." you whispered as he went into the cockpit.
The three of you headed to the back of the plane towards Amanda.
"She's not gonna believe this." Sam said.
"We don't really have a choice, Sam." you said.
"Yeah, twelve minutes, dude." Dean said.
"Oh, hi, flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope." Amanda said to Dean.
"Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about." Dean said, Sam closing the curtain behind you.
"Um, okay. What can I do for you?" Amanda asked.
"All right, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have the time for the whole truth is out there speech right now." Dean said.
"Look, we just really need you to listen to us right now, and for you to keep an open mind." you added.
"All right, look, we know you were on flight 2485." Sam said, the friendly smile Amanda had disappearing.
"Who are you guys?" she asked.
"That's not important right now." you said.
"Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure." Sam said.
"We need your help because we need to stop it form happening again, here. Now." Dean said.
"I'm sorry, I-I'm very busy. I have to go back-" she said as she tried to brush past Dean, who stopped her.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Listen to me. Uh...the pilot on 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead." Dean said.
"Wait, what? Chuck is dead?" she asked.
"He died in a plane crash. Now, that's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as a little fuckin' strange?" you asked.
"Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now, maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't, but there's something wrong with this flight, too." Sam said.
"Amanda you have to believe us." Dean said.
"On...on 2485, there was this man. He...had these eyes." Amanda said.
"Black eyes?" you asked, Amanda nodding her head.
"Yes. That's exactly what we're talking about." Sam said.
"I don't understand. What are you asking me to do?" Amanda asked.
"Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here." Dean said.
"Why? What does he have to do with anything?" Amanda asked.
"Oh, come on, lady." you said, frustrated.
"Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him, okay?" Dean said.
"How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot?" she asked.
"Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit." Sam said.
"Do you know that I could lose my job if you-" she started to say before you interrupted.
"Jesus Christ, lady! You're job is the last thing you should be worrying about." you said, your patience for her gone.
"Look, you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't help us out." Dean said.
Amanda hesitated for a moment, "Okay." she said, leaving and making her way to the cockpit.
"All right, boys. Here they come." you said, Sam pulling out the holy water, and Dean passing over John's journal to him.
"Yeah, what's the problem?" the copilot asked.
Dean punched him in the face, and knocked him down. The two of you pinned him down, you holding his legs down while Dean managed to put duct tape over his mouth.
"Wait? What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him." Amanda said.
"Relax lady." you said, struggling to keep the copilot still.
"We are gonna talk to him." Dean said, splashing holy water on him, his skin sizzling.
"Oh, my God. What's wrong with him?" she asked.
"Get her the fuck out of here, Sam." you snapped.
"Look, we need you calm. We need you outside the curtain." Sam said.
"Well, I don't underst- I don't know." she stammered out.
"Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that, Amanda?" Sam asked.
"Okay. Okay." she said before leaving.
"Hurry up, Sam. I don't know how much longer we can hold him." Dean said.
"Regna terrae, Cantate Deo, psalute Domino-" Sam said, stopping when the demon broke free, hitting both boys until you and Dean managed to subdue him again.
Sam picked up where he left off, until the demon knocked both you and Dean off again and pulled the tape from his mouth, reaching to grab Sam by the collar.
"I know what happened to your girlfriend. She must have died screaming. Even now, she's burning." the demon said before turning to you, "And you, oh, we have plans for you." he said, Dean recovering and hitting the demon.
"Sam!" you and Dean shouted, you now trying to help Dean hold him down.
Sam recovered and began reading again. He put the book down, and helped the two of you pin down the demon, who kicked the book up the aisle.
"I got him." Sam said, the demon exiting the copilot's body and disappearing into a vent.
"Where'd it go?" Sam asked.
"It's in the plane." Dean said.
"Fuck, boys. We gotta hurry up and finish this. We're running out of time." you said.
The plane suddenly dipped and heaved violently, Sam struggling to retrieve the book as Dean splayed himself against the exit door, screaming, while you were pressed to his chest, his arms coming to wrap around you.
Sam managed to grab the book and read the rest of the exorcism, a bright electrical charge running through the entire plane when he finished, the plane leveling out soon after.
Dean was breathing heavily, holding onto you so tight that you could hardly breathe, "De...I...can't breathe." you said, Dean loosening his hold a little.
The passengers from the flight were disembarking to an area, milling with uniformed agents, paramedics, FBI, FAA, and so on. The copilot was seated in a wheelchair, a blanket wrapped around him, being questioned by an FAA agent.
Amanda spotted the three of you across the way and mouthed thank you, the three of you nodding at her.
"Let's get out of here." Dean said, as the three of you headed to the exit. "You okay?" he asked Sam.
"Dean, it knew about Jessica, and it said they had plans for Y/N." Sam said.
"Sam, these things, they...they read minds. They lie, all right. That's all it was." Dean said.
"He's right, Sam. Those assholes will say whatever they can to get inside your head. They just like fuckin' with people." you said, not revealing that you were scared about what it had said about you.
"Yeah." Sam said.
"Come on." Dean said, urging you and Sam to follow.
"Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed." Jerry said, shaking each of your hands. "Your dad's gonna be real proud. Yours too, Y/N." he said.
"We'll see you around, Jerry." Sam said.
"Maybe wait a little while before the next call." you teased.
"You know, Jerry." Dean said.
"Yeah." Jerry replied.
"I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway? I've only had it for like six months." Dean said.
"Your dad gave it to me." Jerry said.
"What?" you and Sam asked in unison.
"You talked to John?" you asked.
"When did you talk to him?" Dean asked before Jerry could answer you.
"I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you or Y/N a call. Thanks again, guys." Jerry said before walking away.
"This doesn't make any sense, guys. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service." Sam said, as Dean dialed John's number, all of you crowding around the phone to listen.
"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency call my son, Dean (785) 555-0179 or Y/N Singer (785) 555-0726. They can help." John said.
Sam was fuming as he got into the car, you and Dean both looking after him.
"What the fuck in going on, De?" you asked.
"I wish I knew, Sweetheart." he said, as the two of you got into the car, hoping that the next case would provide some much needed answers.
Tags: @22sarah08 @miraclesoflove
#supernatural#series rewrite#dean x reader#dean winchester#sam winchester#supernatural fic#supernatural reader insert#supernatural fanfiction#dean x you#reader insert#dean#spn fic#spn
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Highway To Hell
Series Summary: An all-too-real nightmare and a missing brother sends Dean, Bobby, and Cas on a frantic search. All the while, what may be a bad dream leads to a probable jump-start to Dean's true worst nightmare, Sam jump-starting the end of the world. Set in season 4; consider this a parallel canonverse fic
Previous chapter, Masterlist
Chapter 2
Bobby awoke to the shrills of a cell phone on his night stand; he grumbled and looked over at the clock. The bright red numbers made his eyes hurt for a moment, but he quickly made out the time to be 3:55 AM. He answered the phone without checking the caller ID, not feeling alert enough to squint at another bright device.
"This better be damn important." He grumbled into the phone.
As soon as he heard Dean's distraught voice on the other end, he instantly perked up with anxiety.
"Okay Dean, where are you?"
After Dean informed of his location, Bobby promised he would be there in a couple hours, snapped his phone shut, and jumped out of bed. Although he was awoken from a rare deep sleep, it couldn't compare to family. He had dropped everything and ran to them more times than he could count, no matter the severity of the situation. With the life he carried on his shoulders, the situations he found himself in were often serious than not.
Bobby grabbed his hunting duffle, his keys, and head out the door in a flash. Knowing the situation was likely too serious to describe over the phone, he floored what he could of his hearty truck.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean paced for hours, or at least that's how long it felt. There wasn't much he could do; there wasn't any logical thing he could think of. His brain was jumbled in a large, endless knot.
He honestly didn't know what he would do without Bobby; his brain would have probably just spiraled at one point, honestly.
While he had waited for Bobby's arrival, he contacted multiple other hunters, just in case. It turns out that many of them had not seen Sam since they last hunted together, which ranged anywhere from months ago to years ago. And none of them had seen Sam within the past twenty four hours, which left him as hopeless as he felt when he got nothing out of a stupid freaking demon.
Dean's thoughts were put to an abrupt halt as he heard a familiar rumble from outside the motel room. He cautiously peeked through the curtains and unlocked the door when he recognized Bobby's old pickup. The man made no dawdle to get inside; he instantly gripped onto Dean's stiff back after bolting the door. It could have easily caused a meltdown, but they shelved their emotions before a single tear was shed.
"What's going on, son?" Bobby asked softly.
"I-I don't know," Dean replied with a hoarse voice, "I woke up, and Sam was just..." -Dean almost whispered- "..gone."
"Did you contact anyone else? Try to get some sort of lead?"
"What do you think I've been doing for the past few hours? Well, besides trying to put a trench into this carpet here."
Bobby sighed. "Nothing?"
Dean hung his head and shook it. "Nothing."
A heavy silence hung over them as different ideas tossed around in their heads.
"Well, he didn't take your car, so that gives us one less opportunity. But we could definitely check some traffic cams, for starters." Bobby said.
"I can't believe I didn't think of that before.." Dean replied.
Hours later, both of them had again come across nothing, after searching over a hundred and fifty different traffic cameras within 100 miles of their current location. It was almost as if Sam, or whoever took Sam, completely avoided the camera. Dean's eyes began to droop involuntarily as cars occasionally flew past the screen. Bobby almost didn't notice, until the table shook gently from Dean jerking himself awake.
"You should get a couple hours of rest, I've got it from here." Bobby said.
"But I've gotta find Sam." Dean slurred.
"You can't find Sam if you can't even keep your eyes open, boy. We can switch in a couple hours if we need to." Bobby replied.
Dean blinked, he was too tired to put up a fight. He didn't really want to fall into the realm of sleep, since he normally was deprived from numerous nightmares; they were inevitable. He reluctantly dragged himself to his still unmade bed, and instantly crashed; the sound of Bobby tapping on the keyboard barely reaching his eardrums.
~~~~~~~~~~~
There was blackness, so much of it. Oddly, it wasn't threatening. It was actually quite… comforting. Was he dreaming, or was he finally at peace for a couple hours? Dean looked around at the endless darkness that expanded to seemingly nowhere; something seemed off. His whole life, for as long as he could remember, this never happened, not once.
Just as he suspected, he heard something say his name. From where? Well, who knows. Weird was his specialty, his normal. For all he knew, he could have been pulled onto another spacecraft. The thought of being prodded at caused him to shudder. The being spoke to him again, sounding somewhat less distant. It was a male voice, it sounded like..
"Dean, we need to talk."
Dean glared at the angel wearing his young father's meatsuit. He didn't want to be a pet, not again.
"What, do you wait until I finally have some peace and quiet to bug me? Sorry, whatever you're selling, I'm not buying it." Dean grunted.
"I'm afraid this is just as important to you as it is to me." Michael replied sternly.
Unphased, Dean raised his eyebrows. Michael sighed in annoyance.
"Of course you wouldn't see it, you're a Winchester."
He placed two fingers onto the hunter's forehead, and an image instantly flooded into the darkness, until it wasn't an image, but a physical place. It was a convent, not long abandoned. The room Dean currently stood in seemed to be one of the main service rooms. And smack in the middle of it? Was his brother.
"Sammy!" He cried out.
"This isn't real time Dean, it's the future. This is what is currently at stake."
His brother's back was to him, but he could sense that what Sam was doing was nowhere near good. Silently, Dean approached him, feeling as if Sam could turn around and grab him. That precaution was nothing compared to the fear he felt when he saw his brother's face. Sam may have had the same outward appearance, but what Dean saw in his eyes, he didn't recognize. Even in this memorex-created reality, he could feel powerful waves of energy rolling off of his brother; it could make someone crap their pants. If he didn't know him, he would try to kill him.
Suddenly, the waves of power greatly increased and rapidly began to bounce around the room. Even though Dean knew he wouldn't likely be hurt in this scenario, he backed off cautiously as Sam's eyes turned into black orbs. The room started to shake and a light began to creep from the blood on the floor. The light grew too bright to look at, but Dean felt himself strangely looking on, unaffected. He blinked and another figure stood in front of Sam. As Dean's eyes adjusted, the figure became clear enough to send shivers down his spine.
"Hi Sammy." Lucifer grinned.
Dean/Jensen tags: @akshi8278
#spn#supernatural#spn genfic#spn fanfic#supernatural fanfic#dean#dean winchester#sam#sam winchester#castiel#ruby#bobby singer#jared padalecki#jensen ackles#lucifer#spn s4#s4 AU#spn AU#cas
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be alright
Rook’s lived a lot of places, but she thinks Hope County may be the strangest. It’s massive, geographically, spread out across the Henbane, the Whitetails, Holland Valley – she’s been here for months, and she still doesn’t think she’s seen half of it all. She’s not quite sure she ever will.
Despite its size, though, she’s learned that Hope County gives off just as many small town vibes as the tiny place she grew up. Everyone knows everyone, whether personally or in passing, and Rook can’t go anywhere without hearing what is, quintessentially, the latest town gossip.
Needless to say, word travels fast between members of the Resistance. It gives her an edge up on Eden’s Gate, most days, an internal surveillance system that tells her about the Seeds’ comings and goings.
You hear the commotion out at Seed Ranch? she hears one evening as she wanders past a group of Resistance members chatting just inside the outpost at Kellett Cattle Co. Looks like some of the Peggies are finally seein’ the light.
“What’s that?” Rook asks, before she can even stop herself.
“Oh, hey, Dep,” one of the men says. Rook has never been good with names, but she thinks his may be Eric. “I was just sayin’ it looks like there may be more defectors out there than we thought.
“What do you mean?”
“Word is John Seed’s got a bit of a mutiny on his hands. Couple Peggies went rogue this morning, shot the place up,” Eric says. He leans up against the wall of the building next to him and crosses his arms over his chest. “’Course, that didn’t last too long.”
Rook’s stomach twists unpleasantly at the thought of a gunfight inside John’s home. Her next words, her tone, they all need to be carefully regulated – Kim Rye is the only one who knows about her indiscretions with John Seed. She’d like to keep it that way as long as she possibly can.
“Any word on his status?” Rook asks. Her voice is cool, detached, clinical – none of it betraying the anxiety curling inside her.
“Nothing, really,” Eric shrugs. “Friend of mine in the area says he may have been hit. No one knows for sure. Be crazy if one of his own people ended up doing your job for you, huh, Dep?”
Rook smiles weakly, tries not to fidget as the panic rises.
“Wild.”
She says goodbye, grabs her rifle, and leaves the outpost with her jaw clenched so hard she might chip a tooth.
-----
There’s a roadblock just outside of Nick Rye’s place, close enough to John’s ranch that it can’t be a coincidence that it wasn’t there before today. Rook pauses from a couple hundred feet away, hidden by foliage and the thick brush where she crouches.
Instinct tells her to take it quietly. She lingers there in the bushes, rifle clasped in her hands, watching the Peggies patrol their little setup. She should get her binoculars out, map each of them out, come up with a strategy.
Instead, she shoulders the rifle and moves quietly though the trees, keeping her eyes on the men. There are four of them, one heavily armoured, the others carrying machine guns. Rook gets the angle on the armoured one. He paces back and forth behind the truck parked in the middle of the road.
Her body is thrumming with adrenaline. Part of it, she thinks, is the anxiety, the fear, the not knowing about whether or not John is okay. The other part is a fervent anger that’s been building up inside her since she arrive in Hope County.
John is right – she is wrath incarnate, and she is about to prove it.
Rook darts out from the treeline, hardly making a sound as she heads toward him. Then she is on him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the bulk of his bulletproof vest digging into her stomach. Rook squeezes, twists, and the man sputters, searching for air. Then—
Snap.
He goes limp in her arms and Rook drops him, his body thumping satisfyingly against the sidewalk. She has tried to be silent, but the commotion has alerted the dead man’s friends, and before she knows it Rook is crouching behind the truck to avoid a spray of bullets.
One of the men turns the corner, machine gun aimed at her face, and Rook lunges, fists flying and nails clawing at him. She tears at his skin, his hair, lands a solid right hook against the side of his face and feels his nose break beneath the blow. He reaches for her throat, his gun clattering to the asphalt, and when Rook looks in his eyes she sees complete and unfiltered fury.
She smashes her head into his. He crumples, and pain radiates through Rook’s temple. Not her best work, but it’s done the job.
The other two are easy to take out – they’re rookies, new recruits, and they put up a good fight, but Rook is faster, stronger, angrier. Blood dripping into her eyes, she grabs one of them by the hair and slams his face into the concrete beneath her feet. He doesn’t get up again.
The last one is scared as she rounds on him. He steps backwards, makes to run away, but Rook’s hand is on the grip of her 1911. There’s one shot, clean and quick and echoing loudly, and the guy drops. There’s a hole in his chest and his breaths gurgle in his chest as his lungs fill with blood, but Rook doesn’t hear him.
She stands in the middle of the roadblock, observing the carnage, and takes a deep breath. The world around her smells clean, crisp, metallic with the blood of the four dead men.
Her eyes flick toward the direction of the ranch. Rook wipes the blood from her forehead, shoves her handgun back into her thigh holster, and keeps moving.
------
By the time she sneaks past the guards stalking the outside perimeter and into the ranch through a laughably unattended open window, Rook feels like she’s been hit by several different vehicles. She tastes blood and dirt in her mouth, aches everywhere, and is pretty sure she might have a concussion.
Taking on four armed men on her own may have been a poor choice, in hindsight, but she’s never claimed to be the most brilliant woman alive.
Rook creeps up the stairs, familiar enough with them now that she knows what spots to avoid, knows which steps will creak under her weight. At the landing, she peers down the hallway. John’s bedroom door is open, which means he’s likely not there, but the bathroom door is shut, dim light peeking out from the crack at the bottom.
Only John uses John’s bathroom.
Heart in her throat, she takes quiet, hesitant steps down the hallway until she’s standing outside the bathroom door, wondering if this has been a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be here. Her knees ache like she’s run twelve miles, and stiffness is starting to gnaw at the base of her spine. Her eyes feel gritty each time she blinks.
She is tired and afraid, but she needs to see him. She needs to see if he is okay. Besides –- being in the wrong place is a specialty of hers.
Her stomach twists as she reaches out to rap her knuckles gently against the door. Through the wood, she can hear John moving around in the bathroom. The muffled sounds of running water stop abruptly, and she imagines his slender fingers twisting at the knobs of the sink’s faucet. Rook sees the handle twist before she hears the door click open, and then John is standing in front of her.
He is shirtless but wearing sweat pants, his hair wet and his beard neatly trimmed. She is struck all at once by how normal he looks.
“You’re really starting to make me question my home security, my dear.”
He means it as a joke – the corner of his lip is tugging upwards – but Rook doesn’t laugh. Instead, she swallows thickly and follows the lines of his body, her eyes fixed on the spot a few inches from his belly button where a thin piece of gauze is taped. His ribs are a canvas full of purples and blues, mottled skin that proclaims he’s been hit by something.
“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course, but is there a particular reason you’ve broken in tonight?”
“Are you all right?” Rook asks quietly. Her voice sounds a million miles away, even to her.
John stares at her like he doesn’t understand what she’s asking, eyes raking her up and down.
“Am I—Rook, I’m fine. Are you okay?”
The question isn’t one she was expecting. Rook wonders what she must look like for him to ask that, for him to use her name instead of one of his sickeningly sweet pet names. She knows that her hair is a disaster, stiff with dried blood and dirt - the rest of her can’t be much better. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.
John reaches out, and his fingers brush against her elbow.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
Each step toward him feels like a light year away, but somehow Rook manages to get there. She crowds him up against the bathroom counter, places a hand gently on his side. His skin is smooth and warm. He smells clean.
John cups the side of her face in his hand, then lets his fingers spider upwards toward her scalp, where her hair is matted with blood.
“Is this your blood?”
Rook doesn’t actually know. Every part of her hurts, so it may very well be. She doesn’t speak but instead shrugs, reaching out to wrap her arms around him. One of his hands settles on her back, the other splayed across the back of her head. For a moment, she feels safe. Calm. She forgets that her head is pounding, that her lips are dry and cracked, that her stomach aches. She forgets the anxiety thrashing around inside her chest. John kisses her forehead.
“I should go,” Rook says abruptly. She pulls herself out of the embrace and stares up at him. “I need to shower. And you’re probably tired. You should go to bed.”
She doesn’t know why she’s trying to push him away. Every part of her screams to stay here, to stay wrapped in his arms, quiet under the sickly glow of the bathroom lights.
Staying, though, means she has to put a name to the feeling that drove her all the way here in the first place. Staying means she has to confront it. Rook doesn’t know if she can do it.
John makes the decision for her, his voice gentle and his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear.
“Let me help, darling.”
His hands go to the hem of her shirt and he tugs, up past her ribs, bunching under her shoulders until she lifts her arms and lets him pull it over her head. The shirt falls silently to the bathroom floor. Rook starts to wriggle out of the embrace to help him but John doesn’t let her get very far before he’s gripping her tighter.
Goosebumps prickle at her skin as he reaches behind her to unhook her bra. He slips the straps from her shoulders, presses feather-light kisses across the line of her collarbone, tosses the garment on the floor next to her shirt. The dirty jeans come next. There’s a new tear in the knee that Rook doesn’t notice until the denim pools around her ankles and her toes catch in the rip. How has she managed to do that?
John finally lets her go. He steps toward the shower and twists the water on, and Rook, watching, strips away her underwear. Her pile of clothes tell a story – a horror story, full of blood and fear and terror. The memory of the evening makes her grind her teeth together. She thinks she can feel tiny pieces of dirt between her molars, gritty and sour.
“Get in,” John encourages, once the water is hot and steam is billowing from the stream.
It looks inviting. Rook pads toward the shower and slips under the warm spray, and John joins her a moment later, slipping in behind her, a warm weight against her back. The water drills against her chest, her arms, her shoulders, and for a moment, Rook feels better than she has in months.
John’s hands come to her shoulders and squeeze, kneading the muscles, his thumbs pressing firmly into the back of her neck. She leans back against him and sighs. Water runs down her face, her chest and her belly in rivers, the blood and dirt melting from her skin like hot wax, spiraling down the drain. She feels John move, and then he is scrubbing shampoo into her hair with the tips of his fingers, gently, because he still doesn’t know if the blood in her hair is hers. It must be, because his fingers brush against a spot near her temple so tender that it makes her flinch. The shampoo stings.
“You should have gotten someone to stitch this up,” John murmurs. Rook can barely hear him over the rush of the water, but she feels him run a finger along what must be a cut about an inch long. “Does it hurt?”
“Stings,” she says, “but it’s fine.”
The gentle scrubbing is hypnotic. Rook feels as though she might fall asleep standing up and is grateful that John is behind her to keep her on her feet. He scratches at her scalp gently, then turns her so her back is facing the water. Rook tips her head back and lets the shampoo run down her back, splattering against the shower floor. Her eyes are closed, but she feels John lean forward to kiss the hollow of her throat, the side of her neck, the corner of her mouth.
She feels at home here, in this moment, soap dripping from the ends of her hair and John’s breath against her cheek. Rook noses in a little until their lips meet, and they kiss a few times, slow, lazy, peaceful. The panic that’s kept her on her toes all day has left her now, and her mouth starts to go slack halfway through because she is so tired, and John laughs, reaching up to scrub the last of the shampoo from her hair.
“You okay?” he asks. She opens her eyes and follows the lines of John’s face. His eyes are a bright blue, his expression soft as he watches her.
“Tired,” she admits.
They spend another ten, maybe fifteen minutes in the shower. Rook can’t be sure how much time goes by exactly, but the water starts to run cold just after John finishes cleaning her skin with nicely scented soap. She rinses and shuts the shower off.
Rook can’t map the journey from the shower to John’s bed. Things are starting to move in slow motion, like a movie montage of the mundane moments of her life. Somehow, she ends up cloaked in one of John’s shirts, curled under the blankets with him pressed up against her back.
She was calm in the shower, but now her mind is racing again, filling in all the blanks she’s desperately been trying to ignore.
“You—I thought you were dead,” she says warily, suddenly wide awake. Her eyes are burning. “They said—.”
John sighs. He pulls at her hip gently, his fingers pressing into a spot that hurts enough that Rook thinks it may be bruised. She rolls over, runs her fingers along the clean gauze patch that John must have applied during their transition from bathroom to bed. Rook wants to peel the tape back, wants to see exactly what was done to him, how bad it really looks.
“I’m fine, darling.”
“I know,” Rook says, “but for a minute, you weren’t. You were dead.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while, staying uncharacteristically quiet as he reaches out to brush her wet hair from her face. John has always liked to touch, tactile like no one else she has ever met. His fingers linger next to the ear he tucks her hair behind, then skim down her cheek to the line of her collarbone. Eventually, he grabs her hand and slides it up to his chest. His pulse thuds under her palm.
“I’m here,” John murmurs. “Just a scratch, darling. You haven’t lost me yet.”
Rook chokes out a shaky laugh, splaying her fingers wider, feeling his heartbeat steady and constant beneath her skin.
“I’m sorry,” she says eventually, curling tighter against him. “This is embarrassing.”
If the Resistance could only see her now — at her least heroic, skin pale and hands shaking, wrapped up in the enemy’s arms. Rook’s tried to plan out all the ways that this holy war might end.
This was never one of them.
“Shh,” John quiets her, threading his arms tightly around her and pulling her close to him. “Everything is all right now. You need to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Rook is grateful that he hasn’t decided to press her. John is always seeking answers, always seeking the truth, always seeking confessions. For once, it is comforting to see him simply be.
Her hands slip around him, reveling in his warmth. John settles one hand on the small of her back, warm and steady, and runs the fingers of the other through her hair. Rook savours every touch, every brush of skin against skin. Eventually, she starts to drift off, her head tucked neatly under John’s chin.
It may be her imagination, but she thinks she hears John speak just before she falls over the precipice and into unconsciousness.
“I won’t leave you.”
#john seed#far cry 5#my writing#far cry 5 fic#john seed x female deputy#john seed x deputy#sure didn't plan on writing this but here we are!!!#soft john
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I'm Not Over You //Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 1)
Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since the two of you met at university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when the two of you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.
Warnings: A good dose of fluff and a whole gallon of angst. (eehhh probably a some bad writing) This entire series is a slow burn...a freaking slow burn.
word count: 2.5k+
(Edited)
Laid out on the duvet of your bed is a black shirt with a clear, white, bold print on the front that says "Prettier Than You". You give it one more glance before cackling to yourself, thinking of Ben's reaction the second you give it to him as his birthday present.
"This is ridiculous." You mumble amusingly, folding the shirt neatly and eventually tucking it into a box which you are going to wrap up nicely. You feel as if Ben is going to question your ability to pick out a present once he unwraps the gift. You were never one to pick out expensive presents for him or your friends and of course, there were times you felt insecure about the items. In contrast to the pricey objects he gets for his birthdays from his celebrity friends, yours was a lot simpler.
It even is now.
I mean, a shirt? You scoff at yourself.
That's the best you could do for his 28th? You had your doubts and nearly decided to skip out on his party all because you couldn't afford a Rolex or a yacht. But the simplest things from you mattered greatly to Ben. He actually admired the shirt a day prior, before putting it back instead of buying it. And so you had to take the instinct and buy it for him.
Last year you got him tickets to a rugby game and even so, he lost his mind knowing you did...in a good way of course.
It made your heart flutter when he had shown up too early at the doorway on game day in a beanie all hyped up and flashing a full megawatt grin, just ready to drag you on full speed to the stadium. Ben had always loved rugby, he had always gushed about it fondly to you, ever since the two of you went to the same school and even until now.
You parted ways after graduation merely because of your jobs and surprisingly enough, you both came across each other once more the night you almost ran him over– which admittedly was the most awkward night of your existence. Since then, your friendship rekindled and you two became inseparable from then on.
The memory prompts a smile to ghost upon your lips, boosting your confidence to a good amount.
His smile.
How you love him.
And the intangible words in your head lower your spirits for a split second. You'd be fooling yourself if you think you'd ever have a solid chance with Ben when someone else had already taken that slot. Well you have been in some past relationships but they never worked out that well with how unruly the chemistry was, Ben's just different.
You snap out of your reverie and roll off the bed to get ready. You glance at the wall clock and realize you only have half an hour left before Joe arrives. With one last, tired look at your present, you start zipping around to get prepared.
You pull your hair up in a tight ponytail and scan yourself in the mirror. Nothing like a good sweater with dark jeans and back Converse to match. You've also touched up with a decent amount of makeup to hide the fruit of your labors; your eye bags.
It's a cold evening out and you wouldn't risk your health for a party.
"FBI! Open up!"
"For heaven's sake, Joe! It's unlocked!"
On the way of leaping to attend to the door, you trip over your own leg, blessed to have your arm break your fall. You groan in pain as you sprawl on the hardwood for a couple of seconds and the door swings open, revealing Joe in a leather jacket inlaid with a white shirt.
By the time his eyes find yours, he takes a sharp breath in to hold back a fit of laughter as he reaches his hand out for you to grab. "You always fall for the wrong people." He comments, trying to stifle a grin that is threatening to form.
You smile sarcastically and pull yourself up, dusting your knees afterwards. "You're such a gentleman."
"Haha. Are you ready to go? Benny boy's dying to have us there."
You turn around and walk to the couch where your wrapped-up present is seated. The most basic of presents. You give it a narrow once-over prior to picking it up, hoping it'll be good enough for Ben. It's getting difficult to purchase decent gifts these days.
"What do you have there?" Joe questions, taking light steps towards you. You face him without taking your eyes off the box and slowly gaze up at him. "What else. A gift for him."
His brows perk up slightly, sensing the dismay in your voice. "Y/N, he'll love it. He always does." Joe slips a hand onto your shoulder and you nod weakly at him. Joe is the only one in your circle who knows of your inner struggle and seeing you in pieces like this breaks his heart.
And so to brighten a bit of your evening, he briefly admires your appearance. "On a note, you look amazing tonight."
He smiles sincerely at you and you can't help but let out a faint chuckle, hauling him out the door and closing it behind you. "Thanks. We better get going."
He opens the door of the driver's seat for you and you gladly hop in, strapping yourself against the seat with the present tipped on your lap. Joe slips in next to you and starts the ignition, backing up from his parking spot and stepping on it.
The minute Joe parked promptly across the street of Ben's place, you feel your heart beat erratically of what's to come. Although you've seen him with his girl a few hundred times now, the prick of the reality hasn't gone away completely.
It probably never will.
But he's your best friend and his happiness is always your happiness.
It's always been.
After a good minute of zoning out, you snap your head up to Joe who's standing in front of you with his hand out, smirking at how you reacted. "He's waiting." He reminds you as he takes your hand to guide you out of the car.
You clutch your present tight against your side and shake your head, embarrassment crashing over you like a wave. "Damn, I'm sorry."
Joe lets out a mellow chuckle. "You'll be alright, Y/N. Besides, Lucy and Gwilym's there. We'll be okay."
"And Rami? "
Joe shakes his head as the both of you cross the bare street. "He had to be somewhere."
Well you got extra company with Gwilym and Lucy, right?
Several cars are parked just right across where Joe had parked his and the possible number of people present inside makes you uneasy inside. Even when you're barely five feet away from the front door, you can make out funky music blasting from inside. You and Joe swap odd looks before turning the knob and coming in to guests chatting, laughing and drinking.
You tut at the suffocating number of guests but then it's Ben's birthday so why wouldn't he? His place is big enough to accommodate a lot of people however you were never hardwired to enjoy a house party as heavy as this.
You make your way through unfamiliar faces to find your lineup with Joe trailing in closely behind you. "Have you texted Gwil?" You ask him loudly.
"Yeah, he and Luce are out back!"
"But that's a mile away from where we are!"
"Sorry to say we'll have to swim through this mess." Joe scratches his scruff apologetically and you grab hold of his hand, holding Ben's present close as you navigate your way through the sea of people.
You notice a couple of familiar faces, mostly the faces Joe and Ben hang out with. One of them gives you a smile as a greeting and you give him a nod, returning to the mission of finding your people.
You can't seem to find Ben anywhere half way through and so you and Joe decide to just wait for him out back. Joe has texted Ben that you guys have arrived and will wait for him with Gwil and Lucy. You reach the backyard eventually and spot the two having a good laugh by a tree. They notice you two approaching and Lucy doesn't hesitate to squeal and run to pull you into an embrace. "Y/N! You made it!"
You hug her back with your free hand as the other stays preoccupied. "Hey, Luce. Ugh, you wouldn't believe the crowd."
She rolls her eyes playfully at if irritated by the number of people as well. "That's why Gwil and I decided to wait for you two out here."
You approach Gwilym and he hugs you briefly. "Hey you, what do you got there?" He takes notice of the gift and your cheeks heat up in a blush. "It's for Ben. I saw him admire this the other day and he didn't have time to buy it because he was in a rush to get back to filming."
"You're a thoughtful person, Y/N. I hope you remember me like that as well." Gwil chuckles and you shrug happily. "Anything for you guys."
"By the way, where is Ben? We couldn't find him in that ocean of-" Before Joe can even finish his small complaint, a deep voice gushes from behind.
"Guys! You made it!" You all turn around in unison, seeing Ben beaming buoyantly at your presence with...his girlfriend waving sweetly by his side. Who knew it only took three seconds for you to finally opt for a heart transplant.
"Happy Birthday, mate! You're getting old!" Gwilym brings him in for a manly hug and Ben throws his head back a little to laugh. "How dare you." Pulling away from Gwilym's arms, he goes over to Joe and gives him the same hug, then to Lucy and finally, he turns to you.
His smile grows bigger as he outstretches his arms out for you to jump into. With his gift in hand, your legs sprint towards him involuntarily just seconds before you can even mentally command them to do so.
You throw your arms around his neck and he spins you around like he used to, when it was only the two of you against the world. "Happy Birthday, Benny!"
"In all the time we've spent together, you decide to call me that now?" He pulls away slowly and smiles at you, the corner of his eyes crinkling a little. Your giggles are becoming uncontrollable by the minute and you smile proudly. "I like how it just rolls off the tongue."
Unfortunately, that is what his girlfriend calls him and Ben just decided not to address the fact that you unknowingly called him that. You weren't reminded anyway. Seeing Ben become too comfortable holding you, his girlfriend steps in and clears her throat with a greeting. "Hey Y/N! Thank you for stopping by. "
You realize the position you're in and detach yourself from Ben. Joe coughs awkwardly from behind as he is fully aware of the things happening, confusing Gwilym and Lucy who are just minding their own business.
You pull yourself together and smile warmly at Rosy, Ben's girlfriend. You don't have a problem with her, you never had. She seems like a decent lady. Beautiful, good intentions, not coming off as conceited but oftentimes, you just feel as if she and Ben don't synthesize well.
And no, it's not the jealousy.
"Hey. And you're welcome. Just stopped by to drop this for Ben." As if his ears perked up, Ben whips his head at you and you wave the wrapped box in front of him. Rosy's lingering smile shrivels as Ben's eyes light up in wonder like Christmas lights in the middle of unwrapping his present.
As he pulls out the shirt from within, he chucks the box away and gasps in awe. "You," he holds out the shirt still maintaining that genuine beam of appreciation, "didn't have to!" Like a kid who had just received the first thing on his wish list on Christmas morning, he immediately slips it on, determined to flaunt the quality and the sentimentality imbued in it.
Your eyes flicker at the print on the front and giggle amusingly, your heart jittering at how happy and contented he looks. He turns around to Joe, Gwilym and Lucy, shrugging good-naturedly at them. "Yes, Ben. You're pretty. But you overqualified as a woman." Joe comments sarcastically, referring to the time they had to dress up in drag.
"See? Y/N is an exemplar of thoughtfulness. Learn from her, Joe." Ben retorts cheekily, making Joe roll his eyes heavenward playfully.
Lucy holds a thumbs up at Ben, quite impressed and Gwilym shakes his head, too delighted by it. Overwhelmed by the thought put into his gift by you, Ben embraces you once more, only tighter this time, and mumbles happily against your shoulder. "Thank you, Y/N. I really love it."
The smile taking form on your lips cannot be stopped. "Anything for you." You break your hug almost too quickly to prevent Rosy from getting the wrong idea. Ben smiles at you endearingly once more before making his way to Rosy, whom he kisses briefly on the lips.
Ouch.
"Thanks for coming guys. I'll get back to you in a couple of minutes and Y/N..."
You raise your brows at Ben in question.
"I wanna talk to you later about something."
You simply nod and watch him disappear into the house with Rosy around his arm. You stay that way, looking over the back door in utter silence, just before Joe's voice snaps you out of it. "How hard did it hit you this time?"
You turn around quickly and give him a confused look. "What?"
He offers you a drink and purses his lips deliberately. You get the idea and shrug it off. "It was just a kiss. No big deal."
"Yeah, a kiss shared between them and them only."
"Let's just have a drink, Mazzello. I could get drunk and forget this by tomorrow." You swipe the drink from his hand and he chuckles softly, ushering you gently back to Lucy and Gwilym. Of course, however chaste the kiss was it still hit you like a bullet train but what can you do?
You'd seen them share more heated kisses before and they still crushed you like an anvil. The feeling is but the same, and you wonder why you still can't get used to it.
End of Part 1.
I'll be posting part 2 sometime tomorrow uwu
Tags: @mrsmazzello
#ben hardy imagine#ben hardy x reader#ben hardy#borhap cast#borhap cast x reader#borhap imagine#queen
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Lokane Week- Predestination
There were two men at the front entrance. Guns on their belt would not be quite as frightening to an intruder as their massive frames and intimidating countenances. One of them was a head higher than Thor, an impressive feat in and of itself.
‘Don’t think about Thor,’ he told himself again. ‘He will not come here. There’s no way for him to travel so far in such a short amount of time.’
Unless he or the Warriors Three figured out how to drive a car. Loki had watched Jane maneuver her vehicle several times and was confident he could do it himself with ease if he tried.
And was the distance really so great that ten to twelve hours wasn’t enough time?
With more pressing matters at hand, Loki banished all ideas of Thor disrupting their mission and exposing him to the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind.
Jane had ducked behind a rock, the only one of its size for miles and mediocre cover if the enemy spotted them. For the first time, Loki noted her clothing. Jeans and plaid as was her preferred wardrobe. Nothing resembling a weapon to be found. There wasn’t even a pencil in her pocket.
“It’d be nice if we could sneak past the guards,” she said, seemingly to herself.
“If they are intelligent, they will have all potential entrances guarded,” said Loki.
“I’d love to not give them any credit at all, but…”
Folding her arms, Jane slid halfway to the ground against the boulder. Whatever grand plans she’d had for breaking into the secure base seemed to be falling at her feet. While she pondered, Loki appraised the situation.
In addition to the guards, there were mounted lights on every corner. Motion detecting firearms were on standby, though not currently aimed in their direction. A man perched on the watchtower sharpened a bow of all things and cast his eagle eye across the sand dunes. Loki made himself invisible to all but Jane. The archer’s eye passed over him, though for a moment, Loki thought he paused.
“Do you regret coming with me yet?”
Jane hadn’t moved in a while, and he hadn’t expected her to speak so soon.
“I never would,” Loki said.
Jane gave a half-smile. “Yeah, but this is pretty far out from working as an analyst.”
Loki tried to swallow. His throat was dry. “I suppose so.”
Her eyes lingered on him, though he hoped the base was more interesting. If she had another question or comment to make, she kept it to herself.
“What if I just walk over and demand to see the man in charge?” she snorted.
“We could always enter by force,” Loki said. “Your truck can surely withstand a few bullets.”
“I should’ve brought my homemade missile launcher.”
Their laughter died out fast. Neither of them was in the mood for jokes. Down in one of the black vans, a man rushed out with a phone in his ear. He said something to the guards as he hurried along. The larger man stepped away from his partner out of sight.
Even with just one man on duty, their situation was grave. It didn’t have to be, though. Loki could be in and out before the Midgardians knew anyone was there. If Mjolnir accepted him (a voice in his head he didn’t care to address sneered at the very idea), all he had to worry about was telling Jane the truth.
And so, he had everything to worry about.
‘Why am I here?’ he asked himself, as he should’ve so long ago when Thor landed on this rock. ‘What has this gained me? She’s just one woman.’
‘Is she?’ that same voice replied.
Loki looked at her. He didn’t want to, but he had to. There was something so beautiful about her. Not just her mind, as he once thought. It was everything about her. Her face, her mind, her perchance for eating too many kettle chips before dinner. One could mistake her for the Asgardian visitor. She had a magic all her own.
“Whatever happens,” she said, squaring her shoulders for action, “if we go down there and get caught or stay up here all night, I’m glad I got to meet you, Luke.”
Loki’s eye twitched. He never realized how much he hated that name. “Yes. So am I.”
She was terrible for him. For his emotional state, self-control, and awareness of his surroundings. The single presence behind them turned to three as they drew closer. Their steps were firm and heavy. Two of them carried weapons. Jane still hadn’t noticed them, all her focus going to the base down below. She yelped when Loki pulled her back. His larger frame shielded her as he turned to face the newcomers.
Only one was familiar. The man who had tried to relieve Jane of her life’s work. He didn’t have the sunglasses today, which was strange. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun merciless. His men couldn’t possibly be comfortable in those three-piece suits.
Phil Coulson raised a hand, and they stopped. He smiled at Loki like a man concealing a knife.
“Good morning,” he said. “Anything we can help you fine folks with?”
“Hell yeah, you can help us,” Jane marched up to Coulson, unconcerned with the armed men not two feet away. “You can tell us who you think you are running around with your badges and fancy cars and think you have a right to take everything I’ve been working toward my whole life!”
“Jane,” Loki tried to reach for her, but she wouldn’t respond.
“Dr. Foster, as I’ve already told you, this matter is top secret and unrelated to your research.”
“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have come banging on my door if this wasn’t related.”
“And we were generous enough to leave you to your work. If you continue to interfere, I could take that generosity back.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I'd consider it more of a warning.”
“You have no right-”
“Jane, enough.” Loki eyed the man on the right. He was the largest of the three men, obstinately the strongest, and as the argument intensified, his hand slid closer to his holstered pistol. “There’s nothing more we can do. Let’s go.”
“Are you kidding me?” Jane shouted. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when we’ve come this far.”
“Doctor, for your own safety, I’d advise you to listen to your friend.”
“No one asked you!”
She pulled at Loki’s hand. He held on tight enough not to hurt her and started to pull her back. Jane made one last attempt, all her strength going into a single wrench. The recoil sent her free arm flying, nearly smacking Coulson in the face.
“Hey!” The larger man grabbed his gun.
Loki charged. A blast of magic sent the man flying. He hit the ground some fifty feet away, moaning in agony. All things considered, Loki had been gentle. Not even a fraction of the power his rage demanded had gone into that attack.
Many years later, he’d commend SHIELD for their instantaneous, coordinated response. Within seconds, the man’s partner drew his weapon. Coulson pulled a gun seemingly out of the air. Down below, twenty more men raced onto the scene, alarms blaring at their backs, summoning all troops to the front line. Even the archer had an arrow ready to fire.
Loki held Jane to his chest, staring down the enemy like this was any other battle. Like an innocent life wasn’t at risk if one person made the wrong move.
Of course, it was Jane who summed it all up perfectly. “What the fuck?”
Coulson took a step. “Sir, please stand down.”
A chuckle. “Stand down? I’m not the one aiming to kill.”
“Nobody wants to hurt you or Dr. Foster.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Why don’t we talk about this more inside?” Coulson nodded at the men behind them, who broke formation to give them a path to the base. “I think that’ll be better for everyone.”
“Better for you,” Loki growled. “Agent Coulson, rest assured there is not a cell on this planet which can contain me. I would advise you to consider your next move carefully.”
His magic flared. The agents tensed but didn’t fire. That was good for them. If they had, it would not have been Loki who fell.
“You’re not in a position to give threats,” Coulson said, glancing at the green fire in Loki’s hand with only a hint of discomfort. “Or are you?”
One plus to this situation, his concentration was back at full capacity. He heard the sputtering engine long before Coulson’s most cognizant agents lifted their heads to listen. A truck tore down the road, approaching at well over a hundred miles an hour. The deafening horn tore through the tension, a boisterous laugh following each blast.
‘Wonderful,’ Loki thought. ‘Just wonderful.’
The agents were now torn. Half turned their attention to the truck while the rest stayed in place. Coulson was among the latter, his eyes never leaving Loki’s.
“Friends of yours?”
Loki clicked his tongue. “In a manner of speaking.”
The truck stopped hard enough to almost tip over. Tires screeched. A sword-wielding arm stuck out the window. The driver’s seat door flew open as a haggard man in white scrubs stumbled out.
“Loki!” Thor bellowed. Sif was already at his side, glaring Loki down.
“Hello brother,” he said, his chest aching in the worst way at Jane’s strangled gasp. “I’m happy to see you again.”
It was always meant to be, he supposed. From the very beginning, he would face his brother on opposing sides. Whatever the occurrence on Jotunheim meant, the distance between them had grown over centuries. It wasn’t a truth Loki admitted easily. Indeed, his heart hurt. In so many ways, it hurt. Never had deception felt so empty.
If nothing else, Thor had learned civility. When the agents formed a barrier between him and Loki, Thor demanded they let him pass rather than tossing them aside without a thought. As the Warriors Three gathered, proving to be by far the clearer threat, Coulson was forced to enter the fray. His men stayed behind, keeping Loki always in their sights. Dozens of eyes on him, scrutinizing, challenging, waiting for a reason to fire, and yet all of them paled in comparison to Jane’s searching gaze.
“Luke,” she said. There was no anger like he feared, only wonder. No betrayal, just boundless curiosity. “No… Loki.”
He somehow managed to smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t been honest with you.”
The ever-changing myriad of emotion spreading across her face gave way to a tiny laugh, then a full grin. “You know what? I think I knew.”
She buried her face in his shirt, hugging him with all she had. Their captors waited and watched. Thor peered over Coulson’s head, studying the pair as if deciding whether Jane was a pawn in Loki’s mechanisms or another threat. Loki tightened his hold on her, no longer fighting the overwhelming urge to touch her. After today, he never would again.
“What’s down in that base,” he whispered in Jane’s ear, “is nowhere near as amazing as what’s up there.”
The sky opened far over their heads, offering so much promise. Jane raised her head to it, but stared straight at Loki.
“Fuck it,” she muttered, with the conviction of someone who had thrown all caution to the wind. “Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?”
It wasn’t a question he needed to ask. Everything he needed was right in front of him.
He allowed himself a moment to give in to desire, pressing his lips to Jane’s and savoring her sweet taste. Her hands on his face were soft and warm, and so perfect.
Loki and Jane did not see the SHIELD agents whispering among themselves. They didn’t hear one men wolf whistle and another one shush him. They didn’t see Thor’s bemused reaction to the display, or Coulson’s jaw hanging open as he failed to think of something to say.
When Loki disappeared with Jane, he didn’t feel the bullets several men impulsively fired where he and Jane once stood. He didn’t hear Thor scream his name to the heavens.
Even if they heard or saw any of that, it wouldn’t matter. Because none of it could stop them. Nothing at all could stop them.
Not even gravity.
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Dean Winchester: Return
Part 1
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean x Male!Reader
Summary: Dean won’t stop until you’re back.
Request: Umm, yes can I request part 2 of your recent fic... (btw I’m not that handsome guy who quote reblogged it)
Dean was suffering. Sam could see it, Cas could see it. Hell, the whole world could. He wasn’t doing good.
You were gone.
Cas had lost count on how many times Dean had asked him if he knew what had happened. He’d never seen the markings on your arm, the patterns that had prophesised what would happen to you. Cas had visited Heaven, trying to find your family, the ones who had gone, just like you. He had thought that their souls would come to rest in Heaven.
It had shocked Cas to realise how wrong he had been.
Your family didn’t have any places in Heaven. He hadn’t wanted to tell Dean that you didn’t have a place either.
They didn’t have any idea as to where you were.
It wasn’t what you expected.
You expected something like heaven, where you could be reunited with your parents.
It really wasn’t.
It was gruelling, hard work. It was worse than being a hunter. There was no rest, no peace. No way for you to take a break. If something killed you, it wouldn’t be the end. It was weird and confusing. If you died, surely you’d go to heaven?
It was a constant cycle and it was a wonder on how you hadn’t gone insane.
Your parents didn’t recognise you. Neither did any of the family members there. All they did was fight the monsters. And you thought being a hunter had been hard. This was the worst. It was worse than Hell or Purgatory. There were no words to describe where you were. It didn’t have a name.
There was no-one else there to be with you. You hadn’t burdened Dean with the markings. Hadn’t condemned him. He needed his brother more; you couldn’t take him away from Sam.
So you had to go through with it all alone.
You hoped you wouldn’t forget Dean’s face; you were already forgetting his voice.
Dean thought he found something. After drawing the markings so many times, memorising it all, he thought he found something.
No, he had. He knew he had.
“Dean, are you sure?” Cas asked, looking over Dean’s shoulder to look at the ancient book on the table. “This is incredibly risky. If we get it wrong, we’ll blow a thousand mile radius hole in America,”
“Cas, I don’t care,” he said. Dean’s voice was rough and broken. “I … I need to find him.”
Dean knew that Cas and Sam were worried; this was worse than when he’d lost Lisa and Ben. They needed Dean back.
“Do you know the spell?” Sam asked, looking at his brother. “The letters aren’t anything I’ve ever come across. I think it’s a dead language.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Dean said, eyes on the book in front of him. “We have to.” Dean fell silent once more, poring over the book.
Fifteen weeks later, he had a translation.
“We need to do this tonight,” he told Cas and Sam. “We need a half moon and it has to be a minute to midnight.”
“Why a minute before?” Sam said, confused.
“To release the pixies - I don’t know! Because the book says so!”
It was evident to the others that Dean was losing it. The closer they got to the time, the more antsy Dean became.
You couldn’t count how many times you had died in this place. If it even was dying. You had been shot, stabbed and torn apart, among other things. It was tiring. Time wasn’t coherent wherever you were. It was just the constant kill-the-bad-things that surrounded you.
You knew that years had passed, yet you hadn’t aged. No-one aged once the light took them, it seemed. Your parents hadn’t, their parents hadn’t, and all the aunts and uncles, cousins and distant relatives were all the same. The age left you somewhat immortal. Able to come back after dying again and again. But it chipped away at your humanity.
If you were to hazard a guess, you’d say it had been four hundred years, give or take. It never ended and it never stopped. There were bad things in this place that needed to be stopped. They could get out, to the place you couldn’t quite remember. All you knew was that you had to stop them. It would end that old place if they were released.
It was up to your family to stop them. They needed as many as possible to stop them for the rest of time and beyond.
The markings on your arm had faded over the incoherent time. The colour had faded into something like purple bruising. You barely had time to really look at it; in this ethereal place, it was a constant fight. But with each passing day, or with each kill (because each kill was easier to count than the days that passed by), you realised yours looked different because you hadn’t come with anyone.
You were the only one alone in this godforsaken place. Every other relative had a partner or a friend. Someone who had their back. It was no wonder why you died more times than them. You were alone. You hadn’t condemned someone to your fate.
But something happened.
You didn’t really notice at first, trying to kill a nasty faceless ghost that really wanted to get free, or do a good job of mutilating you. But there was something happening behind you. Once the faceless ghost had met its end, you noticed how the ground was rumbling and it felt like the world was shaking. You looked around and saw a vaguely familiar light. It had been so long you had forgotten how it had looked.
It was weird, maybe nostalgic. You had long forgotten the words that would best describe what the light was. But it wasn’t happening like you knew it had. Although you couldn’t quite remember what had happened, you knew the light definitely didn’t come at you and engulf you.
You felt that you were flung through the air. It was icy cold and felt like it tore your skin apart. That hadn’t been the first time your skin had been removed from your body. As much as it hurt, you had grown used to it.
There was a whooping noise when you landed on the floor.
You were quick to gather your bearings. Your Gáe Bulg was raised and aimed at the three in front of you. You thought you recognised them.
“Y/N?” one of them asked. His face and voice brought back faded memories, patched and altered from years of fights. You had tried to hold on to your memories, but they had become discordant.
“I know you,” you said, frowning. You didn’t lower your Gáe Bulg. “But I forgot.”
The man’s face broke, his joy and shock fading to hurt and sadness.
“Y/N,” the angel said. For two hundred years, you had been given the sight to see angel wings. This one’s was broken and the feathers bare. “Where were you?”
“Ethereal land,” you said. You weren’t sure why you trusted this angel. “Beyond anywhere. The old myths live there.”
“Where did you get that?” the tallest of the three asked. His hair was stupidly long. “That’s a Gáe Bulg, right? Or rather, the Gáe Bulg. It’s from Irish mythology, right?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you lowered the Gáe Bulg, holding it away from them. “Where am I?”
“You’re home,” the first one said. He was crying and was refraining himself from coming near you.
You’d forgotten about the word home. Somehow, this place felt like it. And then it clicked. “You’re Dean.”
“And you came home, Y/N.”
#dean winchester#part 2#open ended#male readers#x male readers#dean Winchester x male reader#male-reads writes#supernatural#my fic#fanfic#spn fic#gae bulg#faceless ghost#mentions of mutilation#no physical damage
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Perfect Illusion (1)
( non idol au, vampire!jimin au, vampire!bts au, reincarnated!reader )
description: being hurt over and over again wasn’t something he was willing to let happen and now with nothing other than the comfort of the same walls around him as each passing century, one knock on the wrong door at 3AM by another broken soul changes absolutely everything.
N: yes you got it...... another supernatural au. lol. sorry. i love writing these. anyway, this.. sort of came to me in a dream, so anyway, this isn’t some sexy vampire (jimin would be a sexy vampire) it’s more sort of old school, like dracula i guess but obv not drac. jimin’s a little broody n timid in this one please bare with me, he’ll become happier in future chapters.
it’s his favourite time of the night, right before 3AM. when he goes wandering out in the street, it’s quiet, he can hear for miles so the silence is nice. yet tonight, he just CAN’T seem to think of any reason to leave this house. he hasn’t seen his brothers in over a century. they used to show up uninvited and although the vampire would take great pleasure in sending them away, he always missed them, missed them more than he cared to admit. but things had become harder with each year that passed his immortal life by.
his rings twinkle in the dim light as he taps his fingers on the arm rest of the chair he’s sitting in. there is a faint hum of music flowing around the room, and he sang along softly with it. his head rests back against it and he closed his eyes over. he really should venture outside for a while, see if there is willing snack. though honestly he didn’t need them to be willing, he would just make them. he hums softly to the music that’s playing, every now and then a word passed by his plump lips.
he can hear the music but the sudden sound of the pouring rain hitting against the windows make his lips twitch into a smile. he liked the rain, it sometimes helps him think. think when he needs to think about important things, such as the knocking on his door. wait. jimin’s dark gaze snapped open and he was on his feet in an instant. his gaze travelled to the door. had it really just been knocked? was it one of his brothers? taehyung seemed to be the one who always showed up out of the blue.
it wasn’t taehyung. it wasn’t any of his brothers. it was a human. he could hear their heart beating, softly, like a loud thrum in his ears. there had been no humans near this house in almost five years, not after the scare he’d given them. of course the group of teenagers were trying to act smart and jimin just was not having it so he’d scared the shit out of them, howling with laughter as he watched them run away in terror.
tensing, and getting ready to do the same again to whoever had the audacity to show up and knock on his door. he slinked towards it, hand reaching out and he took hold of the handle hesitating for a moment before opening it. the young woman stood with her back to the door, her smell intoxicating even more so that she was wet. she was clearly trying to keep herself out of the pouring rain, jimin cleared his throat and she turned to look at him.
if his dead heart was beating it would have stopped. jimin had frozen completely, eyes wide and hand white knuckled against the handle of the door. her cheeks were flushed, bright red from the cold winter air, her heart beat picked up a little but not much. she pulled down the scar from her mouth. “hi.” she beamed, giving a small wave of her hand. jimin still couldn’t make himself function, he had completely stopped altogether. was he dreaming? had someone killed him?
“i’m so sorry to bother you, i know it’s late. and i.. i’m lost.” she admitted sheepishly. her voice was soft, musical almost. “my friends, sort of disappeared on me” she asked and jimin slowly shook his head, coming back to reality and she was still smiling at him. his eyes trailed every time detail of her face.her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and she couldn’t help but smile back up at him. “sorry.. my phone is dead, i know it’s late, but...” she started again.
“it’s okay.” he managed to breathe out at her, his throat was burning and he hadn’t felt this sensation in nearly three centuries. three hundred years. jimin licked his lips and he took a step back into the doorway, holding the door open. “would you like to come in?” he asked. she looked up at him, eyes bewildered all of sudden and she nodded slowly. “yes please. ...do you have a phone?” she asked. jimin had to think quickly because no, he did not have a phone. what would he need a phone for?
when he didn’t answer the girl before him chewed her lip. “do.. you have somewhere i could plug my phone in?” she asked and jimin nodded at that. “yes, yes there’s somewhere to plug it in, please come in out of the rain.” he took a side step allowing her in, her scent drifting up his nose the moment she was passed by him and he closed the door once she was inside a nervousness building in the pit of his stomach.
← ☽ ♰ ☾ →
an hour later, while your phone charged you sat politely on one of the chairs near your phone. your hands warmed by the mug of hot steaming tea resting on your lap. the man came back into the room with a fresh set of clothes, they looked comfortable unlike the outfit you had on. you hadn’t dressed very warmly, despite the weather warnings and despite it being winter you hadn’t been expecting to be out wandering around until 3AM. it was now nearing 4:30AM and you surprisingly weren’t tired.
the man’s presence was slightly intimidating but you managed to keep yourself calm. there was an aura about him that seemed familiar, yet you couldn’t quite place it. he set the clothes down on the small table next to your chair and he took a seat on the other chair across from you. “sorry, i haven’t introduced myself.” he spoke and he stood back up holding his hand out to you. “my name is park jimin.” you set the mug down and stand up, taking his hand in your own once it’s placed in his, he lifts it kissing the top of your skin and you shiver, which he doesn’t miss.
you try to ignore the cold feeling that spreads from where he’s kissed and overtakes your whole body, and you smile warmly. “nice to meet you mr. park.” you began. “please, just jimin.” he nods and you smile again nodding your head. “jimin, i’m Y/N Y/L/N.” you tell him, and you don’t miss the way that his body goes a sort of rigid way but he keeps the pleasant smile on his face all the same. he retracts his hand, despite not wanting too and he took a seat once you had again, picking your mug back up and wrapping your hands around it to keep them warm.
“i fixed the upstairs bedroom, if you’d like to sleep it is late. and i wouldn’t feel right about you going back out there at this time on your own.” he states and you’re taken back by the sincerity of his voice. “oh, uh. i.. thank you. i promise i won’t stay long, just until the rain has stopped.” you tell him, teeth sinking into your lower lip. you can’t complain, a handsome man has made you tea, and allowed you to stay in his house, even at this time of the morning.
“don’t worry yourself about how long you stay here for, please stay as long as you need.” he tells you and even though he wants to stare at you for a while longer he stands up motioning for the staircase. “shall i take you to the room?” he asked. you nod, finishing the tea and standing lifting the clothes he’s brought for you. you try not to take in everything as you walk up the stairs, and the first door on the left is what you’ve come across is the room he takes you into. he bids you a good night and he walks off, closing the door gently behind him.
← ☽ ♰ ☾ →
you’re pretty sure the dream you’ve had isn’t real, maybe it’s just some of the old furniture or the paintings that had set it off into motion. dreaming of another life, of being happy with the man who’d allowed you to stay in his home. you sit up on the bed, picking your now fully charged phone to see that despite the fact that you thought your friends would have got into contact with you. this vacation to south korea was turning into a disaster.
they had vanished into thin air and left you, on your own. but what surprises you is the gentle knock on the door and you stand moving quickly to open it, seeing a frail looking old man. you had thought that park jimin was wealthy seeing as the house was old and massive but you hadn’t realised that he had workers. “hello, miss.” the old man says. “mr. park has left these for you.” he hands you the bag of clothes and the small folded up letter and you took them.
Miss Y/L/N,
I apologise for not being around while you’re awake or before you leave, i have some things that i need to take care of.
if you would like to stay just a while longer i should be back before you do decide to leave.
but if not, then i wish you well and i hope we meet again in the future, and please enjoy what i’ve bought you. it’ll
Jimin.
you stare at it, a deep emotion running within you but you know you can’t stay. you need to take your things and head out. your friends could be anywhere but you wanted to find them, but there is something inside of you at the same time that’s telling you to stay. you shake your head as you slowly knowing you need to go. your eyes curiously move to the bag that has been given to you and you open it up. it’s a dress, and it’s absolutely beautiful. there are tights, new shoes, a new scarf, hat, gloves and a jacket. you’re so confused.
it’s similar to what you had been wearing when you showed up at his door the night before and you bite down on your lip viewing each item. they were pretty, each and every item. you hesitate but you decide to put them on, he’d given you them as a gift even though you hadn’t known him even a day. you wet your lips and stand up pulling each item on. you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, admiring the outfit. he sure did have a good taste.
you find yourself smiling, he seemed to be a very good guy. he’d helped you out when you needed it. you make the bed once you’re dressed completely and you fold the shirt he’d given you the night before and sat it on the bed. turning the small note over so it was blank and you grabbed a pen from your bag.
Mr Park,
thank you so much for your hospitality and the clothes. i love them very much. i’m sorry that i couldn’t stay, i really do need to find my friends.
i’m not sure if you have a mobile phone, but XX-XX-XX-XX this is my number. i really do hope we meet again too, i would like to repay you so if i can before i go back home, then please give me a call.
thank you.
Y/N.
you lay the note down on the shirt and you stand up straight. you’d stayed in a strangers home, he’d bought you clothes, you gave him your number. and yet leaving felt like the last thing you wanted to do, however you did need to go. so, grabbing your bag and your new hat you pulled it on and headed out of the bedroom .
jimin had gone out to get food, for you. he had hoped you would be there when he got back but you were gone, only a note left on the back of his previous note. he knew he could give the food to one of the workers but he still felt disappointed. having left the bag in the kitchen, he moved his way through the house until he reached where he kept the old radio. sitting down with a sigh he leaned back against the chair. he needed some peace and quiet, which was hard considering what he was.
his hand still held the note in his hand debating whether or not to read it but he turned it over and was surprised to see that the girl had left her phone number on it. what would a vampire, a shut in vampire, need with a phone number? he frowned at the thought and he stared a little more at the note. she was leaving south korea? he stood up immediately. he needed to stop that, he did need to stop it.if he thought you were.... who you could possibly be he needed to stop you from going.
← ☽ ♰ ☾ →
you had been wandering around town after finally getting into the centre to try and find your friends but again, they were nowhere to be found. you asked a few people, with the little korean you knew. you showed pictures but came across nothing. by the time you were about ready to call it a day it was dark you turned sighing in defeat. honestly you can’t get over how they’ve just vanished, once you’d turned you bumped straight into someone. you stumbled backwards but the hands caught you. you looked up, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks.
“thank you.” you breathed. he was staring at you, like he knew you.
“anastasia?” he asked you.
frowning you shook your head. “oh.. uh, no sorry.” you tell him. “Y/N”
that caught him by surprise and he offered a small bow of his head. “sorry about that, you look... seriously like somewhere i used to know is all.” he smiled, showing his shiny white teeth. you give a sheepish smile. “sorry.” you mumble. “well uh.. it’s.. “
“i’m yoongi.” he grinned at you holding out his hand. you glance at it, and take hold of it with your own.
“Y/N.” you say, then close your eyes and shake your head. “it’s nice to meet you, yoongi.” letting go of his hand you adjust your bag and he looked you over. “are you lost?” he asked and you shake your head. “no, i know my way around, it’s just my friends are missing.”
“your friends?” he asked curiously and you nodded, taking your phone back out you showed him your lockscreen, you and your two best friends. “yeah.. we were having some fun last night when they went to grab some more things from the store near our motel and they never came back.”
his lips were pursed and he went to speak, but a voice stopped him. “yoongi.” the voice was familiar. you turned around, eyes landing on the man who had allowed you to stay in his house. your whole body warmed when you watched him walk closer.
“ah, jimin-ah.” yoongi grinned his arms out and wrapped around him. “it’s so good to see you little brother.”
you said nothing for a moment watching the two of them, something about it seemed so familiar yet you couldn’t quite place it. jimin patted the other man’s back and took a step back from him and looked to you, bowing his head. “Y/N”
“hi jimin.” you breathed, feeling suddenly flushed and hot but you said nothing else as yoongi watched the two of you with a close eye. “sorry, i was just asking him if he’d seen my friends.” you told him. he let out an ‘ahh’ sound. jimin’s eyes landed on yoongi, who was glancing at him with a look on his face that said that he in fact DID know what happened to your friends.
“jesus christ yoongi.” jimin whispered it and yoongi only shrugged. “Y/N.” he didn’t want to do this but he stared at you, and your eyes met and locked with his. “i think you should go to the hotel, and rest. we’ll find your friends for you.” he told you, taking you hand trying to make sure that his effect worked on you.
you blinked, seemingly dazzled and nod slowly. jimin handed you a card and sent you off turning back to yoongi. “she.. really looked like-” he started and jimin put a hand up to stop him. “do not finish that. where are the other two girls?” he asked and yoongi, rubbed the back of neck. “well you see, taehyung and i-” jimin’s throat growled and yoongi sighed. “look, we were bored, they.. they wanted some fun.” he shrugged. “taehyung got a little carried away... you know he can’t control himself sometimes.”
jimin grunted and ran a hand through his silver coloured hair. “are they dead?” he asked and yoongi wet his lips. “uh.. if by dead you mean..” he trailed off at the look on jimin’s face. he sighed again, it was why they tried to keep away from him for long periods of time, he had a habit of making them feel bad. he wasn’t a normal type of vampire, well not anymore. “where are they?” jimin demanded, god he fucking hated this. “we don’t know.” yoongi looked down and jimin about lost his shit.
← ☽ ♰ ☾ →
you had lay down on the bed, sleep coming over you just briefly until you heard your name being whispered. “Y/N” over and over and over again until you sat up. you recognised it. “Y/N.” you sat up and rubbed your eyes tiredly. in a daze you stood up walking towards the door, you were sure it was lana. “lana?” you called out walking towards the room door opening it. “lana?” you walk out into the darkened hallway.
“down here Y/N.” the voice called to you and you turned towards it. you continue until you’re near the bottom of the hall and nothing’s there, and for a few minutes you’re standing confused you were so sure that she had called out to you. when you turn around, there she is and the last thing you remember hearing is your name being called, but the last thing you saw was sharp teeth coming at you.
and then. everything is black.
#jimin x reader#bts au#bts fanfic#park jimin imagine#jimin imagine#park jimin x reader#jimin fanfic#vampire jimin#perfect#perfect1
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Landlines (pt 1.)
Pairings: Alana/Mc (onesided Hayden/Mc)
Prompt: “I just really need to have you here right now”
Warning: Lil bit of angst. Which is gonna lead to bigger angst.
Ringing.
She doesn’t know where she is.
Or if she’s even alive right now.
And it isn’t the first time, at this point not knowing where she’ll be has become a hazard to the job.
There is ringing.
This isn’t even the first time that she’s struggling to keep her eyes open, but that may or may not be because one is swollen shut. The only noise outside the buzzing of an old fluorescent light is the steady ringing in her ears. A concussion? Hell if she knows, she’s not a doctor.
Her head is spinning, her stomach is reeling and she’s sure if she stood up she’d lose the small amount she had last night for dinner. And that’s if she could stay conscious long enough.
This is the first time she’d gotten caught.
She would’ve been completely livid if it hadn’t caught her off guard. She had just followed intel that she checked and triple checked and due to paranoia (another hazard, at least that’s what Kai would say. A small, secretive smile on her face, looking all the world like sunshine taken human form. All naive, and kind, and annoying and beautiful all at once.) she had gotten overly confident lured into a warehouse under the pretense of getting the upper hand but...
Alana Kusuma had gotten caught.
The door creaks open and she tips her head up, trying to ignore how heavy it feels. She can’t even see the figure in front of her. Her vision too blurred and the lights too dim.
Sleep. Maybe she should just go to sleep. Her head feels too heavy for her body and suddenly even the lukewarm metal of the folding chair she’s sitting in feels like a comfort.
“Good Evening Agent,” The words are punctuated with a thin veil of disgust and if she could roll her eyes, she would. “it’s been a while, excuse my manners.” There’s a slight pause. “We met in Beitan, I think you remember, don’t you? I’d be rather insulted if you didn’t.”
Beitan.
It’s like a bucket of ice water to the face and the word makes her blood run cold. Her heart dropping somewhere near the pit of her stomach. If she thought she was nauseous before, it was certainly worse now.
The memories hit her like an avalanche.
She remembers Damien disappearing after giving the orders to converge on the target. She remembers how horrified he looked. One of the few times she’d seen him cry as he held one of the victim’s a little girl. No older than nine. He had cradled her body even as the bullets ricocheted around them and Alana. Alana had never been more furious at the time. Had grabbed him and yanked him into some coverage. Kiba. That had been her name. They had never found her parents. But they found the man behind Beitan. He was supposed to be in some max security cell. Rotting away for a long list of crimes.
Leon.
She had been setup by Leon.
Her mind is reeling, her head lifting at a slow pace, and she’s trying to convince herself to wake up. That this is all just a dream. Some hellish nightmare and if she wakes up. If she wakes up she’ll be safe.
If she wakes up she’ll be home.
Alana is lost in thoughts that are hundreds of miles away, a woman with a bright, easy smile, safe and cozy in a matchbox sized apartment when a fist cracks against her temple and her entire world goes black.
———————————————-
Ringing.
That’s what Kai hears as she jolts up from a heavy sleep, she groans and stretches as Dipper stirs on top of her on the small sofa. Tail thudding dully against the cloth.
She couldn’t sleep in her apartment.
It was too cold.
Too quiet.
Too lonely.
A part of her missed having everyone around and on the nights where Alana wasn’t sneaking through her fire escape (and it was ridiculous, honestly, the woman had the key but always talked about how it was “the entrance that mattered” or whatever. Kai was usually much too happy to see her in one piece to argue.)
“Sorry, I always forget to turn my alarm off when yo- I have company.” It’s a voice that’s too light and sweet to be her agent’s and when her vision finally focuses she’s able to Hayden, smiling sheepishly as she finally comes to, waving slightly. “Sorry, again. Do you want me to cook you anything?”
“Nah, I should be good. You don’t have to apologize though.”
“Right so- I mean. Yeah. I won’t.” They stay there for a moment, Hayden glancing anywhere but right at her and Kai tilts her head, it takes her a minute to realize that she didn’t wear any pants when she drifted off. She can feel her lips curve up slowly and even though it’s awkward. They had decided to keep their space after the break up. She couldn’t help but tease her.
“Do my legs offend you Ms. Young?” Hayden’s gaze flits over her for a moment, taking her in and Kai feels more than a little smug at the flush that crosses the other woman’s face.
“N-Not at all. I a- was pretty familiar with them.” Kai laughs and when Hayden looks at her she smiles, the first genuine one she’s felt since before they went their separate ways. In a way it feels like it. Once she brings herself to forget.
Until she remembers. She clears her throat and tugs at the strap on her shoulder. “I uh...I’m gonna be shooting some architecture around the city. I should be back kind of late, you’re more than welcome to stay here if you’d like.” Kai nods quietly and glances back at Dipper, scratching the back of the dogs ears as she rests her chin on her thigh with a huff.
“We’ll hold down the fort.” She replies brightly and Hayden laughs, rolling her shoulder before she makes for the door.
“You better, if there’s a break in I’ll be pretty disappointed.” Kai’s chuckle is her answer and Hayden leaves.
Finally alone, Kai flips over her phone that lay on the coffee table. No missed messages. It wouldn’t have fazed her. Not when Steve and Nadia were on a honeymoon somewhere not covered in snow and Damien was up to his elbows in detective work.
It really wouldn’t have bothered her at all.
And she sits back, tugging on the sleeves of the old, faded NYPD sweatshirt she had on, she held the sleeve up to her face, breathing in the scent of citrus and sea salt. It was just....
Alana was supposed to have come back six weeks ago.
Against her better judgement, Kai picks up the phone, dials a number, and waits.
Ringing.
Alana sits up with a groan, neck stiff. She wonders if that ringing is normal, or if it’s just a type of psychological torture.
Or maybe she’s just permanently concussed. Which, she thinks humorlessly, would suck for business. She grunts, trying to stretch her arms as much as she can against the binds on her wrists and she blinks blearily as the door opens.
She’s lost track of how long she’s been here. But most of the wounds Leon gave her the first night have scabbed over and she gets one meal of a slice of cheese between two pieces of bread so she’d have to guess a long time. Long enough for her to memorize the guard schedule.
Long enough for her to make nice with a few of them.
“Hey there Brucie, whip up anything nice for me today? I was hoping for caviar. But I’m sure you didn’t get the memo.” The larger man chuckles, setting the tray on the rickety poker table across from her.
“No, Ms. Kusuma. I didn’t.” The agent hums, studying her guard as he turns back around.
“I told you Bruce. You can call me Alana. I’m your employers captive. Hell, you could just call me the captive if you wanted to.”
“I’m sorry M....Alana.” Bruce kneels down in front of her, sandwich in hand. “I’m sure you’re plenty hungry.”
“I certainly am, but I was wondering sweetheart, do you mind if you untie me? I only get one meal a day and my hands are rather busted after Leon took that pipe to them, so do you think, maybe. I could try to not be fed like an infant today?” Bruce frowns.
“Leon says you’re not to be untied.”
“Oh what does he know, he hasn’t been in. Besides. I won’t tell if you don’t.” She replies, throwing in a wink and her trademark smirk. She can feel the cut on her lip burn from it. But it’s the least of her pain right now. Now she’s running her gambit. If it works...if it works she could be free.
If it doesn’t.
Well she won’t allow it not to.
And just like that Bruce gives a shrug of his massive shoulders. Clearly convinced that Alana won’t be any harm. And he’s such a sweet guy, such a nice man truly. That she almost feels bad about what she’s about to do.
Almost.
Her arms finally untied she leans back, tipping her head before she rams it against Bruce’s. There’s a loud crack and she groans, rubbing her forehead before she makes quick work of the ties around her ankles. “Sorry Brucie.” She mumbles, giving the unconscious man a quick pat on the cheek. “Nothing personal.”
And she’s off, half running, half stumbling through the halls of the warehouse. And she can hear the sound of another guard stomping into the room, the yelling and she wills herself to go faster, pushing past the haze that was filling her head.
Home, she needed to get home.
She bursts out of the warehouse and her heart nearly bursts out of her chest when she hears the popping behind her. There’s a sharp pain, a burn on her side but she charges through it, pushing through the docks as the moon hangs heavy overhead. Alana storms past one street corner, a second, and then a third before she ducks into an alley. She can hear the sound of tires squealing against the asphalt and she watches as one of the warehouse vans speeds down the street leaving the smell of burnt rubber in it’s wake.
She lets out a ragged sigh, leans against the brick wall, the sound of old rock music barely audible through it and shuts her eyes.
She almost doesn’t notice the wetness on her side. But once she does the pain hits her all at once, sharp and aching and she gently moves the bloodied fabric of her shirt to the side before she really notices it.
She’d been shot.
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How We Cope: 2, Travel Part 1
Eos would’ve been a truly beautiful world, Riku thought, if only they hadn’t landed in an endless desert wasteland.
(Read previous chapters here!)
With miles of wilderness in all directions and no sign of civilization anywhere to be seen, the Silveret wasn’t sure what their navigation gummi had sensed that led it here. In retrospect, he supposed that trusting Roxas to just let the ship lead them where it would wasn’t one of his best decisions, but considering all the items they needed to acquire before this mission was done, Riku couldn’t say he was all that disappointed. If nothing else, at least it was nice to have company his own age for once.
What was this—the first time?
It felt like the first time.
So did going around an unknown world without the threat of imminent doom sitting pretty on his shoulders. A part of him wondered if he’d ever been to any places in the past where he felt safe enough—comfortable enough—to just enjoy the scenery without looking over his shoulder every five seconds. If he’d ever stood in a room without feeling eyes watching him from shadows, waiting for him to make a mistake; to show weakness. He couldn’t remember. No matter how hard he tried, all he could recall were cold shoulders and even colder glares.
Even after all that, Riku couldn’t stop asking himself, how could I have been so blind?
Well, at least you can see well enough to know that’s not a tomato, he commended himself as he watched Roxas bend down to grab the ninth leiden potato in a row. No matter how the blonde wiped dirt off the root vegetable, it remained crusted with a layer of cracked earth. He let out a heave of breath, falling hard onto the ground while mindlessly throwing the potato up to him.
Riku caught it effortlessly. “Giving up already?”
“It’s hot,” Roxas returned flatly, “I’m tired, and there are no goddamn tomatoes on this fucking world.”
“There has to be tomatoes somewhere,” he assured. “Besides, that’s only one missing item on the list. We still have a whole host of other ingredients we’ve yet to find.”
“Wow, you are just a beacon of encouragement,” Roxas chided, lying down on the ground with his hands folded beneath his head. Was it bad that he kind of wanted to kick him?
“Like you’re any better.”
“I’m not the one who walked into the Bistro during the busiest hours to tell everyone I was going on a long ass quest of self-exploration. Don’t pin this on me.” It was definitely bad that he wanted to kick him.
“Look, I just wanted our friends to know where we were going.”
“Why? So if we got eaten by the Heartless we haven’t even seen they could put their whole head together in some botched attempt to rescue us?”
“Are you always this pessimistic?”
“Do you always ask this many questions?” Okay, on second thought, maybe it was better he traveled with older individuals.
The darkness had nothing on Roxas. “You could’ve stepped in and told them to fuck off like you so enjoy telling me.”
“Jealous?” Riku rolled his eyes.
Lying there, peaceful and relaxed, it was hard to believe this was the person who made him contemplate the morality of murder on a daily basis. But Roxas had always been an anomaly to him. The way he wore darkness like it was a second skin while wielding light without any effort. The way he picked fights with all the confidence of victory on his side, never counting his losses. The fact he could stand toe to toe with someone like Xemnas and say the boldest of words and absolutely mean them.
He wasn’t sure if the Blonde was someone to be idolized or feared, but he was sure that no light should look as good as his cohort looked bathed in his shadow. “I guess I’ll just find the rest by myself, then, if you’re too lazy to help.”
“Good luck, Pretty Boy.” With another roll of his eyes, Riku walked over the other boy, accidentally kicking his legs as he went.
He was beginning to regret this decision.
At first, traveling with Roxas had been a godsend after months of lonely nights aboard the gummiship. Sitting in the same seat Sora had sat time and time again, practically hearing his memories echoing off the walls along with snippets from Donald and Goofy had been almost too much for his heart to take after the incident. Having someone else there—someone willing to talk—had filled that endless void with all the distractions he needed to bypass grief and dash straight back into focus. But once the initial relief wore off, the realization of what he’d done sank in—deep and fast.
Between the eight-hundred messages Roxas received daily in comparison to Riku’s one—if that—and the endless rounds of snarky wordplay that had no off-switch, he was starting to lose his mind. If he was woken up one more time in the middle of a warp-gate to the Blonde’s phone chiming painfully into the night, murder would no longer be a possibility in his mind. It’d be a very real, very bloody reality.
This felt like fighting the darkness all over again, only somehow worse. At least back then he had Sora to look forward to. What did he have now?
Oh, right, nothing.
“Fucking Roxas…” He grumbled, kneeling down to inspect a small bush of pebble-like beans. Shaking a few loose into his palms, he pocketed them into his satchel before standing back up and making his way forward. On his far right, the first sign of civilization sat alone in the dilapidated ruins of a shack. Unopened boxes sat cluttered by a hole where the entrance once stood, untouched by everything but dirt and aged dust. Signs of weathering existed on each slat of wind-worn wood barely holding the tiny thing together. Scars from sand storms bit dents and scratches into its bare bones, offering shadows where light reflected off the hollowed structure.
Something about the shack drew him closer. Carried him inside the rickety framing where pockets of isolated sunlight beamed down through the many cracks in the ceiling like a ladder of pock-marks leading him beyond the entrance and toward the very back of the building. In the left corner, huddled beneath a series of faded, old newspapers sat a discarded little trinket. Silver and round, it shone with the brilliance of an abandoned relic after his thumb brushed off some of the dust.
A reflection of himself peered back from atop its surface, drawn in lines of curiosity and caution. Traces of dirt and toil sat stark against the paleness of his skin, darkening strands of his hair from silvery-white to ash-grey. Emerald pools appeared large and tourmaline when he moved it closer for inspection, obscuring parts of the object from view like moss atop a rock. Brushing his thumb over the surface again, he hissed as a sharpened edge dug into his skin, drawing out a pinprick of blood to the surface.
Sucking on the cut to stem the bleeding, he quickly pocketed the piece into his pants before standing and retreating back the way he came.
With no new finds to mark off his list and no real discoveries of note, he found himself torn between returning to his cohort and just continuing on his merry way, but he could practically hear that all-too-familiar voice sharp in his ears, scolding him again.
Who are you trying to fool?
Perhaps it was himself—again. This time, he wasn’t so sure.
Definitely not Roxas—at least that much he knew. Even if he tried, he didn’t think he could hide from the Blonde. He was too damn perceptive.
“Back so soon, eh?” Speaking of which, Riku rolled his eyes at the boy still lying still on the ground. For all the different aspects that made the Blonde so vastly different from Sora, there were a plethora of others that reminded him—constantly—how similar the two were. This particular one made Riku painfully nostalgic for lazy days on endless shores. “Did you find any tomatoes?”
“No, but I did find signs of civilization and a couple of nifty trinkets. Have you moved at all since I left?”
“Sure have. Took a quick little walk in that direction,” Roxas drawled while lazily pointing away from them, “and found a billboard for an outpost called Hammerhead, or some shit.”
“Sounds super promising.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“I’m pretty positive you haven’t moved an inch since I left.” At that, Roxas sat up and managed a glare at him.
“You calling me a liar, Pretty Boy?”
“I sure as hell aren’t calling you cute.” The Blonde let out a grunt of effort as he got to his feet, dusting off his clothes of any dirt clinging to the dense fabric. Stepping closer, he poked a finger into Riku’s chest with a narrowed leer.
“First off,” he growled, wrapping his fist in one of Riku’s jacket lapels, “I am fucking adorable. Secondly,” he continued while dragging the Silveret behind him, “the sign is right fucking there.”
Sure enough, standing in stark contrast to the barren isolation all around it, that singular billboard rose over the landscape in a shadowy sheet of billowing letters printed into deteriorating steel. A faded arrow pointed to the east of them with names and locations printed in a language that was strangely foreign to him. How Roxas had managed to decipher anything with all that dirt and peeling plaster, Riku would probably never know, but given that the Blonde was still leading him down the pathway carved out by the arrow, he figured there was really no point in asking.
Might as well see where this goes, I guess. “So, did that sign say anything about where to find ingredients?”
“I’d assume that an outpost in the middle of a goddamn desert would likely have something resembling a moogle store for us to peruse.”
“That feels a lot like cheating, Roxas.”
“Does it?” He finally let go of Riku’s collar, wiping his hand down his pant leg like there were cooties he just had to get off. The Silveret couldn’t help a little leer. “I think I prefer the term critical thinking.”
“Whether or not you want to accept it, this is a mission. We should treat it like one.”
“It wouldn’t be a mission if someone hadn’t bothered to offer in the first place.” Riku rolled his eyes.
“It’s not that big a deal, Roxas. It’s just a few more items and then we’ll be free to go wherever your sassy heart desires.” The Blonde spotted him a glare over his shoulder.
“Yeah, that’s what you said ten minutes ago when we got our twentieth potato in a row! You do know that for a fraction of the munny we have saved up from our collective travels we could buy out a small shop of all these ingredients and more, right?”
“We don’t even know if this world takes munny.” This time, Roxas actually stopped and turned where he stood to glare up at Riku like he was the biggest idiot on the planet. Maybe he was, judging by his choice of companion.
“What world doesn’t take munny? What other currency even is there?” Reaching into his pocket, Riku held up the chipped coin he’d found in the shack, letting it shine brightly in the afternoon light.
“This world has gil.”
“What the fuck is gil?” Before the Blonde could snatch the silver piece from his palm, Riku jammed it back into his pocket and continued on their journey east, shaking his head.
“Wow, Roxas. Just…wow.”
Silence enveloped them after that, lending a peace to the journey Riku thought impossible after all the tension lingering between them as of late. Although it was a subtlety he prided himself on ignoring for the most part, he still felt the gap between them like the cold, icy chill of a drop off hidden beneath cerulean waves. Like a cavernous depth waiting to engulf them, it only grew the longer the two of them tip-toed around the main reason—the only reason—they were even here in the first place.
But Riku didn’t want to be the one who said it, not when he felt like mentioning Sora around Roxas was somehow taboo.
A large part of him—which he blamed on the Brunet—wanted to ask if he was okay. To see if the boy who’d been so deeply connected to his friend’s heart felt just how empty and bottomless the Silveret felt when he realized his best friend was gone. If he sometimes woke up from a dream, ready to share it with the bubbly hero only to remember that he wasn’t there. If he ever looked in the mirror, stared into his blue eyes and thought—I shouldn’t be here.
Because Riku did—all the time. A piece of him wanted to summon his keyblade right now and reach deep into the bowels of his heart for the last threads of Sora he could still feel tumbling around inside it. To cling to cherished memories and let them open the keyhole that’d lead him wherever his friend was resting now, if only so he could see him one last time.
But I was the one who let him go, he always reminded himself. This is what he wanted—what made him happy. I can’t tarnish that because of my selfishness.
A part of him kind of hoped Roxas was less selfless than him, but given that he had resumed begrudgingly retrieving random ingredients from any living vegetation willing to yield results, he didn’t think he’d have much luck. No matter how boisterous and sarcastic the Blonde was, Sora had a way of leaving a lasting imprint on every heart he touched. No doubt, it was even larger on the blonde than it even was on him.
He must really miss him, he thought solemnly as Roxas quietly dropped a few pieces of root into their satchel of goods. Riku decided to take mercy on the poor sap.
“Well, I think that’s pretty much everything on the list.”
“Fucking finally…” The Blonde grumbled, kicking at the ground. They both stopped and looked at the strange, paper object that tumbled away with the momentum of the hit. Already furrowed brows came together in a disgruntled look of surprise. “Cup noodles? Out here in the desert?”
Riku glanced down at him sheepishly. “What’re cup noodles?”
The Blonde stared back in disbelief. “How do you not know what cup noodles are? What kind of teenager are you?”
“The kind who got swallowed by darkness and subsequently charged with saving the world?” For a long, quiet moment, Roxas did nothing but leer at him.
After what felt like decades, he finally responded, “anything else you wanna unpack while we’re here?”
“Now that you mention it—”
“That was rhetorical,” he interrupted, dismissing Riku’s soft words with a careless wave. He stomped over to the cup and crouched down to poke at its flimsy surface with a ringed finger. “But seriously, where did this come from?”
“Didn’t you say there’s an outpost nearby? Maybe someone dropped it on their way back from it.” Roxas shook his head as he picked up the cup and inspected it for any clues. Turning it this way and that in the sunlight, he glanced briefly back at Riku.
“It’s still pretty warm—too warm for a building that’s nowhere in sight.” Putting the cup back down, he took a quick picture of it with his gummi-phone before standing back up. Riku casually jerked his head at the winding dirt roads heading deeper into the open mountains.
“Why don’t we follow the trails? We might find something.”
“Yeah? Like what? More ingredients?” Offering a smirk, he took the first step off the road and into unknown territory.
“If we’re lucky, sure.”
“Well, in that case, I guess we’ll be eating death for the next couple mornings.”
Riku rolled his eyes. “Are you always like this or are you just being extra dramatic for me?”
Roxas’s grin was nothing short of shit-eating. “That’s cute, you think I act different around you.”
“Alright then, hot shot,” he taunted, reaching for his phone, “let me just call Xion or Ax—”
“Don’t you fucking dare, Pretty Boy.”
Riku shrugged, letting the plastic fall back into the depths of his pocket, “I guess that proves I’m right.”
“How the fuck does that—” Whatever the Blonde was about to say died as a loud click boomed through the emptiness. Both boys shared a quick look before their keyblades materialized into their hands, ready for whatever monster wished to disturb their peace.
Instead of a heartless, a lanky Blonde with hair oddly similar to Roxas’s smiled sheepishly at them while holding his camera up in surrender. “Hey, uh, sorry about that! I didn’t think you guys would notice me in the midst of your couple’s spat!”
Riku went ghost white as Roxas shaded an angry red. “We’re not even friends.”
“Hah, well, you certainly fooled me.” Casually heading down towards them, Riku and Roxas finally let their weapons dematerialize back into their hearts. The man didn’t even blink. “The name’s Prompto, by the way. Are you guys new here?”
“No,” Roxas seethed, his blue eyes narrowed into a deadly glare, “are you?” Despite the storm clouds backing each and every syllable, Prompt still managed a light-hearted laugh.
“’Fraid not! Me and a couple of pals are on a road trip to Altissia!”
“What are you doing out here, then?” Riku questioned, gesturing at the barren landscape around them. For a moment, Prompto just bit his lip and contemplated them, but after a couple of seconds, he gave a large shrug and stepped closer to them.
“Can you guys keep a secret?” He asked on a conspiratorial whisper.
Riku answered, “yes,” right as Roxas responded, “no.” Unfazed by their lack of synchronization, the Blonde leaned an inch closer and looked at them in turn with the eyes of someone who had definitely seen some shit.
Oh no, not again. “See, my friend is kind of a big deal around here. The biggest deal, so we have to keep to the outskirts or he might be assassinated.”
Taking a moment to let that sink in, Roxas looked up at Riku and stared with all the disdain of the world over. “Oh,” he said in that penetratingly flat tone, “wonderful.”
“Yeah! Come on,” Prompto encouraged with a jerk of his thumb up the mountain, “I’ll introduce you!” Without waiting for an answer, he dashed off at a clumsy pace, looking back only once to make sure they were there behind him.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Roxas leaned into his space and whispered, “have I mentioned this was a bad idea?”
“Only six times.”
“Only six? Wow,” the Blonde proclaimed, actually looking pleased at this information, “I’m proud of myself.”
“It might have been more,” Riku teased, “but I tuned you out after the first two.” Throwing a narrowed glare at him, the Blonde stomped after Prompt with a little huff.
Despite himself, Riku thought, I’m glad I brought him along for this. You really have a great Other, Sora, with a smile up at the bright blue sky.
“Come on, you slow poke! Demyx’s somebody is getting away!” I take that back, he thought as he nearly doubled over in laughter, you have the best other.
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MORE THAN FLOWERS
TAGGING → @yourkittywilde & @sammynolanh
TIME FRAME → Valentine’s Day (so, like... 84 years ago)
LOCATION → Kitty & Louis’ apartment, NYC.
WARNINGS → none that i can remember, tho it’s kitty & sammy so probably nsfw-ish. (i’m just permanently leaving this warning here)
NOTES → Sammy surprises Kitty in New York for Valentines Day.
KITTY
It was impossible to go anywhere in New York without feeling like people are basically walking on top of you, and come Valentines Day it was about a hundred times worse . Not only were there people everywhere, they were all holdings hands and being soppy and... gross. It was nauseating. She had tried to avoid going anywhere today in an effort to avoid all loved up couples, but there were some opportunities that only came around once in a blue moon. And having a meeting with any sort of entertainment tabloid, let alone TMZ was one of them. She hadn't told anyone -- not even Sammy -- she was determined to do this without any help whatsoever from her celebrity boyfriend. Who she missed... really missed. The two of them were so much hotter than all these other couples out today. She sighed quietly to herself as she got into the elevator of her apartment building, leaning her head against the wall gently as she moved up floor after floor until it reached the top. On the bright side, Dude was inside -- she scrunches her nose realizing that was now a highlight of her day. It was 11.45am when she sat down on the couch in the living room and patted her lap for the overly excited dog to come and sit with her. Sammy had told her to be home at 12 -- and though she was, honestly she didn't want anything for valentines day. Gifts were cool and all, but all she really wanted was to see Sammy's face, even if it was on the other end of a phone.
SAMMY
Sammy knew this would be the perfect surprise, he only had the day off and he would have to leave in the middle of the night to catch his flight back to LA but he was here in the city, just leaving from picking up a huge bouquet of flowers and headed to Kitty’s apartment. He held the flowers in his hand, nervous of how she’d react. He’d hope she would like them but he never knew with Kitty and he loved that. He was on his way up to the expensive penthouse and was outside the door when he knocked and lifted the flowers to cover his face, hoping to trick her for a moment. “Special delivery!” He yelled, muffling his voice to change how it sounded.
KITTY
Dude heard the knock at the door before she did -- he was kind of great like that. Following his lead she pulls herself up from the couch, and pushes her hair behind her shoulders as she heads to the door, rolling her eyes as the pup scratches way too enthusiastically to get out, "god, have some patience". She couldn't stop the ridiculous grin from pulling at her lips when she saw the flowers -- valentines day might have been lame, but it wasn't an awful delivery to receive. "So cheesy," she chuckles under her breath. Kitty went to take the flowers -- and apologize for the way Dude was jumping at their leg -- when she actually stopped to take a look at the person delivering them. Her eyes widen and her heart races about a thousand times the speed it was a few seconds ago. "Oh my god! Sammy!" The blonde yelled, pushing the flowers to the side and leaping to wrap her arms around his waist.
SAMMY
Sammy laughed as he felt the girl’s arms around him “Woah, you’re getting a little to handsy with the delivery boy...” he joked as he wrapped his arms around her as he still held the flowers in his hand. “Happy Valentine’s babe.” He spoke softly and kissed the side of her head. “Wanna let me in? It’s freezing out here, also my arm is tired.” He smiled
KITTY
Kitty smiles brightly and rolls her eyes. "Well." She shrugs with a faint smirk on her lips. "My boyfriend is away." The girl teases him, reaching up on the tip of her toes to kiss his lips. "I don't... How? What about-?" She couldn't seem to get a sentence formed as she tried to work out how her boyfriend was at her apartment and not thousands of miles away. "Oh yeah... I guess." She smiles, and steps away from his body long enough for them to get inside. Dude follows them -- though honestly was probably following Sammy. Kitty had never seen a puppy jump so high to try and get attention. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, because... you have no idea, but shouldn’t you be charming Hollywood right now?”
SAMMY
“Oh damn, then we better get to it before he figures it out.” Sammy chuckled as he walked into the loft and set the flowers down, giving his attention to the puppy who was jumping up and down. “Baby boy... hey little dude, yeah, I missed you too.” He smiled at the puppy as he knelt down to cuddle him. He looked up at Kitty “Well, that’s exactly what I did, charmed them into giving me the day off.” He told the girl. “Surprise.” He grinned and stood back up to kiss the girl deeply.
KITTY
"So you flew all the way back to New York to see, Dude? You're such a good dog dad." Kitty teases, taking a step closer to him now he was standing back up. "You are very charming." She admits, her arms reaching up excitedly to hook around his shoulders. Kissing him was so much better than anything they would have been able to do over facetime. She smiles against his lips, humming contently as she pull away. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby." The older girl murmers, tightening her arms around him and leaning into the crook of his neck. "How long do you have?"
SAMMY
“And to see his mom.” He winked as his arms snakes around her Nd held her against him tightly. “I just have today, my flight leaves really early tomorrow... it’s worth it though. Being here with you and Dude.” He smiled as he looked down to his new bracelet. He couldn’t stop staring at it since he got it. He loved it and even more that it came from Kitty.
KITTY
"I still cant believe you're here!" She muses, pinching his arm -- possibly too hard. But she just to make sure. "I mean, it's only valentine's day. You didn't need to come all the way home... I would have been okay." It sucked, but honestly, any day she didn't get to see Sammy kind of sucked these days. He was under her skin. Her gaze follows her boyfriend's to the bracelet around his wrist and she can instantly feel her cheeks flushing. "So. Corny." She buries her face into him. "What have you done to me?"
SAMMY
“And to see his mom.” He winked as his arms snakes around her Nd held her against him tightly. “I just have today, my flight leaves really early tomorrow... it’s worth it though. Being here with you and Dude.” He smiled as he looked down to his new bracelet. He couldn’t stop staring at it since he got it. He loved it and even more that it came from Kitty.“Ow!” Sammy yelped and rubbed his arm with a laugh. “Well believe it. And who says I did this for you, huh?” He joked with her “I did this for me cause I missed you too much.” He grinned and rocked her back and forth in his arms. “I thought it was very thoughtful... I really love it.” He grinned and kissed at her cheek.
KITTY
"Now that's way more believable." She says with a teasing tone, breathing in the smell of her boyfriend. Everything about him felt familiar and comforting -- more than what she had ever thought a person could be. "It's cheesy..." Kitty rolls her eyes playfully as he kisses her cheek. "But that was a big day." And not just because she saw him naked for the first time... "you passed my waffle test." She laughs, and pulls away from his embrace so she was only holding his hand. "So. you've got less than 24 hours in New York -- on valentines day -- what do you want to do, hot shot?"
SAMMY
Sammy frowned in delight. “Waffles sound sooo good.” He mentioned and walked over to the couch, pulling her along with him as he sat down. “I just want to spend every moment with you. Call me cheesy all you fucking want but I do.” He grinned and pulled her in for a kiss. “I’ll do whatever you want to do but after we bang, of course.” He laughed and looked around the room. “Louis isn’t here, is he?”
KITTY
"I have waffles!" She says probably more enthusiastically than she had meant to. It was one of the few things she could actually cook, and it was not often she could offer culinary talent to Sammy -- if you can call putting waffles in a toaster 'talent.'. Kitty sits next to her boyfriend and drapes her legs over his. "Then every moment you shall get. I've done everything I need to do for the day, so, I'm all yours." She smiles into his lips, and caresses his cheek softly. "I still miss the scruffiness." She admits with a short chuckle. "But no, Louis is at the club... He won't be home until close to sunrise."
SAMMY
“You’re the best.” He chuckled and pulled Kitty into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “All mine. I like that.” He growled into her neck as he pressed kisses to her smooth skin. “Oooh so we have the place to ourselves then. Good.” He smiled against her skin.
KITTY
"Yeah?" Her eyes shut for a brief moment as his lips float over her skin. She'd missed him so much. "Well I like you." So cheesy. Kitty smiles softly and nods. "Yup, we have this massive place all to ourselves... any ideas on something to do?" She asks turning to find Sammy's lips.
SAMMY
“Mhm.” He nodded “I love waffles.” He stares at Kitty for a moment, just looking at his gorgeous girlfriend. “I like you, too.” He said as he pushed the hair out of her face and kissed her tenderly. “I think I have a couple ideas.” He grinned as he kissed at her shoulder, pushing her shirt out of the way.
KITTY
"I'll make you some... Later." She muses with a half smirk, twisting her fingers through his messy hair. "Well... I'm open to all ideas." Her chain of thought is lost momentarily when he kisses her shoulder. Sammy is the only person ever who has managed to kiss the breath from her lungs without even trying. "All ideas that involve you taking your clothes off, that is." She says, reaching down to tug at the hem of his shirt. "Because I may have missed more than just your face."
SAMMY
Sammy nodded “Later sounds good.” He grinned and flipped them over so he was giving over her on the large sectional. He helped her by pulling his own shirt off and throwing it to the side, not really caring where it landed. He missed being with Kitty and being intimate with her. He then pulled at her shirt “off, off ,off.” He murmured
KITTY
Kitty can't help but stop and stare at her now shirtless boyfriend. He was hot... That sort of went without saying -- everyone knew that -- but he was also hers and that was the part that sometimes shocked the girl."I'm meant to be the bossy one in this relationship." She teases quietly, pulling her own shirt the rest of the way over her head and throwing it to the ground, hoping she'd remember the clothes on the floor before Louis got home but not really caring right now. "Better?" She says with a smile and leans up to meet his lips with hers, kissing him deeply.
#para: sammy#para: more than flowers#sammy#// idk why jas puts up with me tbh... i was meant to post this like 5eva ago#//also i had to re write that title like 3 times so if it's still showing as a whole link then idk what to do
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I know you don’t write for him much, actually I don’t think you have any Fics with him! On a different note to his birthday coming up soon, I was wondering if I could request something with Marvin. Just pure fluff, you being his SO sneaking one of his capes from his room. Just so you can snuggle with it and obviously it smells like him, and he returns to find you to just cuddle with you some more.
For a moment there I thought you were accusing me of being Marvin’s SO. lol. I was like “How did you know?” But it is true, I do not write about him much, mainly because there is very little to go off and a lot of it, like with most of the egos is subject to personal beliefs. But!! I do adore Marvin so:
Miss You.
It’s not often that Marvin is too busy to just sit with you and cuddle on the couch, but lately it’s been just that. Between long days at the theater bleeding into late nights with new tricks and promotional events Marvin has been anywhere but with you. To say it doesn’t hurt too much would be a lie; a very big one.
Jolting up immediately when the bed dips you roll over, night blindness keeping your vision from seeing your beloved husband clearly. Blinking with uncoordinated eyes you gently lay your hand on Marvin’s back. He’s hot to the touch and a bit sweaty. You don’t know what time it is, your only clock is your cell phone and you don’t really want to blind yourself further.
“Marvin? What time is it?” You ask trying to keep from speaking to lowly.
Marvin glances over his shoulder at you, a hand snaking around to cover yours for a moment before pulling away to plug his phone in. “A little past one.” He tells you standing up. Your hand drops to the bed.
“One? Why were you out so late?” You ask sitting up. Your head is pounding from what crappy sleep you got without Marvin at your side. Some scientist say you sleep more soundly, and get to sleep easier with someone you love at your side. You are proof that is a correct assumption.
“I know, it’s late. Jasper had me meeting people all night and my phone died before the party was even an hour in. I kept telling him I had to get home but he didn’t say anything until twenty minutes ago.” Marvin tells you yawning loudly. You look at him and sigh.
Most people would believe their spouse or significant other could have possibly cheated but you trust Marvin without limit. You know him so well it’s scary. You know instantly when something is wrong with him, you know when he’s not feeling up to par, even when he’s even the slightest irritated with Jasper.
Yawning yourself you flip the blankets to fix it before flinging Marvin’s corner down. “Come on, in bed. No more work.” You tell him patting the ruffled bed sheets.
In the darkness you can see Marvin smile at you gratefully. Kneeling on the bed Marvin kisses your forehead. You giggle even with how tired you feel it make you happy for such a simple action. Lifting your face you happily accept a long drawn out kiss. Marvin crawls on to the bed, looming over you with a look of hungry lust in his eyes.
“My, my, my,” You whisper letting your hand wander his naked torso, down his flat stomach to his waist line. “What have we here?” You ask teasingly. No matter the time of night or day, you’re always up for your--ahem-- marital duties.
Marvin smirks at you. “I love you, Y/n,”
“I love you Marvin.” You whisper back eagerly kissing Marvin back, letting him push you into the bed. His familiar weight settling over your body.
“What do you mean you have to leave town?” You grouse more than slightly upset with Marvin in this moment. “Marvin this is such last minute.” You tell him knowing he already knows that.
“I know, and I’m sorry. Jasper didn’t tell me this until this morning. I’ve been trying to talk him out of it but he won’t budge. He said it’ll be great publicity for the theater.” Marvin tells you unhappy at the situation as well.
You sigh. As unhappy as you are there is no point in getting angry at Marvin. He only has a say to a certain degree at this point. Jasper will hold him to his contract with him and forcing him to go. As good as Jasper is at his job he’s a real bastard.
“Fine, when are you leaving?” You ask hating that Marvin will be out of town for two whole days.
“Tonight after the show. We have to be there and ready to go at ten for the one o’clock air time. I have to go over the act and make sure everything is working before we go on, it’s going to be a process.” Marvin explain sounding tired already.
You sigh again and tell him you’ll stop by during the last act and bring him dinner before he heads off. He apologizes again but thanks you for understanding. He tells you he loves you and that you’re amazing before hanging up. When you stop by the theater you plan of giving Jasper a piece of your mind. It absolutely frustrates you to no end when Jasper springs last minute interviews
When you arrive at the theater Marvin is on stage smiling happily, mystifying his audience with his well planned and unique illusions and trick. He even mystifies you with how well oiled his trick are. You love watching him, literally just watching him prance around stage, the way his hands move. It’s poetry in motion and you’re married to him.
Damn you got lucky.
Spotting Jasper backstage you lay into him while Marvin finishes up his last set before him two hour break. You spend the break with Marvin on his couch. He eats the roast beef you made with little roasted red potatoes, and steamed vegetable medley.
You laugh and talk before Marvin is told it’s nearly time to go back on stage. You sigh and groan a little, telling him you don’t want him to go. Marvin chuckles kissing you nice and long before telling you he’ll message you when he arrives at his hotel room.
Kissing him again you whisper a hushed goodbye. When Marvin leaves the room it feels like all the life exited as well. Sighing you gather up your dishes and flop on the couch. Looking around Marvin’s dressing room you smile. You have good memories in this room. Letting your eyes drift around you spot one of his capes.
Walking over to the cape you run a hand over the silken fabric. It’s one of his older ones he reserves for special events. He’s taken extra care of it because you hand stitched it. It’s the first and last thing you ever made and you poured your heart into it.
A seamstress friend took you through the making step by painful-frustrating step. You’d nearly given up more times than you’d like to count. You know Marvin will take this cape with him without fail to his interview. Smiling you leave it be, walking slowly over to the couch again.
Like a shinning beacon in the night another well loved cape grabs your attention. Draped over a forgotten stool you decide it just needs to come home with you. Smiling like a thief getting away with the biggest heist of their life, you wrap the cape around your arm and leave out the back exit. It’s closest to where you park and you’re less likely to be stopped by anyone.
12:59 AMMade it. I hope you have sweet dreams. Love you.
1:03 AMI’m glad you made it okay. Love you too Mr. Magic. Your interview tomorrow will go off without a hitch! See you when you get home.
“When do you think you’ll be home?” It’s nearly four in the afternoon and Marvin’s just informed you he’s been delayed in leaving. A bad accident on the freeway is keeping him from leaving anytime soon. You;d checked the news just to make sure it’s not some joke.
It wasn’t. A high speed chase with a care thief ending in a twenty car pile up including ten police cars causing the death of at least three people and sever injury to nearly fifteen. It was horrible and you can’t find it in you to hold any kind of anger for the delay it caused. The news caster called it the worse pile up in years.
“But you’re okay, right? No one rear-ended you?” You ask pacing with Marvin’s cape wrapped around your shoulders. It’s no secret you have separation anxiety. Usually you can get around it with a little added medication and preoccupy your time with other things, but knowing there was a huge accident and that Marvin would be on the road just heightens your anxiety.
“I’m okay, I promise. Thankfully we were next to an off ramp and were able to get out before it got too backed up. Jasper is trying to find another way for me to get home. I promise as soon as I know when we’ll be on our way I’ll tell you.” Marvin promises in that annoyingly smooth soothing tone.
“I hate how much you calm me.” You grouse with a small smile. You’ve taken up wearing the cape around the house to comfort you. Marvin rarely wears any kind of cologne or fragrance other than his deodorant. It’s hard to put into words how Marvin smells but all you can really say is it’s of the earth and magic. His scent calms you, brings you into a calm state that helps you focus and breath just a little easier.
“You love it.” He teases back. You can hear Jasper in the back ground arguing with someone but can’t quite make it out. “I’m sorry, Y/n, I have to go. I’ll be home as soon as I can okay? I love you.”
He’s gone before you can respond. It doesn’t bold well when he doesn’t even wait for you to respond. The ball of anxiety in your chest feels like lead. You gaze at the photo on your home screen until the minute number changes then sets it down on the coffee table. Wrapping yourself up tightly in the cape you flop on your side on the long couch.
Covering your face with your cape wrapped hands you try to lose yourself in the illusion that it’s Marvin hugging you tightly. That he’s cuddling close to you and not hundreds of miles away stuck behind a huge car pile up and unable to get home to you.
“Come home soon.” You whisper pulling the cape tighter around your body. You’d be embarrassed if Marvin saw you right now, but in the moment you need the comfort this cape gives you.
Grimacing Marvin unlocks the front door of your home. His phone is completely shattered, not even remotely salvageable from being ran over by a white doge some yahoo lifted and put fat tires on for no other reason then it looks “cool”. He just knows you’ll be upset with him. It’s early in the morning but he made it home without having to stay another night in a different city.
“Y/n?” Marvin calls peeking around the corner spying you on the couch. In the low light Marvin believes you are wrapped up in a plush blanket but as he gets closer realizes it’s one of his capes. Pausing Marvin takes in the view. He’s seen you wear his shirts or sweaters to comfort yourself in his absence but never a cape.
Picking up your dying phone Marvin snaps a photo, emailing it to himself since his phone is no more, then puts it away on the charger. Pulling the bed duvet back Marvin prepares your side of the bed.
Walking back into the living room Marvin slowly untangles you from his cape with care before lifting you into his arms. He struggles just a little but manages to carry you with out incident into the bed room. Laying you down Marvin covers you up and changes out of his clothes.
Settling into the bed Marvin scoots closer to you, pulling you securely into his arms. You wake up enough to roll over and rest your head in the nook of his arm. Marvin smiles at you kissing your forehead.
“You are just too precious for words my love.” Marvin whispers instantly seeing the way your face relaxes at the sound of your voice. You nuzzle into him a little taking a deep breath in your sleep. “Sleep well my dear.”
Your lips curve into a smile. “Shhh, you need sleep too.” You whisper feeling Marvin chuckle. “I missed you.” You add wrapping your arm around his waist. Marvin shifted and laid his arm over yours. The heat of his skin seeps into your skin, warming you right to the soul.
“I missed you too.” You both smile and quickly fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
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