#I want to see dream in his flaming trench coat

[missghostlyshadow]

I was on Pinterest today and came across. this cute outfit and I thought "this looks like something Dream of The Endless would wear." I just felt like sharing that's all.

[persephones-wren]

Hello! may i request a c!revivebur who’s walking around the server and sees his (now ex) partner for the first time since he died and he apologizes to them for how he treated them in pogtopia and they just like walk around and catch up please? love your writing!! don’t worry if this gets rejected or you don’t feel inspired i know how it feels!

Hope (c!Revivedbur x Reader)

apologies if it's a bit out of character, it's been a while since I've written anything for the DSMP :) but thank you for my first request from there! I hope you liked how it turned out!

Warnings: none? all lore is pretty outdated I think

Genre: fluff-ish

Word Count: 1220

Dawn breaks.

He stands there, watching the sunrise. His trench-coat feels heavy. The gloves on his hands feel scratchy, and he knows he keeps tightening them; a nervous habit. He’s going to betray them all. Whether they win or lose the final war, L’Manberg is going to go up in flames.

He’s not going to be there to see it all.

“You alright, Will?”

You stand beside him, on the cliff, and he knows that Tommy and Tubbo are probably somewhere behind him, watching over you both. He didn’t have his sanity anymore, but he was still in control enough to think of them and Niki, fighting for a false cause, watching over him, worried.

“Of course, love. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His voice is an odd, jubilant tone. It’s one he’s had for a while, the one he had when Tommy and Techno spared and he pushed them both, the one he had when referring to Dream.

You don’t know whether it’s happiness or madness.

“Wilbur Soot.”

“Y/N, I’m alright,” he sighs. He puts his arm around you. “We’re going to win L’Manberg back,” Lie. “and we’ll be able to have everything we once did.” Lie. “I’ll run the country again as it’s rightful leader,” Lie. “and it’ll be the place to build our future.” Lie.

“I don’t care about L’Manberg as much as I care about you,” you state. “Wilbur Soot, I love you. No matter what happens today,” you whisper, “That won’t change.”

How foolish you had been.

Philza had murdered him, a diamond sword straight through his chest, and the only thing that reassured you that it was what he wanted was the smile on his face. Your word never faltered, though. No matter what happens, you’d still love him.

You’re considering changing that sentiment as you go to visit the same cliff, and see someone already there. Occasionally, it’d be Niki there, or Tommy and Tubbo, sometimes even Ranboo. You’d talk to them, reminisce, or tell them bits of history. It always hurts your heart, but that’s what kept the dead alive, their stories.

It’s not any of them this time, though.

You scan the figure ahead of you. Tall, wearing a jacket, gauze and blood wrapped around his right arm. The height tells you it’s Ghostbur, but the dressing and the vibrant color in his hair tells you it’s his living counterpart.

It’s Wilbur. It’s Wilbur Soot, not Ghostbur.

You pinch at your wrist, but the slight sting tells you that it’s no dream.

Wilbur Soot stands a couple meters in front of you, alive. You want to run, away or toward him, you can’t be sure, but you’re rooted in place. He’s alive. The realization fills your heart with love, with fear- which era of Wilbur has he returned as? Is he the musician who made you swoon? Is he the revolutionary, the gentle and kind leader? Is he the man who spiraled into insanity, who blew up L’Manburg?

“Beautiful sunset, isn’t it?”

He knows there’s someone there. Who, he isn’t sure, but whoever it was, whether it was someone new or someone he had to make amends to- starting a conversation was the best way to find a window to apologize. Personal gains aside, there were a lot of people who deserved apologies from him.

Especially his love.

“It’s nice,” you say, cautious. “I haven’t really taken the time to look at another one since Doomsday.”

He turns toward you, shock in his expression and a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. Your hand rests on the hilt of your sword, and he frowns at that.

Did you think- didn’t you still have two lives? He’s not the man he was when he was last alive.

“Love-”

“Please don’t call me that,” you whisper.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not the person who blew up L’Manberg.” He takes note of the way your expression softens slightly, but your hand doesn’t move. “Darling, I’m unarmed. Why are you- how many lives are you on?”

“One.”

“One? I thought- What happened?”

“The L’Manberg explosion took my second one.”

He notices the way you say L’Manberg and not Doomsday. It was his doing.

He decides that he’s never going to forgive himself for it. Even if you do, he’s going to spend the rest of his life making it up to you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, and strides towards you, throwing his arms around you. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s a small silence, before you speak. “I’m getting over it,” you mutter into his shoulder. “All I have to do is avoid conflict. It can’t be the hardest thing in the world.”

“It’s difficult here.” His concern makes you feel warm. Maybe death has changed him. You hope death has changed him.

“I know,” you respond quietly. Avoiding problems never was the strong suit of anyone on the SMP.

“I’ll find a way to beat death for you.”

You laugh a little, and reach your hand up to ruffle his hair. “Of course you’d find a way. You’re always pushing for change.”

“Especially if it helps the people I love.”

You don’t get a moment to reflect on his words before he’s reaching for your hand, interlocking it with his. You both walk, side by side, throughout the SMP.

“A lot has changed,” he remarks.

“Yeah. A lot has.”

Care to tell me what’s been happening around here?”

“Do you have any memories from Ghostbur?”

“Oh, him,” Wilbur frowns at that. His ghost had been way too positive, quite odd, to be honest. Perhaps he felt the tiniest bit guilty that Ghostbur was stuck in the personal hell that was Jubilee Line, but if it meant he got to live, he would make the same decision again, to board the train Dream had sent out for him.

You’re still staring at him, and he gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry, zoned out there. I don’t exactly have many memories, but they’re coming back to me, little by little.”

“We rebuilt L’Manberg, before Tommy was exiled. You left with him, as Ghostbur. I don’t exactly know what happened there, but-” you sigh. “It must have been hell. Tommy never really recovered, I don’t think. Tubbo forbade any of us to visit, he said it was too dangerous to confront Dream head on.”

“I remember that,” Wilbur says quietly. “If I were to see Dream again, I’d strike him down where he stood.”

“He’s in prison now, thankfully. I’d say he’s getting what he deserves.”

He decides not to mention how Dream was the one who brought him to life.

You both finally stop at the ruins of L’Manberg, staring down into the glass-covered crater. It’s a swirl of memories, a tangle of old times, a harsh reminder of the past.

“We should look towards the future,” Wilbur speaks. His eyes are focused on the bright of the moon, and the glimmer of the stars above both of you. “A future together,” he adds. He kisses the top of your head and puts his hand around your waist, cautious, but you make no move to stop him. Even if he’s not the same, he’s close to the man you once knew.

You find the constellation he’s looking at, and smile slightly.

Canis Major.

A future together.

Hope.

[krabmeat]

I have not written anything in some time - since I took a break from my writing account, actually (now deleted) - so cut me some slack here. I’m gonna format this in the same way that I did my old fics for that jolt of serotonin. So, if you would be so kind to indulge me, this is how I (niceimafan) would have submitted this work on fandoesfictionwriting:

What War Does || (platonic) Father Figure c!Phil x Teen gn!Reader

A/N: This is my submission for the 100 follower milestone of the lovely @/krabmeat! Krabs (Damien today) is an amazing friend of mine and is quite possibly the best human being in the world. (Go follow him if you haven’t already!)

War struggles paired with the classic familial miscommunication, what could be better as a way for me to get back into writing? This takes place around the time of Doomsday, or the final battle/destruction. Also I can’t remember if Wilbur’s room was still there at the time of Doomsday because I have goldfish memory so pretend it was if it wasn’t.

Requested: No

{Word Count: 1,946}

CW: intense arguing, mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing (up to the f-word), caps, use of godforsaken (I don’t know if people get triggered by that? I’m not religious so I wouldn’t know), very brief mention of spit, less than great relationship with father

This is an xreader fic!

This has been proofread. (skimmed rip I don’t like reading my writing)

- In which Y/N and Phil argue about Y/N and their right to participate in Doomsday. -

Phil works away high in the sky, loading cannons with enough TNT to detonate a nation. He, Techno, and Dream have everything planned out; you know because they did all of the planning right in front of you. Meaning you know everything they are going to do, and you aren’t even allowed to be involved.

You avert your eyes from your father and pick mindlessly at some grass instead, feeling the cold breeze of afternoon cool your flaming temper. For a moment, it appears as though everything might be fine, like you could get over this and let the Big War Men do their thing. But then Phil’s boots appear in front of you, and it’s all ruined again.

“You look miserable,” he says. Phil finishes his sentence with an airy laugh, trying to convey that he’s trying to joke with you. And so you make sure that the gaze you shoot him ensures he understands you do not find him humorous. Phil sighs, taking a seat beside you.

“Look, I understand that you want to help. I do! But I also understand that people with a spirit as strong as yours have risen to unimaginable heights, only to crash back down onto the blade of loss. And I fear that you will be no different.” Phil places his hand on your shoulder. “I just want you to be safe.”

You shrug him off, turning your neck so fast to glare at him it leaves a sharp stinging sensation in your movement’s wake. “Safe? You want me to be safe? No one is safe here, and you know that.”

“Y/N, you know-”

“What, Phil? What do I know? Because according to you, it doesn’t seem like a lot.” You stand after that, stomping off in an attempt to clear your mind, hoping Phil won’t follow you. But, of course, he does.

“Y/N, wait.” He shouts, but he makes no move to speed up or stop you. He simply follows along at a distance, saying nothing else. Probably waiting for you to make the first move. But you refuse, you refuse to let him win this and watch you break again.

And so the two of you walk in silence, you with no destination in mind and Phil’s footsteps echoing yours calmly in the distance. All you can do is follow your feet to wherever they find fit for this argument to play out.

To your amusement, you find yourself in Wilbur’s old room. Where he blew up his dreams for the first time and where Phil took the life of his son. How fitting.

You finally come to a stop, taking a brief moment to collect yourself, before spinning around on your heel to address your father. “Ph- Phil?” It does shock you to find that Phil isn’t there. He’s not standing behind you with a small, comforting smile, or with his eyebrows pinched together in a way that lets you know you’re going to be scolded. Nothing.

“You dress like him, you know.” Phil says from behind you. You whirl around again, reaching for your sword on instinct. Phil stands with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the soon-to-be battlegrounds.

“What?” It feels like you’ve lost all air in your lungs. Phil doesn’t just say things like that, especially not to you. And of course you know who he’s talking about; Techno doesn’t wear tattered trench coats and Tommy hasn't adorned ripped up fingerless gloves to protect from burns, to your knowledge. But speaking of Wilbur when referring to another child of his in this room in particular hit you in a place you have not yet built walls in.

“Wilbur. You dress like him.” Phil turns around, and you finally see that his eyes are watering. But he still has that sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Every day, you remind me of him. And in doing so, you remind me that I can not let you turn out the way that Will did.

“Wilbur was changed by war. He destroyed everything he worked for because of it. And for that to happen to you, with such grand dreams and ideas, it would be heartbreaking.” Phil can’t maintain eye contact with you anymore, “I just want you to be everything that Wilbur couldn’t have been.”

You let his words sink in, and as they do, you begin to fight with yourself.

He just wants to help you!

How, by comparing me to his dead son? Yeah, something about that doesn’t feel right.

Just hear him out.

You grit your teeth, balling up and releasing your fingers into and out of fists. “I am not Wilbur.”

Phil shakes his head, rubbing the place where his eyebrows crease together. “I know that, and that’s not what I’m trying to sa-”

“Yes, that is exactly what you just said!” You begin to raise your voice, getting tired of this stupid game you two are playing with each other. Lying about what you’re really talking about to try and avoid the inevitable. “You just compared me to your dead son that went crazy and blew up everyone’s homes! The one that sold drugs out of a damn hot dog van!”

The air around you seemed to heat up as tensions between you two started to rise, Phil clearly getting more angry as well. “You are not Wilbur, but you are my child!”

“Oh, am I? Am I, Philza? And how long have I been your child for, huh? My whole life, a year, a few months, just this past hour? You have been trying and failing to be my father figure because you just see me as some rogue that could get too far out of control unless you’re there. Isn’t that right?”

“No, of course not. I just-”

“No! How could I have not realized? You just want a replacement! Someone to fill the hole that was left in your poor old heart when you stabbed your son through the chest.”

“I love you, Y/N, you don’t understand! You are like a child to me, you always have been! From the moment that I met you, I saw greatness in you. I swear, you mean more to me than just some replacement for Wilbur.”

Tears burn your eyes, the singular one that fell leaving a streak through the gunpowder and dirt smudged on your cheeks. You shake your head and scoff, unable to believe that this is the conversation you are currently stuck in. “Phil, that’s the kind of bullshit that you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night. But guess what? It doesn’t work on me.”

“It doesn’t have to ‘work on you’, it’s just the truth, Y/N. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me.”

“You can’t, Phil.” You say, trying to ignore the way your voice cracks. “Because I have believed people, and then those people have either died, or tried to kill me, or both. So you know what I did? I grew up, Phil. Because THAT is what war does. 

“It doesn’t make you write sad song lyrics on the walls, it doesn’t make you love your father figure oh so dearly, all it does is make you realize that there is more in this world to deal with than whatever any one person can do. And once you wrap your head around that, you realize that the best you can do is make the smallest of dents, and hope some other people do the same. That is how this world works, Phil.

“And do you know what my dent is going to be?” Phil has blurred by now. Once you blink the tears away, you can see that he’s crying too. Good. Now you’re really on the same page. “Blowing up this godforsaken nation once and for all.”

You turn to walk away again, hopefully for the last time, but Phil actually makes a move to stop you before you can get anywhere. “Y/N, I refuse to allow you to go out there and risk your life for a war already fought.”

“No war is already fought until people are dead.” You snap at him, resisting the urge to spit on his boots. “Besides, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t fight.”

“Y/N, I am your father!” Phil’s voice practically echoes through the entire SMP as he shouts at you, finally just as mad as you wanted him to be. You’re convinced people on the other side of L’Manberg can hear you two arguing. “Listen to me, you can not risk this.”

“YOU ARE NO FATHER TO ME!” You scream, getting your face as close to Phil’s as possible while still being able to look into both of his eyes. Phil’s eyes widen, whether in pain, shock, or both, you don’t know, but he quickly recovers with a stare solid enough to cut through stone. 

“Do NOT turn this argument to family matters when we are discussing life and death!”

“This is no longer a discussion, dad,” you make sure to add as much venom to the name as possible, “We are not talking this out like a father scolds his young kid about what they can and can not touch in the house. We are screaming, and shouting, and ruining relationships like adults.” You try one more time to walk out. This time you make it down to the ground floor, but Phil follows you yet again, stopping you before you can reach the Prime Path. 

“You aren’t an adult, though.” Phil’s voice is softer now, he sounds like he’s on the verge of defeat. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.” 

“I was made an adult because of this damn war over some stupid place, I should be able to fight for it’s destruction like one.” You also stop shouting, but you don’t soften your voice. You keep it as firm as it can be despite your wobbly crying, letting Phil know that you are no longer playing games with him like you used to.

“I know that you could. I do. But that does not mean that you should.”

“Awwe, you really think so?” You feign a high-pitched voice, even clasping your hands together under your chin. “You honestly think that I can handle something more than a boo-boo, huh?”

“You know that I am making no attempt to infantilize you, Y/N. If you’re such an adult, you need to grow up. I do believe that you could fight for us, but I do not see it as wise.”

“Bullshit,” you say again, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. Phil tries to speak again, but you cut him off. “No. No! No, I don’t want you to tell me over and over about what I can and can’t do. About how you think I could be a good ally to you. I already know that, because I can make my own decisions. 

“Do you know what I do want, Philza? I bet that’s something that your infinitely wise mind can’t think of. All that I want, all that I have wanted for the past SIX. FUCKING. YEARS. Is for you to just take me seriously for once in your damn life!”

Philza stands there in silence, seemingly dumbfounded, and you take this as your chance to stomp off for good. But you know full well that you’ll see Phil tomorrow. On the battlefield.

But you won’t be fighting for him, or Tommy, or Wilbur, or any of them. Tomorrow, you fight for yourself, and you win for yourself.

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

DUDE WHAT?!?!?! INK THIS IS IMMACULATE HOW IN THE- WHAT THE F-CK THE WAY YOU CAPTURE THE ANGER AND FEELINGS AND HESITATION OF THE ARGUMENT IS SO WELL DONE!! AND THE FLOW OF TRANSITIONING FROM ONE SETTING TO ANOTHER ISNT CLUMPY OR FORCED AT ALL, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL INK! AND THE BUILDUP TO THE QUOTE, THE WAY YOU REALLY EMBODY ALL OF THE CHARACTERS IS SO MASTERFULLY DONE DEAR, AMAZING JOB!!!

[bokettochild]

Hey! Those are my three favorite Links too lol. Got any head canons for them?

No way, really? That's awesome!

And yes I do!

(Kinda long, so it's beneath the cut)

- These three, coincidentally, have the longest hair out of all of the Links. I know that JoJo draws Legend with a close cut, but all the official art has him with hair that falls past his shoulders, and I love it to much to accept anything else (I still love how JoJo draws him tho!)

- Walking fashion disasters, all of them. They like it though and no one can really stop them (they like that even more).

- On a scale of gremlin-ness, Wild ranks as a nine (he's not always trouble, but a lot of the time), Legend just behind him as a 7 (he just covers up well) and Four is so chaotic that they're on four different places of the chaos scale all at the same time!

- Legend and Four both are super close to Sky after some time, although Legend is more the 'needs to be toned down and asked to behave' while Four and Sky are more of the chill bros kinda thing. As a result, they're have a bit more of a sibling dynamic in that 'we're both close to the same person but we clash as much as we get along, but we're also stuck together' kind of way. Sky mentoring these two melts my heart :)

- Four is, of course, four people in a trench coat, and while Legend isn't, he does have the ability to split into multiple people as well, thank to adventure 6 in Hytopia. They have definitely bonded over this weird experience, and I know because I'm writing a snit-fic about it!

- Fire children, all three of them. Four tries to act somewhat responsible, but Red is a fire gremlin and there's really nothing the other colors can do to control him. Once the flame-based weapons come out there is no stopping them.

- Wild and Vio are both amazing archers, and if/when Four splits they will happily exchange tips.

- All three of these boys are crazy curious. Legend and Wild are both item's collectors and Four has Vio living in their head, so if the Chain finds something new, rest assured that these three will be the squad to try and figure it out together.

(Getting new tech or items is like Halloween for these boys, and they'll happily toss stuff back and forth like the trio of nerds they are, taking notes and trying stuff with it).

- Because they share interests, they are also highly touchy about when the others can join them in stuff. Wild's the most likely to let others join him in stuff, Legend can be touchy, but he will eventually cave if he's not too set on having his space. There is no bending Four's will.

- Legend is (of course) Fable's brother. But, while she got Hylia's powers and stuff, Legend got the musical talent. Fable can't sing for shit, and her fingers are as likely to get tangled in her harp strings as they are to break them.

- Four is the most firm out of the three, and the most stubborn. He's often the voice of reason (he does have a playful side though).

- Four likes teaching Legend smithy things. Since Legend never finished his apprenticeship, he's only got so much knowledge, and after the "when will you learn" incident, Four determined that he'd knock some sense into the vet's pink head.

- Both Four and Legend have at some point ended up in their alternate forms, and Wild was chill as could be. He thinks its cool, but he respects their boundaries and tries his hardest not to call them cute to their faces (he can't stop himself from thinking it though).

- Other than Wind, who could probably beat them all, they are the lightest footed Links, and each are skilled dancers. Four's batter at folk stuff, Legend at performance, and Wild at ballroom and barn dance related stuff, but once Twi pulls out a fiddle they're all quickly swept up into dancing because none of them can resist. They're all good dancing partners too, and with Wind at their side, they've managed to work out some stuff they can all dance to together.

- The least judgmental about shadows. Unlike the others, Wild has never met his shadow, and while Legend has, it was kinda brief and not particularly traumatic (shadow Four on the other hand still haunts his dreams) and of course we all know that Shadow and Four are besties 🥰

- On that note, Legend is highly protective of the other two. Wild because he's still so young at heart, and Four because the last thing legend wants is to see Four corrupted. He remembers the Palace of the Four Sword vividly, and he doesn't want a repeat. (It absolutely breaks his heart that he knows Four doesn't get a happy ending).

- Wild plays accordion and while his voice is untrained, he's got a decent set of pipes!

- Four play Ocarina, not as well as time, but it's still very beautiful.

- Legend has flat feet

- Barefoot trio. Flat feet are a nightmare in shoes, and Legend was a farm-boy, he'll shuck off his shoes the instant he can and just enjoy the grass or stone beneath his feet. Wild does the same for the very simple reason of being a feral gremlin who is very happy to lose his clothes and go wild. Four's feet are kinda odd shaped after transforming into a Minish so many times, so he also likes shedding his shoes (he had to make a special pain that would actually fit his weird lil feet) and just enjoying nature.

- Four and Wild are rediculously in tune with nature, Four because of his connection to the elements and Wild because he's Wild. Legend isn't closely connected, but he's got his own sort of love for different weathers and seasons after his 2'd adventure.

- The most colorful out of everyone, they are also the most artistic Legend paints and embroiders, and Four is good at sculpting, carving and, of course, metal work. Wild really likes to draw and his food itself looks like a picture (his frosted cakes are to die for, no one knows how he makes frosting do that)

- More of a niche headcannon related to a fic of mine, but; Wild has vitiligo. Most of it is hidden what with his heavy scarring and clothes, but while he's naturally pretty tan, he's got some big ol' white spots underneath his clothes and along his arms.

I will hold off on any more, I have a speech I need to rehearse and I got way too carried away with this 😅

[fleursdemeduse]

Remembrance AU: Fighting For the Right Side

Warnings: Nightmare [Depiction of child death] ; Mention of death ; Allusion to mass murder and bombs

Words: 3.3k

You were quick to settle into your position in Pogtopia. Every day was primarily spent with Techno, but it was relaxing. You farmed, took trips to the bastion you two had met at, he protected you in fortresses, you two even went mining together. He was a comfortable constant in your world. Even when the voices got to be too much, you were with him. But that might have been what caused it all in the first place.

Settling into the small alcove Tommy said you could use, you decided that you could take this brief moment of quiet to read. You felt safe in the ravine, so much so that you had shed your armor back in Techno’s hidden stronghold.

Once sat in front of the fire, you tossed another small log in the flames. You'd have to go find more wood tomorrow but this was enough; The fire burning was bright enough you didn't need to light a torch and waste extra materials they might need, and the air warm enough you only needed a small throw blanket for added comfort to cuddle during the parts of your book the suspense physically got to you.

And so you got comfortable. You relaxed against the wall and you opened your book. Page 47.

Suddenly, sounds bombarded the child - a mad rustling, and then, twit twit, echoing over and over. They were familiar sounds, not particularly frightening, but unplaceable. A heartbeat was louder than anything else and the small nine year old could only wish that the sound were quieter. That everything was quieter.

The maze was an overgrown thing. Something so large that anyone who encountered it knew they could never escape. The shadows kept moving though; rushing faster than legs could ever hope to outrun. Faster and faster they crawled like vines all around. And soon the child was engulfed. Darkness spread to every limb, smothering wails that spilled from parted lips. There were no cries for help or alerts to any who would listen. Soon, nothing remained.

The crash had startled you awake. Your nightmare releasing it’s hold from you at the sudden sound. You relaxed quickly, however, seeing Wilbur in a heap next to the stairs. He must have fallen again. You pressed your lips together, remembering Techno’s words. “We used to have railin’s but Wilbur, he just really enjoyed fallin’ to his death.”

The brunet slowly got up and pat himself off before looking up at you and smiling. A smile like that could have made sunflowers turn to revel in its glow.

“Oh, hey. Sorry for waking you.” His voice was soft, probably to not wake anyone else if they hadn’t already been awoken already.

"Don't worry about it. It wasn’t a very good dream.” He nodded at you in understanding. “What were you doing out? On a secret mission?”

The teasing smile on your lips grew bigger when his smile soured and he scoffed, grumbling to himself about how every mission was technically a secret one.

Yours fell away when he started walking off, his softness darkened with the thought of what happened during his outing. You hesitated. You didn’t want to wake Techno. You two were only just growing closer and you didn’t know how the hybrid reacted to missing out on the little sleep he was actually getting. But you didn’t want to be with your thoughts. Despite not being even remotely close to the man now leaving you behind, you reached out for him. “Hey Wilbur?” He turned to look at you. "Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don't want to be alone after that."

You watched his brown eyes brighten and a boyish grin overtake his lips. It reminded you of Tommy’s. You briefly wondered if his mood always swung this dramatically. “I'll stay for as long as you need." He made his way to sit with you and you added another log to the fire, sitting up so the rock digging into your spine shifted away. Wilbur sat across from you, his presence immediately making you relax.

"So, Mr. Leader," You taunted once more, "What was the secret mission?"

In the coming days, you and Wilbur spent more time together. He’d tell you the most random facts about himself whilst you two worked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pay it any mind.

-

"Hey [y/n], guess what?"

"Hm?"

"I was born on September 14th. That makes me a Virgo."

-

"Did you know I can play guitar?"

"I think everyone knows that about you, Wilbur. Why do you ask?"

"I just thought you might wanna hear me play you something sometime..."

-

"You know, I was once married to this wonderful salmon named Sally. You remind me of her sometimes."

-

“With you on our side, [y/n], I know that we’re going to win L’manburg back. And I promise you’ll have a spot in my cabinet.”

It was decided. Techno and yourself would attend the festival while Wilbur and Tommy hung back and watched from a safe distance. You were nervous. A bad feeling grew like a stone in your stomach as they all prepared.

"Hey [y/n], come here a moment, will you?" Sighing as you stood from the chest you were going through, you felt your back pop in a few different places and you hissed before walking to where Wilbur stood. It was silent in the ravine, everyone just as anxious about the festival as you.

"Yeah?" You asked, resting a hand on his arm as you peeked around him at the paper on the table. It was a map of Manburg with “x”s scattered across it.

"Are you prepared?" He glanced down at you, watching the crease in your eyebrows deepen as you examined the plans.

"Mhm." You hummed, finally looking up at him. His eyes were so warm when they looked at you, just like Techno’s. Even if he didn’t have a smile, they were always filled with that same warmth that made you feel important. The two were more like brothers than either cared to admit. "Why?"

"Can I tell you something and you keep it a secret from Tommy and Techno?" Everything around you felt like it had stilled. Everything waiting for the other shoe to drop. The stone suddenly felt heavier.

"What is it?” He continued looking at you and you found it almost hard to breathe. "Wilbur?"

His hand reached to cup your cheek gently. They weren’t calloused like Technoblade’s. They were the hands of a poet, of a musician, of someone whose hand reached for the quill not the sword. They smelled of gunpowder. Your heart felt like it was in your throat when you realized what all of those “x”s were.

“You would risk letting all those people die just so you could have L’manburg back? Why?”

His voice came out hoarse when he finally brought himself to speak. "Because if I can’t have it, no one can, [y/n]. I'm so sorry."

Your lips trembled. You thought of all of the innocent people who would never see it coming. You thought of Tommy and Techno, getting ready in another part of the ravine who wouldn’t know until it was too late. You thought of the man before you who probably felt like he was doomed to keep repeating this action again and again. When had blowing something up ever worked in his past lifetimes? He had to know that this was crazy, right?

Wilbur continued to stare at your frightened face for a moment. He looked so serious. His dark eyebrows drawn together and lips turned just the slightest bit downward. But his eyes? The warmth that filled them seemed to be slowly draining and being replaced with dark melancholy. You hated that look on him and drew your hand up to hold the one cradling your face. “You don’t have to do this, y’know. There is always another way.”

Wilbur stepped forward, pulling you into an embrace that smelled of cedar and leather. His hand left your cheek to instead hold your head to his chest. You didn’t like this hug. This hug felt like he knew things were going to go horribly wrong and he didn’t want you to see the aftermath of it. “If there were one, we would have found it by now.”

Your hands gripped the soft material of his trench coat and you pressed your face into his sweater. You didn’t want this. You were happy to help where you could, but you didn’t want to be a part of the destruction of a nation. You just wanted to help your friends overthrow a tyrant. “I wish I were as brave as you, Wil.”

The soft huff of a chuckle reverberated through his chest as he squeezed you tighter. “Did you know that that’s the first time you’ve called me something other than my name?” His voice was uplifted at the end. He almost sounded happy by the thought. It was squashed when he sighed, pressing his face into your hair. “I wouldn’t call it bravery, though. Still, I promise that we’ll all end up on the other side of this together.”

You tilted your head up a bit to look at him. “Where else would we be?”

He didn’t answer you, just held you tighter.

If there was one thing Wilbur couldn’t describe himself as, it was good.

In previous lives, he had been a cruel, sadistic god. He forced hundreds of people to compete for his entertainment. They were rats, moles, ants, sometimes even just humans while he played the part of omnipotent creator. He had been a king sometimes, or a hero. And time and time again, he was just an older brother. But no matter what, he couldn’t seem to save the people who loved him the most. He couldn’t protect the ones who looked up to him; be it because he found sick joy in their deaths, or because he wasn’t strong enough.

He never felt strong enough.

When Technoblade had told him of the strange person whom he had met in the nether, he almost brushed it off. There was no way he had met someone whom he hadn’t shared at least one lifetime with. There was no such thing as new players who weren’t just NPCs.

However, when you stepped into the ravine, inventory absolutely filled with different items that you just willingly handed over to the pink haired hybrid with a smile, he was utterly floored. The curve of your lips, the tone of your voice, even the look in your eyes were all new to him. He had never once met you.

He approached the two of you with hurried steps, wondering what kind of trick you were playing, only to freeze when you turned your gaze to him. He could hear his own blood rushing through his ears and, for a moment, he wondered if you could hear it too. The expression you wore unnerved him. It was as if you had seen every lifetime, every possibility. Yet you still had the nerve to smile shyly at him. When you waved at him in silent greeting, he knew Technoblade had been completely correct in his assumption. Your lives were missing from your wrist.

You were an investment.

But no one made him feel as powerless as you did.

You were able to try things over and over and over again. You weren’t held back by memories of mistakes or fears. The tiny flits of trauma they all seemed to feel were just… absent in your being. You were unapologetic about running errands in Manburg and doing reconnaissance whilst you were out, seemingly unafraid during the recounts you had given him of meeting Schlatt and Tubbo for the first time.

And this seemed to hold true in your interactions with Tubbo. He didn’t treat you with the same feral energy he shared with Tommy or the attitude he put forth for his leaders. When you weren’t spending almost every waking moment with Technoblade, the soft murmur of your soft voices being heard through the stone walls that led to the farm, you were interacting with one or both of the teenagers that helped fuel the rebellion. Tubbo told you about new ideas he had, or described to you his day, or even just explained to you things that even he himself knew he would have trouble understanding, despite Tubbo being the one to explain them. Wilbur noticed that you just did that. You listened patiently while someone talked, despite the knowing look in your eye that made him feel like you already knew exactly what they were about to say. And this seemed to carry over into your relationship with Tommy.

You paid rapt attention to the blond, reminding him that even if he was still technically a child, that doesn’t mean he didn’t deserve to be listened to. The oddest part he found, though? Tommy actually returned the favor in kind. It wasn’t so much that you would go on long-winded tangents and he’d be forced to sit there and listen. It was that when you asked or told the sixteen year old to do something, he did it without too much of a fight. That’s not to say he wouldn’t talk back to you, he did almost every time, but it was the point that he would still do what you said without much hesitation. And every single time, Wilbur felt the sharpest stab of envy.

He had questioned Tommy after the first couple instances of it happening before him. He had cornered the very person who had been his younger brother in many previous lives against the cold stone wall on one of the walk ways while you and Techno were out gathering things from the nether and demanded to know why. However, the young soldier just shrugged in response. “They just usually have very fun ideas.” He had stared long and hard at the blonde, the other fiddling with the hem of his dirty shirt. He made a mental note to ask if you’d be willing to do laundry for them when you next went to Manburg. “That and…”

“And?” Wilbur had immediately prompted, knowing the time he had to question the younger was running short.

“They just have that tone of voice. And something makes me feel like I should listen when they tell me to do something.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to berate him. “Sometimes it feels like they know way more than they should. Like they already know what’s going to happen.”

The brunet’s words died on his tongue.

They all felt like that.

But if you knew so much, why did you never talk about any of your past lives like the rest of them did? If you knew what was going to happen, why were you so patient and let them make mistake after mistake?

The thought sat bitterly at the forefront of his mind as he pat himself off, having fallen off the side of the walkway yet again. He almost regretted removing the child-proofing, but he was an adult, and he didn’t need them, and he certainly wasn’t going to recant his insistence that they didn’t need them. He turned when he heard shifting and saw you slumped against the side of the ravine.

In the dim lighting, you looked different. You were cuddled under a thin blanket, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pressed into a pout that reminded him of a child. He must have awoken you. You looked rather cute like this, though.

He smiled at you despite himself. He was still a little hesitant about being around you. He didn’t need help in his daily activities like Technoblade, he didn’t need a guiding hand like Tommy, and he felt plenty listened to daily, unlike Tubbo.

But somehow, he didn’t feel as loved as you were.

“Oh hey, sorry for waking you.” The words had slipped from his mouth before he had had a chance to stop them. Now he’d be forced to converse with you. He watched your eyes look away from him, even in the dim light.

"It wasn’t a very good dream.” You didn’t have good dreams? What was there to have a nightmare of? He tucked that piece of information away for later, your eyes were back on him. “What were you doing out? On a secret mission?”

His mood immediately dropped, especially when he saw the mocking grin that planted itself on your face. It was as if this were a game to you. “Every mission we pursue is a secret one, you of all people should know that.”

The grin just grew and he felt his chest tighten. How could you act so lax when you seemed to know exactly what happened when he was out there? He turned to walk back to his desk to write about the events that had transpired and quell his anger. He wasn’t truly upset with you, he knew that, and he didn’t want to take that out on the one person that seemed to be holding together his fellow usurpers, but you almost irritated him. His soft steps reverberated through their base.

“Hey Wilbur?”

His steps faltered. Despite your previous mood, you suddenly sounded so small. Afraid. He looked at you from over his shoulder and was surprised to see your extended hand.

“Can you stay for tonight? I don’t want to be alone after that.”

A new feeling sparked in him.

You wanted him? The one who had been so helpful for everyone else, to the cause, even to him on occasion, needed his help? How bad had your dream been? You looked so distraught, so powerless. He didn’t feel so weak when you looked at him like that.

“I’ll stay for as long as you need.” Your eyes held a warmth that could rival the fire in front of them. You moved to feed it and he sat across from you. You two weren’t close in either sense of emotionally or physically.

When had that changed?

He felt compelled to check up on you more after that night, use you as the investment that he believed you to be. No one in Manburg knew of your status, and he was planning on using it to their advantage.

Or, he had been.

But you made him feel safe about sharing things about himself. You were easy to talk to, easy to work around, easy to listen to. You would have been so easy to use.

Maybe that’s why he told you of the plan he and Tubbo had come up with.

You had found your way into much more than his good graces, just like the rest of them, and he didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire. You were so susceptible to influence, he feared you’d start to see him as a villain. He knew what people would say about him. He wanted you to know his thoughts and feelings before you could be tainted by their remarks.

He had shared memories with you before. They all had. Words seemed to fall unencumbered whenever you were around and they were all victim to it. But you hadn’t judged any of them on the actions they had taken in their previous lives. You didn’t even judge them on the actions they had taken in this one. Despite this, he was still scared you’d be turned against him if he wasn’t the one to tell you.

“I think everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves.”

It was his turn to prove that they were fighting for the right side.

[littlefreya]

Stalker Walker - Part 5

Summary: A voyage to Paris in order to escape your mundane life leaves you with more than you bargained for.

[Previously on Stalker Walker]  

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Words:  1k

Warning: He’s cute and all but a stalker, mentions of sexual thoughts, mention of age gap. 

A/N: No Beta!!! He is back, and on this episode of Stalker Walker™, our dear reader has finally met with August... now I wonder, what will happen next. 

Title: Last night in Paris

It was as if the street fell utterly silent all of a sudden, save for the soft drumming of raindrops upon the thick fabric and your trembling breath no sound met your ears. The little shelter beneath his large umbrella felt like a secluded little realm and there you were, drowning on solid land, sunken into the abyss of the most stunning eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Like the heart of a cold ocean kissed by the storm, passion and hunger swam within the tall man’s gaze, deeming him even more attractive. 

Absentmindedly, you gaped, unable to determine if this was a movie, an extremely lucid dream or real life. 

He was your stranger from earlier, the elegant, well-suited man who sat alone at the cafe’, how odd it was that by chance you’d meet again? Now further hulking, he stood so close that you could taste the same brew of Columbian coffee off his breath and the mist of his stark, musky cologne engulfed from each direction like some intoxicating enchantment.

It took a while before you could find words and the hint of a smile that began to spread on his surprisingly succulent lips didn’t help your lack of coherence.

“I’ve seen you,” you finally managed and immediately wanted to throw yourself into the canal. 

Certainly, he would now think that you were some sort of a creepy stalker.

The stranger-now-turned saviour, tilted his head at you in a query while a small spark ignited his aquatic glance.  

“At the Cafe’, earlier this morning…” you explained, trying to maintain a stable tone as your voice was about to give in to the same tremor in your knees. 

The man observed your face silently, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he drank the sight of you in. He had to admit that you were far more fascinating in the flesh; your beauty a thing of ballads sung by knights and love poems, your scent - delicate and feral at the same time like a wild rose that grew timidly in a dark cave. 

He couldn’t wait to pluck your soft petal and drink your sweet nectar. 

“Shame,” he spoke, his baritone a smooth, low chant, “I would have offered you to join me for breakfast,” he paused and then clicked his tongue, his smile further widening, exposing two large dimples and two sharp fangs, “had you agreed to it, of course.”

In your cheeks, you felt the lick of flames. Eyes dropping to the damp cobblestone, you chuckled softly and then tucked an errant curl behind your ear. You’ve just met him 5 minutes ago and didn’t even know his name, but you were willing to leave with your bewhiskered stranger to wherever he fancied if only he’d suggest.

But this wasn’t you, you weren’t the coy, giggly girl falling for every tall handsome man with a void of a dark angel. You were the same independent woman who travelled on her own for the first time, visiting a completely new land. Yet his glare somehow held you captive in a chamber of glass which you couldn’t escape from, nor did you ever wanted. 

Unable to find the correct answer to his theoretical question, you simply shrugged and crooked an eyebrow, trying to suggest you wouldn’t have minded having breakfast, lunch, dinner and then another breakfast in bed with him the morning after. 

Moving his arm in the most elegant manner, he reached for your palm and took it in his grasp. The drum of your heart never beat louder as he leaned in to kiss the back of your hand, pressing his soft lips against your supple skin. The rough edges of his moustache scratched your hand and you had to swallow that giggle that threatened to escape your throat. 

“August,” he introduced, remaining a tad bent and only keeping his glare fixed upon yours. Smitten by his direct charm and suave charisma, you wondered about his age. He couldn’t have been older than mid-30, much older than you, no doubt, yet his manners and gestures were that of a man who was slightly old fashioned, one that treats a woman like a lady.

You scratched the back of your head awkwardly which he took as a signal to let go of your hand and stretched back to his full height.  

“August,” you repeated his name, enjoying the way it rolled on your tongue, “I am so lucky to have run into you, and have you save me from the rain. I brought an umbrella with me today but misplaced it somewhere...”

Possibly at the cafe, when you were too lost in your own gawking and fancies, though you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to yourself that you were thrilled to have lost your umbrella. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have the chance to run into August on a rainy autumn day. Perhaps it was your destiny that on the last night in Paris, you were to meet a man that made you want to do something completely outrageous. 

It was time after all…

The anticipation grew in your eyes as you stood waiting, unaware of how your body swung from side to side. If only you knew what an open book you were to a man like him, there was no need to swipe your credit card and trace your information, he picked up every twitch and flutter of your lashes, noticing how you fell into your own musings, as you did when you were alone. He wanted to browse through your pages and read each passage and syllables of your naked body, as he will have you in your own hotel bed tonight. 

Inhaling calmly, he reached for your hand again, and placed the hook of the umbrella in your grip, “you are welcome to have mine till the end of your trip, sweetheart. I’m not afraid of getting wet.”

At the arch of his brow and the drawl in his voice, you flushed, but then your heart sunk like a broken ship. The end of your trip was closer than he knew and home was nothing but a mundane little fortress of solitude, this was by far the most exciting thing that ever happened to you since forever and the fact that you’ve met him at the last night of the trip felt as if you’ve wandered from a pleasant little garden of roses into a bush full of thorns. 

Giving him a disappointed glance, you pushed the umbrella back toward him, “there is no need, that’s gonna be tomorrow morning.”

August’s brow lifted with surprise and the same disappointing tainted his eyes that now looked as soft as the eyes of a puppy. “Pity,” he pouted but then offered you another one of his endearing smiles, “perhaps then, you can hold it for me till the end of the night.” 

His hand pushed yours away gently, and he pulled back, stepping into the rain and letting the drizzle dampen his trench coat and slick hair. 

“Have a drink with me tonight.” It didn’t sound like a question nor like a suggestion but more of a fact as he took another step away from you, his hair gradually becoming tussled by the soft wind and droplets of rain. “You are staying close to the cafe’ where we met, I presume.”

“Yes,” you retorted, squeezing your fingers around the rigid metal handle, “at the Pantheon.”

Tucking his hands down the pockets of his jacket, he continued to pace away, walking backwards as if he didn’t want to say goodbye.

“I’ll see you downstairs at 8, my little rose, don’t forget my umbrella, because then I’ll have to hunt you down” he announced with a playful smirk and then turned on his feet and walked away. 

Watching him leave, you finally allowed your self to exhale loudly. A broad smile stretched your cheeks to the point of pain, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the turn of events. Even if you were to never see him again after tonight, it would still be the sweetest memory, and maybe a part of you was somewhat afraid of the commitment that could follow anyway.

You began pacing away, staring into nothing with music playing in your mind when you suddenly found it odd that he never bothered asking for your name.

*Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or any of the Mission Impossible franchise characters*

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, my ideas or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

[whattodowithkpop]

Blind Senses (Ravn)

Title: Blind Senses

Pairing: Reader x Ravn (Oneus)

Genre: Fluff, Spice, Superhero AU, Enemies to lovers, Soulmate AU

Word count: 2,543

Writer: Kpopmadness (Ju)

*****

There is a lie that every parent tells their child, we hear it when we get scared at night. We are reminded of it over and over again. 'Monsters don't exist' Monsters aren't under your bed, they aren't in the closet, they aren't trying to get in your window. The doors are locked, the window is sealed shut, everything is fine.

The only thing I was worried about when I was little was who my match was; Every child is born with a soul mark, it's the tell of where your soulmate will touch you for the very first time. But when you are touched by your soulmate, the birthmark will turn a bright shade of pink and purple before withering away. Your soulmate having been found.

My birthmark encases my right wrist, a common place for people to have their soul mark. I often forgot about my mark until I looked down and saw my one marked wrist. But every now and again a flutter would slice through my stomach at the thought that one day, that mark would be gone. And I would have found my other half.

When I was 15, my childish dreams changed forever. A science plant exploded suddenly. An experiment gone wrong. There was an orange smoke that rose from the ashes of the building, its angry smoke rushing toward our city. I still remember seeing it outside my bedroom window a second before my mother rushed in with my father and hurried us down to our basement. My father boarding up the windows and doors to block the smoke out. Screaming could be heard outside, ones of fear and agony for those who didn't get inside in time.

In the wake of that science experiment, we were left with mutants. People caught in the smoke developed supernatural powers. Some of these people developed a spiked aggression, using their powers for the worst. That is how my father died. He and a group of scientists were working on a cure for the genetic mutations. But some didn't like that. A group of mutants set up a bomb in the basement of the plant, angry that someone wanted to take their power away. Take away their sense of control.

I still remember being home with my mother when we saw the black cloud with angry flames fill the sky. The earth shaking slightly in its wake. Dread and grief filling us, knowing exactly where the explosion came from. On that day, my life, my goals, and how I viewed people with these special powers, changed.

`````

Alarms ring through the large building, the sound jarring and disorienting. I stand my ground at my station and continue working quickly. I enter a series of commands into my laptop. My fingers shaking violently.

Red lights flash and the sound of people running down the halls fills the small room. I take my lab coat off, the room sweltering. The screen on my laptop shows a loading bar, making me tap my foot impatiently. I was so close to finishing this, it would change how we see mutants. It reversed their DNA to go back to normal, their powers vanishing. The work my father started would finally be complete and I would have a sense of closure.

The lights and alarm cut out, leaving me in blackness except for the screen of my laptop. I suck in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I was putting my life at risk for the sake of this experiment, but I had come too far to stop now. Eventually, blue lights come on, slightly illuminating the room. When they do, the loading bar on the screen is almost done, my muscles tense. Then the laptop suddenly gets slammed shut, making me jump back.

"Did I interrupt something?" A deep voice asks coldly, his palm firmly on the laptop to keep it shut.

"That's government property." I say firmly, but my voice cracks.

The man smirks at me, seeming amused by my weak attempt at a threat. Like me saying it was something the government owned would make him remove his hand from it and leave in fear.

"Yes, well, you and your government should really stop trying to cure something that doesn't need a cure." He glowers.

"And maybe we wouldn't have to look for a cure if you people weren't destroying families and killing the innocent." I shoot back, anger rising in my chest and filling my veins. My thoughts going to my father.

The man hesitates, his eyes showing a sort of concern and sympathy for my words. I take my chance and make a dive for the laptop, trying to jerk it out from under his strong hand. The man grabs my right wrist, stopping me.

"Do not try it." He snarls, his grip on my wrist horribly tight.

He slowly removes his hand from my wrist, my eyes widening and a gasp escaping my lips when I see my wrist. My soulmate mark shined a bright purple, matching the mark on his hand, then both marks slowly began to fade. Our soulmate marks disappearing. We had found our soulmates.

I stare at the man in front of me, both our eyes wide in disbelief. We were on opposite sides of a war, yet we were meant to be together. Suddenly, everything goes black. At first, I think the lights in the room have gone out. But it's my vision that disappears. I fall to the floor, my legs unable to support me. Panic grips me. I've gone blind.

"Don't worry." The man says soothingly. "I only took your sight away temporarily. Your vision will return in 10 minutes, that's just long enough time for me and my team to escape."

I take several deep breaths, trying to soothe my heart that pounded in my ribs. I spread my fingers out along the cold tile floor, trying to feel for something, anything. That's why I jump when I feel warm hands incase both my hands, making me cower away from the touch. But the grip holds firm.

"I hope we meet again." The man says. His tone sounding like he really meant that. "Maybe then it will be under better circumstances, soulmate."

He squeezes my hands before letting me go, his footsteps fading into the distance. Leaving me to recover my sight slowly, with a swirling heart and mind. I thought he had left, then I hear his voice again.

"By the way, just because I think we should know this for the future, my name is Ravn."

````

3 Years Later;

"No, we have to finish this." I demand as I follow my co-worker around the lab. The earth shaking beneath us, making everyone scurry around the room. Anxiety levels high.

"Well then you finish it then." My co-worker snaps irritably. "We don't want to die here. Unlike you and your obsession with finding this dream cure."

"It's more than that." I plead. Pushing my way through people pushing passed me in panic. The earth giving off another tremble while bright flashes of red light flash outside. Heavy rain pounding against the building like fists.

"You say that and he always comes for you." My co-worker says, whirling around to face me. His eyes raging.

I pause, my brain looking for an excuse. Any excuse. Ravn had come for me and the sought after cure for three years. No matter what I did, no matter how much I tried to hide, he always found me. His devilish smirk always reappearing.

"We're so close though." I say quietly. More of a reminder to myself than to anyone else in the room. Not that they ever listened to me. The population had given up on trying to find a cure a long time ago.

My co-worker sighs, rubbing his temples. "I know this experiment is the only thing of your father you have of him." He says, his tone softened. "But they won't stop chasing you and trying to tear you down. And they are outside as we speak."

I look over my shoulder to the large glass window behind me. Flashes of light and tremors in the earth reminding us that these weren't from natural sources. But from people. People who could control the weather and even create earthquakes to topple a building in seconds. And their leader, my soulmate, just waiting for them to break through our defenses.

"We're evacuating." My co-worker says, pulling my attention back towards him. "Come with us if you want. Otherwise, you can stay and talk to your boyfriend."

I feel a surge of heat course through me, flushing my cheeks a scarlet color. I couldn't find my voice in time to deny that he wasn't my boyfriend before my co-worker hurries off with the rest of my, supposed to be, teammates. At this point in my journey, I was used to working alone and everyone thinking I was crazy for trying to fix something that everyone else had just adjusted to and given up trying to control.

I set my jaw in determination and whirl back to my station, opening my laptop and entering the code. I watched the clock carefully as I worked. The world around me seemed to fall away as I worked, being used to Ravn coming for me to stop me from developing a cure. Our relationship having grown in a strange way. We were soulmates, but we were also enemies.

The lights in the building flicker off, just like they had three years prior when I first met Ravn. My heartbeat picks up but I keep working, knowing I still had a few valuable minutes before he showed up. My laptop gives out a series of beeps, making me step back in surprise. I stare at the screen in shock.

"I did it." I whisper under my breath, a smile spreading across my face. I found the cure to return the mutants back to their normal DNA.

"We really have to stop meeting like this." A familiar deep voice says behind me.

I whirl around and press my back against the counter's edge, trying to hide my laptop screen from his sharp eyes. Ravn stood a few feet away from me, his dark hair dripping wet from the rain. His black trench coat leaving pools of water around his boots.

"You say that, but you seem to enjoy chasing me." I reply, trying to keep my tone even. I slowly reach my hands behind my back to find the USB with the cure downloaded on it, pressing it firmly against my palm for safety.

Ravn's eyes flicker to my hands that were behind my back, his eyes taking on a cautious look. "You just can't give up on that cure, can you?"

"Someone has to keep trying."

Ravn chuckles, stepping closer to me. Making my muscles tense. "Give me the USB, sweetheart." He says dryly, extending his palm towards me.

I stare at him, how could he know?

"I'm not stupid." Ravn says, as if reading my thoughts. "I know you found the cure. Please, give it to me."

"Why is it so bad that you could all go back to your normal lives?" I ask, my voice pleading as I slide my way down the counter as Ravn comes closer.

"Because some of us have nothing to return to." Ravn answers calmly. "You would be taking away the one thing people feel they can control since they inherited their powers."

"You don't use your powers for anything good though." I argue.

"That's not true and you know it." Ravn replies. "We aren't all like that. Even if you gave the cure to some of us there would be others who would refuse to take it and would continue to wreak havoc. You take away the good people with powers you're left with the bad and you won't be able to defeat them."

I pause, that thought never having occurred to me since I took over my fathers work. The population of people with special powers had grown. 40% of the worlds population had citizens with some kind of power these past three years.

"The cure." Ravn says again, extending his hand out to me once again.

I stare at his hand, the hand that once held his soulmate mark, just like my wrist once did. Despite all he said, I still held onto the USB tighter and turned and ran from him. I knew how stupid of a move it was, it was pointless when Ravn could strip away human senses. But I still ran, and I almost got to the door when my vision disappeared, immersing me in blackness. Making me fall to my knees, the USB still clutched in my hand.

I feel Ravn's hands encase my waist, picking me up off the tile floor and taking me to the closest counter to let me lean against it. My vision a milky white.

"You know running from me does no good." His voice sounding as if he were a bit hurt by my actions.

"This cure is all I have." I choke out, still clutching the USB in my palm. My hands trembling.

Ravn seems to freeze, his breath fanning across my cheeks that were starting to streak with tears. "This cure is all I've known since my fathers death." I gush, unable to stop the words from tumbling out. My mother having completely shut down since my fathers death. Her attitude cold and isolated from me.

"It's all I have."

Ravn touches my eyes, wiping the tears away but also giving me my vision back. I'm alarmed by how close he stands to me, our eyes locked. His brown eyes hold a sadness to them I had never seen before. A sort of sympathy that had faded from people's eyes long ago when it came to me.

"It's not all you have." He whispers. "It never has been."

I stare up at him, words freezing in my throat. Before I can form a response, his lips press against mine. His hands cupping my face. I suck in a breath in shock, but soon my eyes close and my arms snake around his neck, pulling him closer to me. A sense of completeness washing over me.

Ravn slides his hands down to my ribs, picking my up and setting me on the counter. His body between my legs, his hands going to my thighs as he grips them firmly. I feel my fingers uncurl their grip on the USB, it clatters to the floor. My fingers weaving through Ravn's hair instead. His lips tugging at mine in a sort of desperation, both of us craving each other after being deprived for years.

The cure fades into an obsession that melts into my past, something I had chased thinking it was all I had. When my life had the chance to start over with Ravn and actually do something to help others. He had known something all this time that I never had. We were on the same side, I just wasn't willing to accept it. My senses blinded. And it took him to uncover them.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Sunrise (Dean/Cas coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, 1.7k)

(ao3 link)

Dean and Sam were free. Finally, unequivocally, free.

But this wasn't the happy ending Dean had expected. Maybe in the past, having Sam in the passenger seat tearing across an open stretch of highway as the sunsets, it'd be what he wanted. But that was years ago. He's not that man anymore. Dean's tired of sunsets, of saying goodbye. He yearns for a different ending. One that's less of an ending, and more of a beginning. A sunrise instead of a sunset.

Sam has his. Dean lost his. Despite this setback, he won't stop. He'll live in memory of his sunrise.

Except, what can he do when he feels those rays on his face again?

           Early morning sunlight streams through half-closed motel window blinds, striking Dean directly on his face. Stir him from unconsciousness, shuffling Dean out of his dreams. Warm blue and familiar stubble replaced with an ugly, orange patterned wallpaper that makes his stomach unhappily flip. Groaning, he turns. Hopes he can reclaim his quickly fading fantasy. It escapes his grasp, Dean left in the loneliness of reality.

           Truly. He checks Sam’s bed, finding it unoccupied. “Figures…”

           They crossed paths with Eileen coincidentally. Not like Sam’s pointed questions and giant thumbs hid his intentions. Even his terrible acting (“Eileen? What are the odds of you being here?”) couldn’t throw him off. Dean played along, however, letting them think he was in the dark. Knew exactly why his brother and his brother’s girlfriend hadn’t told Dean about this. Salt only hurts a wound that’s fresh and open. While badly healed, Dean’s grown numb to that missing chunk of his heart. More pained that his sadness made his loved ones go behind his back, act in guilt.

           Sam and Eileen don’t deserve shadows because of his pain.

           Which is why he’s happy for them. Left the bar so they can chat without his presence. Catch up, let Sam tell her about those kitschy tourist traps they’ve been hopping between since Chuck’s defeat. Show pictures of Dean in an upside-down house, Sam’s head peeking out from corn fields. Hold hands. Sit on the same side of the booth. Kiss, without worrying if Dean is steadily killing his liver at the bar because of them.

           Drinking lost its flavor anyhow.

           Free from Chuck’s influences, Dean decided he might cut a few more strings. Namely beer. He’ll enjoy a bottle every now and then but, reflecting on it, booze never offered comfort he really needed. Only aggravated a different sort of hurt, distracting him for a while. He abandoned those distractions. Instead of asking their bartender from last night, with his tanned skin and wavy, blond hair, for whiskey, neat, until he dropped, Dean stood from their table and paid his tab. Carried his longing out the exit, drove with it, laid down in his bed and held it close. Hugged it, imagining his arms. Praise whispered in his ear, about choosing a different way. A better way. A healthier way.

           Cas would be proud of him. Prouder than he already is. And Dean… felt the same.

           Rising, Dean stretches. Winces as a new disc pops and cracks in his back, “Motels ain’t what they used to be…” He throws his legs over the side, scrunching his toes in the shag carpet. Smiling, “But at least some things’ll never change…”

           It’s going to be a slow morning. Dean doubts Sam will swing by before noon, meaning he has hours to kill. First, he leisurely showers. Scrubs at his scalp with gentle scratches, humming Zeppelin under his breath. Keening ‘A Whole Lotta Love’s chorus, coming into his hand. Lets that melody fade while water makes his come sluice off his hand, into the drain. He switches tracks, dries himself while softly singing ‘Going to California’. Thinks about their next destination. All those beaches he and Sam plan on visiting. Finally making good on their promise.

           Not how he always envisioned it, but…

           Dean drapes the towel around his neck, staring at his reflection. Marks new wrinkles he hadn’t noticed, gray hairs where dirty blond were. Sees how small his eyebags shrank.

           Sleeping was surprisingly easy. Some days Dean wished it weren’t. Others, it’s his only chance at being with him again.

           “Nope,” he says, leaving the bathroom. Jumping out from the mirror. “Not going there… not this early…”

           He bides his time dressing, debating where he should get breakfast. Wonders if a diner they passed entering town might serve pie as he hops into his jeans. Waffles between a t-shirt or purple-and-blue plaid while rubbing deodorant on. Then, tugging his tee’s thin fabric over his head, he decides he isn’t that hungry. Can eat later, Sam driving so he can attack snacks he squirrelled away when they last stopped for gas.

           Knock Knock Knock

           “Sam?” Dean asks, glancing at the door. No one answers. “Sam is that you? You forget your keys or…” He checks his phone. Nothing.

           Knock Knock Knock

           “Sam, if that’s you – this isn’t funny.” He grabs for his socks, sitting on the end of his bed. “Pulling a poor joke on your brother, leaving your girlfriend alone in bed… shame on you.”

           Knock Knock Knock

           Dean squeezes his socks, glaring at the door. His irritation fades, weirdly, the longer he stares. Replaced with a different feeling, comforting. Without needing to, Dean guesses it’s not Sam on that other side. Tossing his socks, Dean stands and slowly inches forward. Drawn by gravity, a name perched atop his tongue. Waiting there, scared of being spoken. Of being wrong. He doesn’t feel wrong.

           Is this still a dream, he asks himself. Did I actually wake up? Dean waits, hovering near the doorknob. Remembers rushing last time, what waited there then. What he almost threw himself onto. Cycles through who might be waiting now. Something worse, a more terrifying monster. Or maybe mundane, like the motel manager. He’ll never know if he drags it out. Whether that’s motivation or warning, Dean can’t decide. What he does choose is flinging open that door and facing whoever was there.

           “Hello, Dean.”

           “Cas -?” Dean gasps, knees buckling. Laughing, he leans his weight on the door. Grins wide enough his cheeks must splinter, twin tracks of tears already spilled over. “Cas, is that…” He coughs, wiping at his mouth. “Is that really you?”

           Like nothing happened, Cas crosses the threshold. Dressed spectacularly… normal. Trench coat, suit jacket, and white button-down paired with his crooked blue tie. Dean’s hand drifts close but can’t touch. Not yet. “It is me,” he tells Dean, “you… probably have a lot of questions. About why I’m here, and – and what was said when the Empty…”

           Of course, there are questions. None were as important as Dean snatching Cas’s tie, dragging him into a heated embrace. “Later,” he promises, closing the door. Guiding Cas onto his bed. Falling, his angel’s body collapsing atop his. Weight proving further and further how real this is.

           He’s back!

           “I can’t believe…” Dean kisses along Cas’s neck, threading his fingers through hairs resting at his angel’s nape. Feeds a fire burning across his body, flames roaring with a desire for more. “Can’t believe I could be this lucky…”

           Cas chuckles, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

           “Never to us.” Pausing, Dean tears his eyes from the dip of Cas’s collarbone and to his face. “I searched, Cas. I did. Back when it was me, and Sam, and Jack, I did everything I could but I… there wasn’t any lore. Nothing about contacting the Empty, breaking through I – how?”

           Shifting, Cas rolls off Dean and onto his side. No sooner than it started, those flames eating at Dean’s insides tempered. Became a more manageable heat, containable. Dean tucked himself against Cas’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. Awed from that simple rhythm it gives. Lulls Dean with a gentle song. “Jack,” Cas explains. Rubs Dean’s shoulder, along where his handprint was. Teased the edges of his tee, part of his memorial tattoo revealed. Cas traces his palm outline. “In fixing Chuck’s mistakes, he… he mounted a rescue mission from Heaven.”

           “For you?”

           “For everyone.” Cas kisses Dean’s crown, continuing his story. Whispers it into his head. “All the angels. Jack rescued us all.”

           “Everyone?” Dean asks, “Meaning… Michael? Gabriel?”

           “Uriel, Balthazar, Anna, Hannah, Metatron – even Lucifer.”

           “What the hell?”

           “He was fixing what Chuck wasted. Saved Heaven,” he says, “Gave everyone a second chance, to do right by humanity. Be its guardians like we were supposed to be. And…” Cas lays his hand where it belongs, Dean shivering from contact. Wraps his arms tighter around his angel’s waist. “Jack offered me all my powers back, and then some. Said I could be his archangel… second-in-command, in all of Heaven.”

           Dean lifts his head, frowning. Studies Cas with a suspicious wrinkle creasing his brow. He deflates somewhat, disappointment rocking into him like heavy waves. Routine. Expected, since Cas was exactly where he wanted. But then, isn’t that answer enough? Dean asks regardless. “Did you take it?”

           “I thanked him for the offer,” Cas says, “however my place was elsewhere, here on Earth… with you.” His hand moves, cupping Dean’s cheek. Thumb brushes his lip. “And when our time comes, I’ll rejoin Heaven at your side.”

           Cas’s heartbeat makes sense, now. It never did that before.

           “We’ve got a long time before we croak, Cas,” Dean jokes, crawling higher up his bed. Enough that he can press their foreheads together. “You think you can handle it?”

           “I waited millennia to meet you, and then years just so I can hold you like this.” Cas closes the distance, capturing Dean’s lips. “I’m hoping our future is excruciatingly slow.”

           “Our future…” He relaxes, allowing a few more kisses before he starts again. “Y’know, I… I thought I’d never get to say that. Figured, after Jack took the reigns from Chuck, this was all we’d get and – and having everyone back was nice. But you weren’t there, and I hurt. When you died, I wanted to sit there and let myself waste away and join you. Except if I did, you’d be so angry and – that’s what’s been keeping me going. You loved me so much – and were pained whenever I was… I couldn’t do that to myself. Punishing myself wouldn’t be fair. So I thought about my future, how I can live it for those I loved. Be there… the person I’ve become, and not who I used to be. But now…”

           “Now you can be a little selfish,” Cas says. “We can be selfish.” He tickles Dean’s chin, hands roving across his body. “What should we do, for the first day of the rest of our lives?”

           Dean doesn’t dawdle. “I want to lay here,” he says, “Lay here the whole day, in your arms, telling you how much I love you.”

           “…I don’t see any problems with that.”

           Neither did Dean, which is why he suggested it. They fix themselves, first. Cas sheds most of his outer layers, leaving himself only in his boxers. Dean hurls his jeans off fast, jumping under the covers. Giddy as Cas joins him, both men facing each other. Hands joined above their sheets, Cas’s palm fitting perfectly.

           “Well?” Cas arches his brow, “How much do you love me?”

           Dean kisses him, ruining it by smiling too hard. “I love you too much, and not enough.”

[fvrxdrm]

A Million Nightmares and One Dream (Leon Kennedy x Reader)

RE2make!Leon  Warning: Smut, Dry-humping, oral sex

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Have you ever had a nightmare? One that feels real? So real that you couldn’t figure out what was reality and what was not? Well, I have. I still am, actually.

It’s been two weeks since I’ve started running away from whatever the hell those things were. Two weeks trying to survive this hellhole of a place called Raccoon City, and two weeks praying that I would wake up from this nightmare...but I’m still not awake.

It made me question if I’m even asleep or not. Maybe I’m dead? Maybe I’m in another universe? Maybe my mind’s just going crazy? The answer I don’t know and I don’t think I’m going to get that answer anytime soon.

It’s never-ending. Whenever I close my eyes and open them again, I still see the same incubus in front of me: lifeless eyes that would stare back at me, pale and cold skin that would touch me every now and then, thick red liquid that would gush out from every part of their bodies, their growls that would destroy the eerie silence of the cold, dark night, their teeth digging into another person’s flesh as they mindlessly enjoy their gruesome meal, puddles and marks of blood that were scattered and smeared all over the city, the growing flames from vehicles that were crashed in every structure and fellow car, and the lack of light that made it a tad bit difficult to move around without being grabbed by any of those undead.

This had to be a nightmare, right? I had to be asleep. This isn’t possible...or is it?

It was hard running around, desperate to save my own life that’s at stake with barely anything to defend myself with. But despite that, there was this one thing, a person, perhaps, that came out of nowhere, just like those hellish monsters just roaming around, finding their next dinner, except this person wasn’t someone I was scared of, I was in love with him.

Leon Scott Kennedy, a rookie cop who was supposed to start his first day a week ago. He got a call from the police station to stay away from the city but his curiosity got the better of him and that curiosity got him involved in this nightmare.

During that shit-show we were in, we had been chased around by a fucking giant in a trench coat and fedora, met a woman who broke my heart by kissing the man I’ve caught feelings for and then betrayed us, almost got killed by a beast with a huge-ass eye on its right arm, and then we escaped the city using a train together with a little girl named Sherry and a college gal named Claire.

We found ourselves inside two hotel rooms with Claire and Sherry sharing one and Leon and I sharing the other. It felt kind of weird to me for some reason. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have feelings for and we’re literally in the same room. With one bed. We’re going to be sleeping next to each other!

Calm down, Y/N. You’re just going to sleep, nothing else.

It’s just...it doesn’t help that I’m in a tank top and underwear only with no pants or bra on while Leon was wearing a sweatpants with no shirt on and just went commando.

Get your shit together, Y/N! Tomorrow you’ll have a new set of clothes.

“Y/N?” Leon called mumbled my name beside me in a sleepy voice.

It’s been an hour I think since we got in bed and Leon immediately fell asleep in exhaustion as soon as his body flopped on the soft mattress while I didn’t...I couldn’t for some reason even though I’m very tired myself.

I turned my head around to look at the young man beside me who propped himself up before laying his upper body on my chest.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered in my ear, his hot breath fanning against my skin causing shivers to run down my spine and the little hairs on my neck to stand up. I let out a shaky sigh.

“Nothing. Just thinking”, I managed to breathe out after a few seconds of thinking about my response.

“About?”

You?

“Nothing you should be concerned about”, Leon lifted his head up and looked down at me with his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Now I’m more concerned”

“Leon”

“Y/N”, My E/C orbs began staring at his blue ones with the same intensity as the man on top of me, keeping myself from averting my gaze towards his plump lips that looked so soft.

Ada got lucky, huh?

Alas, my brain couldn’t take it anymore and just commanded my optics to shift my gaze towards his lips that were being moisturized by his saliva-covered tongue. I continued to stare at it for a few more seconds, admiring the art that I don’t know if I would be seeing again in front of me, before looking at Leon’s eyes again. They were half-lidded now, his orbs now focused on my own parted lips, just like what I did before.

Is he copying me?

Slowly, he began leaning down, his eyes still fixated on my mouth that began releasing more and more air as his head lowered itself more. My heartbeat was raising each millisecond and his hot breath was tickling my face.

Closer and closer...and then...

Our lips touched. It was like what I expected it to be: smooth and soft like a baby’s butt.

My hand found its way towards the nape of his neck before pulling him closer as I was enjoying the feeling of his lips moving against mine, his tongue dancing with my own in a smooth tango, and the sound of what we were doing bouncing off the walls surrounding us.

All of the horrors that’s been glued to our heads were gone in that moment. Vanished. Now we were in a dream, a dream we never wanted to escape from. A dream we wished was forever. But that’s impossible, just like how a nightmare always ends, and that’s why we made this dream the best we’ve ever had so far.

Leon pulled away and spread my legs before making himself comfortable in between them, his warms hands still planted on my knees.

“Is it okay if I do this?” Leon rolled his hips against mine, his cock that was covered by the slightly thick fabric of his sweatpants gliding smoothly against my my thin fabric-covered clit, the pleasing sensation causing me to close my eyes and bite my lip as a small gasp left my mouth. I nodded my head a few times until I heard Leon chuckle above me and roll his hips against mine again.

Leon leaned down again, not stopping his hip movements, before his lips flattened against my neck, lightly pressing kisses on every patch of skin that was exposed to him while my hands found its way on the back of his neck once more, this time, my fingers combed through his soft blonde hair and my hand lightly balled itself into a fist as his movements became faster and faster, causing a loud creaking sound to resonate throughout the small room as the bed below us began moving with Leon.

Leon groaned from above me, his lust-filled voice muffled by my skin as he proceeded to leave some love bites on my neck.

“I’m close, Y/N”

As soon as he said that, his actions grew quicker than before, his desperation to come undone flooding his head as he did so. 

The pleased sounds coming from our mouths increased their volume with us not caring if there were other people hearing us from the other side of these thin walls. Leon’s groans became animalistic growls and my pitch became higher. My grip on Leon’s locks became tighter which only added to the hedonism he felt, the bittersweet sensation causing him to come fast and hard, his white fluids staining his grey pants.

When he noticed that I hadn’t come yet, he lowered himself down to where his head was peaking through the valley between my legs before looking at me softly.

“May I?”

I nodded my head as I bit my bottom lip that was bruise with all the kissing and biting we were doing, the anticipation rising as my thoughts scrambled inside my head, knowing what was bound to happen next.

Leon placed a sole kiss on the skin just above the brim of my underwear, his eyes still trained on me, before letting his teeth pin the thin cotton fabric between them and winked at me as he began sliding the material down my legs in an antagonizing pace.

“Leon”, I whispered sensually and hungrily, my tone reflecting on the need I was feeling.

Once the nether garments were off and were thrown out of the way, Leon shifted his focus towards the glistening wet lips just below my hips, his eyes slightly widened as he saw how wet I was but his astonished and amused look soon changed into something more lustful and concupiscent, his once blue orbs that were now mostly covered black indicating his own hunger.

The tip of his tongue finally touched my sensitive nub, my body jolting a little bit at the sudden action but nevertheless, it felt good, great even. He licked a long stripe from the bottom up until the tumescent pearl that’s been begging to be touched by the man between my legs.

My fingers found their way through Leon’s hair again, tugging it more and more as the sexual gratification grew more and more intense the closer I got to my high.

“Leon”

And now, it’s been nineteen years since that incident. Leon and I thought after escaping that hellhole that that was the end of it but nope. The government forced us to work for the USSTRATCOM and then after a few more years the new president recruited us to the new organization he found called the DSO and we’ve been sent to missions after missions involving B.O.W.s and the like.

The only good thing that happened throughout the years of fighting this bullshit was Leon and I got married! He proposed to me after finishing our mission in the Eastern Slav Republic and eventually got married a year later. Crazy, right? We didn’t have a kid though as we would only put him/her in danger but sex was still there, only had to take my pills regularly AND we actually adopted Sherry after getting out of Raccoon so that’s a plus.

“Hey, Chris!” Leon called the BSAA Silver Daggers’ captain’s name and watched as he turned his head around to face him.

“Yeah?”

“How long can we keep going on like this?”

“I don’t know. I never make plans that far ahead”, Chris replied as a soft smile tugged on his lips.

Leon just chuckled in response before looking at me and taking my hand, his fingers lacing with mine as he did so.

Yep. A million nightmares and one dream.

[heyitmelexie]

Hey 🥺 could you do Proposal and Gift Giving for the dec. writing challenge please? with Max Lord 🥺🥺🥺 — and tag me in it too! if they’re not already taken, ofcourse. thank youuuu 🤍✨

Proposal

Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader

Word count: 2336 Warnings: soft!Maxwell Rating: General audiences

A/N: I know I’m a bit late, but at the moment I’m kind of struggling to keep up. Sorry!

Day 10 for the December Writing Challenge by @honeymandos! ❤️

I’ve had quite the struggle writing for Maxwell. He’s a more complex character than I expected. That and my brain refusing to work properly... Yeah. I hope you still like it ❤️ 

 I’m not describing the outfit that reader wears, because that’s all your choice to make! I know from personal experience that I often don’t like the outfits described or shown in reader insert works, so I’ll let you all think about what you’d wear!

I absolutely love calling him Maxie tbh haha

(It’s December in here)  ❤️

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

“Come on, baby, hurry. Why are you always taking so long?” You hear Maxwell groan from your bedroom next door, while you are getting ready in your dressing room.

Today is yours and Max’ third anniversary and of course he wants to take you out. Weird was just that he said you should dress a bit more comfortably and warm. Not fancy as usual, dressed head to toe in clothes worth more than a small car.

No, tonight he wants you casual and cosy. And you aren’t complaining, he looks magnificent in his crème-coloured woollen sweater with simple dark jeans and comfortable sneakers.

“Almost done, Maxie!” you call back, checking yourself in the mirror to see if everything is the way you want it to be.

Satisfied with your choice of clothing, you walk back into the bedroom where he stands in front of the bed, arms crossed over his chest.

As soon as he takes a look at you, his features soften and he gives you a gentle smile, the smile only you are allowed to see and it makes your knees weak. He hums in approval and pulls you flush against his chest, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

“You look absolutely gorgeous.” His rasp sends a shiver down your spine and heat creeps up your face. He grins at you and gives your bum a soft pat before taking your hand to lead you downstairs.

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?” you ask him, reaching for your coat. He gently swats your hand away and takes the coat before helping you into it.

“Nope. It’s a surprise” he answers before putting on his trench coat and then his silk scarf. You pout and put on your own scarf. He just chuckles at that.

“Come on, baby, we’re already late.”

You both go outside and get into the car. Maxwell gets into the driver’s seat, which seems a bit weird to you because he doesn’t often drive himself. But you get into the passenger’s seat anyway and a moment later he starts to drive.

*

You had met Maxwell about four years ago. He chose you as his new personal assistant, deeming you the perfect choice after reading your application.

This new job brought you good money, which you really needed, and working for Maxwell was not as bad as everyone else around you were saying.

Maxwell treated you quite well. He was polite towards you, regularly assuring you that you were doing a good job for him and these subtle praises were doing quite the things to you, honestly. You noticed his occasional flirting which left you flustered and flattered. But it was not the pushy flirting other employees had told you about, no, it was subtle and… gentle in a way. Shy. As if he was afraid to scare you away.

You had seen him snap and scream at other employees when they made just the tiniest mistakes, which made you wonder why he was so different with you. But although he was nice to you, you were still afraid to overstep your boundaries, so you held back that question.

One evening you were staying with him in his office until way after 11pm again, helping him with some of the tasks he had to finish. When he looked at his clock and saw how late it was, he had told you to go home and get some sleep, he would finish the rest alone.

“It’s fine, Maxwell” he had offered you to just call him by his name instead of Mr. Lord or Sir a few months into working for him. “We’ll finish this quicker together, you need to sleep as well. Come on, just pull through and we can both go home.” You smile at him and he just huffs, but smiles as well and continues.

“Can’t believe I got so lucky with you. I’d be long lost without you by now” he had said. His praise made your heart beat faster and your smile grew wider.

You worked in comfortable silence for another hour. Once all the tasks were finished, the two of you quickly tidied up the desk and then made your way to the elevator together.

“Let me drive you home. Well, let my chauffeur drive you home. It’s late and I don’t want you to wander around the city all on your own” he said as you stepped into the elevator. He had brought you home before and you always felt more comfortable with him than when you were going home alone. So you accepted, grateful that he offered to drive you (or, well, his chauffeur to drive you). You didn’t want to bother him, so you never asked yourself if he would take you home. You always waited for him to offer it himself.

During the drive to your apartment building, you two made comfortable conversation. Upon arriving, you went to get out of the car, but he gently stopped you by putting a hand on your arm.

“This might be a bit sudden, but can I take you on a date? Tomorrow night maybe?”

You look at him, eyes wide, blinking rapidly. You tried to process what he had just asked you.

Maxwell Lord asked you to go out with him? This must be a dream.

“I uh… I mean, I, yeah why not” you say, still not quite believing he actually asked you out. He flashes you a bright smile that makes your knees wobble, grateful you were still sitting down.

“Perfect, I’ll pick you up at 7pm” he said before taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

You muster up a shy smile before exiting the car and walking to your door, grinning like an idiot.

That first date had been wonderful. He had taken you to a fancy, but not high-class restaurant, knowing you wouldn’t feel comfortable. You had told him that once and were surprised to notice he remembered it.

The two of you ate and talked about anything that came to your minds. Your childhoods, how school was for you, college/university, what your dreams were when you were younger. Even about tiny little things like favourite songs, favourite colours, what sort of ice cream you liked the most. It was pleasant and comfortable, you hadn’t wanted the night to end.

When you were back in the street you lived, he got out of the car and stepped around it to open the door for you. He had never done it before and it made your heart stutter for a moment.

Maxwell walked you to your door and when you turned around to say goodnight he just pulled you towards him and kissed you so gently you had to hold onto him, fearing your knees would give out under you. It left your stomach vibrating with the force of thousands of butterflies fluttering in it and your body covered in goosebumps.

After you said goodnight and closed the door behind you, you leaned your back against it and just smiled to yourself, feeling happier than never before.

You proceeded to go out regularly, at least once a week and after the fifth date Maxwell had asked you to be his. And you had happily accepted, loving every second you spent with him and always feeling like a literal deity in his presence.

*

He holds your hand in his during the entire car ride. It’s still light outside but the sun slowly starts to set. Soft snow is falling from the sky in big flakes, covering the roofs of the houses you pass.

You had left New York, wondering where he would take you tonight.

After another 30 minutes he pulls up in front of a small cabin in a little village, a thick layer of snow covering the floor and the roof. You look at him in confusion but he just smiles and gets out of the car, coming around to open the door for you.

You take his hand and step out of the car. He then takes a little suitcase from the backseats which you hadn’t noticed before.

“When did you pack that?” He doesn’t answer and just grins, taking your hand to pull you into the little cabin.

The cabin is cosy. It has a big fireplace with a big couch and a fluffy carpet in front of it. The open kitchen is small but rather modern and a little staircase leads you upstairs to the small bedroom and bathroom. You instantly feel comfortable and smile at him, practically glowing while he attempts to light a fire.

After a few minutes the flames are finally appearing and slowly growing, covering the room in a soft, orange glow.

Maxwell then gently pushes you towards the sofa where you sit and he bends to take off your shoes. You smile at him, gently kissing his forehead.

“You’re so soft tonight, Maxie” you hum, gently caressing his cheek. He turns his head and kisses your palm before making his way into the kitchen to start cooking something.

You didn’t even know he could cook. So you sit there, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly agape, watching him cook something that, after a little while, smells absolutely fantastic.

What was he planning? He had never cooked for you before.

“Maxie that smells wonderful. Why have you never cooked for us before?” you say, smiling at him when he turns his head to look at you. He just winks and continues to prepare the food, chuckling softly.

“I usually let others cook for us so I can have you in my arms every second or just so I can look at you all the time. But tonight I wanted to be completely alone with you and cook something nice myself. If you’d like it I can cook more often, love.” You hum and nod.

“I’d love that, Maxie.”

You just watch him while he works, admiring the way his back flexes sometimes.

After dinner, the two of you lay on the carpet in front of the fireplace, limbs tangled together. Maxwell gently caresses your arms. It���s peaceful.

“You know… I wanted to ask you something tonight” he says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You look up at him and smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Why so mysterious tonight? You always just ask me when you have a question, baby. What’s wrong?”

His thumb gently strokes over your knuckle and he seems to think about his words.

“Nothing is wrong, darling. I just…” He seemed nervous.

Maxwell Lord, nervous? That worried you.

“Maxie, what-“ you start, but he puts a finger to your lips and gently stops you.

“You know I’m not good with expressing how I feel, verbally.” You nod at that, knowing he is more confident in showing you how he feels.

“But I want to try. For you” he says, a soft blush appearing on his cheeks. You gently squeeze his hand in assurance and wait for him to continue.

“The past almost for years with you and three years of our relationship have been… wonderful. I realized you were the part in my life that was missing. And you complete me, you filled that gap and suddenly it was all… good.” He blinked, trying his hardest to not mess this up.

“I love you like I’ve never loved anyone before and that fills me with… pride. I’m proud that I can make you feel good and wanted and loved. I never thought loving would be easy but with you it’s like I’ve never done anything else.”

That brings tears to your eyes and his free hand gently cups your jaw.

“Maxie…” He softly shushes you, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“I can’t imagine a life with you anymore. I’d rather die than lose you and I know I could never love anyone like I love you.” He moves to take something out of his back pocket and when he holds it in his open palm you can see a little black velvet box. Your eyes grow wide and a gasp escapes your lips.

“You deserve an hour-long speech where I tell you how much I love you but there aren’t any words that can actually describe my love for you. You’re the most precious thing in my life and I will set the world on fire if anything ever happens to you.” He opens the box and it reveals the most beautiful ring you have ever seen.

“I want you to be mine forever. I want to love you until death tears us apart and I want to continue loving you even after. That is, if you’ll have me. So… do you want to marry me?” He looks at you, puppy eyes, nervous you could reject him.

But how could you ever say no to marrying the love of your life?

You could never.

“Maxie, how is that even a question. Of course!” Tears are streaming down your face but you flash him the biggest smile and he immediately relaxes, a big smile forming on his face as well.

“Fuck, I thought for a moment you’d say now…” You laugh and gently swat his chest.

“Idiot. I love you, Max. I could never say no to marrying you. You’re the love of my life” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiles at you and takes the ring out of the box. You hold out your hand for him and he slips the ring onto your finger. It fits perfectly.

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, putting all your feelings into it and just showing him this way how much you love him.

He hums lowly and wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you into him.

This is the first step into forever with Maxwell. And you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

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

Hope you enjoyed! ❤️

@absurdthirst @tangledlove27

[katsukisbeatingheart]

and far away

Where two points meet in the wrong place, and second chances are inevitable.

word count: 3,090

warnings: angst, mentions of death, but it ends fluffy (and dramatic), i promise

ao3

a/n: aright this was the first soulmate au i wrote and look at it not being the first i post, comin atcha live from the wake of deadline after deadline.

Anyway. i don’t even know what kinda soulmate au this is i just sorta threw it up bc i had a dream abt this and i couldn’t get it out of my head and i had to rework it until i got it right.

thank u.

shinso

dabi

sero

You know that weird feeling you get, hearing about a piece of your little big world disappearing—how maybe you took it for granted, because it was inconsequential to your immediate life, yet it was still always just there?

Things you never thought about, but they’re gone and they’ve left behind an incalculable, gaping hollow.

You take notice, and your life changes forever.

That one flower shop you would pass by on your way to work in the morning burned down last week. You’d never considered stepping foot in to it once and yet the lingering aroma of hydrangea, bishop’s lace, and caspia melded with smoke reminds you harrowingly of the crisped possibility of something beautiful growing.

The statue sitting obscurely just at the edges of town—the one you’d see very briefly through the train car windows as it blurred into distance and hapless memory—the lightrail broke down in front of it one time, you could see it had garish red spray paint at the base—toppled over a few nights ago. You must have seen and missed it a hundred times and now it would never stand tall again.

Or, a person.

The hero surging up the ranks, commanding noise and shaking the earth with a violently righteous heart and power of will—had died last night.

He won to save.

For the first and last time, he lost to save.

You'd have expected sadness, of course—after all, he was a hero—and a person.

That empathetic sense of loss was inevitable, no matter who it could be.

But a piece of you had been broken in that moment.

You woke in a cold sweat, heart hammering in your ribcage, cheeks soaked under silent tears a thunderstorm couldn’t feel coming. The grief outweighed the confusion.

Recollections of a smoky scene billowed in and out of your consciousness, the rumbling and rubble in fresh vibrations on your skin. Though when you tried to remember—when you tried vehemently to clutch at the broken pieces—your head throbbed with an unknown ache.

It was like trying to recall memories from a life that wasn’t yours.

You were listless in your haze to the kitchen, pulling down a glass to fill with water. The coolness slipped down your throat to satiate flames you didn’t ignite.

By some spell only the universe and the promise mark branded across your heart of hearts knew, you clicked the television on through cold fingers. You can’t say that you remember fishing around the couch cushions for the remote, and you clutched to it like it was the only physical thing available. A flimsy, breakable anchor and a key to your undoing. The buttons stilled and your expression grew stony upon the red headline glaring through the room at 2:14 a.m.

The glass slipped from your fingers and you fell to your knees in the fractures.

The explosion you knew ended it all echoed in your ears, its knell a salient cackle without a voice, and existence a weightless pressure on your chest and head—places he’d have to wait to kiss for another lifetime.

You’d never focused on soulmates, the mere idea of one a luxury you could not afford.

And now a cruel, implacable taunt you could not bear.

Yours was miles away, apparently, and even before this moment you were more than a little skeptical about the idea of them. You’d heard the stories—promises from and to the universe conquering distance and time.

And love.

Love so overwhelmingly pure it stretches across ages your world just didn’t have.

To you, it seemed merciless—doomed to tie with souls you could miss in more than a few incarnations. Maybe some had multiple soulmates, you’d thought. You couldn’t be sure you were one of those people—if that was at all possible—but then again you weren’t sure how to tell.

All you knew, was right then and there, you at least had one.

It killed you knowing it took losing something you never even knew you had, to want it so, so desperately bad.

The truth curled at your throat venomously, asphyxiating a slow and decadent anguish incomparable to anything you’d ever felt before. Rip a limb, a lung, all limbs, both lungs—pull your heart right through the skin of your chest in a spiked, poisonous vice; nothing could destroy you more than this.

He was gone, and you were certain it was the kind of gone you would feel the next life over.

You barely had any strength in you to curse the stars swimming in your vision; barely any will to pray for a tear in existence—a loophole to bring him back.

Another chance.

Dilapidated and barren, you had spread out over the broken glass, impervious to what can only dream of harming you.

•.•.•.•.•.•.

The crowd swirled around you, passing faces and brushing shoulders with hardly an 'excuse me', or ‘coming through'.

One particularly harsh shoulder check sent you back a step, and you whirled to get a better view at who had crashed into you.

A man in a red turtleneck, donning a tan trench coat and a frustrated growl checked his wristwatch, before looking back up to you with kindling in his eyes. They were sharp, even as he glanced down at you rather indifferently, eyebrows pulled into a harsher expression than expected for someone who had been so kind as to gratingly remind you of your place in the crowd. Just another bit of space to skirt around into the next person, most likely.

Suddenly he relaxes, eyebrows raising up the slightest.

“Hello there, stranger.”

Your heart leaps to your throat and the tears flow—an unknown relief flooding through and you feel grief from another lifetime dissipate. You launch as best as you can into his arms, and he gathers you into palms that smell like caramel and sugar and ink and brass—in a hold that makes you feel safe.

And very warm.

You feel his hands at the top of your head and pressed into your back. They're big and steady, something you hadn’t realized you needed until they were on you.

It was as if all your life you had woven insipidly day to day on a tumultuous mundanity cracking at your feet.

And now with the hand that guided you into every curve and fold of the blazing man at your fingertips were you unshakable.

You blink and the fire flickers behind his eyes. He’s staring at you intensely—as though he’d silently asked you a question only you knew the answer to. Like it would disappear from existence if he were to look away now.

That much was probably true, as his skin paled to cumbersome bewilderment and an uncertainty to make a willow tree quiver. He had frozen, as if he could see the universe unwinding on your face.

Your voice echoed a hollow “I’m sorry”, and the crowd separated you like the tide pulling from the shoreline.

•.•.•.

You didn’t know what the sea did with the waves once they took them from the coast, but you did know that aching familiar feeling of impermanence. How an undercurrent can feel like a lifetime, and yet no amount of splashing can save a riptide. Not from brevity or grief in the same short breath.

It was still that recognizable body of water. The jolt of a new ripple in a single spot designing the whole thing entirely different, even if just for that one spot. That one moment.

A lot of it was in chance, you figured; chance that was so somberly beautiful in it’s immanence and what ifs.

Work swept you by with a complicated ease. You recall people communicating to you—you just don’t remember what they had said. Or needed. Or asked. Or pleaded. Behind calls of a name that sounded nothing like yours, yet you for some reason still answered to. Your attention fixated on the improbable, and you lived your day in a vacuum. You’d been shaken up so bad and filled by so much longing that by the end of it, you couldn’t tell your own headache from the strain of the city around you.

Your step from the platform onto the train car was cement, but you willed yourself forward for the certainty of routine and familiarity in the wake of tomorrow. The presence of other people around you was vague, and you thought to yourself how you would rather be anywhere else in the world than right there.

When the doors sliding closed behind you sounded a little too final—like the angry clank of a set of iron bars—you jerked your chin up, and leapt forward to press your fingertips to the glass.

On the other side, was the man with red eyes. His blonde hair bristled, almost as if he’d felt what you were feeling. Electric. Scared.

The cement in your step earlier felt like a ball and chain now.

You pressed further desperately against the completely solid and completely flat surface, as though you could singlehandedly figure a way to defy all known laws of earthen physics and somehow permeate through the doors. It was like watching a tsunami form, feeling the flood come and go and the wind push against your face. The motions were slow—his gaze using an eternity to find you again for the second time in this life—and you could feel yourself beginning to drown.

His eyes meeting yours became the catalyst to your fifty-second undoing. The undertow touched your face, laced your ankles, and pulled you under with the abruptly unwelcome motion of the train.

You watched each other through the window.

There was a spark of motion—he had dropped whatever was in his hands in a hastened mess—and you both took off in different directions to the same apex.

You skipped and hurdled around people cramped like bricks, strewn about like greenbriers, and stretched about like tripwire. You weren’t sure if you were actually saying anything, but your mouth moved like it was trying to apologise as you zipped down the opposite end of the train, eyes never leaving the man quickly slipping through your fingers ag—

Again.

The word rang in your ear like the piercing peal after an eruption.

Dread filled your chest as you watched the end of the train come into view, and the man in red ran out of platform to chase after you to. He stopped and stared in absolute dismay, as the light catching on your face from behind the window faded into the darkness of the tunnel.

You, in turn, leaned against the back window, throwing your shoulders around to slide to the floor. People stared and murmured, their curious gazes and exchanges doing nothing to penetrate the frenzy lurching you back and forth.

Your breath stung—but not anymore than your eyes.

He might be back. Tomorrow. You never know what'll happen tomorrow, your heart reasoned. Lucky for it, it hadn’t realized the both of you had already broken to pieces. Your skin stung and prickled with a vengeance, as though barrages of glass were sprouting where your nerves would be.

Never seen him there before. This was probably just a one-time thing, the hollow muttered. It was a bitter thing absolutely none of you needed to hear, but you figured it was the truth. After all, what are the chances of finding one man you’d never run into before in your life, among the thousands you see every day?

Way easier to give in than to hope for this ephemeral nonsense.

You hardly recognized the echoed, tin voice bleeding through the intercom, announcing that you had arrived at your destination. You briefly wondered how a trip that had felt so achingly long had gone by so fast—especially now that you realized you weren’t where you were supposed to be.

Collecting yourself as best you could, you rolled up slowly, pulling your coat around you tighter. You cleared the platform and stepped glacially up the steps, taking a moment to fix your eyes on the sunset tearing a beautiful orange, red, and yellow across the usually blue sky. It was an inferno against the usual insipidness.

You fixated on the rolling greens surrounding the scar the city made with it’s cracked sidewalks and taunting buildings and yelling cars and angry people and empty promises and—

“Hey.”

Broken hearts weren’t supposed to beat so loudly but yours did. You spun on your heal to face him.

You choked and felt unbearably like you should leap into his arms, as though something was imploring you to.

“Hey there, stranger,” you whispered, with a meek crack on the end of your breath. You were facing the beginning of the rest of your life and all you could say was hey back.

The man in front of you seemed to get the same idea, because he moved closer, sauntering up the slope to close the small distance like he had all the time in the world. Though, part of that might have been exhaustion, and part fear that the wind would catch you and steal you away. His legs trembled and you wondered what reason dominated the better bit of that.

He stopped in front of you, his hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched in a resolved curve, the smallest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. You were certain you didn’t know him, and yet you were perfectly ready to believe that little bend in his face wasn’t a usually welcome guest. It looked so foreign on a face you weren’t supposed to have any recollection of.

His voice is like crackling and smoking tinder, deep and rich and roaring. It was getting to you in ways you never expected a sound to find.

“Don’t tell me I ran the better part of an entire city just for some shitty 'hey there'.”

You don’t think you’ll ever get over your shock and awe, but you collect your wits to square yourself against him. Your movements are sinuous as you slide forward, damn near chest to chest when you raise your face again.

“Well,” you sigh, letting a not-unkind smirk slip into your features, “looks like you’ll have to stick around longer if you want more than that.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s a matter of want, but more a matter of deserve,” he grumbles. You snort at that, mindlessly catching a loose strand of his hair between deft fingers.

“Is that so? What makes you so entitled?” you tease.

His expression falls and some kind of grief pulls his brows down.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I just feel like I’ve been missing something.”

For the first time in a while, you breathe evenly. It’s an odd feeling, but not unlike that moment of clarity you imagine tides have just before becoming a whole ocean again. Like the one you’d been dreaming of for so long.

Your raindrop fingertips find the smoothness of his skin, brushing along his cheekbones to roll down and splay across the sturdy planes of his chest. The quiet is cacophonous but you inhale gently and smile the most genuine you feel you could possibly muster.

“Hi,” you begin again, eyes sweeping the fabric of his sweater, to try and find confidence in the material. You raise your gaze to his—burning through your eyelashes—and he’s glaring at you with a quirked brow that doesn’t feel at all the threat you imagine it would be in different circumstances.

“I don’t know how to describe this, but I think… there’s this something that’s telling me I’m supposed to be with you— someway.” You glide your fingers down the curve of his arms, linking very lightly around his wrist.

“I feel like you’re someone I’ve lost a long time ago—” your fingers tangle into the cracking skin along his hands,

“—and I’m being offered this one chance to find you again.”

You measure up your hands, placing them palm to palm and he stares like they’re all he can see.

“If I don’t take it you’ll be gone for good,” you whisper in a voice so frangible.

A cheekier smirk cracks his mask from ear to ear.

“In that case, I’m definitely entitled to something, then.”

“Like what?”

Tender wouldn’t have been the first choice of words the moment you crashed into the scowling man on the street—but here he was now, cantankerousness replaced with a compassion you shouldn’t be surprised he could hold—considering you’d never met, after all.

“Your name.”

You tell him with a resounding crest in his chest and when the lightning strikes, his smile actually shows teeth that aren’t grit into a grimace. The first drop of rain spills down your face, and the man in front of you catches it with his thumb.

“Katsuki.”

It was loud, hearing that name in your ears. Like being trapped inside a clock tower—the reverb of each cog shifting and clicking into place with a harsh clang, succeeding rolling tones in succinct phrases you’d been hearing all your life.

Or rather—lives.

Your places in existence swirling in and out of mosaic focus of one another, to finally comix as clandestine breaths and fluttering of skin on skin.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Katsuki,” you smile.

[ersatzangel]

a movie script ending | 15x20 fix-it

(Wanted this on my new account. It's also on AO3)

Rated T; 1.9k

Dean holds Miracle tight when he bounds onto Dean’s bed, burying his face in warm fur. ‘Hey, boy.’ He scrubs his hand over Miracle’s head, rocking from side to side. A shadow falls in his doorway, but he ignores it, figuring it’s probably just Sam come to bitch him out for not doing the dishes properly or something. The last thing he expects is that deep, gravel voice he’d know anywhere saying, ‘Hello, Dean.’

Everything in Dean freezes and Miracle whines, nudging Dean’s chin with his wet nose. Dean can’t look up, but he has to, heart kicking back into gear and battering against his ribs like it wants out. And there, in the doorway, in that fucking trench coat, Cas is standing looking like every dream Dean’s had for days, for years. He’s back, he came back to me, is Dean’s first thought, followed by, It’s another trick, it’s not him, and I don’t get this, this isn’t my ending, and, Fuck, I missed him, and they all volley in his head, trying to get out of his mouth but what comes out is one broken syllable: ‘Cas.’ ‘It’s me, Dean.’ Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t get this. This isn’t his ending. ‘No, I…I saw—’ His throat clicks and he’s dimly aware that Miracle is licking his chin and he’s sitting on his bed in his pyjamas with his mouth hanging open, but he can’t do anything. It’s so unlike him, not to act first, think later, but he’s stuck, doesn’t want to cross the threshold between hoping this is real and finding out it’s just another cruel trick. Cas takes a step forward and Dean jerks back, even as his heart screams at him to jump off the bed and fall into Cas. The look on Cas’s face makes Dean’s stomach pitch but he can’t. And then there’s movement behind Cas and Sam steps up beside him, saying, ‘It’s really him, Dean. I did all the usual checks.’ A flicker of hope. ‘You sure?’ Sam nods. His eyes shine. ‘What? How—’ The flicker kindles into something brighter, burning, burning Dean up, but he’s still frozen. ‘I…’ Sam trails off, looking between Dean and Cas, realisation breaking over his face. Dean had never told Sam, but he always figured he didn’t need to. Seems he was right. ‘I’ll let Cas tell you,’ Sam says, and then he backs out of the room, closing the door. Silence falls, broken only by Miracle’s panting and Dean’s roaring heart. And then Cas says, ‘You got a dog,’ still standing three feet from Dean’s bed and something in Dean breaks. Laughter ripples out of him, unspooling the tension curled behind his ribs. Cas and Miracle both tilt their heads and it only makes Dean laugh more, fanning the flames in his gut in the best way possible. When the laughter finally subsides, Dean says, ‘Yeah, I got a dog.’ ‘I don’t see how that’s funny.’ Dean stands, launching himself off the bed, nearly tripping on the bedspread trailing onto the floor, barreling into Cas. He steadies himself with hands on Cas’s shoulders, fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. ‘You— I can’t believe you.’ ‘I— I’m really me.’ Cas frowns. ‘Sam checked.’ ‘That’s not—’ Dean’s gaze roams Cas’s face and, fuck, it’s only been a week but that’s too long. A day was too long. An hour was a fucking eternity. ‘Don’t you ever do that again, OK? Don’t ever leave again.’ Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me again. ‘Dean, I had to—’ Dean doesn’t let him finish, doesn’t want to hear it. Instead, he finally closes the distance between them, cupping Cas’s face in his hands, and kisses him. And kisses him and kisses him. The way he should have been doing all this time. It’s more a press of their mouths, lips just catching, more a reassurance that they’re here, this is real, but, damn, it’s good. ‘Dean,’ Cas says, when they break apart, and the way he says Dean’s name— It’s like he’s whispering some secret holy thing. Dean clears his throat. ‘You’re one dumb sonofabitch, you know that, don’t you?’ ‘What?’ ‘You can have this, Cas. I want this, too.’ Dean’s breath rattles and his blood tingles and his ears ring, but he has to say it. He can’t left it unsaid any longer. ‘I love you, too.’

Cas’s throat works. ‘You never told me.’

‘Yeah, well, I’—Dean flushes, steps back—‘I didn’t think you could, you know. Feel that way.’

Cas squints. ‘You didn’t think I could feel that way, not that I didn’t?’

‘Being an angel, I wasn’t sure if you felt things the way we do.’

For a moment, Cas looks completely heartbroken, but it gives way to something Dean knows from experience is exasperation. At Dean, or himself, Dean isn’t sure. Probably both of them. Cas shakes his head. ‘And I’m the “dumb sonofabitch”?’ He actually makes those air quotes and, fuck, Dean missed him.

Dean huffs. ‘I did try to tell you. In purgatory.’ He shrugs. ‘But then you said you heard my prayer and I lost my nerve.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘There’s a lot of that going around.’‘There is.’ Cas smiles, his small pleased smile that Dean loves. Dean loves all of Cas’s smiles.

He wants to kiss that smile, but his hunter’s instincts kick in and he asks, ‘How’d you get back? Didn’t think The Empty would want to let you go again.’ He trusts Sammy, knows this is really Cas, but it’s something he has to know.

‘It didn’t. I…I was in heaven. I helped Jack rebuild it. It’s not like it used to be—’

Dean’s stomach pitches. ‘Heaven? Wha— You— You were in heaven all this time and you only just come back now?’

Cas’s brow furrows. ‘How long was I gone?’

‘A…a week.’ Dean’s voice is small, and warmth creeps up from his neck into his face. Maybe Cas will think he’s being ridiculous and childish.

But Cas gives him a sad look and says, ‘I’m sorry, Dean. Time moves differently in heaven.’

Dean nods. His throat is tight and his eyes prickle. There’s a small whine and a wet nudge at Dean’s leg. Dean sniffles, wiping over his face. ‘Miracle,’ Dean says, ‘meet Cas. Cas, this is Miracle.’

Cas crouches, scratching between Miracle’s ears. ‘It’s good to meet you, Miracle.’ He holds out a hand.

Miracle whuffs, licking Cas’s outstretched hand, then places his paw on it.

Dean isn’t sure if Miracle was trained or of it’s just one of those Cas things, but liquid warmth rushes Dean, seeing Cas crouched on his floor, shaking hands with his dog. It’s so normal and human and everything Dean never knew he could have but wanted so so bad.

Satisfied by the exchange, Miracle bounds back to the bed, burrowing under the covers, and Cas straightens up, gaze piercing Dean.

Dean chews on his lip. ‘So. Are you going back?’

‘No. Well, not until it’s my time.’ Cas sucks in a breath. ‘I’m human, now. It was my choice. I want to be here.’

A heartbeat, a shuddering breath.

Cas adds, ‘I want to be with you.’

Dean’s hands clench and unclench at his sides. ‘Cas.’ And maybe Dean should chew Cas out for sacrificing himself, even if it’s only part of himself, for Dean again. And maybe his heart breaks a little that Cas came back to be with him, thinking Dean didn’t love him back. But he just steps forward and throws his arms around Cas and holds him tight. ‘I missed you so fucking much.’

Cas turns his face, pressing into the crook of Dean’s neck. ‘I missed you, too, Dean.’

[deans-mind-palace]

Forget me not (Pt.1)

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Summary: Cas was your guardian angel and best friend. He protected you from everything that tried to harm you as child. But a terrible accident caused you to get separated from him. Years later, you’re still determined to find your guardian angel again. What happens when you meet him under unexpected circumstances?

Word Count: 1,936

Warnings: Blood, angst

Author’s Note: Yayyyy. I am so excited to share the first part of my Cas series with you! If I plan correctly, then there’ll be four to five parts. I would be glad for some feedback. Enjoy reading. This is angsty but there’ll also be fluff and maybe smut in the next chapters.

Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

A long time ago God created a flower. But one day he forgot its name and it was very sad that God had forgotten it. So God renamed the flower Forget-me-not as a promise to never forget it again.

Castiel had been by your side since you could remember. He was assigned to you as guardian angel shortly after your birth. It meant he would keep you safe from all harm, never leave your side. Even if you couldn't always see him, you always felt his presence in your close proximity.

Castiel was your best friend.Your parents dismissed your stories about the angel with the bright blue eyes who was always with you when you slept, played or ate, as a child's fantasy, but you knew he was real.  Whenever you were alone, he would show himself and have tea parties with you and your dolls or read you fairy tales to help you fall asleep. Today it is hard to imagine that the angel could build such an intimate bond with a person, but you were different. Exceptions have always confirmed the rules, haven't they?

Actually Castiel was overqualified for the job of a guardian angel, but when God told him to watch over you and guard your every step, he obeyed because he knew that God had a plan. You had a great destiny resting on your shoulders. When the time was right, you would arrive. If the Almighty wanted Castiel to watch over this child, he would do so without question. Maybe he should have. Should have asked questions. But everything was different then.

Castiel was your best friend because you could always count on him. If you called out to him in the night because you were afraid of a nightmare, he would appear right before you. His presence was announced by the rustling of feathers. While your cheeks were still wet with tears, he would scoop you up and carry you to bed. There he would stay with you until you fell asleep and he could remove the fabric of his trench coat from your tiny hands without waking you. Then, as always, he would brush the tangled strands of hair from your face and give you a kiss on the forehead before he disappeared for the night to go about his service in heaven. But as soon as you awoke, he would watch over your steps again.

You had always been a little whirlwind, sparkling with joy of life and always laughing. Your parents loved you more than anything and you were their little sunshine. They could not actually have children, but you were a miracle and an absolute dream child. Yet you were wild and untamed. Curious and full of thirst for adventures. It was not always easy to take care of you. Castiel had a lot to do and you rarely let him take a breath, but he enjoyed every second he saw you grow up. Your childlike fascination for all things made him see the world with different eyes. Bugs were suddenly magical little creatures and the reddish leaves of the trees in autumn whispered their stories to you with the rustling of the wind.

You could still remember exactly how you once banged your knee when you were four years old. You had just jumped through the garden on a hobbyhorse and tried to catch an imaginary unicorn with a skipping rope knotted to a lasso. Castiel sat in the shadow of a large oak tree and watched you with a smile on his lips.

The wind rustled through the leaves, sun rays fell to the ground in bright spots and the air was filled with your childish laughter. But then it happened. You were running through the sandbox and were so close to catching the unicorn. The sand crunched under your toes when your little foot got caught on the edge of the sandbox and you hit the ground in a ball of skipping rope and hobbyhorse.Almost immediately you began to scream and cry and Castiel rushed to your side.  He lifted you up and your little hands clung to his brown hair. Your parents were just in the neighbor' house. They couldn't hear you.

Carefully your guardian angel carried you to the porch and sat down there with you in his lap. The sun had warmed the wood and it creaked under your weight. Still the crickets chirped while Castiel gently rocked you back and forth in his lap. Your sobbing subsided and you looked at him with big watery eyes. Cas smiled at the sight of your red cheeks and your poutty lips. The angel gently wiped away your tears. "It's all right, little sunshine," He murmured with his deep voice that always calmed you down. "Where does it hurt?" He asked, inspecting your bleeding knee carefully with gentle fingers. You pointed with your little fingers and trembling lower lip at your aching knee. You were strong and didn't want to cry.

Cas praised you, while you were leaning against him. Gently he took his hand and you saw how the skin on your knee closed and healed. The blood disappeared and you gave Castiel a big smile. The gap between your teeth made you look even more childlike and your braids bounced up and down next to your face.

"Thank you, Cassy" He heard your sweet voice in his ear and felt your arms close around his neck.  He smiled and put a kiss on your knee. Then he sat you down on the porch and got up and knocked the dust off his coat. You watched him with big eyes. The blue of his eyes fascinated you endlessly. It was as blue as the sky above you or the small flowers of Forget-me-not in the grass of the backyard. Castiel reached out his hand to you.

"Come on," He said, waggling his fingers encouragingly. Giggling, you hopped down the stairs and his hand embraced your little one warm in his. Together you lay on the grass between the little blue Forget-me-not and watched the passing clouds, discovering funny fantasy animals again and again. "You see? That one. That one over there. That looks like a crocodile," You said, pointing to a particular cloud pattern. Cas hummed approvingly and pointed to a rabbit. Soon the crocodile and rabbit merged and moved on with the wind towards the sun.

Cas just loved to lie in the grass with you and listen to your childish stories with all their fantasy. The grass tickled his neck, the smell of peaches was in the air and cicadas chirped as the setting sun turned the sky into a sea of flames. It bathed everything in warm orange shades. It was evenings like these that Cas wished you would never grow up. ...that you would never know the pain and suffering that reigned in this world. The little healthy bubble you lived in was all you needed. What Cas needed...

When you were eleven years old, this whole bubble burst abruptly. It was in the middle of the night when the demon surprised your parents and you. Cas was less and less present, because God focused his tasks more and more on heaven with every year that you got older. Still he should have been there. For when your guardian angel arrived, your parents were already dead and you lay bleeding to death in the bed in your room.

You lay on the bed with eyes wide open. Not a sound escaped your throat, just a gurgling. You could not move and the pain shot through your body. One of your hands, which he had held just before, was pressed against one of the numerous wounds in your chest. Blood gushed out of it endlessly, staining the blossom-white sheet in an ominous red. Your hand was sticky from your own blood and your breath was shallow. You had heard the screams of your parents before it came up. To you.

"Cassy" left your throat with a rattle, as your bloodstained hand tremblingly reached out for him and silent tears ran down your cheeks. The salt burned in your wounds.

Cas was frantic at the sight of you, but he did not let it show when he tried to calm you down. Only the shaking of his hands betrayed him. He had failed. He failed you. And he knew it. If he had come any later, you would have been dead. All night he healed your wounds and sat by your side as you fell asleep from exhaustion. Again and again the angel brushed the sweaty hair from your forehead and held your hand while he sat by your bed. His thoughts raced and he knew that this had not been a human being. And whatever it had been, it wanted you. Your parents had been just a hurdle to overcome.

When you woke up the next morning, your aunt was sitting by your bed, crying. Castiel had called and hung up several times during the night until she finally got into the car to find out what was going on. Your parents' bodies were the first to greet her. They said you were very lucky in your misfortune. Whoever killed your parents hadn't touched you. Yes, you must have had a guardian angel, they said.

At the same time, Cas was told that they had taken him off his post. Y/N would no longer be in his jurisdiction. He should say good-bye. Cas was not one to beg, but he did, despite knowing he had failed.

The moment of farewell came when you had to say goodbye to your parents. As they were lowered into the musky earth, you sat on a swing with a Forget-me-not in your hand, watching the spectacle of the funeral from afar.

You felt your angel even before you heard the rustling of feathers. With the tips of your shoes you drew strange patterns in the sand at your feet, while the swing swayed back and forth in the wind. For a while he sat silently on the swing next to you, unable to put his feelings into words. He swayed slightly back and forth, but his feet remained firmly on the ground. The trench coat fluttered in the cool wind of approaching autumn.

You already knew it. You were a smart child, Castiel would have expected nothing less from you. "I will not see you again." It wasn't a question, so Castiel didn't answer. 

Tears ran down your cheeks and Castiel would have loved to take you in his arms, but he couldn't. He didn't know if he could still be strong. He had to be strong for both of you. "Don't forget me, Castiel," You whispered so the angel hardly noticed. "Never," Cas replied, and the wind carried his words to the sky. It was a promise. You took his hand and you put the little blue flower in your hand into his. Then you clasped his fingers around it. He knew what it meant. His heart broke just a little more. "I'll miss you," You muttered. Castiel smiled sadly, looking up at the blue sky. "I'll always be up there somewhere above the clouds watching over you. If you miss me, just look up at the sky." Those were his last words to you. After that he disappeared and you couldn't feel him anymore either. Your connection was cut off. Your angel had left you forever this time.

It was a lie. He wouldn't be able to find you anymore...

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Castiel tags: @zizzlekwum @ashthefirefox @rintheemolion @intoomuchfandoms @angeltardisbow​ @ayamenimthiriel​@shypickleghostsuitcase​ @still-a-demon-very-ineffable @wreak-havoc02

[angelic-kisses13]

Antillia

Authors Note: I’m so sorry its a day late but its here now and I hope you enjoy! All characters are mine (except Henry Cavill) and so is the story line. Please do not repost this on other sites. Reblogs and comments are always welcome. 

Warnings: Gore, swearing, mentions a blowjob, Violence, very minor character death

Blood covered Henry’s hands as he worked to skin the flesh from the man’s leg, he was focused on not cutting the black ink that swirled across the man’s knee and down his inner thigh. It was the first piece of the map and he couldn’t be more thrilled to finally have it in his hands, even if it was in less traditional means. 

The sound of the dying man echoed around Henry as he continued flaying the man’s skin. It was a sickening yet oddly satisfying feeling to possess and control the blade to cut away muscle and fatty tissue. He had managed to swindle the man into coming into one of the caves of the town they were currently staying in.

He just had to pay one of the wenches a few extra coins and lure the man into his waiting arms, the plan was foolproof. Henry had camped out in the cave for a few hours, making sure that everything was set up correctly. He had just finished setting up the campfire so he could see to make the incisions when he heard footsteps echo through the cave. He waited with bated breath as the voices and footsteps grew closer. 

The poor Pirate was so wasted he couldn’t figure out how to stand up on his own, let alone figure out who had desecrated his body with the crude jagged cuts from his dagger. Unfortunately, that also meant that the moment the wench let the old drunkard go, he was falling headfirst into a pile of rocks in front of him. His head connecting with the limestone with a resounding whack and a soft grunt of pain. Henry and the wench had stood in shock for a few moments before the wench made a hasty retreat, her skirts billowing out behind her as she raced back through the cave, her voice bouncing off the walls, a prayer falling from her lips in her wake. 

Henry had stalked closer and upon pushing the man onto his back he had noticed the deep indentation on the man’s temple, thick blood blooming across his face in rivulets. He simply shook his head at the sight, what a waste of a Pirate.

Henry held his breath as the stink of the man wafted through the air, how the wench had stood to be around him was a wonder. He stripped the man down and began cutting, just as he made the first wound, the drunkard moaned in pain. Henry glanced up to see the man still breathing, though the airway was severely blocked by the blood seeping into his gasping mouth, effectively choking him to death. Though it was going to be a few moments before that happened, Henry quickly got to work. He didn’t want to be here any longer than he needed. 

Hopefully, if the body was discovered the townsmen would think the Voodoo Witches had used his body for a ritual. It wouldn’t be the first time a Pirates body had been found missing some teeth and limbs. Successfully, pulling the piece of flesh off the man’s knee with a body shuddering shlick, he held the skin up in the light of his fire. The flames danced behind it, illuminating the words and landmarks etched on the skin. 

He scowled as the illuminated words weren’t words but lines with triangles in varying positions. How the hell was he supposed to find this sacred treasure if he couldn’t read it? He growled and kicked the corpse at his feet in anger. This was a waste of time, he knew there would be a trick to it, there always was. 

He had promised his crew a map and while he didn’t have all of it the part he did have, the very fucking first part wasn’t even legible to him. It was all nonsense, every last line. He took a deep breath as he grabbed a cloth rag from his pocket and wrapped it around the piece of flesh, it wouldn’t do him any good looking at it here. Maybe all he needed was a new set of eyes, who knows, maybe one of his men could read the odd pictures. Or at least make out what landmark it was directing them to. 

He walked over to his makeshift fire and quickly kicked some of the dirt onto it, snuffing the flames out before shouldering the wall, his fingers memorizing the nooks and grooves that would lead him out. He left the body behind, no need to attempt to hide it, the animals and witches would be lead right to it for him. 

                                                        =

An hour later, saw Henry walking towards the town’s brothel, his head down deep in thought, a number of ladies called out to him, wanting to be the lucky girl to grace his bed for the night. He was the infamous Henry “Rancor” Cavill, Captain of the Lex Talionis for the last two decades. He had managed to overthrow his captain after working for him for three months. The man was soft and unfit for ruling the seas the way they were meant to. They were Pirates, they were here to plunder and take, killing everyone who stood in their way, within reason of course. You didn’t want to kill just to get tally marks on your forearms, though some did do that. 

He walked onto the dock, his boots thudding against the logs as he neared his ship, the sounds of the waves lapping against the sides of the ships was enough to unwind his shoulders and his neck to crack. He walked up the steps and was greeted by his ship hand, the young man was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes sparkling as he waited for Henry to give him an order. He was one of the newest additions to the crew, but he held great potential to become a legendary Captain. 

“Go and grab Rais for me, I have something that will interest him.” 

“Yes, Captain!” Henry watched as the man scampered off, gliding in and out of swaying Pirates and dodging flying rum bottles. His crew was awfully rambunctious tonight. A warm smile touched his lips as he turned towards his cabin, as he walked in he took off his black trench coat, the gold buttons jingling together as he placed it on the back of his chair, his sword was taken off next, and placed to his left, the hilt resting against his thigh as he took a seat at his desk. 

He grabbed the wrapped flesh from his jacket pocket and placed it down on the desktop. Some of the blood had seeped through the white rag and Henry pulled the soiled cloth away from the jagged flesh. He frowned as he looked at it, it appeared that the landmarks and writing were from a different time. Frustration built up in Henry’s body, his eyes closing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was always like this, no matter how close he had come to find the treasure that he had been seeking since he was a child, he was always three steps behind. 

His quarters were disturbed and he stood to his feet, sword out in front him, eyes feral as he sized up his opponent. His arm fell, the sword cutting through the air as Rais watched him with wide eyes. 

“My, someone is quick to anger tonight. You not get your rocks off with one of the whores?” Henry sighed at the man’s crude words, though he did have to stop and wonder if getting a wench to suck him off would have done something to ease his frustrations. 

“Rais, I finally found it!” His words were quick and to the point. Rais stood in silence, face blank as he processed Henry’s words. 

“It? The It, It?” Henry snorted as he motioned for Rais to walk closer, the man quickly moved forward, his hands landing on the desk as he peered over the cloth and flesh in between them. 

“Holy shit. You really found it! Henry, you found it!” Rais’s voice grew with each sentence uttered, the unmasked glee and hope on his face, sent Henry through the roof. This was the first step, all he needed to do was find the other three pieces and he would be on his way to the treasure of dreams. 

“I’ve found it, but Rais I can’t make heads nor tails of the words and landmarks. This isn’t part of the ocean I’ve traversed.” Rais hummed as he moved the map closer to him and looked it over. 

“The writing is different, not something I have seen before.” Henry nodded his head in agreement, 

“I was hoping you would know someone who could read it. Someone obviously doesn’t want people finding this treasure.” 

“I might know someone but its close to a month’s journey.” 

“That’s fine, we need to get someone who can read this, I’m not about to let this opportunity slip through my fingers a second time, Rais.” Henry’s eyes had darkened as he voiced his displeasure. 

“Aye, Henry, it won’t escape you again. We will get that treasure and no-one will be able to stop us.” Henry shared a fangy smile with Rais as they bundled the map back up and moved towards the mast of the ship, they had a crew to sober up.

Taglist: @agniavateira @cavillanche @cavillunraveled @dancingwendigo @dreamwritesimagines @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @hlkwrites @hnryycvll @honeychicanawrites @iloveyouyen @johnmotherfuckingshelby @ladyreapermc @laketaj24 @littlefreya @ly--canthrope @mary-ann84 @mrsaugustwalker @ohvalleyofplentyyy @omgkatinka @sciapod @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @supersweetstache @thethirstyarchive @the-winter-witcher @thegreattodd @titty-teetee @tumblnewby @viking-raider​ @wednesdaybraids @white-wolf-of-rivia @witcherwrites 

[kashimos-hajime]

promises, promises | t.s.

summary: You loved him, and he loved you, and then a boy and girl went off to war and never came back.

WARNINGS: mentions of PTSD and war flashbacks, swearing, drinking, also they’re both idiots pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!doctor!Reader word count: 4.8k

a/n: my first peaky blinders fic!! i’m absolutely hooked and i wrote this right after watching ep 2 so forgive any out of character dialogue/actions/etc. for some vibes, listen to shrike by hozier. 

The knock on your door, three raps and a pause in between each as long as a pendulum swinging, is just as he’s always done. It’s enough to let you know who’s at your door, as if the hour wasn’t telling enough.

A part of you aches to go to sleep. The other knows you can’t anyway, so you abandon your post by the fire. You give the kit you have resting on the cabinet a passing glance before making your way to the door. 

“Thomas Shelby,” you greet the man before you. He doesn’t look right and you frown, eyes raking up and down his figure. He stands straight as he does, hands at his sides but his face is milk white, stark against the tear drops that are beginning to drip down his cheeks. Not injured then, or maybe he’s just hiding it well. In the rain, his mop of hair is darker than ever. “Must be a blue moon.”

“Evening, love,” he mutters and his eyes flicker from your face to the hallway behind you, bathed in shadow. The black is chased by the spilling orange from the fire you have crackling in the night, and you cross an arm over your chest, feeling almost indecent in your robe. “May I come in?”

A soft ‘of course’ slips by your lips and you step aside, watching the man step in and you try to pinpoint what it is that makes something inside you crawl. 

Ever since the war, nothing quite shakes up Thomas Shelby anymore, and yet here he is. Shaken.

“Are you alright, Mr. Shelby?” you ask as he unbuttons his jacket and you catch the water trail that follows his wake. The rain patters at your windows and you tell yourself it’s a chore that can wait for the morning. “Are you hurt?” 

“No.” You do not know which question he answers. He thrashes it off, tosses it onto the coat hanger and you walk into the drawing room to poke the fire, to pour him a glass of his poison, to wait. 

“Would you like something to drink, then? Warm you up?” You set the poker down, stand, turn to see his eyes, unusually glossy in the firelight as they dance over his surroundings. He pulls off his hat, that Shelby hat of his, and wipes at the rain along his brow. “Mr. Shelby,” you begin because now it is unnerving, how the air shifts and how he is quiet.

Thomas Shelby is a quiet man, but not quite like this.

“Mr. Shelby,” he repeats, low and deep and it is then that his laughter cracks the air. You stand by the fire still, unsure of what to do. You haven’t seen him in weeks and here he is now, in your drawing room and laughing. 

You stay silent.

“Mr. Shelby,” he says again, quieter, somber-like. His eyes flicker to yours, lock like he can’t quite look away and you watch the fire play games in the blue of his eyes. “You never called me that before.”

“You’d rather I call you Sergeant Major?” you bite back, all at once bitter and sad. It’s too late in the night for him to speak of a time that neither of you can go back to now. “Rather I ignore the fact that all you’ve ever seeked me out for was to satisfy your need for opium? Rather I pretend like your visit is my prayer fulfilled?” You don’t have to. Your heart had sung at the sound of his knock but you cannot say that. “Or that this isn’t the first time you’ve spoken to me in months?” 

“As if you’ve done the same for me,” he growls and he sinks down onto the settee. You almost want to bark at him, stop him from spilling rainwater on your pillows, but he crumbles in a way you can’t explain.

“You don’t know a single thing,” you murmur, sitting down beside him. He barely looks at you and your fingers itch to reach for him but instead, you curl them into a fist and look into your lap. “For all your wit, Mr. Shelby, you don’t know a bloody thing about what I’ve done for you.”

“And what have you done for me, love?” he asks, scathing. His eyes dart to yours and the glowing orange plays dangerously across his godlike structure, shadows dancing beneath his eyelashes and across his cheeks. A fire rests in your belly at his words, heat coursing through your veins as he definitely looks at you like you’re an offense to his eyes and like you’re some goddess and everything that confuses him made flesh. 

“I went to war for you,” you whisper. He blinks, but he does not look away as you stand. All of a sudden, the confession has made you parched. Walking to the liquor cabinet, you pull out your father’s whiskey and pour yourself a scorching glass. You hope it’ll tame the fire that pools in the base of your skull, and that it’ll chase the memories away. “Not for Arthur or John, but for you.”

You take a pull, let it burn you all the way down to your empty stomach and grab the handkerchief left beside the glasses, turning around again to look at him. He still stares back but he almost looks empty. 

“I sewed you shut time and time again. I went down into the trenches at night to bring any scrap of good I could afford to spare and stitched up your friends even though my father forbade me from going down there.” You walk towards him, whiskey in one hand, handkerchief in the other. He sits still and silent, and you pause to take a breath, the fire beginning to wane. You set down the glass. “I wrote to your sister and Aunt Pol, lied for you when you were bleeding out on my stretcher.” You sink beside him. Leaning in close, you can smell the smoke and the racetracks imprinted into his shirt as you raise the handkerchief to his face. 

“I never asked you to.”

“As if you needed to,” you murmur, dragging the cloth over his cheekbones, and you watch his lips part, sinfully so. “I know your mind better than I know my own.” You run the handkerchief across his nose, to his other cheek. You focus on the task at hand, and not the heat of his skin or the haziness in his eyes. Not the way his lips part, watch you as if bewitched. “It’s why I know I’m nothing but a friend to you.”

“You know nothing, love,” he murmurs, almost shocked, and you can feel his hand at your thigh, tentative and heavy all at once. It trails up your body, drags your thin robe up your thigh and a shiver crawls up your skin.

“You came here tonight for a reason, Tommy,” you whisper, heat flashing in your cheeks at your own slip, your lips quivering at the soft sigh that escapes his own. How easy it would be to kiss him now. Your handkerchief stalls on his cheek after a gentle swipe across his brow and temple, his soaked hair still dripping. “And it’s not to talk about times we wish we didn’t have.”

“I just… needed to see you. I’ve missed you.” A kind of bitterness floods your tongue and you flinch, stung. You twist away to the fire and suck in a breath, his hand falling off your leg when you detach yourself from his heat. Bile crawls up your throat and you shake your head. A resentful smile curls your lip and you pull your robe tighter around yourself, standing to approach the fireplace. Sitting on the footstool nearby, you grab the poker and stir the flames. You are an idiot to fall for his wiles and charms, again and again, with nothing to show for it. To wait on him, desperate for him to look your way even for a moment. To be thrown face first into your and his shared reality when he just says the wrong thing—

“Of course you have.” You shake your head. “‘Course you bloody have when it’s convenient for you.” You stab a log violently, the tumbling of wood rattling your thoughts. He only ever comes when something’s gone wrong, when he wants a resemblance of a simpler time, when he wants something he won’t let me give him—Your mind is a whirlwind as your mouth runs. “I’m done playing your games, Tommy. It was an awful kind of fun when we were just a boy and a girl, but that was before the war.” It’s a great task not to look at him, to read his face and wonder. “Now, go home instead of hanging around here like you belong.”

“I did once,” he says softly and you wish it weren’t true. 

You finally turn to stare at him, trace the sharp curve of his cheeks and the cut of his jaw. Features you know well enough and once dreamed to lay kisses upon. Then you drag your gaze to the beginnings of darkness beneath his eyes. The war has stolen him away from you. “You look exhausted, Tommy. It was nice seeing you, truly, but go home.”

You turn back to your fire, the crackling and the tumbling of the logs filling the emptiness in your chest as you wait for his steps to begin and fade.

“What are you fucking doing?” you ask roughly when a minute ticks by and then another, and he still hasn’t left your heart or your home.

“You call yourself a game,” he says, as if something turned on in that brain of his, but it sounds more to you as if he’s stalling for reasons to stay. If he talks enough, he will convince you—the both of you know it.

You don’t turn to look. “Go home.”

“Is that all you think you are?”

“Tommy, I’m warning you. Leave.” 

“You think you’re only a game to me?”

“What else can I be?” You frighten yourself with how loud your voice is yet you cannot contain it. “Thomas Shelby doesn’t want any girl after the war.” You are grossly venomous and loud enough to fill every empty room. It shakes you and a reverent silence hangs in the air. You can’t remember what has made you so scorned, but perhaps it’s the keen knowledge of knowing that tomorrow is not certain, the knowledge that Thomas Shelby has never loved you the way you loved him and yet he still dangles promises in front of you. “That’s the word around the street. And it’s true, isn’t it? It’s the awful truth.” Your words float, hushed and dainty again across the flames, nearly consumed by the fire. You cannot let your rage grow more than quiet.

If you do, the tears will come, and you’re awfully sick of crying for men you’ve lost.

“You’ve never wanted me the way I wanted you to, Tommy,” you whisper, the yawning ache in your chest splitting you in two. “And your promise was made out of fear.” The silence that meets your words make you look at the iron poker in your hands, the handle ribs pressing into your palms. “But there is no war, no fear, no uncertainty of tomorrow.”

A shadow casts over the mantle and you look at the silhouette warily. Glass clatters against wood.

“No reason to hold you to your word,” you mumble, ashamed that you hold so much to his words—words he must’ve said in a desperate time, words that still linger in your worst and best nightmares. By his silence, you realize he has not forgotten either.

“So we resort to passing glances, then?” His voice sends chills down your spine. It’s a sharpened sword coated in honey, and you relish the way it twists your gut. The shadow crouches beside you and you can feel his heat seep into you. “Lingering touches, fires in bellies we can’t feed,” he whispers, the words kissing at your neck as he leans in towards you. His hand, open and large along you arm, pulls the poker out of your hand and you sigh, turning your face away. Metal clatters to the floor as the taste of whiskey pushes into your lungs. He’s drank it all, yet he’s sober as a priest. You know it takes more than one glass to get Thomas Shelby drunk. “Promises we can’t keep, since we’ve already started it seems.” His eyes are dark and bitter, angry, and you swallow the fire he stokes inside you.

“Tommy—” Your breath shutters in your throat and you crane your head to look only for him to be there, blue eyes half-mast and lips just parted. His fingers trail up your wrist, brush against the sleeve of your robe—“you don’t want me.”

“Trysts when we’re too drunk to see straight ‘n’ moaning the wrong name when we’re in bed with other men ‘n’ women. It’s what you want, eh?” Up and up his hand, further into your sleeve until he touches the pulse point in your elbow, feels your heart racing and a sigh flutters past your lips. His other hand grips your jaw, fingers heavy and warm. “A dirty little secret. A little game, is that what you want?” Your eyes widen and he narrows his own. “I asked a question.”

“Fuck you, Shellby.”

“I loved you.” His words hiss like smoking coals and you let out a soft whimper when he squeezes your jaw. “I fucking loved you.” His fingers wrap around your arm and you lean into him, hypnotized as his fingers grip your chin harder. The blueness of his eyes, the smattering of fine brown hairs across his forehead, the smell of him, and the heat of the fire, it draws you forward. 

Your lower lip catches between your teeth as he leans in closer. You can taste his breath on your tongue. “Then why?"

”We both know you deserve better than me,” he whispers, words hot against your lips. If you slant your mouth just so, you’d feel him everywhere. Your skin prickles as he cocks his head, eyes on your parted mouth. “No matter how much I have loved you, it wouldn’t have been fair, turning a bride to a widow. And before,” he chuckles as he repeats it and you feel the heat rise to your face. “You bloody think I had a chance with the surgeon’s daughter?”

“You bloody could’ve,” you reply stubbornly. His fingers on your chin trail down to your neck, a featherlight presence but one that makes you warm. “My father stitched up every one of your brothers and you, and adored you like his own sons. He wouldn’t have cared.” A wave of melancholy washes over you and you wrap a hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away from your neck. Your fingers slip into the crevices of his, insistent. “Damn shame he couldn’t have a chance to stitch up Finn.”

“Be thankful. I don’t want him to end up like me,” he whispers and you smile slightly, knocking your forehead into his. 

“Would that be so horrible?” you ask softly and his eyes flash to yours, eyebrows rising. “You’re a good man, Tommy. Even if you don’t see it that way.”

“Because I’m not.” His eyes close, breathing in deeply as his hand cups the back of your neck, tangles in your hair. “I don’t want you getting caught between Blinders business, love. I can’t allow it.”

“I can take care of myself, Tommy,” you promise. A sort of bravery sends your hand through his hair and you hold his head to yours, eyes closing. “I know what your business is like.”

“Love,” he sighs, and the corner of your mouth quirks up.

“I can be on your payroll. A surgeon’s daughter is a valuable asset. It’d be understandable why I have protection and I’d be nothing more than a service.” His silence causes your smile to spread. “Aunt Pol always said you only ever listened to me.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” he quotes half-heartedly and you pull back. His eyes flutter open as you stroke his cheek, tracing the curve of his cheek. “And I’ve no doubt she’d be happy to hear I’ve spoken to you again.”

“Exactly.” You stroke the hair carefully away from his eyes, watch as he sniffs and holds back his cough from the rain. “You ought to get warm. Give me a moment and stay by the fire.” Your lips press against his temple for a moment and he freezes. Before your liquid courage can leave you, you rake your fingers through his hair again and stand. You bring another glass and the bottle of whiskey before grabbing a rough old blanket from the closest guest room. “My father’s clothes might fit,” you offer, pouring him his glass. He takes the glass and you sigh when he downs it like water. Draping the blanket across his shoulders, you add, “They’d be warmer.”

Now, without the jests and banter between you two, Thomas Shelby is cold and quiet once again, and you sit on the footstool, pouring yourself a glass of whiskey. Glancing into your liquor, you watch the fire play in it. 

“The spare rooms are always open to you and your brothers, and your Ada, too. You ought to sleep, Tommy, and get warm.”

He doesn’t respond and you half think he doesn’t hear you so you quiet yourself again, watching the fire and picking up the poker to jostle the logs.

“I don’t want to be warm,” he says at last. “And I don’t want to sleep.”

“And why’s that?” You set down the poker.

“Because all I hear is the picking and the shovellin’, and I don’t want to hear it.” 

He sits before the fire like a man watching the sunrise and the orange heat that blasts at the both of you has begun to dry out his hair. You reach for his hand, but then think better of it.

“It keeps you up, too,” you say, a terrible knot in your throat squeezing you tight. “My father said it’d happen. Happens to boys and men too after something like a war.” You down your whiskey and let it scorch your stomach before turning to pour yourself another glass. “Never said it happens to women.”

“And we volunteered.” He turns to look at you, lips parted and eyes dark with a certain kind of humour. “What do you hear?”

“The screams.” You clear your throat as you catch glimpses of blood and broken bones. “The moaning and the sound of bones breaking. It’s all I ever hear, but it’s at night when it’s worse. Silence with my thoughts, and all that.” He’s gone noticeably stiff and you blink, turning away. “What about you? What’s made you come to my door of all places?”

“I needed company.” You wait for him to elaborate. “I put a bullet through my horse’s head.”

“The horse you bought from the Lees?”

“Yes.”

Your lips press together. You know what the Lee family is capable of. Heard it enough from talk between patients and whispers on the street. Reaching forward, you touch his hand. His skin is still freezing cold and your heart wilts in your chest. “Tommy, I’m sorry for everything. For the war, for my distance, and for your horse now, too.” His hand twists beneath yours and fingers interlace as he sips his whiskey. 

“Nothing you have to be sorry for,” he says, turning to look at you. You pull your hand away and he looks down. His hand curls into a fist and you watch every vein along the back of his hand go taut. “You’re angry with me.”

“Of course not.” It shocks you that he can root out the thoughts you hadn’t known lingered in your head. You were sure you buried your previous thoughts far down deep enough they couldn’t surface, yet you shouldn’t be surprised. You weren’t his best friend, but he was yours. You were open to him like none other. “Why would I be angry?”

“I promised to marry you, didn’t I?” He sets down his glass. You note the dark dust along his fingers and an involuntary shudder passes down your spine. Your heart thuds in your throat and you swallow it down, turning the glass in between your hands.

“Tommy, stop.”

“Promised to be the man you loved. Promised to I’d come back. And then I never did.”

“Tommy—” You twist to set down the glass with a hard clack. Just the mere words, the call of his promise to the forefront of your mind makes the embers of your rage ignite. Perhaps he had been distant and different and nearly unrecognizable, but you can still see glimmers of the Tommy Shelby you’d known. 

“I failed you, didn’t I?”

Enough.

“Stop it, right now.” You slip off the footstool and fall to your knees beside him, grabbing his hand. “You didn’t fail anyone.” When he doesn’t even acknowledge your words, you squeeze his palm. “Tommy, please, look at me.”

“I’m tired, love,” he whispers, voice breaking and a quivering breath is sucked into your lungs at how his eyes seem to shine in the burning light. “I’m fucking tired and all I can see is the tunnels.” The blanket slips off his shoulders and you hasten to pull it up again as he turns to look at you. Water slides down his cheeks and you cup his face, thumbs swiping away the tears.

“Come on. I’m not going anywhere.” You urge him to stand and make sure his blanket does not fall from his shoulders as you guide him to the nearest bed. He trails like a ghost, fingers barely entangled with yours as you help him through the darkness. 

Your mind turns over, remembers wet, dirt-smeared lips against your cheek, the top of Tommy’s head as he descended down into the tunnels, a harsh whisper grating against your ear. You lead him through the dead and damaged once, just like this through the darkness, to see Freddie who you’d stitched with your own fingers.

War seemed much simpler than this.

“I don’t care about your promise, Tommy. Not really,” you confess finally as you lead him to the bed. He sits on the edge of the mattress and wood creaks beneath his weight. You sit beside him. “I suppose I’m clinging to pieces of myself that I can still recognize.” A cracking smile pulls at your lips when he turns to look at you and you brush hair out of his face, palm cupping his cheek. “We’ve both changed, and we can’t go back. All we can do now is to understand this is who we are now.” His hand lands heavy on your cheek and you smile, leaning into it.

“They stole the light from you,” he whispers and you turn your cheek away. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the life you wanted.”

“Our time has past.” You know it now. You had been so desperate to be the girl you once was, so desperate for any semblance of what was that it blinded you to the truth. The Tommy Shelby you’d known and loved with all your very being is all but gone, and you… you are a husk of the girl you once knew. You look at him again and reach up to touch his wet cheek. He’s warmer against your palm now and half of you thinks maybe. Maybe there will be a chance when we are both older, when we are not in a million pieces that are barely holding together by a thread. “But I still love you, Tommy.”

“And I you.” 

“Then, that’s enough.” You lean to kiss his cheek but he turns just enough that your mouth meets his. For a moment, you are startled by how hot his lips are and you catch your eyes closing before you remember who he is, and who you are, and what mustn’t happen. Your lips linger for just a moment more before you pull yourself away slowly, watching his half-lidded eyes flutter open. A sorrow lives there, one that mirrors the ache in your chest. Of missed chances and lost time, you know it is a written tragedy. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“Goodnight, love.”

His confession follows you long after you leave his room and his kiss lingers on your lips, burning. You wonder if he lays awake, staring at the ceiling as you do, listening to the war in his head as you do. 

You hear the hours tick by and the sound of shuffling, grunts in the other room of your guest. Black edges your vision and your eyes begin to slip close.

The floor creaks.

You jolt into a sit in your bed, the blankets pooling around your waist as your gaze darts to the door. You had been slipping in and out of a light sleep, your mind hazy as you try to gather your bearings, calm your heart. A swelling sensation in your throat, you slip out of bed and amble over to the door with a half-hearted sigh.

Your home’s old enough for you to know that a mouse could disturb the floors and stairs. Your hand rests on the doorknob and you take a deep breath, wondering if it’s even worth checking every nook and cranny of your home just to be sure there’s no German soldier lurking in the shadows.

You know your mind won’t quiet until you do, but the exhaustion chaining your limbs to the ground says otherwise.

A quick search, you tell yourself. Then sleep. Or hours staring at the ceiling until it comes.

You twist the knob and pull, open the door again for the second time tonight to Tommy Shelby’s face.

“Tommy,” you utter, almost startled but the very sight of him settles your heart. His eyes flash in the moonlight. His shirt is wrinkled and sweat dots his brow in a fine sheen, and the both of you stand there, on opposite sides of the door, an invisible line between you, one he does not dare to cross and you think, What a tired man, what a lost boy.

Your name barely breezes past his lips, fragile and cautious, and you reach out to touch his wet cheek. He smells like whiskey still, and tears and sweat, too.

You step to the side as an invitation you hope he takes. He does and he crosses the invisible boundary between two souls as your heart slows. Whirlwind thoughts freeze and a warmth floods your body. His fingers hook on your wrist and he drags you to follow him. 

Your mind turns over again, this time feeling bloodied fingers smearing warm thick red over your cheeks and the bone-crunching grip of a soldier as your father dug a bullet out of his leg. You remember a time when you walked just like this, through darkness, through the trenches at night as Tommy lead you to the sick and dying. 

He sits down and you watch his face catch the silver moonlight, eyes blue-grey like frozen iron and he tugs you onto the bed beside him. You feel your joint weight dip the mattress. He is cold and all limbs, lean strength wrapped around shrapnel bones and you adjust the pillow beneath your neck as you lie down beside him. The sound of soft breathing fills the air and shadows swallow his face when he turns away from the window to look at you. 

When he looks at you, it’s almost as if everything is drowned out.

He turns on his side, thumb dragging over your cheek and lips and then closes his eyes, breathing in deeply. He smells the girl that clings to the sheets, a soft supple scent that chases away the muddy torchlight in his head as his hand trails down to find your fingers. 

You are stronger than he remembers, ironwire muscle wrapped with thick stone skin, and when you lean forward just so and his forehead meets with yours, he lets out a sharp exhale. It is as if you take some of his burden, whether he likes it or not.

“Promise me, you’ll stay,” you whisper suddenly, “not as a lover, but just as my friend. That would be enough.” His eyes flutter open, barely. He’s exhausted and in your bed, surrounded by everything that is you, he knows he can sleep for ages. Your eyes are still shut, your eyebrows knitting together as if you cannot watch him react in some poor way. Half a smile curls his mouth and he just barely, the tiniest sigh in his breath, answers.

“I promise.”

[milliethekitty27-writing]

Carry On (A SPN fix it fic)

When Dean’s alarm went off, he had to take a minute to figure out where he was and if everything was a dream. The past several days (weeks? years? honestly, all of the above) had been a completely exhausting blur. Jack and Castiel had been gone for what felt like years, but Sam had left a note on the table saying he was out for a jog and there was a familiar weight at the end of the bed. Miracle looked up and whined. 

“Right.” Dean rubbed his face. He got up, yawning, and took a long hot shower that soothed his aching muscles. He pretended he didn’t see Cas behind his eyes. God he missed him, terribly, but he was still so angry. How could he have just not said anything? So many people had died, Rowena was gone, and now Dean was just… here. Doing nothing. 

Sam slammed his hand on the door and Dean jumped out of his skin.

“I made breakfast but I want to shower!” he called. 

Dean met him downstairs. They ate, Dean did dishes while Sam showered, and then he started messing around on his computer. 

A story popped up and he let out a long sigh. 

“Sam-” he cleared his throat and Sam looked up from his book, his hair still damp. “-we’ve got a case.”

They headed out, the Impala humming under his hands like always. They played whatever music he was in the mood for and both of them were quiet. They wondered about Cas, and Jack, and everyone else, but the day was clear and beautiful.

Something must have aligned because when Dean got out of the car, there was a big sign reading All You Can Eat Pie over a field thrumming with people. 

“Are you crying?” Sam was clearly trying not to laugh. 

“Nope.” There were tears streaming down his face but he wiped them off. “Just, uh… smelled some… onions.” Sam laughed behind him, but Dean ignored him in favor of exploring the fair. 

There were so many pies everywhere. Cherry, pumpkin, sweet potato, apple, blueberry, gooseberry, peach, pecan, it was actual heaven. Dean didn’t care what Jack was doing up there, this was better than anything else he could do. 

Dean turned to tell Cas, but his heart sank. There was no idiot in a trench coat to drag around with him. There was just his brother on his bench, nose buried in his phone. He looked tired. 

Dean bought six slices of pie, ones that the cute blond woman told him were best. She kept glancing at Sam and Dean delighted in the fact that he sauntered up and dropped them onto the picnic table. Sam jumped. 

“I am going to eat pie until I die.” he said. “If you want to join me, get your own.” Sam laughed. He kept eyeing the pumpkin, though, so Dean relented and slide it over to him. 

Sam smushed it into his face.

Sam. Smushed a pie. Into his face. A perfectly good piece of pie. This was pie abuse.

Sam was laughing though, and he looked better. Dean felt better too. 

“You’re getting me another one.” He pointed at the blond woman at the counter. “From her.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up it’s delicious. Where else am I going to be able to eat pie all day? You’re the jerk who wasted that slice anyway.”

Sam did. He chatted with the woman, and he came back with a slice of pumpkin and a slice of blueberry for himself. The woman’s named was Sherry and she was Sam’s age. She worked in a bakery with her mom, and she’d written her number on the plate of his pie. 

The next town over was their proper destination, though. A family had been attacked in part of a string of similar attacks - the father had been drained of blood, the mother had had her tongue cut out, and the pair of sons had been abducted. The picture, from the mother, was one of men wearing masks.

They searched through their records, finding a little, but eventually Sam found the entry. 

“Vampires. Vampire mimics? Vampires.” Eventually, they agreed vampires and geared up - plenty of fine, beheading weapons, because that’s was the routine. Miracle jumped into the car and off they went. 

The nest was in an old cabin in the woods. It was an absolutely massive place, covered in ivy, and it painted a haunting picture against the twisted wood.

“Can they not be so cliché?” Dean rolled his eyes, arming himself. Miracle was kept in the car, with the windows cracked wide enough for him to jump out. “You stay, Miracle.” The dog grumbled a little, then settled on the car. “No tearing up the seats either.” Another grumble and Sam snorted.

They crept in but found the house practically devoid of life, even more so then usual.

It reeked of blood too.

“I wish we’d come when it was lighter out, or hadn’t stopped for lunch.” Dean grumbled. Sam shushed him, but the moonlight peeking through the cracks of the house.

They found the first body a little ways away. It was clearly a man, and when they checked the teeth it was a vampire. 

It had almost entirely been beheaded by something very big. They cut the head off for good measure, but their unease was growing with every second. 

They heard it only a second before they saw it.

A wendigo was standing over the body of a vampire. There were a pair of terrified children trembling near a rotting couch. The thing was making the most awful noises and the older brother was hiding the younger one’s face in his stomach. Sam and Dean looked at each other. 

They needed better weapons. 

“In the car.” Dean said it very very quietly. “Flare gun. Only one, though. Get it.” 

Sam creeped out and Dean stayed, wishing he had a lot of other things right now. Why a wendigo, why now? Sure, it saved them the trouble of the vampire nest, but now they had a wendigo, at least two kids, and one fire weapon. 

Bobby would’ve yelled at them for an hour if he’d found out they’d been so unprepared, but at the same time it was pretty clear it was a vampire nest. 

Dean didn’t really remember the fight, honestly. He didn’t know what triggered the wendigo but it saw him, or smelled him, and he was using the machete he had to keep it away from his face. The thing was too damn fast. 

Sam shot the flare and he got it in the shoulder. It burst into flames but Dean was pinned under it. 

They both realized with horror that the old wood of the cabin was catching on fire too.

“Go!” Dean shouted at his brother. 

Sam got the kids out quickly enough, but he started towards Dean. The smoke was growing thick and Dean couldn’t breathe. The wendigo was dying but it had landed a few bites, and now there was a fire and Dean couldn’t get out. 

“I said go, Sam!” Sam stared at him, then was forced to flee as the fire choked Dean to death.

I wonder if I’ll see Castiel.

Dean blinked and found himself next to a cabin, staring at a lake. He rubbed his chest, coughing a little. 

“Fuckin wendigoes.” he muttered. 

“Nasty sons of bitches, aren’t they.” Dean turned very sharply and found Bobby sitting in a chair. They looked at each other. 

“Weren’t you in heaven’s lock up? Last I heard, anyway. This has to be some memory.”

“Jack made some changes.” Bobby chuckled. “He and Cas have been pretty busy.” Dean’s heart panged. They chatted, about heaven and about now what. They shared one of the shittiest bears Dean had had in a long time, but talking with Bobby made everything a little bit better. 

“Thanks.” Dean said rather suddenly. Bobby grunted. “For… everything.” He waved the mostly empty bottle at the lake. “You know.”

“Don’t be an idjit.” Bobby said. “I said you were my boys. I meant it.” Dean’s heart warmed and they were quiet for a bit. “What are you gonna do now?”  

“Get a better beer.” Bobby laughed and Dean smiled despite himself. “Sam… Sam’ll be ok, won’t he?”

“Course he will be. Don’t make me tell you not to be an idjit again.” Dean blinked, his throat tightening a little bit, then he nodded. 

“Right. Course.” he sighed, then got up. He looked at the car Bobby had pointed out. “Maybe I’ll go look for Castiel. You said he’s around, right?”

“Should be.” Bobby lifted his bottle a little. “Come visit.”

“Don’t be an idjit.” Dean grinned at him and Bobby chuckled again. 

His Baby hummed to life beneath his hands. Dean had no idea how he’d find Castiel, but he had to try. There was a lot they had to talk about, and primarily the first one was yelling at him for telling him how he felt when he was about to be grabbed by an oily black octopus, and then they needed to talk about what next. 

Dean wasn’t sure how long he drove for, but he pulled up to a barn.

He got out of the car and missed his brother, and his dog, but he tucked his hands into his pockets and sauntered in.

“...Castiel?” He called finally. There was a noise, a familiar rustle of wings, and Dean turned.

Castiel was standing there, wearing his stupid trench coat and looking at Dean like he’d looked a thousand times but Dean had never understood. His throat twisted up again.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was quiet, but very tender. 

“I’m still upset with you.” Dean said. “Very. But… I missed you.” He shuffled his feet a little, then nodded to the car outside. “Want to go for a drive? Talk about some stuff? Maybe find a place with decent beer?” After a moment, Castiel’s lips curved into a smile and he nodded.

Sam died at eighty-three years old, and he woke up to find Bobby sitting on the porch. Bobby directed him down a path and he saw people he’d thought he’d never see again - his mom was there, Jo, Charlie, Garth, lots of people he hadn’t seen in ages. 

He got to the end and he found his brother leaning against the Impala, looking at a map. 

“...Dean?” Dean looked up and smiled at him so wide that his face looked like it would burst. Sam went to him and felt like he was five, but Dean met him halfway and held him tight.

“I can’t believe you named your kid after me.” Sam went red.

“It suited him, he’s a good kid. Besides, it was Sherry’s idea.”

“I claim full credit for getting you two together. You married the pie girl of my dreams.”

“She did more than just pie.” Dean laughed. They got in the car and drove, the Impala purring along the road and the music blasting, and they pulled up to a rather simple looking house. Sam got out a little slowly but Dean got up without a concern. Miracle shot out the door when it opened, barking like a lunatic like he often had. He pranced around Dean, then he saw Sam and Sam got the same treatment as they tried to get inside. 

Castiel was standing at the counter, staring at the coffee pot rather absently. Dean kissed his cheek and the angel jumped. 

“Oh. Hello, Sam.” 

“...uh… hey.” Sam pointed at Castiel, then at Dean, then back as Castiel again. “Are you two, uh…”

“We are.” Dean puffed up a little. “We talked it out.” 

“Cool. Good. That’s great.” 

“There’s pie in the fridge.” Castiel offered after a moment. “If you’d like. I can leave.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You stay. It’s been a while. We can chat. I have to wait for Sherry no matter what. She’s looking forwards to meeting you.”

“You’ll think the pie’s boring then.” Dean sighed dramatically. “I still dream about her apple pie.” Castiel looked at him affectionately and Sam instantly regretted agreeing to stay. This was going to be a long visit, but he didn’t mind too much. After all, they had all the time in the world.

----

Thank you for reading!

Find this fic on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675821

It’s worth noting that I have seen five (5) episodes of Supernatural (Gabriel episodes, plus Garth with a sock puppet) Is that stopping me from being angry about the finale, thinking I can do better, and writing a fix-it fic? Absolutely not.

I had an idea for how I wanted this to go and what I wanted. I read the synopsis of the last three episodes or so. My goals; 1. Dean gets a fighting death 2. Wendigos were cool opponents and I wanted to see more of them. 3. Find Castiel 4. Give Sam’s wife a name and something to her. 5. You know the montage in Hamilton where Eliza sees everyone before finding her wife again? Yeah that’s Sam’s death gift.