#You can tell by the end if the night - and the end of the fight my hands and brain are giving out and I make stupid mistakes but I did it! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kiryoutann · 2 days ago

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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

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TW: POSSIBLE SUICIDAL INTENT, gore metaphor, self harm (reader scratching herself as a coping mechanism), manipulation.

You remember that time.

You remember that time when Dad looked happy—a nearly foreign sight. For what felt like ages, he had been frowning, dark circles under his eyes, the visible crease on the side of his mouth ever since the constant fights between him and Mother.

But lately, he's been smiling; he's been humming the tune you thought he'd forgotten. You also remember plopping down next to him on the couch, cheeks puffed out, eager to know what had him in such a good mood. "Daddy, what are you smiling about?" you asked then, and yet-

And yet, the moment he heard that, something in his eyes abruptly dimmed, just like it always did whenever Mother walked into the room. You instantly regret speaking up, wishing you had just stayed silent and let him bask in his already rare moment of happiness.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” as Mom used to say. This time, your curiosity will kill Dad. So, you’re never curious again, never dared to ask again.

Dad has been coming home later and later, leaving barely any time for you to spend together. It’s like he’s always working, always busy. Gone are the days of sneaky trips to the ice cream shop or casual strolls through the park. Sometimes, you compare yourself to that old dog the Jenkins had—the one they stopped walking because they lost that love they had when he was still a cute little puppy.

It was as if the unhappiness that had held Dad back had somehow transferred over to Mother.

Lately, the fights between your parents had become increasingly frequent, leading you to shut yourself away in your bedroom and sing loudly just to drown out the noise. Mother would often sigh heavily, slamming the cupboards like she had some kind of grudge against them. The constant frowning had begun to etch deep wrinkles onto her face, and the dark circles under her eyes appeared to grow darker with each passing day. She was even losing her hair—the bathroom sink was a testament to that.

You started to notice strange behaviors from Mother as well. She would constantly check Dad’s phone whenever he was in the bathroom, rummaging through the trash for any stray pieces of paper or receipts, even asking you to check his clothes and bring them to her. Whenever Dad came home, she would confront him, demanding to know why he was home so late.

Everything feels weird. When you try to ask them, they will shut you down, telling you it is a “parents’ problem”—something a child like you shouldn’t know or have any business in.

But their “parents’ problem” quickly becomes yours when you always find yourself lying in bed, desperately trying to drown out another round of their arguing. You even start wishing you could spend more time at your friends' houses just to avoid being at home. Every night, you pray for it to stop.

For this to end. Until it does.

The “parents’ problem” that has been brewing for months finally rears its head when Dad stops coming home altogether. The silence you have grown accustomed to was quickly shattered by the sound of Mother’s hysterical crying, accompanied by the slamming of cabinets and the crashing of plates being thrown across the kitchen. You stop in your tracks, heart pounding as a silhouette emerges.

Mother. She walks toward you, her long hair plastered to her tear-streaked face, and-

And she smelled something like the alcohol Dad used to hide in the fridge. She grips your arms in a tight, almost bruising grip, leaning down to look you straight in the eye.

"I was right, sweetheart. Mommy was right," she whispered, her voice hoarse from all the shouting. "Mommy was right all along." She repeats the phrase over and over, as if you'd eventually grasp its meaning. After all, you were her daughter; you should understand.

But you didn’t. For goodness’ sake, you were just an eight-year-old girl—just enough brains to process why Dad didn’t come to your ballet recital despite his promise, just enough to try to understand why Mother was like this. What was she right about? Was Dad never coming home again? When is he coming back? So many questions, few to no answers. Not enough courage to let them swim to the surface because exactly what Mom said—“Curiosity killed the cat.”

Biting your lip, you ask in a small, fearful voice. “What are we talking about, Mommy?”

Mother took a shaky breath, her eyes so swollen and red from crying that you wondered if she might actually take her last breath right then and there. It makes you wonder if losing the supposed love of her life truly felt like a kind of living death.

“Your father…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Your father, he’s… He’s not coming back, baby.”

Something about her own words brought anger to her face. Mother’s visage contorted into unbridled rage, teeth bared and nose scrunched up. You cry out in pain as she grips your arms tighter.

“He’s not coming back! Your father is with another woman—a WHORE! So don’t you DARE go looking for him, because he’s not coming back!”

At that moment, you didn't know which was scarier—Dad not coming back or Mother's anger. Or the thought that this meant you would be living alone with her. Even so, your lips began to tremble and you began to cry.

The anger that mother had was long-lived. Sometimes, it seemed like it outlasted the love she had once held for your father. Or perhaps, in a twisted way, that anger was just an extension of that love. The wound that mother carried was as deep as her affection had been. Love. Seeing its manifestation through your parents' relationship, it appeared like a despicable thing meant for people on a dark path.

Mother never truly recovered from it.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, even year after year, the anger never left her—it simply transformed into a hollow, empty place where the light once resided. Did Dad take it with him when he went off with that woman—that "whore," as Mother had said?

Still, you suppose it was better than those times when Mother would go out for drinks and come back late or even fail to come fetch you from ballet class. More often than not, it was a friend's mother who ended up dropping you home. Some questions they asked about your mother: "Is she okay?" and “Are you okay?”

That, you never know how to answer. Sure, you're doing fine at school and in your ballet classes—your toes are a little sore sometimes, but your teacher says that’s expected. And it’s not like Dad’s gone forever or dead. He’s still out there, even if he wasn’t coming home. Mom is still here, even if sometimes it feels like she doesn’t really see you.

… What an odd thing to feel, an even weirder thing to complain about. When Mother wasn’t at work, she was always there when you came home. She was easy to find in her room except on nights when she went out drinking and came back late, drowning herself in tears.

And yet, it felt like she wasn’t there at all. Dad left, and Mother was gone.

So, when that question was asked, you would just smile and say you were doing fine, that everything was okay. Yes, it was strange, unsettling, but everything was okay.

At least before you hit your teenage years.

Where did this change come from? Where did this hatred come from? Someone flipped a switch, turning your hollow mother into a bitter, resentful woman even to her own daughter. Slowly but surely, you begin to notice the glares she throws at you—the same ones she sports when talking about other women, as she said, “Look at the way she dresses, like some cheap harlot.”

“Change.” One day, she said, her voice sharp and commanding.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What? Change what?”

Mother's eyes narrowed, settling her gaze on your chest, then your stomach—you hold your breath from the burn of her glare. “I said, change. What, you don't see how you look?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “I don't know who gave you the confidence, but it's like you're asking for it.”

The sting of her words spread across your sternum, and you bite your inner cheek to keep yourself from crying. "But you said this looked good the other day."

“Then I said wrong, change.”

“But I like this top,” you protest, but you add a hollow chuckle for good measure, wanting to avoid coming off as defiant. “And it’s the only thing yellow in my closet.”

Mother’s lips thinned into a disapproving line. “You still have that yellow hoodie.”

“But it’s a birthday party! In the summer!”

“That’s too bad. Either you change, or you’re not going.”

Deciding the conversation is over, your mother walks past you. As you feared, she stops, sweeping her critical gaze over your face. The crease between her brows deepens; her lips curl into a sneer.

“And what’s with all that makeup? You’re trying too hard. Tone it down.”

You say nothing, fixating instead on the mild sting of your nails digging crescents into your palms. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Hasn’t this happened before? Why aren’t you used to this yet? The thing about you is that you cry over the same things over and over again, asking questions you already know you don't understand. “Why would Mom say that to me?” echoed in your mind, and yet, the answer remains elusive, so stop asking that!

You flinched as your mother suddenly swiped her fingers across your lips, smearing your carefully applied lipstick. Out of instinct, you quickly swatted her hand away.

“Mom, stop!”

“A lipstick on a pig is still a pig,” she spat, her hatred for you dripping—soaking into your skin and inciting your own blood to boil and burn you from the inside. “No matter how thick that makeup is, you’ll never be like those pretty girls. So stop trying.”

Your breath catches, your throat tightens. Mother finally walks past you, leaving you to “self-reflect,” expecting you to be on your right side of the brain after. To change your clothes, remove that makeup. “A lipstick on a pig is still a pig,” she says. Your lips quiver; the headache doubles.

Which one you loathe the most, you can't even say for sure. This tube top or the color. Your blush or your lipstick. You and your tendency to persist when you should stop—that you're ugly, a pig, and you'll never be those pretty girls.

You will never be those pretty girls.

You will never be...

Her.

Hayley. You couldn't help yourself from poring over the name on Facebook after hours of scouring for a hint of who she is and what's so special about her. And from what you can tell, she was everything you're not. With her big, bright blue eyes framed by dark, mascara-laden lashes, her light blonde hair, and that perfectly sun-kissed skin. Not to mention she has a figure that just fits right – a body a girl would die for. Hayley's life is balanced between her rising career and her enjoyment, as evidenced by several uploaded holiday photos in Southeast Asia, in places like Bali, Koh Rong, Phuket, Kuala Lumpur, Chiang Mai, and Singapore. She has a good relationship with her parents—both her biological ones and her stepparents. She has a golden retriever named Barney.

You knew enough to understand that she was the type of girl who frequented the clubs, not the quiet pubs where Simon and she met. The only reason she was even there was because of her dark-haired friend, who was now tipping her head back to finish another shot glass.

Are you stalking her? Yes, you suppose you are—there’s no point in denying it when you’re sitting at a bar, watching the social butterfly laugh with her equally beautiful friends. But you’re maintaining your distance, aren’t you? You’re not doing this because you’re a pervert (not that this justifies anything, you're aware)—you just need to know about her, to confirm something.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

Hayley laughed again, her head thrown back, golden hair cascading down her back. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners, the way her glossy lips parted to reveal a perfect set of teeth. She and her group of friends looked like they were engaged in some kind of game, and as the loser, Hayley stood up and made her way to the bar. You looked up, pretending to sip at the drink you ordered earlier, appearing casual.

“Four Margaritas, love.” Hayley requested of the bartender, who responded with a nod to acknowledge her order over the din.

The man left his post to get something from the backroom. There wasn't much to do in the bar besides tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the shiny bar surface. Hayley swept a bored glance around: the strobe lights, the DJ booth and the drunk people dancing around it, the crowded booths at the ends of the room, and more drunk people.

Then, her eyes landed on you. Something ignited in those cerulean irises.

A confident smile played on her lips. “Hi there,” she said to you, voice sweet like honey. "Mind if I join you?"

For a moment, your brain stops thinking—completely caught off guard. Hayley doesn’t wait for your response, already sliding into the seat next to you. She widens her smile, the apples of her cheeks lifting fascinatingly. This was not how you envisioned this encounter going at all.

“I’m Hayley, by the way.” She gives you her name that you’ve known before she even knew you existed. You can’t help but wonder if she said the same thing to Simon that night, if he bore into her blue eyes like you do now.

You managed a small, nervous smile. In response, you provided your name, and Hayley tried it on her plump lips. Up close, she was even more stunning—her flawless skin, perfect makeup base, the way the low lighting cast shadows across her face. How was it possible that someone could be so effortlessly gorgeous? What's more, she didn't just seem kind; she also appeared humble and genuine—the type of beautiful girl who didn’t flaunt her good genes or think she was better than everyone else.

Still, despite all that, your dislike for her continues to grow. It’s almost unfair that she gives you nothing but kindness and you try to find her flaws, something that you hope will mar her perfection.

“Are you here all on your own?” Hayley asks again, to which you nod.

Despite already knowing she didn't come alone, you ask anyway, "You?"

“Me?” Hayley glance over her shoulder towards her table. “I’m here with a few friends. Say, love, why don’t you join us? It gets a bit boring sitting on your own, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m kind of not used to such large groups,” you say, only to realize how lame it sounded. The poorly constructed excuse lays out the contradiction more clearly, like a lie written on a billboard. If you’re really the awkward, socially withdrawn weirdo you paint yourself to be, what are you even doing in one of the most crowded places in town?

Yet, Hayley didn't seem to judge you. The raised brow indicated that she thought it was strange, but her lips quirked up in a small smile, as if she found you… interesting.

“That's alright, darling. But you wouldn't mind a bit if I stayed here with you, would you?”

“Not at all.”

Hayley smiled, fishing her phone out of her purse. “Well, I was supposed to grab the next round for the girls, but I’ll just text them to grab the drinks. I reckon they can manage without me for a little while.” She opened her texting app, her manicured fingers making little tapping sounds as she typed.

Soon enough, a dark-haired woman approached the bar. Hayley greeted her friend, introducing her to you and you to her. The other woman smiled and nodded, but not wasting more time before saying goodbye to you and taking the drinks to their table. And just like that, you were alone with Hayley once again.

It makes you wonder why she even bothers to spend time with you—a complete stranger she just met. Is she always like this—always approaching and engaging with people she knows little about? Is that why she approached Simon the other day?

You grip your glass, soaking your fingers from the condensation around it. A temporary distraction from the memories that flash through your mind.

“Sooo, you seeing anyone at the moment?”

When that bold question came out of Hayley’s mouth, you came to a conclusion about her. It was clear that she was the type of woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. The type to pop the question out before dealing with the answer—and whatever it is, she actually has the guts to deal with it. What other people think or feel about her does not define her, and that speaks volumes about the kind of person she is.

It also speaks to the kind of person you are.

Inevitably your thoughts drift to Simon. Shaking your head, you answer her question. “No, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

Then, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “And what about you? You’re not married, are you?”

Hayley laughs at that, wiggling her ringless fingers. “No ring on.”

“Not with anyone?”

An amused smile was etched on her face. “Don’t you worry, love. I’m a free bird, through and through.” She said as she leaned closer to you, the intoxicating blend of floral and citrus notes entering your olfactory. “Why? Got somethin' fun on your mind?”

At this close proximity, you could almost feel the warmth of her breath upon your cupid's bow. Up close, her physical details came into sharper focus—the freckles that peppered her nose, her deep-set eyes, a small mole sitting above the rosy pink of her lips, and the way her lip gloss glistened under the dim, hazy club lights.

And her lips. The ones that touched Simon’s.

The agony coursed through you, pumping in sync with each beat of your heart, spreading into the farthest reaches of your body. Poison in your blood. Thoughts raced in a frenzied, feral way that defied logic and reason. You wondered what it must have felt like for Simon. Had her kisses been soft and sweet, the kind that made him melt? Or were they passionate and hungry, with him nibbling and biting at her flesh?

Memories of that night are recalled to your mind, the image of their bodies pressed together coming with absolute clarity. The way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, the way she hooks her legs around him.

Before you can register what you’re doing, you close the remaining space between you and Hayley, crashing your lips against hers in a kiss that’s almost daring. But it’s desperation that fuels you—your desperation to find any trace of him in her mouth, across her palate, beneath her tongue. You wonder if she can taste it, the bitterness of you. But when she kisses you back, more roughly and greedily, you find the answer.

Around you, the deafening music continues to play, the flashing lights like a kaleidoscope that twists and turns. Your olfactory senses register the strong smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and tears well up in the corners of your eyes. It reminds you of him—everything reminds you of him. Simon is everywhere but here. Even as you kiss another, it’s him you expect instead. You can’t help but wonder if it was the same for him that night—did he think of you as he sank deep inside of her?

When the kiss was broken, Hayley was about to smile at you before something faded it. A fat tear ran down your cheek. She furrowed her brows in concern.

“Hey, are you alright?” She asked, her accent growing thicker with worry. “Did I do something wrong? Go too far, perhaps?”

Hayley’s soft hands reached up, wiping away the salty liquid from your cheeks. You bit your bottom lip to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. “N-no, it’s nothing,” you stuttered, voice barely above a whisper as you erased your own tears with the back of your hand.

Swallowing hard, your vision blurs again. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I need to... I need to go.”

Without another word, you turned and fled, ignoring Hayley calling your name. Pushing your way through the throngs of people, you made a beeline for the exit. The air in your lungs seemingly thinning, and your throat tightening. You switched to breathing through your mouth, as it was becoming increasingly difficult. A taxi approached, slowing down when you waved at it.

Two hours had passed since you fled the club, two hours spent waiting in suspense until, finally, the vehicle's headlights flickered to life, followed by the beeping sound indicating someone unlocked it. You remained silent, hearing the footsteps getting louder before you slowly rose to your feet, turning to face the person who had emerged.

“Simon.”

The owner of the name stood frozen in his tracks. The dim lighting of the streetlights only added to your difficulty in obscuring whatever expression he was sporting, but you didn't miss the way his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

For a solid two minutes, his name was the only word spoken between the two of you. It wasn't like you were generous enough to offer him time to fully process the situation—no, it was more because you wanted to see how Simon Riley would react, how Simon Riley would deal with the unexpected.

You caught the way his mask slightly shifted—he clenched his jaw. “How?”

Instead of answering, you take a stuttering breath, feeling invisible needles piercing through your chest. “I forgot something in your car.” You tell him.

Simon's frown deepened, his head tilting slightly as he seemed to contemplate your words. It was absurd—after all these weeks, here you are, standing in front of his apartment, having somehow discovered the address, and claiming to have forgotten something in his car.

But he doesn't say anything, just continues to make his way to the car. You follow closely behind him. He opens the door to the passenger seat, then steps aside to let you check the car. You stretch your hand under the passenger seat, blindly feeling for anything, brushing through the dust and small gravel collected there until you finally touch something cold and metallic.

Pulling it out, the phone you had planted there weeks earlier came into view. You knew this meant Simon had laid his eyes on it too. It wouldn’t take long for him to connect the dots and figure out you had been tracking him this whole time.

Fucking hell. Simon remembered what he had said about modern phones. He closed the car door with a sharp click, then turned to you.

“So you’ve been followin’ me, then?”

“You didn't return my texts,” you stated bluntly.

"I asked you a question." He growls, almost like he's threatening you.

You observed the anger brewing in the depths of his dark eyes, radiating from him like a hot flame. Good, you thought silently. At least there was something that riled him up; otherwise, you would be suffering alone while he goes to fuck any willing bodies he can get his hands on.

"Why didn't you call me?" You ask again. “Why does it say your number is no longer in service? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he snap, voice dripping with venom. “You think I owe you an explanation?”

Your blurry vision missed a flicker of change in his expression. When the tears escaped and the world came into focus again, all you saw was Simon locking his jaw, irritation radiating from him. He turned and began to walk away.

You followed him, quickening your pace to catch up. “Simon! Simon, wait!”

Despite your best efforts, he continues to keep his back turned to you, refusing to even spare you a glance. He fixed his gaze straight ahead, seemingly hell-bent on creating a vast gulf between you. You called out his name once more, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night, but he kept right on walking.

“Yes, I deserve an explanation! I don’t know why you’re being like this. We were fine the last time we were together. What happened? Why did you just disappear on me?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the sleeve of his jacket to get him to stop and face you. He came to a halt. A jolt of electricity surged through you as he encircled your fingers with his own, but it soon faded as he let go of your grip on the leather. Something inside you dropped away, leaving a shameful hollow space inside.

Simon towers over you, his stature imposing and intimidating. He locks a hard glare on you. “I asked you a question, didn't I?” His voice fell to a dangerously low tone. “Why the fuck have you been following me?”

The dam holding back your tears broke, leaving you choking on your own sobs. How could he not know? All these tears, all these cries… how could he still fail to see that it was all for him? To be stripped bare only for him to overlook it. Should you skin yourself alive then? To tear your heart out, to hold the raw, bleeding organ in the palm of your trembling hand as an offering?

“Because I want to know where you are,” You settle for the simpler version, hyperventilating as you take a breath. “You know my place, my workplace... You even went to my cousin’s wedding. And yet, I know nothing about you, Simon. Nothing.”

“You think just ‘cause we fucked a few times, that gives you the right to pry into my life?”

A sharp pang of pain shot through your chest. The world was ruby-colored, either from your boiling anger or the hemorrhage from the sharpness of his words. Your jaw clenched, your gaze sharpened.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you spat. “You know we’re not just fucking.”

The clenched fists at your sides tremble, and you don’t know if it’s from anger or hurt or the weight of your own expectation to make him see it. Or perhaps it’s all three. How could he speak like this when there's a specific section in your dresser for the clothes he frequently brings and leaves, when he constantly returns and stays longer even as the morning has risen, when he drove you to the countryside and dances and twirls you around like those old couples do? Not when he embraces you until your tears subside, nor when each of his kisses offers that one thing you've chased your whole life.

There’s no way this isn’t love. He just needs to stop denying it.

Simon's eyes narrowed into slits. "Then you read it all wrong, darlin'."

The way he said it was cold, without a shred of sympathy—but nothing was colder than the way Simon continually turned his back to you as he continued to walk farther and farther away, as if all he wanted was to get as far away from you as possible. Disgusting woman in love. But you never got the hint, did you? You kept following him, running after him like a stupid little dog created solely to love, love, love, and never be loved back.

“Is that the reason, Simon?” You cried, voice cracking. “Is that why you fucked that woman—Hayley?”

“Who?”

“Hayley. The woman you fucked in the back of that pub alley! Was that why you left me?”

For the first time, Simon was lost for words, gears turning behind his brown eyes. He let out a frustrated sigh, jaw clenched tight. “You fucking stalked me?”

“I did,” you admitted, but this wasn’t an admission of guilt, nor an act of taking accountability. The words falling from your lips lacked the necessary remorse for either of those things. “I know it’s wrong, but—”

“Wrong?” Simon scoffed. “Christ, you’re bloody mental if you think that’s just wrong.”

You try to draw a deep breath through your mouth, your shoulders stuttering with the effort. The pain and the anguish are written all over your face, reddening your skin. But then, something shifts—and when you open your eyes, you are someone new.

Simon watched a thin smile spread across your swollen lips. “Do you think she's a good kisser?”

The question slipped out of you in a voice that was just barely above a whisper, but in the stillness of the night, Simon heard it, caught your quiet words. There was no faltering in your voice, no quaver, no stutter. He felt your pupils searing his skin hotter than the mansion’s fire.

“What?” He asked again, making sure he hadn’t misheard.

You were more than happy to repeat. “Do you think Hayley is a good kisser? Because I know she is—I kissed her. How did she taste? Did you enjoy it?”

“Fucking hell, you’re a fuckin’ psycho.”

“Did she moan when you kissed her, Simon? Did she wrap her arms around you, pull you in closer? Did you run your fingers through her hair—her body? Did she moan your name the way I do when we’re—”

You cut yourself off, your breath hitching again. The numbing agent has worn off, and now you're paying the withdrawal tenfold. Like your own personal hell, the memory of your intimate moments together replays, leaving nothing but a bitter taste and more hot, salty tears streaming down your face.

“Did she feel as good as I do when you’re buried deep inside me?”

Simon didn't respond, remaining silent. Or perhaps this very silence was his answer. He was always a man of few words, preferring to act instead. Right now, his actions spoke louder than anything.

“Or was she better?” You hissed. “ANSWER ME!”

Nothing. Even when you scream in his face, he keeps giving you nothing. This is the man you love—only able to take, take, and take until there is nothing left to fill the cavern he leaves behind.

You take a step towards him, hands trembling by your side. “Can she love you like I do?”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your love and pain. You caught the way Simon’s eyes widened in surprise, but they quickly returned to their stoic stare, and the mask—that damn mask—hid too much for you to make any conclusions about him. The unfairness was palpable: you were tearing your heart out, vulnerable and all exposed for him—while he was hiding behind a mesh of polypropylene.

Always guarded, always unreachable.

Simon’s shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath, gazing up at the sky before turning back to you. “You need to go home.”

“What?”

Before you could really process his words, Simon had already turned and was walking briskly to his car, his broad back starting to move away from you. Hurriedly, you ran after him, your hands outstretched to grab anything of his. Stop. Stop walking away. Stop trying to leave me.

“Simon!” You called out—God, how you hated how weak and pleading it sounded. “Simon, wait! Listen to me!”

Simon reaches his car, already grasping for the handle. Panic rises in your throat. He yanks the door open, ready to get in. Your mind is gripped with desperation, scrambling to find something—anything—to keep him here with you, and yet the only thing that can act fast enough is your voice.

“”Go home,” That’s your response, Simon? After everything I just confessed to you? I just laid my heart bare—I told you that I love you, and your answer is to tell me to go home?!”

You flinch at the sudden slam of the car door. Simon whirls around to face you, chin held high, imprisoning you under his angry gaze. “YES, I'm tellin' you to fucking go home!” He roars, his booming voice quickening your pulse. “I don't want this sappy shit you're tryin' to dump on me. Go home an' leave me the fuck alone!”

“NO!” You shouted, voice cracking as you dangled on the edge of control—on the verge of crumbling. “I won't go home! I-I love you! I don't want to go home!"

You stepped forward, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. "Is it because of me?" you questioned, as if this was the only possible explanation. “Because if it is, I can fix it! I can be whatever you want me to be—I don't care! You don't even have to love me back! Just please, don't leave. If you want, you can always use me—just keep using me. Just don't go, Simon. Please, please, don't leave me."

Because there will always be a really bad part of you that ruins everything. No matter how deeply you love or how faithful your devotion is, it will taint it. At the end of the day, it will be worth nothing. So, if your body is the only thing that would satisfy him—distracting him from your inability to make him love you—then so be it. You were always the cheap and vulgar daughter, after all.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed under his breath. “Stop. Fuckin' stop sayin' shit like that 'bout yerself.”

Despite all your pleading, Simon remains the same man he always was. A rotten one, selfish—a stray dog who loves to wander. He hasn’t changed—his dead heart has no room for your love, for you. The more you try to hold him, the more he eludes your grasp. Perhaps he has grown so accustomed to sadistic things that a woman tearing out her heart for him doesn't faze him anymore.

Or worse: he loves things like this.

A raw, throbbing heart—the soft feast of organs for a home-fashioned dinner. The beautiful swan—you, heart enlarged and sweet from your consumption of his deceit. His prized delicacy, just the way he likes it.

You felt Simon’s hands wrap around your wrist, prying your fingers off him. “No, please! Don’t go, don’t leave!”

But he was unyielding, his mind pinpointed on one goal: to get away from you. He pushed you back. You watched as he turned and opened the car door, sliding inside. Hastily, you tried to wrench the car door open—he had locked it from the inside. You slam your hands against the window.

“Simon! Simon, please!”

The glass vibrated under the force of your blows; your palms stinging with the impact. Tears streamed down your face as you continuously hit the window. Simon turned on the ignition.

“GET OUT!! I’ll die if you leave! I’LL DIE IF YOU LEAVE!”

The car lurched forward; Simon's face remained obscured from view. Your hand slides off the glass as the vehicle speeds away. The sound of the engine faded into the distance, taking with it the last piece of your shattered heart.

You stood there, frozen, alone on the empty street. He was gone.

The bitter realization hits you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. You sank to your knees, hands clutching at the fabric of your coat as uncontrollable sobs wracked your body. He was gone, and your last memory of him was his dark eyes staring at you as you begged to mean something to him.

But would it make a difference if the last recollection of him stayed on that sunny day in the countryside? Would everything have been better if you hadn't come here?

You dig your fingernails into the back of your hand, hoping the sting will distract you like it did before. Yet, even after collecting your own skin beneath your nails, the long-awaited numbness never comes. Or is it because no amount of bodily harm can relieve the agony?

(It feels like a kind of living death, doesn’t it?)

Sometimes, you get jealous of euthanized dogs.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull @olives10 @cricricorner

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lynnaredfield3383 · 3 days ago

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Not my characters. Aged up 21. Swearing. Established relationship. Angst.

Katsuki's voice came through the line.

“I won't be home the next couple nights.”

“OK. Be safe.”

Katsuki was suddenly alert. Your voice was normal, but your response was nothing he'd heard before or ever imagined you saying. Did you know? How could you know? As fear crept in and took hold of him, he lost control.

“Look you know what hero work takes, and I wish I could be there with you…”

“Kats, it's fine. Really.”

You chuckle genuinely, refusing to comfort or dispel his uneasiness.

“I can change shifts…”

Bakugo's palms were sweaty now, and his hands were beginning to spark with nervousness.

“I took a shift tonight, so it'd be pointless. Now go get the bad guys.”

There was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again.

“Shit. You mad?” Bakugo asked.

You laughed at this and it actually calmed him completely. He knew your genuine laughs, smiles, and tones. Knew them so well, but why until this very moment had he thought he was bored of those things, of you?

Mad had never crossed your mind. Hurt, disappointed, discouraged, and done. Sure. But you'd never been mad at him. Not for a second. Bakugo wasn't cheating on you, just flirting with some woman at his agency. Though you wish he'd tell you he was ready to move on, you weren't mad. Nor were you going to hold him back. You loved him too much for that.

“Never mad. Never.”

“O-okay. I'll see you tomorrow night then?”

“Not sure. Depends on the case tonight. You know how hero work is, Bakugo. Bye.”

Bakugo had been caught on the fact you used the same line he had regarding hero work, but then he swore loudly as he realized you'd used his last name.

“Fucking fuck! Shit!”

Bakugo called you back, but it went straight to voicemail. So he started running redialing every few seconds.

As soon as you'd said his last name you knew you'd fucked up. Which is why you already left the apt. You moved all your stuff from his place into your new place a week ago. As observant as he was, he hadn't noticed because he'd only been home once in the last 3 weeks. Just to shower and grab more stuff. As soon as you ended the call, you rushed to block him, knowing he would blow your phone up in moments. You'd left the letter a week ago when you cleaned the house top to bottom the way he liked it and hadn't been back since.

“You good?” Shinso, your current case partner asked.

“Yeah, let's go.”

Bakugo was on the floor of the kitchen hot tears flowing down his face as he held the letter tightly.

Bakugo, Sorry I couldn't keep you interested. Never thought we'd end up like this, but it's obvious you have feelings for that woman at your agency. I saw you & heard you two flirting the day I dropped your lunch off. It's okay. I'm glad you found someone that makes you smile and laugh like I used to. Move on, be free, and accept that there are no hard feelings. I didn't give you a heads up because I know you'll fight for us. I don't know why, especially since you've already moved on, but that's just who you are. You never fail. You didn't fail me or this relationship. You didn't. It was just time for us to move on, and that's OK. It happens. Wish you the best always, but you need to know I can't be friends with you right now. Maybe in a few months, but let's see how it goes. Be safe, be #1 & live your life with no regrets.

Y/N

#bakugo katuski #mha bakugo x reader #mha angst #mha #angst #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader

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loves-alibi · 3 days ago

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john price x reader

summary: you ask John to do the last thing he’d ever want to do

tw: mention of dying in the military

*****

John Price who’s following the nasty footsteps of his family– a long line of men killed in the army, by their blind loyalty to the crown. John Price won't give up his job. John who knows that he’s not breaking the cycle– the curse. He won't suddenly be the first of many John Prices (because, of course they share a name) to see his fifties.

The same John Price who marries you. A non-military sweetheart. At first he thought you found it charming, brave of him to put his life down for the crown and for the world. You let him put a ring on your finger. You let his crew come to your intimate wedding (so intimate that your extended families aren’t invited). You let him disappear from your home for weeks on end, no contact, and welcome him back like it’s perfectly normal.

Then why are you so upset? Why are you standing before John on the morning of his deployment, tears in your eyes begging him, it’s time to retire.

He doesn't get it because it's all he's ever known. All the Prices have been cursed to ever know. You beg him to retire but you don't understand that he can't. That every fiber of his being will cease to exist if there isn't gunfire whizzing by his ear and someone calling him Captain. That John Price is fated to the same end that his father and his father before him and- hell -probably his father before him met. The Prices are simply born to serve.

He tries to help you understand. He gives you his mum's phone number, tells you to call her when you get lonely or worried on deployment. Call your mother? The woman widowed by war?

John cringes. The sun is peeking over the horizon. He needs to go and he tells you that. You crumble. Your hands tremble as they hold onto his chest, padded with layers of clothing and jackets. It's winter, when deployments are always the worst. It's only winter in half the planet, yet somehow John always ends up in the cold.

His thoughts pull him away from you, your heat, from the damp warmth of your breath to the molten tears streaking your face.

Please, John, you said, for me.

Give it up, for me.

Give up, for me.

Give up.

He leaves you for base. You whose picture John looks at a little more than usual during this deployment, and Simon Riley, who notices.

Simon Riley who sits next to John during his night watch. He pulls two cigarettes from his pocket and hands one to John, lighting it without a word. They’re in Siberia, of course. John’s been crying, but the bitter cold dries his tears before they can leave his eyes.

"Pretty bird," Simon says, gesturing his hand to the picture in John's hand. John's thumb brushes over the curve of your cheek. "Lovely bird."

John's fingers twitch, ready to refold the picture. Simon notices and places a calm hand on John's wrist.

"She's making me retire," John blurts.

"That true?" Simon muses, taking a drag like he knows it’s not. Frankly, he does know. John’s his longest friend, and Simon can read him like a book. "I didn't know that was possible, giving you orders.”

“Neither did I.”

Simon puts a hand on his shoulder, “Why don’t you head in? I’ll take watch.”

John goes inside wordlessly. He heads to the bathroom and in the mirror he sees the face of his father. He’s always looked scarily like his old man, down to their idiotic facial hair. John grew it out like him in his twenties, when he was finally able to grow more than pubescent scrap. Now, with a fuller beard and duller eyes, he’s more similar to his father than young John ever thought possible. His father— a man who never had the privilege of going gray. Sure, he died a few years older than John is now, but he was never exactly old. Dead at 42. John's got... 5 years left by that count. 5 more years fighting, five more years with you.

John shaves it off. He leaves his stache, but that’s about it. He doesn’t want to see the old John Price, put six feet under before his boy— his namesake —graduated primary school. His hand shakes while he shaves. He should stop. The knife he’s elected to use is too sharp to risk a case of unsteady hands, but John needs it off. And off it goes. The skin beneath the beard is paler than the rest of his face. It’d take much longer for that to go away.

Someone pounds on the door of the bathroom. “Captain,” Johnny, “I know you’re takin’ a shite, but could you hurry up?”

John chuckles softly, “Fuck off, MacTavish.”

John shuts the toilet lid with his boot and takes a seat on it. He shoves a hand in the chest pocket of his coat, to the pen with a piece of paper stuck in the clip. John carefully unfolds the paper.

Armed Forces Pension Application Form.

John clicks the pen and gets to work.

#john price x reader #price x reader #john price drabble #john price fic #cod fanfic #john price is a lover boy

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padfootagain · 21 hours ago

Text

Love in Verses (XLIII)

Chapter 43: ‘The whole world depends on your pure eyes and all my blood flows into their gaze’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some cuteness, some cuteness!!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4472

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The curve of your eyes winds around my heart, A round of gentleness and dance, Halo of time, night cradle and safe, And if I no longer know all that I’ve lived It’s that your eyes haven’t always seen me.

Leaves of day and foam of dew, Reeds of the wind, scented smiles, Wings shading the world of light, Boats brimming with sky and sea, Hunters of noise and sources of colour,

Scents bloomed from a brood of dawns That still rests on a bed of stars, As the day depends on innocence The whole world depends on your pure eyes And all my blood flows into their gaze.

Paul Eluard, Capitale de la douleur, 1929

Summer. Emerald waves tainted the sea with white foam. Warmth. Rest. Vacations. Rain…

… it was Galway, after all, rain was never far away.

Andrew was getting frustrated. He was so excited to go on this vacation with you, you had spent so much time planning, and talking about it, and awaiting this trip…

… and now it was raining. It was cold. You were lost. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Stuck behind some bloody sheep…

Only in Ireland, really… It was fucking August, for God’s sake…

He heard you letting out a long exhale, feeling your frustration creeping through every corner of the car, your negative energy matching his.

He knew you would end up fighting. It didn’t happen often, but every couple fought from time to time. It had never been important, never been anything you couldn’t get passed in a matter of minutes. Your fights had always grown out of frustration over situations, like this one iteration of everything going wrong…

On the back seat, Elwood was growing restless. Andrew could hear its heavy breaths, the noise of his fur moving against the fabric of the seats. Even him was getting annoyed now.

“You should have turned left.”

There it was. Andrew knew you had longed to voice that sharp remark. To be fair, you were right, he was the one who had insisted to turn right at a previous intersection, hence getting the three of you lost.

He was not in the mood to be a reasonable adult and recognising his wrongs though.

“Next time, you’ll drive, so you can take all the bad decisions, and I can do the blaming. You had the map…”

“We have a fucking GPS…”

“Which is not currently working in this godforsaken land…”

“And I told you to turn left, and you didn’t listen!”

“Again, just take the fucking wheel then!”

You exchanged a glare, your eyes sparkling with thunder, before you huffed and looked at the time on your phone.

“We won’t catch the ferry. We should turn back.”

“We can still catch it.”

“It’s leaving in less than half an hour…”

“We can still catch it.”

“Andrew! We have no fucking clue where we are! We’re stuck behind those bloody sheep! We will not make it to the ferry, so let’s just… go back to the house.”

“You’re getting defeated…”

“No, I’m realistic. We’ll never get there on time, and especially not with these bloody sheep!”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?!”

You stared at each other for a moment. And then you did something Andrew had not predicted.

You unfastened your seat belt, opened the car door, and left.

You climbed out of the car, forcefully slammed the door shut. And you started walking across the road, walking ahead without so much as a glance in his direction. You had barely managed a few steps that you were already soaked.

As he stared at you walking under the rain, walking away from the car, walking away from him, all traces of anger left Andrew’s body. Instead, an old fear came back, raging, blurring his world for a second.

You were leaving…

In the span of a handful of seconds, mere seconds, his brain raced to the worst scenario possible. His thoughts stopped being logical and were filled with his worst fear instead.

You were sick of him. You regretted moving in with him. You wanted your ex back all over again. You would have been happier with Frank than with him. You were leaving, dumping his arse, it was over…

God… how could he survive that? You were… you were… he couldn’t…

But then you did turn around.

“ANDREW! HELP ME OUT FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

He frowned, unable to move.

“ANDY! COME HELP ME OUT!”

That was when he finally realised what you were doing. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t walking out of his life. You weren’t breaking up with him, you were…

He saw you moving your arms in the air, calling through the heavy rain towards the scattered sheep, and he finally understood that you were trying to gather them all on the side of the road, towards an open field.

He tried to regulate both his breathing and his heartbeat while he climbed out of the car, securing his coat around his frame to protect himself from the cold rain.

He was panicking over nothing. You weren’t leaving. You weren’t leaving. It was fine… he was fine… all fine…

He longed to hurry to you, but his body couldn’t. It was a strange mixture of tiredness, frustration, remnants of anger, and fear. Mostly fear.

He had to stop overthinking everything. You weren’t like that. You loved him, and he knew that, deep down… it was just difficult for him to believe he was that lucky sometimes. He couldn’t help it…

You turned to him as he approached.

“We need to get them out of the way,” you said, your voice still shaking with anger.

You were visibly surprised when he wrapped his arms around you, held you in a fragile embrace. He felt you instantly relaxing, your body growing numb into his arms as you reached up to hold him as well.

“I’m sorry I got mad,” you mumbled under your breath, although you were still frustrated.

“I’m sorry too.”

“We should go back.”

“I’m sorry. You were excited about this trip.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“It is though.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.”

You didn’t hesitate a second to say it back, to pick up on one of his pet names again. And he ought to stop overthinking everything, but he couldn’t…

“Let’s go back to the car. You’re soaked, love. You’ll catch your death. Come on,” he prompted you towards the car, and you followed him.

Andrew made a U-turn, drove back to the small cottage-like house you were renting during your two weeks in Galway. The drive back was quiet, but the silence was comfortable and warm again. All traces of frustration seemed to have disappeared from your features by the time you reached the cottage. It had stopped raining too, so you didn’t get even more drenched as you walked from the car to the front door.

You heaved a relieved sigh as you stepped inside the warm house, you wiggled happily as you took off your coat.

“We can try to get to the ferry again tomorrow,” Andrew started, his tone cautious.

You surprised him with a shrug.

“We could. We’ll see.”

“I thought you wanted to…”

“Andy… it’s alright. I don’t care. Don’t overthink this. It’s just an afternoon, it was just an activity. We can stay here today, relax, enjoy each other’s company. I don’t mind if we don’t go see the Arans. I don’t mind at all. I promise.”

Andrew forced his shoulders to relax.

“We can still go later this week.”

You nodded, a playful glimmer shining in your eyes.

“Although, next time, we’ll turn left,” you quipped, teasing him while gently pinching his side.

He rolled his eyes, but a smile was back on his lips. If you were joking around, it meant that you weren’t mad. Good… that was good…

“You should take a shower, love. You’re freezing,” Andrew spoke in a quiet, warm voice, the one he knew always soothed you. He let his knuckles brush the sharper edge of your cheekbone, hated the coldness of your skin, longed for you to be warm and content again.

You nodded, taking off your jumper and wet jeans as you made your way to the bathroom.

“Actually, I think I’ll take a bath. We can take our time today, relax.”

You turned around, tilted your head a little in a tempting way as you spoke again. Andrew was having a hard time looking at your eyes instead of the length of your naked legs…

“Want to join me?” you smiled.

He gave you a suggestive look.

“In the bath? Or in bed?”

You bit down on your lower lip, and Andrew was gone for good. God, you had him wrapped around your finger… were you aware of the extent of his need for you?

“Hmm… bed first, then a bath? After all, we did fight… Some make-up sex is in order, no?”

He hummed, nodding his head as he walked closer to you. This time he didn’t refrain his urge to let his gaze travel down your legs, marvelling at their perfect curves, his fingers tingling already at the thought of touching them, feeling the softness of your skin, your warmth spread through his palms…

When he stopped, right before you, and looked up at your eyes again, there was something inviting in your gaze. He knew this look very well by now. It was the one that granted silent permission, the one that said I want you too, you can touch me…

His heart swelled at the thought that you were granting him the right to be this close to you now. That you were allowing him, even inviting him, to touch you. To kiss you. To worship your body… and he would. For the coming hour, he planned to do nothing but worship you, in the hopes that you would read in his adoration how much he loved you. How much he cared. How much he needed you.

You were staring right into his eyes as your hands slowly rose to his chest, as you peeled his cardigan off his body. There was so much tension in the air then, electric, as heavy as your stammering breaths, while you slowly unfastened the buttons of his white shirt. One button at a time. At an excruciatingly slow pace…

He let you do it though, do as you pleased with him. He loved it, the way you were setting a pace now. The way you were taking control. There was a quiet tenderness in each of your touches that told him he was safe with you, that you would never do him harm, that he could lay his heart, his body, his life into your hands, and despite that power over him, you wouldn’t destroy him.

He needed to stop overthinking everything…

He helped you slide his shirt off his shoulders, let you rest your palms on his undershirt, one hand on of each of his breasts.

“I love you.”

He grinned at the tender confession.

“I love you too.”

When you reached up to kiss him, it felt like breathing after a lifetime without air, like relief, like being alive…

At last… at fucking last…

This ought to be heaven.

After your pleasurable reconciliation, you opted to take a bath together. An hour spent in pleasure was incredible, but also exhausting, and both of you longed for rest now. Sharing a bath offered the warmth and quiet perfect for your tired bodies, and the intimacy you both craved after sex.

Andrew smiled at the memory.

Incredible sex, actually…

You heaved a content sigh as you readjusted your head against his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His brain was fuzzy with a happy static, the kind he had never experienced before. A strange sense of peace, contentment, happiness… but that felt better than all of that combined. He couldn’t explain it. He felt it only with you, that was for sure…

“Your skin is so soft,” he mused, trailing his fingers across your waist and hip, speaking without thinking.

It felt so soothing to have you in his arms like this. There was something grounding, reassuring, and delightfully vulnerable in lying here with you, naked, sharing a bath and cuddling. You seemed to have a special power, one that made his busy brain grow quiet.

You chuckled at his words, kissed his chest as a reward.

“Yours is soft too,” you nodded, caressing his chest as if to stress your words.

Andrew shifted his legs, unfolding them to prop his feet on the edge of the bathtub, making the water and its bubbles shift with his movements. You had added some scented salts, and he liked it. It was soothing. It felt so nice.

Loving you was so good…

You giggled, making him look at you again.

“God… even this gigantic bathtub is too small for you…”

He laughed then, bright and happy with your teasing. He wiggled his toes for good measure, making you break into laughter once more.

“Can’t help it,” he shrugged.

“I love that about you. That you’re really tall.”

“Do you, now?”

You hummed in response.

“It’s sexy.”

He chuckled, his cheeks turning a brighter shade of pink.

“Oh… so I’m sexy?”

He wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh.

“Of course you are,” was your only answer, offered as if it was obvious.

Sometimes he forgot that you loved him this way. Like it was easy. Like there was nothing more natural in the world. That was how he felt for you; loving you felt as natural as filling his lungs with air, blinking at the bright sun, moving his leg over yours in bed. It was easy. Obvious. Ineffable.

You said that you felt like that, too. If it were a truth, it was a hard one to believe in. He wanted to though, longed for the safety of certainty.

He looked up at the ceiling, let out a long exhale as you nuzzled into his neck again, ran your fingers across his chest in such a soothing way, he almost closed his eyes.

He needed to stop overthinking this. You were here, in his arms, naked, loving him… it ought to be proof enough that you truly wanted him.

This fear he had felt in the car, seeing you walk away, this… uncontrollable dread that you could leave… He had to stop thinking about it, but he couldn’t.

What if you left?

He tried to picture his life without you in it. There would still be Elwood, his parents, his brother, Alex, his friends, his classes, his writing, music, poetry. He could find someone else, eventually. He hated every part of it…

When he pictured you in the same scenarios, everything seemed brighter. His life was better simply because you were in it. He tried to think of his life in a year, in five years, in ten years, in sixty years… Every time the life he wanted had you in it. He couldn’t picture a future that was happy without you being a part of it.

He had never felt like that before. Even with Sam. He had thought he would always love her, and yet, there were bits of his life that he didn’t picture her into. He could imagine living on his own, he could imagine his career, his friends, his family… without Sam in it, and still be content.

Not with you. All these lonesome pictures felt wrong. You were missing…

He thought of his life, the one that awaited him, that laid at his feet, and he didn’t want to live it without you.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice was quiet, warm. When he looked down at you again, if there was puzzlement in your gaze, there was infinite tenderness too.

He wanted this to last forever. You. Him. Forever…

He never wanted this to end. And somehow, he just knew then. That the reason why he couldn’t picture a happy life without you, was simply because you were the one for him. You were the love of his life. And his heart would always be yours.

He thought he would be scared by such a realisation, but he wasn’t. He reckoned the feelings had been in his heart for too long, had become a part of him. He was simply putting words on what he felt. You were the love of his life. He was so happy it was you…

He wanted to believe that you felt the same, but he wasn’t sure. It was okay. One day, perhaps, he would be. If he loved you for long enough, if he let you love him fully, perhaps, one day, he would stop being afraid of losing you.

Instead of answering by any of these thoughts, he cupped your cheek, gave you a tender smile.

“Nothing important. I love you, that’s all.”

Andrew was on the porch, you could hear him play the guitar. A soft melody you didn’t know, perhaps it was his own. You encouraged him to write full songs, but he kept on claiming he didn’t really want to. Poetry was enough. Music was enough. The two entities didn’t need to mingle. Sometimes he did play some guitar, hummed a melody to match one of his poems. Which you called ‘writing a song’, but he called it ‘exploring a theme through different media’. You rolled your eyes at him every time.

After the heavy rains of the afternoon, the evening was sunny and surprisingly warm. Outside, the sun was setting, kissing the hills goodbye as it lingered on their tops, flashing its golden hues into the sky before it would grow dark. You walked out with a cup of warm tea in each of your hands, took a moment to watch the beautiful colours in the sky, all golden and orange fading into red. It was quiet, you had rented a small house as an AirBnB in the country side, and there was no one around. Your closest neighbours owned a farm about a kilometre away, the road leading to the cottage was rarely used. You let your eyes travel across the fields, the green of grass, the deeper shades of bushes, the winding lines of stone walls. It was magical, in a way. There was something anchoring to this land, that made you feel like you belonged there.

The soft melody resumed on Andrew’s guitar, you turned to him. Elwood was lying at his feet with his eyes closed, but the movement of his tail told you he wasn’t asleep. Andrew was sitting on a wooden bench, right under the window of the kitchen, his legs stretched before him and taking up the whole width of the porch. His fingers danced on strings, he was humming every now and then. His notebook was by his side, open on a page stained with black ink. It was the notebook you had offered him the previous year, for his birthday. He never went anywhere without it. He seemed so peaceful, a content smile tugging at his lips. His long hair was tight in a messy bun, and he was gorgeous in an old pair of jeans and a blue plaid shirt, his skin and hair bathed in the golden light of the sinking sun. Beyond him, hills rolled, green and gorgeous. Andrew was all you could see.

You remained standing there, motionless, like a fool, staring at your partner with awe written all over your features. It was such a mundane, simple sight. And yet, it struck you then. The depth of your feelings for him, your longing for this never to end, for him never to leave.

It was silly… so silly… to realise that truth just by watching him, in casual clothes, playing mindless melodies on his guitar. And yet, that was the moment when you admitted to yourself that this was the life you wanted. You. Him. Forever. You never wanted this to end.

And God, he told you he loved you daily, showed it even more in a thousand actions and attentions he had for you each day. And yet, a part of you was still afraid he would leave, that you could lose him. What would you do without him?

You hadn’t noticed the music fading, too busy getting lost in the green of his eyes as he turned to you.

“You’re alright, love?” he asked, accent thick on his tongue with the fondness of his words, while he tilted his head.

You shook yourself, walked over to him.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay,” you smiled. “Made you some tea.”

“Oh, thanks!”

He accepted the cup you offered, moved his notebook so you could sit by his side. You didn’t mean to pry, you knew Andrew would not want you to read his writing unless he offered to tell you about it, so you looked away from the notebook as soon as you caught the title of his new poem.

That You Are.

“It’s about you,” he explained, noticing your glimpse at the notebook.

“I didn’t read…”

“I know. I trust you.”

You exchanged a smile.

“Are you really writing about me?” you asked, feeling shier now.

He chuckled, kissed your cheek.

“Who else could I write about? You’re my partner…” he answered, bending slightly in search of your gaze.

“I don’t know… your mistress…”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re right, she’s hiding in the trunk of our car.”

“Can she breathe in there?”

“Bottle of oxygen.”

“Clever.”

He shook his head at you while laughing, but when he spoke again he was serious once more.

“It’s not quite finished, you can’t read it for now.”

“That’s okay. Do you want to tell me more about what it’s about?”

He shrugged, blushing.

“It’s about… being in love with you. And… wanting to be where you are all the time.”

He stared at you, and you couldn’t help yourself when you reached up to cup his jaw and kiss his lips.

“What about the music?”

“Just…something I’ve been thinking about. To go with the poem.”

“So… you’re writing me a song now? Am I about to be serenaded?”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re insufferable,” he mumbled, before shushing your unspoken teasing with a quick kiss.

“I like it when you sing.”

“I know.”

There was something emotional shining in his eyes, but he didn’t speak more about it, and you let him draw the conversation away.

“What have you been up to?” he asked, taking a sip of his warm beverage while he put his guitar away.

He always asked these kinds of questions. At the end of every day he asked about how your classes had been, how was your research, how you were feeling. What had you been doing during the hours you had spent apart? It wasn’t prying, if you didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t insist. He just… genuinely wanted to know how your day had been. And you did the same for him. You remembered a time when you had settled for less than that simple, daily gesture. What an idiot you had been…

“I was just checking the weather for the coming days. It should be sunny on the Arans in a couple of days, so perhaps we could stay on the main land tomorrow. Perhaps a nice trek? It should rain early in the morning, but it’ll clear before noon.”

Andrew nodded, sipping on his tea, readjusting his glasses. At his feet, Elwood was now napping for good.

“We can drive to the national park, it isn’t far from here” he offered, looking at your phone as you showed him a page that referenced some paths across the wilderness of Connemara.

“Yeah, I thought we could walk around a lough.”

You studied the maps for a while, decided which path you would take the next day. Once the plans for your little adventure were sorted, Andrew gave you a mischievous smile, turning around and swinging his long legs over the edge of the bench. You fondly smiled as he moved to rest his head on your laps. His knees were bent over the edge of the bench, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I?” you asked in a quiet, tender voice as you lightly tugged on his hairband. He merely lifted his head a little as a response, so you could free his long curls, letting the chestnut strands cover your laps.

You took off his glasses too, secured them by your side. He let his eyes close with a relieved sigh as you ran your hands through his hair. You felt his body relax, the tension in his muscles disappear under your soft touch.

“This is so nice,” he hummed.

“It is,” you nodded, softly scratching his scalp, and he let out a long breath in response.

“I know that we had to wait until August to leave for our anniversary, instead of celebrating properly at the right date… but it was worth the wait!”

“We did celebrate on the date, though.”

“Yeah… but this is the actual celebration. Like… the real gift.”

“Hmm… yeah, you’re right. And I agree, it was worth the wait.”

“We outdid ourselves with this trip.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“It feels so nice to be just the two of us. To not have to worry about the usual, daily problems for a while.”

“Yeah… I reckon we both needed this.”

He took one of your hands in his. While you kept on running your fingers through his hair, he brought your other hand to his mouth, pressed it to his lips for a long kiss, intertwining your fingers together. He brought it to rest on his sternum next, stroking your knuckles.

You wanted to tell him, then. That he was the one. That he was the love of your life. That you never wanted him to leave…

But you couldn’t. You didn’t have neither the courage nor the strength. It had been a year, it was too soon. You knew, but he probably didn’t. Why scare him off when you could stay quiet and stare at his handsome features while the day ended and a new night was born out of the sun’s absence? It was safer this way…

“I love you so much, Y/N. You know that, right?” he asked in a whisper, and you noticed by how his voice had quietened that he was beginning to drift off to sleep.

You offered a tender smile he couldn’t see.

“I love you too, Andy. More than anything.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, and a moment later, his lips were parting, and he was asleep, your hand still in his, resting on his chest, and his head on your lap. You kept on looking at him, admired his peaceful expression as he slept, every detail of his face, making sure to commit each of them to memory. You didn’t pay much attention to the dying sunset, despite the colours it shone onto the world. Only when it was getting too dark for you to see Andrew’s features did you notice the passage of time. But then again, he was beautiful like this, and his hair was so soft, and the weight of his head on your lap was reassuring, grounding…

Five more minutes…

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier series #hozier professor au #hozier au #professor au #series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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startheskelaton · 2 days ago

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I'm not sure how Nightflyer and Soundblsster met Sparkplug, but I guess they met her at Earth.

So I'll do my interpretation of how Nightflyer and Soundblaster got on Earth.

Nightflyer was at the palace as usual, going to his berth after he finishes all work for the day he overhears from his sire's chambers about space bridge and how it can take someone to a different planet.

Interested, he begs and pleades Soundblaster to help him try the space bridge, which Soundblaster soon agrees with, using this as an opportunity to get rid of Nightflyer.

So they sneak out and go to the room where the space bridge is kept, and they eventually find it after a few miss ups at which room is it and knocking a few guards or less.

They tried using the space bridge, but it went wrong, and they both ended on the same planet called Earth. They ended up in different places, Nightflyer ended up in the same forest where Optimus first arrived and met Spike, and he's amazed by Earth's beauty while Soundblaster ended up in near fancy human city as he wondered where the living FRAG he ended up.

And that's pretty much it. You can tell me how they actually ended up

Also, I think Nightflyer and Soundblaster would love Earth and its culture.

Nightflyer like Optimus from idw comic and maaaaaaaybe Repunzel from Tangled would fall in love with Earth's beauty and its creatures and plants since he never saw that back Cybertron where everything's metal. To his, this would be a dream come true since, like you said, he's into mutants and plants.

Soundblaster wouldn't like it at first, but then he sees humanity's arts, creativity, literature, museums, and many more humanity has to offer. Like Nightflyer, this would be a dream come true to him, too, since he's into art and literature.

Bonus: Back on Cybertron, Starscream and Shockwave panicking where the living Primus where their sons went and screaming at anyone while Slipscream tries to eat her energon cereal.

Anyway i really love your ocs and I wish to know more about them. I really love how you have progressed the story so far. I love it.

Actually the real answer is a good bit different, however I love the story you made, It was vary fun to read!

This is how it really went down.

Shockwave chose Nightflyer in particular to be the one to go to earth undercover, he did this because he knew that Night was so loyal to his family, that he wouldn't change sides if need be (this would be proven right later). Nightflyer was absolutely mortified when he was told that he needed to go to earth, not because he didn't like earth, but because he would have to go alone to make the plan look believable. Also he would have to purposefully crash his ship on the planet... but the alone thing was more of priority for him.

He dose make it to earth and makes the ship crash, making it look like he desperately trying to escape from Cybertron. He would be found and taken to the Autobot base (after checking him for tracking devices) where he would be questioned and checked to see if his arrival would bring more enemies to the planet. He was kinda blacked out for a while (because of the crash) when he was sent to Ratchet's med bay to undergo an emergency check up. And who just happened to be the reluctant medical assistant on hand? Sparkplug. She really had to fight her dad in order to stay and help with the exam (she really wanted to be part of something exciting, and a random hot guy falling from space was definitely exciting).

They properly met during tryouts for being put on a mission team. Nightflyer passed well (however he needed to hide his full potential as to not tip off that he was part of the Cybertonian guard). Sparkplug on the other hand passed with shockingly flying colors for a bot her size, however was immediately turned away by Megatron (this is because Sparkplug has been training most of her life to be qualified for off base missions, however is shot down by her dad each time at the qualifying tests. Like her late father, she's not one to take rejection lying down, so she has trained for years and gone to every try out. Much to Megatron's dismay, this has only forced her to get stronger then she would have been if he had passed her earlier).

At first Sparkplug is kinda spiteful against Night simply because he was able to go on missions despite being so new to the autobots, however something makes her look at him differently... she notices he's lying. She has no idea what about but she can feel it, something about his story is too perfect, he's moving up the ranks too quickly and cold outer shell doesn't fit with someone who wanted to break away from his original faction. So when she finds him in the library one night, she corners him, and he breaks... but not fully. He reveals his true personality to her, but not his mission. He is vary genuin about how he feels trapped by having to mask all the time, that no one would take his seriously if he was himself, and how he genuinely felt oppressed by the "the strong rule the weak" mentality of the Decepticons. In return, Sparkplug opens up about her strange existence and confusing expectations people have for her. That she needs to be a replacement but not a copy, to have prime's kindness but none of Megatron's anger, love herself for being special but listen to everyone talk about how freaky her existence is. And after that night... Sparks start to fly between the two.

Soundblaster met Sparkplug in the middle of space.

Eventually the time comes and the seekers (slipstream and company) show up on earth and it's revealed that Nightflyer was a spy the whole time. And a dangerous one at that, actually able to go up against a good amount of the autoboots. This breaks Sparkplug's heart because she talked to Nightflyer a LOT, she had no idea if any of that was real or not. It didn't help his case when he immediately sided with his sister, going back to being a deception due to his loyalty to his family.

However during this shit show, who arrives but the DJD, taking advantage to the situation to try and take Sparkplug in order to make her a new Megatron. Seeking a chance to be praised by Shockwave, Soundblaster is able to grab Sparkplug admits the chaos (capturing the last remints of Optimus prime would be extremely useful in manipulating the public or just making a super weapon) . However due to a mix of Skywarp's powers fucking up along with Slipstream's (she has the same power's as Skywarp), Soundblaster and Sparkplug are warped halfway across the universe. This now forces our characters to try and find Spark before anyone else can.

When coming to, Sparkplug is absolutely livid at Soundblaster and immediately attacks him. But due to the situation, they reluctantly come to an agrement, get somewhere where they can get back to Cybertron or earth, then fight about it then. This forces the two to work with one another to try and make it to intergalactic space station without dying. During this time, Sound only communicates through mores code, never speaking once. However him and Sparkplug have a good amount of conversations, slowly opening up to one another. They really hit it off when Sparkplug is able to relate to Soundblaster, but admit that he defiantly had it worse then her (nightflyer on the other hand saw himself and Soundblaster as equally out cased despite the huge power discrepancy). She's able to see him for who he is, what he was supposed to be, and who he wants to be... and this makes Soundblaster throw away his loyalty to the decepticons and decide to be loyal to Sparkplug herself.

OH MY GOD this was a long post, I could go on but I need to stop myself before this becomes an essay.

#artists on tumblr #oc #transformers #tf #ask #ask blog #ask box #lore dump #one spark au #transformers au #transformers oc #tf sparkplug #sparkplug #nightflyer #tf nightflyer #soundblaster #tf soundblaster #long post #this was a really big lore dump I'm so sorry

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em1989ts · 3 days ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭

five hargreeves x reader

part one.

word count: 2.2k

summary: you wake up in the apocalypse, with no memory of what life was like before. five years later, you meet another survivor. what happens when the two of you reluctantly decide to work together?

author's note: sorry i took a little break lol, now that school is starting again i have motivation to write so i'm continuing this story that i forgot about. part two is gonna have all the good stuff: enemies, tension, smut, so hopefully i can finish that this week ;) enjoy!

not proofread!

You were on fire.

The skin on your arm felt as if it were melting off as you sat up quickly, patting your opposite hand against the flame to put it out. A large hole was fringed into the sleeve of your shirt, framing the bubbling pink flesh of the burn on the outside of your arm. You grimaced as you stared at it, the pain remarkable and all you could think of before you fully registered where you were.

The sky was a dimming blue, telling you the sun had set not long ago. You would soon be in pitch darkness if it weren’t for the hundreds of glowing fires surrounding you.

Looking around, you couldn’t find anything familiar. Nothing to recognize. Nothing that would give you a hint as to where you were or how you got there.

You racked through your brain for anything that would tell you what caused this.

Climbing off the pile of rubble, you carefully walked through the bricks and glass to find flat ground, gagging as you saw the state of the main road.

There were bodies. People were burnt. People were in pieces.

Turning around, you noticed limbs sticking out from the piles and piles of concrete. People were crushed.

You yelled and screamed, running around pleading for someone to hear you, to call out to you.

You wished there was another survivor but there wasn’t.

Something bad had happened here.

And you were the last one standing.

It had been five years since that night. The first night of your new life in the apocalypse.

As an eighteen year old, you have become adjusted to living on your own, surviving however you can, even if it means eating cockroaches for dinner. You still couldn’t remember what caused the end of the world, or how you even survived, but after years of searching, you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re the sole survivor.

The only reason you could come up with to explain your survival was a glitch in the matrix. After years of brainstorming through the little memories you had, only bits and pieces made sense. Of course you knew your name, you knew you lived in New York City because that’s where you woke up, you knew you were thirteen when it all started, but that was pretty much it. A newspaper you found during one of your first few days in the apocalypse told you the date of which it happened: April 1st, 2019. This never made sense to you, due to the fact that you were born in 1989. How could you have possibly woken up in the future?

At first, you were extremely cautious. Examining bodies that lay in the street, making sure there were no bites taken out of them, in fear of the possibility that zombies were somehow the end of the world. But no, no zombies. Not even killer robots. The most logical explanation you could think of was a natural disaster. Possibly an asteroid impact that shattered the globe and scorched its people, but who knows.

The apocalypse was hard to adjust to, having to teach yourself a lot in order to survive, but soon enough you knew how to live a stable life on your own.

You learned to wield weapons, always having a loaded gun or sharpened knife with you, just in case you ever found someone alive who would try to fight you for your supplies, yet no one ever did.

Until today.

You had been walking down the highway for a few days now, heading south for the winter to escape the cold. Dragging your wagon behind you, which carried all your necessities, you noticed a gas station on the side of the road in the distance. Your food rations had been running low, so you were thrilled to be able to stock up before continuing your travels.

Swerving through the abandoned cars that were left on the road, full of bones, you quickly walked to the rest stop. You would’ve opted for running but you did your best to preserve your energy for when it was needed most.

Like always, there were no footprints indicating there were others present. No signs of survivors, just the occasional pile of bones.

Before you brought the entirety of your belongings inside, you went through your backpack for a small pistol and quickly loaded it before shoving it in your pocket. A knife was snug in your sock for easy access as well. Your wagon was left just outside the door for a moment as you went up to the glass and scanned the interior of the gas station. Nothing looked suspicious so you grabbed your wagon and made your way inside. It was difficult to maneuver the metal cart through the door but once it passed through, you hurried over to the closest aisle and started examining its contents.

You were thrilled to find pads that hadn’t been entirely burned up, stuffing a good amount of those into your backpack. There was a good amount of medicine and health supplies still intact but you didn’t entirely trust the expired medication. The wall was lined with shelves of unrefrigerated drinks which you were about to stand up and look through when you heard something. It almost sounded like a shoe squeaking against the smooth floor.

You froze. You mustn’t have heard that correctly.

There were often times where you hallucinated people. Just simple people, families living their normal lives in a normal world like it hadn’t burned to the ground. Noises that you knew weren’t real played in your head. But this made every alarm ring in your brain

Survival kicked in as you remained low, your shoes were scuffed up and you were careful and light on your feet. It couldn’t have been you that made that sound.

You slowly crawled to the edge of the aisle, lifting each foot as quietly as possible until you made it to the corner.

Instead of sticking your head out of the aisle to look, in fear of a headshot, you looked for a reflection that could tell you if anything or anyone else was in the store.

In the corner above your head, there was a circle reflective mirror that allowed you to see the entire store, but as you noticed it, you weren’t fast enough to dodge the figure around the corner that lunged at you as soon as your eyes saw its reflection.

The figure covered most of their face with a cloth mask and a hat with goggles that covered their eyes. They pinned you down onto the hard floor by your shoulders and it knocked the breath out of you initially but you quickly stabilized and kicked your knees up into them to shove them off. Neither of you had gotten up onto your feet yet, both brawling, almost forgetting how to fight after only imagining it for so long. The two of you quickly stood up to continue the fight and before they could lunge at you once again, you drew the pistol from your pocket and aimed it straight for their head. You didn’t want to shoot the only other living person in the world, yet you would if you had to.

You couldn’t make out their eyes through the goggles but you could see them freeze at the sight of the barrel pointing at them.

The gun was as steady as your stance. They slowly raised their hands as they reached for the hat. You cocked the gun, warning them not to dare to reach for anything. They raised one hand in reassurance as they pulled off the hat, the goggles coming off with it.

A boy.

His hair was shaggy, dark brown and awkwardly grown out. His eyes were a piercing green, brightly contrasting from the dust and dirt on his forehead.

As he pulled his bandana from the bridge of his nose, he revealed the rest of his face to you.

Damn.

You cursed your initial thoughts, yet they only made sense.

Stuck in the end of the world with a boy your age, what was the universe trying to insinuate?

He could tell you were caught off guard as your eyes were caught on his face. Noticing your faltering hands, he quickly twisted the pistol out of your hands, kicking it away as it fell to your feet, and twisted you around until your back was firmly pressed against his chest. He had your arms pressed down to your side as his wrapped around you and held you down. You tried to shake him off but his voice in your ear made you freeze. The warm breath on your cheek soothed you, even with his threatening demeanor.

“How are you alive?”

Your chest rose and fell as you tried to stabilize your breathing in his hold.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

How was it possible that there was another survivor, coincidently your age, who you just happened to avoid for the past five years? It made you question how many others were out there, or if it was only the two of you left on the planet.

He squeezed you harder in his hold, an uncomfortable tightness in your sides, as he demanded into your ear, “Answer the question.”

There was no point in struggling further, “I don’t know, okay? I woke up one day and the world was destroyed,” you gasped.

He loosed his hold and turned you around, eyes frantically searching over you, searching for a sign you might continue to fight him.

You stood still, staring at him in return, not sure what to do. He seemed deep in contemplation, but that’s what happens when you’ve spent years living in your own head.

“I don’t remember anything from before,” you elaborated, “I just remember waking up in a pile of rubble, surrounded by fire and bodies.”

You analyzed his face as he took in your story, imaging if the same thing happened to him. Does he remember anything from before? Could he tell you what happened?

When he made no move to verbalize his thoughts, you said one last thing on your mind.

“I didn’t think anyone else survived.”

With this, he looked up at you with a furrow in his brow.

“Well great, as if there weren't enough resources to begin with.”

He bumped your shoulder as he made his way back to the aisle he was originally in, kneeling next to a backpack as he resumed filling it with whatever he found necessary.

You were shocked to say the least. How could he be so indifferent to find out someone else survived? Did he want the whole fucking world to himself?

As he paid no further attention to you, you decided to grab your own bag and continue filling it with as much goods as possible, concerned he would selfishly take everything good.

You hopped over the counter to grab the entire supply of lighters, lighter fluid, and batteries. When you looked up, the boy was standing in front of the counter with a pissed off look on his face.

“Did you take everything?”

You shrugged, “Maybe.”

This time, you actually walked around the counter instead of hopping over, and as you were doing so, you noticed a case of water bottles. Clean drinking water was unfortunately hard to come by, so this was a good score. You picked up the case with a smug grin and walked by him out the door.

He followed right behind you, “Oh come on, you have to share that,” he pleaded.

“Oh I have to? I don’t think so, I don’t owe you anything,” you said as you plopped the case onto your wagon.

As you walked off, you could tell he was in a bit of a mental dilemma, yet you were also in the same boat.

Should you turn around and work together with him? Combine resources and stop the other from going mad in isolation? Or should you go your separate ways? Stay on your own, only focusing on keeping one person alive.

You came to a stop, deciding it might be better to stick with him. If he threatened you or if he was too much of an asshole, you could just kill him.

When you turned around you jumped, not realizing he had walked up to you.

“I have a base, not too far down the road,” he said to you, “We could work together.”

You signed, contemplating one last time. You only made a base once, but it didn’t hold up well and you ran out of supplies quickly. It was easier to be on the road and travel for food and make temporary stops. However, something told you to go with him. Call it instinct if you will, but you stuck your hand out. He immediately took your palm in his and gave it a firm shake.

If only you knew what you were getting into.

~~~

#five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves x reader #tua fandom #five hargreaves x reader #tua five #number five #aidan gallagher x reader #enemies to lovers #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x reader smut #five hargreeves x you #number five x reader #number five imagine #five x you #five x reader

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fantasylandloser · 3 days ago

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bsf!clark kent

“It’s just a little..” Clark circles around you, displeasure set in his jaw. “..short.” He finishes. “There’s gonna be all kinds of creeps out there.” When you shrug and twirl in your tiny skirt Clarks stern gaze sets on you, expectantly.

“Why would that matter if I have my big, strong bff forever there to protect me?”

His eyes roll. “You don’t have to say forever if you say bff.” He corrects.

You tilt your head, rolling your eyes as well. “Don’t correct me .” You point your finger into his chest. “Or else.” It’s the least threatening experience of his life.

Your finger is in his hand a moment later and he pretends to take a bite. You try not to giggle at the gesture. You fail. You’d been ignoring your crush on Clark for months on end even though you knew he felt the same way, but something about the tension set off by the feelings you didn’t talk about made you giddy.

“Well if you really want to walk out the house looking like that, then let's go. We’re already late.” Clark’s effort is valiant not to ogle your ass in that tiny skirt. Fighting between his irritation and desire he chose to remain neutral the remainder of the night.

***

Clarks resolve lasted all of twenty minutes. You’d been catcalled at least five times and one guy even had the audacity to try and grab your ass. That’s how he ended up pinned to the wall. You were next.

First he shoved his jacket off his broad shoulders and on to yours, still ever so gentle, even though his jaw was tense and his gaze wouldn’t find yours then he led you through the crowd.

“If you listened to me then-” You hear from behind you.

“Then everything would be boring all the time.”You quip before he could finish. Clark wonders why you’ve been trying to upset him all night. He goes to lecture you, when you’re called away by some girls you know.

“You know she walks all over you because you let her man.” Pete tells Clark after observing the situation. His friend is seriously whipped.

“She doesn’t walk all over me.” Clark gruffs.

Pete smacks his lips. “Tell her to do one thing, and I bet she won’t do it. You need to establish serious boundaries with her. Or better yet just get your girl, so y’all don’t have to do this weird dance you’ve been doing.”

Clark wishes he could tune out Pete’s yapping. “She’s not my girl.”

“She could be.”’

*****

Clark huffs at the sight of you dancing on a table. You’re not drunk, you’ve only had one drink and yet you still manage to make yourself the center of attention. He can count three guys getting entirely too close to you. He’s already inching forward when one is reaching out to grab you, the possessive edge he’s been feeling all night taking over completely.

“Get down.” Not a request, but he could see you were about to treat it like it was one. Before you get a chance to open your mouth he has you thrown over his shoulder. And you erupt into a fit of giggles. You can’t help it because that’s all you wanted from him anyway. A reaction.

“Why’re you acting like this?” He asks once he puts you down and you realize he’s taken you to the bathroom.

“I just wanted your attention, Clark.” Your tone soft as you try to swallow the smirk that wants to make its way to your face.

Clark grips your jaw, so gently, you note, “Why didn’t you just ask for it?” His eyes boring into yours.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You smile when he laughs, his fangs poking .

“You’re trouble.” You don’t get time to respond before his lips are on yours in a desperate kiss.

*****

guys I'm trying to knock the rust off so don't hate too much

#smallville #clark kent x reader #clark kent smut #clark kent fanfiction

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lacucarachapisser · 2 days ago

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successfully failed colin zabel x f!reader

warning : husband! colin, pregnancy announcement, silly arguments, cringe-fluff, tooth-rooting, bullying as flirting, reader being mean and so is colin prolly ooc lol and lil bit hurt-comfort.

a/n : another fluff because why not, this man is so cute and i want to spoil him. im sorry this was rushed and cliché and apologies for my broken english and any grammatical errors. 1.4k wc.

it was because of your period tracker apps says you’re late, you ended up biting your t-shirt end, struggling in the bathroom alone to see what the second test pack is gonna tell. yes, the second. you still could not believe the two strips had appeared on the first you have held on your other hand. blame the trust issues you could never overcome along with some sort of dread overwhelming anticipation that rudely kicking in. but here you are alone, accompanied by your own half naked reflection in the mirror. a slight smile occur on your lips, you held the two test packs as it was a big evidence you’d need to shown to your man. your always busy man.

colin, i’m pregnant.

it wont be an easy way to tell, as a matter of factly. gosh, you really want to surprise him with that news, but you have a situation within these past two days. the problem began when you’re craving in the middle of the night but since colin had not home yet, you texted him to get you something from your favorite japanese restaurant, but he was being careless, didn’t checked his phone so he went home with an empty hand, and those stupid thing led into a silly arguments.

“where’s my oyako-don?”

“your oya-what?”

it’s almost 10pm that night and clearly he looked so tired and absolutely exhausted, but you didn’t like how colin use his tone. you have waited him in the company of growling stomach and hoping you can enjoy ayako-don with your love one. instead, you had to swallow his irksome attitude.

“sorry, got no time to check the phone. if you’re hungry, you can eat something from the fridge. i’m tired, i need to sleep,”

“and if you’re sleepy you can always use the couch.”

defense. you can be much more annoying. of course he gets annoyed, and as much with his dismay at that time, he glared with a deep inhales and strong exhales came out from his nose.

“seriously,”

“well, i’m just saying.” you shrugged and pretended didn’t care.

he didn’t say anything as he quickly picked up the quilt you had spread on the top of the couch. he was too tired to make the conversation on. you left him, headed to the bedroom and deliberately slam the door hard so he can hear it.

and that morning, after you found out that you’re pregnant, you realize that you have to talk things out and fix your oyako-don situation. it’s colin’s day off, he probably still asleep and the thought of him still curled up in the couch while you announce the news and give him the evidence make you feel giddy.

you didn’t think much as you put your pants on, hide the test packs on your pocket, wash your hand and walk out from the bathroom to approach your man.

and there he is, curled up at the couch in front of the TV, hugging the quilt like a little kid. you admire him from afar and the stupid fight scene from yesterday suddenly come to your head. you have no idea why you can be so dramatic and moody? and not to mention —the feeling of a slight hatred while seeing his face was also there. no, you could never hate him that’s for sure. was this all happen because of the bean inside you? damn right hormones.

after some considerable thought, you ended up choose to wake him with the coffee scent. you carry those two cute mugs so that you can make him open his eyes from the smell of the coffee you have made. but before you could come closer at him, one of the mug slipped from your hand and scattered around the floor. and that’s how he woke up. never the plan. you cursed to yourself as you pick up all the pieces.

he gets up from the couch and walk towards you. you can feel it from the corner of your eyes when he gets closer to your presence. he squats in front of you when your eyes still searching the little pieces all over the floor.

“that’s your favorite mug,”

“careful,”

you didn’t mean to let your voice came out that harsh but your mouth is a beast. sometimes she acts without your consent.

“cranky,” he comments. your mood is okay when he’s quiets, but when he started saying something, you can’t help but feel lightly annoyed.

“and again someone’s gonna force me drive 3 hours straight just to get to the specific antique shop.”

you glared at him, hoping that he would shush but he scoffs and pretty sure enjoy the teasing very much.

“i can drive myself.”

“not a chance. you probably back with just one side mirror.”

you quickly get up and he follows you.

“you think you’re so funny?”

“uh-huh,” his hostile attitude emerges, you couldn’t quite withstand the tears that seems ready to spill any time.

“what’s wrong with you?” you snapped and you clearly could feel the heat of anger start creeping through your pores.

“what’s wrong with you.” yeah what is wrong with you? it’s all practically a joke. blame the hormones!

his demeanor looks amused and triumph by your reaction, he totally thinks he’s winning.

“this….” you aim the mess you have made on the floor. “i… i was planning on being nice today because i have something to tell you and i wanted to fix whatever happen between us,” you suddenly get very emotional and sentimental, you don’t even know how you should feel anyway, anger and sad taking over the happiness you have had earlier.

you pull out the two test packs from your pocket and burst in tears.

“i-i was going to surprise you..” you mumble, holding up your voice so that it wouldn’t sound too pathetic.

colin slowly takes the test packs and stare at it. he certainly feel bad to tease you in a very sunny day particularly his day off. he supposed to spend time with you doing something fun rather than arguing silly thing. however, he pulls you in his embrace as you start sobbing. see now, you’re winning.

“oh shit.. shit.. baby,” he grasps your body tight, burying your face to his chest, hand instinctively moved to the small of your back brushing it up and down. he squeezes your shoulder dearly, murmuring your name and sorry, shushing you hoping that it could stop the cries as he still stared at the test packs he held on one hand.

“look at me,” he whispered and it makes you sobbed a little harder. “come on, look at me..”

you managed to look up to see his face with tears still gather on the corner of your each eyes. he starts kissing your eyelids alternately. “oh my sweet girl, carrying my child. i’m sorry sweetie,”

an affectionate proud smile come across his lips, his hands cupping your face and the thumbs softly swipe your tears away. he gently pulling you close as his lips brushed against yours in a sweet lingering kiss. a warm presence that sent sparks of electricity flying through you, feeling loved, a heartfelt moment you needed the most.

“i am a terrible husband,”

that’s not true of course. you don’t have the energy to say something so you just shake your head slowly.

“how about we restart. lets make your plan come smooth, like i know nothing and we can create a proper memory. what do you think?”

you exhale and press your lips together. “well..”

“hm? what do you want to tell me baby?” he started his acting and it actually sounds pretty hilarious.

“i-i’m pregnant,”

he picks your body up until you can not touch the floor, spinning and twirling you around happily. your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, putting all your strength in there. his hand against your waist feel ticklish and you can’t help but giggle. “colin! there still might be piece of break somewhere here,”

but instead responding at your warning, he fondly kisses you. “i can’t believe i’m gonna be a dad. and you’d be absolute great mom.” and he kisses you one more time. gosh you are so full of love, a simple soft smile smearing your face.

“better?”

“m-hm,”

“still i like you being cranky. the c in cranky stands for cute.”

so you fulfill. what he say goes. you pull his ear and pinch it as a punishment.

“aw.. okay.. okay. sorry.”

you could have simply let it go, but it is the right time to get revenge after all his teasing.

“please,” he mutters plea. finally.

“oyako-don.”

“granted!”

this time, you put a hard kiss on his cheeks. and only then do you realize you have the absolute bestest husband.

another notes : thank you so very much for reading, every like reblog and comment are appreciate i can not thank you enough for that. those act itself could makes me alive and motivated so that i can write more for you, for me, for us. ((your comment and reblog actually could pay my bills im not even joking)). love yall sm.

#colin zabel #colin zabel x reader #colin zabel x you #colin zabel x y/n #im craving oyakodon yall #not very proud but my writing!#mare of easttown #evan peters

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dianawinchester03 · 2 days ago

Text

Season 3, Episode 3 - Bad Day At Black Rock (Part One)

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Hiiiii. HAPPY NEW YEAR LOVES. It’s been a minute since I’ve updated but I finally hauled my lazy ass and finished up the new episode🤣

Random but the song inspo for this chapter is Best Friend’s Brother by Victoria Justice💀

So my dumbass FORGOT that in the actual show, Ruby revealed herself to be a demon in season 3 episode 2💀I just widdled it into this episode with my own twist, as per usual hahaha.

This chapter stands at 24.7k words combined and this is part 1. Here is part 2! Hope everyone enjoys it🫶

Trigger Warning: mentions of sexual assault towards female character (no sexual assault actually takes place)

____________________________________________

Third Person POV

Aurora, New York

•One Week Later

Sam and Y/N were currently in a diner, both nose deep into information on lores, searching for any type of way to get Dean out of his demon deal. They left Dean back at Y/N’s safehouse, leaving the elder Winchester passed out after having one too many last night and almost getting into a bar fight.

Luckily, he made it out of there intact, thanks to getting hauled out on his ass by Sam and Y/N. His actions earned him multiple smacks to the noggin by his loving girlfriend and a lecture from his caring younger brother while getting driven back to the house. He barely heard a word that went past Sam’s lips since he fell asleep in Y/N’s lap in the back seat halfway through the drive.

Then after getting tossed over his brother's shoulder from the Impala to the room and stuffed into a thick fluffy blanket, Y/N made it her duty to coddle and love a half conscious, drunken Dean Winchester. Changing him out of his clothes, which he ended up barfing all over. Then having to clean up and help him shower while he yapped about “how sorry he was for ruining her jacket”, “how much he loved her” and “how much his little brother meant to him”

All while threatening to castrate her in her sleep if she uttered a word of his drunken ramblings to Sam. Y/N simply snickered at him while she placed fresh clothes on his body, tucked him away, then whispering a soft, “I’ll never tell him your secret, charming. No matter how sweet they are” Before swaddling him away into her arms and falling soundly asleep.

Now back to the current time, since they’d been on the road for the past week, Jo took a detour for a case in Long Island with her mom. She said she’d be back in a few days tops but it had already been a week and no signs of the Harvelle ladies. Sam was on his third cup of coffee, growing antsy by the second.

Y/N was busy typing away on her laptop, her eyes flickering up to Sam when she noticed him finished his third cup. “Over caffeinating is not gonna make her call faster, Samuel. She’s fine” Y/N assured him in a deadpan tone as she scrolled through a dark website. “I know that” Sam retorted with a huff, “I just miss her” He said in a low tone as he fidgeted with his coffee mug, staring into the now empty cup. Y/N glanced up from her laptop at him with a raised brow.

Sam let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair, rolling his eyes when he saw the look on her face. "But it's been a week already. You know how dangerous hunting can be. And they took a job on Long Island, no less. Not exactly a hotspot for peaceful demons and ghosts." Y/N snorted in amusement, "And there it is" She shook her head as she wrapped her fingers around her own mug.

Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "What do you mean by, 'And there it is'?" he asked, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. She shot her best friend an unimpressed look before reaching over and tapping him on his forehead. Sam swatted her hand away with a scoff, trying to look annoyed. "What the hell was that for?" Y/N raised a brow in response. "You're getting all flustered, like a schoolboy who just got dumped by his high school sweetheart." She smirked as she continued, leaning back in her seat.

"And it doesn't do you any good worrying yourself sick over it. You know they can handle themselves just fine. Besides, I'm sure Jo will call as soon as they finish dealing with whatever's going down in that sleepy beach town." Sam huffed out a sigh, hating how well she could read him. "I hate you" He grumbled, beginning to bite at his thumbnail as he scribbled down details to a possible soul-ritual on a piece of paper.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "No, you don't." She glanced down at the notes on the table, her eyes skimming over the page. "Any progress on finding anything that can reverse a deal?" Her fingers tapped against the rim of her mug as she took a sip. He shook his head as he ran a hand over his jaw. "Not much." he confessed. "Most of these soul-retrieving rituals seem like some sort of voodoo bullshit. Nothing that's actually gonna get us anywhere." He groaned in frustration, tossing the pen down on the table.

Just then, a sound of the diner door bells jingling echoed through the crowded diner. They paid no attention to the patron entering, indulging in their own conversation. The duo was caught off guard when a familiar face sat next to Y/N, across from Sam. “Hello, Sam” The blonde haired woman smirked at the younger Winchester, paying no mind to Y/N. Their eyes widened in surprise and a tinge of fear. "You" Y/N gasped.

“You've been following us since Lincoln" Sam pointed out at Ruby, slamming a book over his paper as Y/N slammed her laptop shut. "Not much gets by you, huh?" Ruby mused as she reached into Y/N's plate, stealing one of her fries "Hey! Get your own bitch" Y/N exclaimed as she snatched her plate back, giving Ruby a death glare. Sam leaned forward in his seat, trying to ignore Y/N's obvious anger. He kept his eyes trained on the demon.

Ruby moaned as she bit into the fries, "Mmm, these are amazing. It's like deep fried crack. Try some" Her last few words had an underlying skittish tone as she smirked at Sam. He scoffed in disgust at her words as Y/N continued to glare at her, gritting her teeth. Something about this chick didn't rub her the right way. Ruby's smirk only widened as she watched Y/N's expression.

"Calm down, kitten, you'll give yourself a stroke," she quipped, stealing another fry from the now guarded plate. Y/N clenched her jaw at the nickname, "Cut the bullshit" She spat. "That knife you had, you can kill demons with that thing?" She asked, keeping her fries guarded. “Sure comes in handy when I have to swoop in and save damsels in distress” Ruby quipped back, causing Sam and Y/N to roll their eyes in annoyance.

“Where'd you get it?” Sam asked as Ruby slid a plate over, squirting a hefty amount of ketchup into his plate, now digging into Sam’s fries, “Skymall” Sam and Y/N scoffed again, “Why are you following us?” He asked. “I’m interested in you” Ruby smiled as she chewed, “Because you're tall. And I love a tall man”

Y/N couldn't hold back the eye roll as Ruby continued to flirt with Sam. "Can you stop trying to charm the pants off of him?" She grumbled. "He's taken, by a much hotter blonde, thank you very much. So I'd suggest you scurry along back to whatever hole you crawled out of" Y/N growled, defending Sam in Jo's absence, glaring at Ruby once more.

Ruby raised a brow at Y/N with a smirk. "Ooh, the little kitten's got claws" She teased as she took another one of Sam's fries, much to his annoyance. Sam quickly intervened, trying to keep focus on the reason for why Ruby was really here. "Cut it out" He snapped, "And there's the whole antichrist thing" Ruby added, dipping her fry into the ketchup.

“Excuse me?” The two hunters echoed in unison, suddenly intrigued by what the hell she was talking about. Y/N was on the edge of her seat, her previous annoyance replaced by curiosity. “You know, the generation of psychic kids. Yellow eyed demon rounds you up, celebrity deathmatch ensues. You’re the last two survivors” Ruby mused, taking up Y/N’s mug of coffee to sip on it.

“How do you know about that?” Sam asked as Y/N remained dumbfounded. “I'm a good hunter” Ruby shrugged as she leaned back into her seat, placing the mug back down onto the table, “So, Yellow Eyes had big plans for you two” Ruby smirked, “Had, being the keyword” Y/N bit back as Sam glared at Ruby.

“Oh, yeah yeah yeah. That’s right. Ding-ding, the demon’s dead. Good job with that.” The demon mused, “Doesn’t change the fact that you two are special..in that Anthony Michael Hall and Jennifer Love Hewitt, ESP-vision kind of way-”

“No. No, that stuff’s not happening to me anymore. Not since Yellow Eyes died” Sam cut her off, “Well I’m thinking you’re still big deals. I mean, after all that business with your moms” These words from Ruby made Sam and Y/N’s heads snap in her direction.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock and fear, “What about our mothers?” She asked, her heart starting to beat violently against her ribs. Ruby casually leaned her chair back, taking another sip of Y/N’s coffee, “You know, what happened to their friends” She mused. Sam and Y/N exchanged looks as their brows furrowed in confusion but they tried to mask it with hard gazes.

“You guys don’t know” Ruby playfully gasped, Sam’s nostrils flared as Y/N clenched her fists, tearing her eyes away from Ruby. “You’ve got some catching up to do, friends” Ruby smirked as she took out a pen from her pocket and took Sam’s hand into hers.

Y/N’s heart pounded violently in her chest at the sight of Ruby grabbing Sam’s hand, but she tried to keep a straight face. Sam snatched his hand back from her touch, recoiling in disgust as she tried to write on his hand.

“Don’t touch me” He snapped, his voice cold and serious. Ruby chuckled at his reaction, “Awh, that’s no way to treat a girl” She pouted mockingly, taking his hand again, “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, trying to swat her away with his other hand, but Ruby was persistent.

“Seriously, dude, knock it off” Y/N snapped, noting Sam’s discomfort. She shoved Ruby’s hand harshly away from Sam’s. “Easy, kitten” Ruby scoffed, rolling her eyes at the psychic as she took up a napkin, waving it their faces before scribbling her number onto it.

Y/N’s blood boiled as she heard her nickname leave Ruby’s lips. "Call me that one more time, I'll cut your goddamn tongue out" Y/N sneered, her expression hardening as she clenched her jaw. Ruby simply chuckled, unaffected by the threat as she slid the napkin with her number on it across the table to Sam.

“Go look into your mothers’ pals and then give me a call, and we’ll talk again” Ruby said in a sultry tone before getting up from the booth. Y/N watched as Ruby walked away from the booth, feeling a sense of relief and hatred at the same time. Her eyes turned to Sam, who was watching the demon through the window.

“Please tell me we’re not actually gonna call her” Y/N’s voice was stern, but with an undertone of concern. Sam sighed, taking in the information that was just given to him. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what she just said about our moms?” Sam asked lowly, contemplating looking into it.

Y/N leaned back in the booth cushions, crossing her arms as she thought about it. Part of her was curious and intrigued about the mention of her mother, but the other half was still on edge and skeptical about Ruby's motives. "I am, but I don't trust her" Y/N admitted, her eyes narrowing.

"Who's to say she's not lying just to get our attention?" Y/N continued, watching as Ruby's figure disappeared from view. Sam thought for a moment, fiddling with the napkin in his hands. "If she's telling the truth, then it's something we should look into" He said, his tone serious and cautious.

Y/N sighed, nodding her head. “Alright, I’m gonna go order some breakfast for Dean. Drop me off at the house and I’ll meet you at the library after” she told him as she slid out from the booth, walking over to the counter to order Dean some breakfast.

Sam watched her go before letting out a sigh himself. He looked down at the napkin in his hands, Ruby's number scribbled on it. He folded the napkin and shoved it in his pocket before getting up from the booth.

•One Hour Later

Y/N watched as the Impala roared down the dirt street with Sam behind the wheel before turning a corner and disappearing from sight. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and started making her way back to her safehouse.

Her mind kept going back to that knife, she had an itching feeling towards it. She forced herself to shove it to the back of her mind as she slid the key into the door. Y/N entered the empty, making her way up the stairs and to the room where she found Dean, still fast asleep, tangled in the sheets and sprawled across the bed. She chuckled to herself at the sight, setting his breakfast down on the nightstand.

She sat at the edge of the bed, gently pushing some of the hair at the side of his head behind his ear. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, his temple, his cheek and lastly at the dimple below his chin before she pushed herself up from the bed. She stopped in her tracks when she remembered he would wake up with a banging hangover soon, so she shifted her gaze to her duffel bag.

She unzipped it and rummaged through it, coming up with a pack of ibuprofens, a bottle of Tylenol and a water bottle. She set the pills down next to his breakfast, along with the water. She then dug through her bag again, pulling out a pack of sticky notes and a pen from her pencil case.

Y/N scribbled a note and stuck it on the lid of the pill’s bottle that read:

‘Hangover cure. Eat your breakfast, take two and watch an old movie on my laptop. Doing research with Sammy, be back in a few hours. Love, your ESP Thing’

She signed it off, before picking up her things and shoving them back into her bag. She stuck another with a little heart drawn and colored in with the pen, saying: ‘Make sure you hydrate, dummy’, onto the water bottle, next to the breakfast, hoping Dean wouldn’t go batshit when he wakes up alone.

Just as she set her bag down onto the bed, she saw a familiar blue glow omit from the bag. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows as she watched her bag glow a soft blue. She quickly knelt down at the foot of the bed and unzipped the duffle bag, her eyes widening as she was greeted by the glowing knife.

“What the-” She gasped, quickly shutting her mouth when she heard a light groan come from Dean. She tiptoed over, hoping she didn’t wake him, but he simply rolled over onto his belly and began snoring again. He seemed to still be asleep so she let out a soft sigh of relief before bringing her attention back onto the knife.

She took in the blade’s appearance, her eyes tracing over the intricate runes and symbols etched along the edges. She was still in shock as she reached a shaky hand out to hold the blade, watching as the light seemed to glow brighter at her touch.

None of this made sense, she knew she gave it to Bobby. So how did the knife reappear back into her possession? This couldn’t mean anything good. So y/n quickly fished out her phone from her pocket and began dialing Bobby’s number.

Just as she was about to click the call button, her finger froze. She shifted her gaze back to the knife that seemed to glow softly in protest.

No, I have to tell him. Knives don’t just appear out of thin air. Y/N’s inner thoughts pleaded with her.

“Fuck” she muttered, letting her hand fall back down to her side as she shut her phone with a loud click. Her eyes stayed fixated on the knife, her mind racing with all the possible explanations for the blade's sudden reappearance in her duffle.

She sighed, her mind conflicted and confused, as the knife continued to emit a soft glow. She knew she should call Bobby and inform him. But for some reason, a strong force inside her screamed at her to keep it from everyone, even Dean.

Y/N softly groaned, not too loud to wake up her boyfriend. Before tearing her eyes away from the knife, she placed it gently on the bed. She sat on the edge and placed her head in her hands, frustrated at the internal struggle going on inside her head. Her thoughts were swirling around the blade that was still sat next to her, the glowing blue light that seemed to call to her.

She knew it was stupid. Why was she feeling this attachment to a goddamn knife? And more importantly, why did the idea of losing the knife fill her with more dread than she’s ever felt before?

"Why me?" she muttered to herself, her eyes darting between the knife on the bed and the still asleep Dean on the bed. She knew she should call Bobby, but something was holding her back. She was torn between listening to her instincts and going with her head.

She succumbed to the pressure and snatched up the knife, sticking it into her black leather knee high boots. She convinced herself that keeping this knife would ensure that her family remain protected, seeing as it somehow exorcised two of the Seven Deadly Sins back to hell and the knife Ruby had killed two others.

Maybe she could somehow save Dean from going to hell. Who knows?

Y/N took a deep breath, her resolve now set. She stood up from the bed, her boots thumping against the thin carpet. She took up her motorcycle helmet from the floor and the keys from the nightstand as she took one more glance at the sleeping form of Dean. Her heart felt painfully heavy as a small content smile spread across her lips.

She pressed her palm to her lips, blowing a kiss towards him before making her down the stairs and towards the front door, quietly slipping out and closing the door behind her. Y/N stepped out of the house and took a deep breath. The cool air felt refreshing as she made her way over to Quinn parked outside in the yard, slinging her helmet on and strapping it.

She flung her leg over the bike and settled in, grabbing her keys as she started the engine. The bike roared to life, the sound echoing through the empty parking lot. With a final quick glance back at the house, Y/N took off down the street, headed towards the library to meet Sam.

____________________________________________

•Time Montage

Y/N groaned, rubbing her stiff neck. The library was practically empty except for a handful of other students, most of them with their heads buried in laptops or textbooks. Y/N leaned back in her chair, her eyes going blurry from staring at the computer screen.

She stretched her arms above her head, feeling the tension roll off her shoulders as she spoke into her phone. “Hi, I needed to check some facts with your…uh..secretary about a fire that occurred on November 24th, 2006 in Lawrence, Kansas” She said as Sam bit his thumb nail nervously.

Her breath hitched in her throat upon the woman’s answer, "Okay, thank you so much." She added, before hanging up and turning her attention to Sam, she smacked his hand away from his mouth. “Are you insane? You're gonna bite your nails down to stubs" She scolded, before he could even respond.

She then stuck her own nails into her mouth, now biting her own nails nervously. Sam shot her an unimpressed look, shaking his head.

“This is Police Chief, Phil Jones” Sam said into the phone, making sure no one heard.

“Hardecker was his name….Okay. Great. I’m just trying to find out the day he died” Y/N asked as she pressed the phone between her shoulder and cheek, typing away on her laptop. “July 13th?” She and Sam shared a look of horror.

“Can you check the records for me for a Robert Campbell and a Marcel Blackwood, July 19th 2001” Sam asked the coroner over the phone, waiting patiently. “Both dead on arrival?” His tone dropped.

Y/N listened to the conversation, her eyes scanning over the laptop screen. She felt a sense of dread growing in the pit of her stomach as they continued, scratching off both names from the list.

“What I’m after is the cause of death” Sam grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, “Heart condition?” He tilted his head in confusion as Y/N furrowed her brows. “What the fuck?” She mouthed to him as she scratched off the name. He placed his hand up, telling her to wait. “Wasn't he a cardiac surgeon? Wouldn’t he have known about that?”

“I’m looking for information on Mrs. Wallace’s death….three deaths? Who were the others?” Y/N’s eyes widened, running a hand over her mouth. Sam groaned as he scratched off another name on the list. “Ed Campbell and Jackson Blackwood” Y/N ran her hand over her face again as Sam scratched off the last remaining two names on the list.

“No, that’s all I needed. Thank you very much” Y/N finished before turning the phone off. Y/N let out a deep sigh, her mind racing with the new information. “Oh my god.” Sam muttered. "This is crazy," she muttered back in agreement, her eyes moving from the laptop screen to Sam.

____________________________________________

Now in a motel room they booked for a couple of hours, Ruby stood across from them as Y/N glared at her once again and Sam stood with his arms crossed. “They’re dead. All of my mom’s friends, all of y/n’s mom’s friends, their doctors, their uncles. Everyone who ever knew them, systematically wiped off the map one at a time”

“Someone went through a hell of a lot of trouble trying to cover their tracks” Y/N scoffed as she crushed the bud to her burst of cigarette in the ashtray. “Yup. Yellow Eyes Demon” Ruby deadpanned. “So, what’s your deal? You show up wherever Sam is like a creepy stalker, you know all about us, all our moms” Y/N spat accusationally, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Just trying to help," Ruby responded, her tone almost innocent. Sam gave Y/N a warning glance, silently asking her to keep her temper in check. Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, her eyes narrowing at Ruby. She didn't trust her one bit, but she couldn't deny that Ruby seemed to have information that they needed.

Y/N let out a frustrated huff, her fingers tapping against her wrist. “Help us? How?” she retorted, her voice dripping with skepticism. “I already told you, I’m just a-” Sam cut Ruby off, “Oh, right. Right. Yeah, yeah. Just a Hunter? Just some Hunter who just happened to know more about our families than we do” Sam shot back with dripping sarcasm.

Y/N clenched her fists, feeling a surge of anger rise within her for no reason whatsoever, she couldn’t figure out why she was extremely snappy but she wanted nothing more than to punch Ruby in the face, but she kept her cool, barely. "Yeah, a 'just a Hunter' who seems to know a hell of a lot more than we do" she gritted out between clenched teeth.

Sam shot her another warning glance, silently urging her to calm down and stay focused. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to control her emotions. “Just tell us who you are,” Sam said, asking Ruby, trying to remain calm. “Sam, it-” Ruby chuckled, shaking her head as Sam stalked over to her form. She was leaning against a table.

“Just tell us who you are” Y/N repeated, trying to remain calm also. “It doesn’t matter,” Ruby shook her head. "Of course it matters!" Y/N snapped out of frustration, "You know who we are, what we are, and all about our families! You know things that we don't-"

“Fine,” Ruby said calmly, cutting Y/N off mid sentence. She shut her eyes before opening them back up. Her eyes flashed over a ball of black, indicating she was a demon. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she stared at Ruby's eyes, horror and confusion coursing through her veins. Sam’s eyes widened in horror as he backed away, scrambling over to his bag for holy water. “Think twice before going for that holy water” Ruby mused,

“Give me one reason I should” Sam growled. “I’m here to help you guys” Ruby shrugged, this made Y/N snap, instantly grabbing the demon by her collar. “Like hell you are!” Y/N exclaimed, her voice laced with anger and resentment as she slammed her into the wall. Anger rose in Ruby’s veins, but she shook with fear when Y/N pulled out her knife from her jacket.

The dagger glowed fiercely in her right hand as she pressed it to Ruby’s throat. Sam stood frozen, “How the hell did you get that back? I thought you gave it to Bobby?” His voice shook. "It doesn’t matter," Y/N spat, her eyes still fixed on Ruby. A mix of anger and hatred in her eyes. “Is this some kind of fucking joke?” She growled at the demon.

“Is this some kind of fucking joke?” She growled at the demon. “God’s honest truth…or whatever” Ruby snorted, raising her right hand before dropping it. She winced as Y/N pressed the blade harder against her throat. “You know, I could kill you right here” She shot back at Y/N.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Y/N's mouth, “I’m the one with a knife to your throat right now that could send your ass back to hell, so I'd say the advantage is mine” She grinned menacingly. “You’re a demon” Sam spat, grappling his holy water in his hand as he stalked over to Y/N and Ruby. “Don’t be such a racist” Ruby rolled her eyes, “I’m here because I want to help you. And I can, if you guys trust me”

"Trust?” Sam scoffed incredulously, holding up his holy water. “Sam, Y/N, calm down” Ruby pleaded. "Start talking. All those murders, what was the demon trying to cover up?” Sam demanded. Ruby didn’t answer so Y/N gripped her by her throat and slammed her back into the wall.

"Answer the question” Y/N ordered, her voice trembling with anger as she held the knife to the Demon's throat. "Okay, okay, okay" Ruby choked out, her voice strained. “I don’t know what he was trying to cover up.” She admitted, “What happened to our moms?” Y/N demanded as Sam shot Ruby a nasty glare. “I honestly don’t know! That’s what I’m trying to find out. All I know is that it’s about you two”

"What?” Y/N and Sam exclaimed in unison, their eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. "Why would it be about us?" Y/N demanded, her grip on Ruby loosening slightly, her expression a mix of anger and curiosity. Ruby scoffed, “Don’t you get it? It’s all about you two, what happened to your moms, what happened to their friends. They’re trying to cover up what he did to you two”

“And I wanna help you guys figure it out” Ruby added with a shrug, her eyes fixated on Y/N’s knife. “I told you to be careful with that,” She said with a dark smile. Y/N bristled at the demon's words, her grip on the knife tightening again as she pressed it harder against Ruby's throat. "Why would you wanna help us?” Sam spat.

“I have my reasons. Not all demons are the same, Sam and Y/N. Not all of us want the same thing. Me? I wanna help you from time to time. That’s all. Like right now, I’m helping you by saying that knife you’ve got…you don’t know what it’s gonna do to you” Ruby smirked. "What do you mean by that?” Sam questioned, his eyes narrowing as he clutched the cap of the holy water bottle tighter.

“She’s full of shit, Sam” Y/N snapped, narrowing her eyes at Ruby. "Am I?" Ruby sneered, trying to shake her head. "You want to believe that? Okay.“ Y/N pressed the blade harder into her throat, a small trickle of blood running down her skin.

“How can I not sense you?” Y/N asked, gritting her teeth. "Maybe because you’re not that good” Ruby mused with a smirk. Y/N fought the urge to stab the demon right then and there. So she reeled her back again, slamming her into the wall to knock the wind out of her. “How?!” Sam bellowed, throwing holy water into the demon’s face.

“Goddammit!” Ruby exclaimed, her eyes squeezed shut as the holy water burned her skin. A small smile tugged at the corner of Y/N's mouth, a twisted satisfaction in her eyes as she watched the demon's pain. “Talk!” Y/N demanded again.

Ruby grimaced, looking up at Y/N with a glare. "Fine. Let go of me first." She growled. Y/N rolled her eyes but reluctantly loosened her grip on the demon, allowing her to stand upright. Sam stood ready to strike again with the holy water.

"Talk" Y/N repeated again, her voice firm. Ruby rolled her eyes, scoffing as she peeled off her brown leather jacket. She allowed it to plop to the ground before revealing the symbol etched into her skin. It was practically burnt in, the symbol was the exact same one Y/N spotted on Envy.

Y/N and Sam stared in shock at the symbol on Ruby's arm. "What the hell is that?" Sam asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. "That..." Ruby drawled, gesturing to the symbol with her left hand, "...is a protection symbol. It hides my presence, aura, whatever the fuck you wanna call it. From people like you” She stated as she pointed to Y/N.

"You're telling me that's why I can't sense you?" Y/N demanded, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the knife tighter. "Exactly" Ruby nodded, a smug smile on her face. Y/N resisted the urge to stab her right there and then. “I don’t believe this,” Sam scoffed, shaking his head.

“Oh believe it” Ruby snarked, “And if you let me help you…heh…there’s something in it for you” Ruby whispered. “What could you possibly-” Sam scoffed but Ruby interrupted them, “I could help you save your brother. I can help you save Dean” Y/N and Sam stiffened at the mention of Dean's name.

Y/N froze. Her heart skipped a beat, and her grip on the knife faltered slightly.

____________________________________________

“Because demon, that’s why!” Dean shouted at Sam and Y/N. “Because the second you find out this Ruby chick is a demon, you go for the holy water. You don’t chat” He ridiculed the two as if they were children.

They were now back at Y/N’s safehouse, currently in the kitchen. They woke Dean and spilled the beans about Ruby’s true nature. As much as one side of Y/N’s mind screamed at her to not tell Dean about the knife’s sudden reappearance, Sam insisted, begging her to do so.

He stuck the fact in her head that in general, she wouldn’t keep these types of secrets from them. So from the knife’s sudden reappearance and Y/N’s insistence to keep it a secret from Dean of all people. It couldn’t mean anything good.

“No one was chatting, Dean. Y/N had her up against the wall with that weird ass knife. She almost looked scared!” Sam defended, “Exactly, she couldn’t do us shit even if she wanted to” Y/N aided to Sam’s defense, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh yeah, then why didn’t you use the damn thing and send her ass back to hell?” Dean shot back.

Y/N gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowing as she clenched her fists. "Goddammit, Dean, it's not that simple!” She exploded, her frustration boiling over. “What’s not simple about exorcising a fucking demon?!” Dean exclaimed, pushing himself up from the bed. “She said she might be able to help us out, Dean!” Sam revealed as Dean made his way over to the fridge.

“How?!” Dean snapped, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. Sam and Y/N exchanged a skeptical look. Y/N shook her head, urging Sam not to tell Dean because knowing her boyfriend, he’d yell at them for wanting to save him from going to hell.

Sam sighed, knowing what Y/N was thinking. He knew Dean would be furious if he found out they were planning a way to save him. But deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do.

"Well?” Dean muttered, standing there with the beer in his hand, his eyes darting from Y/N's face to Sam's, waiting for one of them to say something. "We..." Sam started, his voice trembling. He glanced at Y/N, silently begging her to take over.

Y/N closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she spoke, her voice low and steady. "She told us she could help you, okay?" She began, glancing at Dean for his reaction. “Help you out of the crossroads deal” Dean was in utter disbelief, he was almost amused at how naive his brother and girlfriend were being.

“What’s wrong with you two, huh? She’s lyin’. You’ve gotta know that, don’t you?” Dean scoffed as she took a swig of his beer. “She knows what your weakness is, it’s me!” Dean shouted. "We’re not idiots, Dean" Y/N retorted, her voice laced with anger. "We know she’s a demon but she might be telling the truth." Dean let out a harsh, humorless laugh as he took a swig of his beer.

"How gullible are you really?" He sneered, shaking his head in disbelief. Y/N looked hurt by his response, it made her laugh humorlessly. Sam’s head darted up by his brother’s words, “Dean, listen." Sam tried to reason with his older brother, his words firm. “We’re desperate here man. This is your life we’re talking about.”

“What else did she say?” Dean asked, Sam and Y/N exchanged another look. Remembering Ruby’s words about their mom’s deaths being all about them. The two’s eyes went wide for a split second, both urging each other not to say a word about it.

“Guys?” Dean urged them to talk. "Not much" Sam lied, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "Nothing" Y/N said at the same time as Sam. Dean raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Nothing, okay?!” They exclaimed in unison. “For Christ’s sake, we’re not talking about trusting her. We’re talking about using her!” Y/N exclaimed as she placed her hands on her hips.

“I mean, we’re at war here, right? And we don’t know jackshit about the enemy. We don’t know where they are, what they’re doing. I mean hell, we don’t even know what the fuck they want!” Sam aided Y/N’s point. Dean’s eyes flicked between Y/N and Sam, his expression turning serious. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” He muttered in disbelief.

“Hear us out, charming.” Y/N pleaded, Dean’s face softened upon looking into her eyes. She strode over to him, taking his hands into hers. “This Ruby chick knows more than we ever will find out on our own. Now, yes, it’s a risk. We know that, but we need to take it” Y/N stated softly.

Dean let out a long, deep breath as he stared into Y/N's eyes, his gaze unwavering. His eyes dropped to their intertwined hands before looking over at his brother, who wore the signature puppy dog eye look Y/N was sporting. He looked at them with disbelief, “You guys are okay, right? I mean, are you feeling okay?” He asked Y/N and Sam.

Sam and Y/N groaned exasperated as Y/N snatched her hands away from Dean, “Yes, we’re fine. Why are you always asking that?!” Sam exclaimed, running a hand through his hair as a phone started to ring. “Because it’s my job to make sure you guys are fine” Dean retorted, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s.

Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out a scoff as they all checked their pockets. “It’s not mine,” Sam said, holding up his phone. Dean checked his pockets before shaking his head, “Nope”

“It's not mine either” Y/N said, her brows creasing in confusion as the ringing of the phone continued. “Well where the hell is it coming from?” Dean grumbled as he scanned the room. Y/N’s eyes darted to the living room, “I think it’s my dad’s” She muttered as she crossed the room and headed into the living room, “F/N’s?” Dean questioned, confused.

He followed behind, leaning against the doorframe as Y/N crouched, unzipping her other duffel bag and digging through it. Sam stood behind his brother, his eyes watching her. After a second of rummaging through the bag, she retrieved her father's old flip phone. “Yeah, I keep his phone charger up in case any of his old contacts call” she confirmed, holding up the ringing phone. She flipped it open, pressing it to her ear, “Hello?”

Y/N’s brow furrowed in concern as she held the phone in her hand, her eyes darting to the brothers. Dean’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as they silently listened. “Uh, no this is not Edgar Cayce. This is his daughter….” She lied fluidly as she shrugged at the boys.

“Oh- nonono, don’t call the police. I’ll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just, uh…? Can you just lock it back up for me? Great-“ She cleared her throat before gesturing for Sam or Dean to get a paper and pen with her free hand. “Uh- Dad was always bad at writing stuff down, do you have the address so I can write it down?”

Sam handed Y/N a piece of paper and pen, watching her intently as she wrote the address down. “Uh-huh…right. Thanks a lot” She muttered into the phone before hanging it up and turning around to face the boys. “Did my dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?” Y/N asked Dean with a raised eyebrow. “What?” Dean gaped, confused.

“Outside of Buffalo?” She added as Sam also gaped, “No way” Sam muttered, shocked, “Yeah. And someone just broke into it” Y/N nodded, tossing Dean the phone. Dean caught the phone with ease, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he looked at Y/N. “Your dad had more secrets than I thought” He said with a small scoff.

“Apparently” Y/N muttered, crossing her arms over her chest “But the question is” Sam began, a curious look in his eyes, “What was in there?”

____________________________________________

Black Rock, New York

“Man” Dean chuckled to himself as he shook his head. The trio were now in an elevator to the storage facility, heading up to the room F/N had. “What?” Sam asked, “Just F/N. You know? Him and dad with their secrets. Spend all this time with them and it’s like we barely knew em” Dean snorted. Y/N chuckled in agreement as the elevator came to a stop.

“Well, we’re about to learn something” She said, leaning off the wall as the boys lifted the shaft door up. All three of them stepped out, their footsteps echoing through the hall. They started walking forwards, passing countless other storage units. Y/N lead them, pulling out the key from her pocket as she stopped in front of the one labeled “159”.

She inserted the key into the lock before twisting it and opening the door. In front of them was the dark storage room, filled with countless boxes. They all fished out their flashlights, shining it through as they entered the storage room. Sam then shone his light on the ground, his eyes were met with a large devils trap. “No demons allowed” He muttered as Dean pointed out the bloodied footsteps. “Blood”

Y/N crouched down, shining her light from side to side. “Check this out, fellas” She pointed out the tripwire at the entrance. “Damn, your dad was prepared” Dean muttered as knelt down next to Y/N, following the tripwire with his light. He chuckled to himself, a grin forming on his face as he stood back up. “Classic F/N” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Whoever broke in here got tagged” Sam said aloud. “Daddy dearest” Y/N muttered sarcastically with a roll of her eyes, ignoring the painful stab she felt in her heart at the thought of her father keeping this a secret from her. Dean frowned when he noticed the twinge of angst in her tone. Instead, she focused back on the job.

“I got two sets of boot treads here, this was a two man job” Y/N stated as she stood back up, Dean’s eyes followed the direction her flashlight was shining, following the footprint. “And our friend with the buckshot in him, looks like he kept walking” he added, his eyes following the path of the footprints as he continued further into the storage room. Sam and Y/N followed behind him.

“So what’s the deal? You think Dad and F/N would do work here or something?” Sam inquired, “Living the high life as usual” Dean snorted, he shook his head in amusement when his eyes landed on the skeleton of a gator head. Dean’s eyes landed on a trophy, he picked it up, dusting it off, “1995”

Sam’s head darted over to him, immediately recognizing the trophy. “No way” He gasped, taking it from Dean. “That’s my division championship soccer trophy. I can’t believe dad kept this” He chuckled as he dusted it off, “Yes, that’s probably the closest you ever came to being a boy” Dean snorted in amusement as he eyes landed on a familiar gun.

“Oh, wow. This is my first sawed-off” He grinned, taking it up before turning to Y/N. “I made it myself in sixth grade” He bragged, laughing as he cocked the gun. Sam chuckled as Y/N let out an amused laugh. “Of course you’ve been making guns since sixth grade” She mumbled as they continued walking. She paused when her light landed on something.

“Hey, check this out” She said as she crouched, shining her light behind a pile of boxes. A bright smile stretched across her face when she saw a trophy from Sioux Falls High for MVP Varsity Cheerleader with her name engraved on it. Y/N picked the trophy up, delicately dusting it off as she stared down at the plaque with a smile. “Dad even kept my MVP cheerleading trophy” She chuckled.

Sam chuckled as he and Dean peered over her shoulder, their eyes glancing over the trophy. “You still got that uniform?” Dean teased, a smirk on his face. That earned him a playful gasp and smack to his chest from Y/N as Sam groaned dramatically, “Kill me now” He gagged.

“I thought I was hot in it” Y/N retorted, a smirk on her face, which Dean was quick to agree to, “Oh, you still are in it” He winked, to which Sam groaned aloud once again.

Dean and Y/N laughed as she knelt down again to rummage through a box. Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise as she pulled some photo albums out, opening it up. “Oh my gosh” She muttered as her eyes scanned over a few pictures.

Sam and Dean were quick to crouch down, peering over her shoulder to get a look at the photos. Y/N held a particular picture up. Dean’s breath hitched at the sight of the photograph, his eyes widening slightly as Sam stared at it in shock.

In the picture were Y/N, Dean, Sam, F/N and John. They stood with their arms wrapped around one another, smiling brightly at the camera. Their faces were much younger and more youthful, filled with genuine happiness. “Wow,” Dean muttered, staring at the photo in shock. “When was this taken?” Sam asked aloud.

“1987” Y/N stated as she flipped through the book. It led straight up to 1999 with various pictures. Sam and Dean were glued to the photos as Y/N flipped through them. “Wow, look at you guys” Dean chuckled as an old picture of five-year-old Sam and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Wonder Woman and Batman. Their outfits looked homemade, the trio snorted in amusement at the picture.

“And what the hell are you supposed to be?” Sam questioned with a chuckle, pointing at a picture of a 9-year-old Dean, dressed in the most hideous of outfits. “A pimp..?” Y/N mumbled, letting out a loud laugh as Sam and Dean immediately burst out into laughter.

“I was Superman! Bobby made me that outfit!” Dean defended. “He made you that?!” Sam practically wheezed, clutching his stomach in laughter as Y/N let out hysterical laughter. She flipped the page again, her jaw dropping when she found their prom pictures. “No way!” She laughed as Sam covered his face in shame.

“Oh my God, I look like a fetus” He groaned at the picture of him hopping up on Y/N’s back for a piggy back ride, all while in his white tux and Y/N wore her black dress. The piggy back ride was per Dean’s request, just for his own shits and gigs.

Dean bursted out laughing as he pointed at the multiple pictures of Sam cringing and screaming because Y/N was jumping up and down and he was so scared she would drop him, “I remember this, she said you weighed like a baby gorilla!” Dean cackled, wiping his tears away from his eyes from laughing so much. Y/N’s face started to heat up when she looked at her picture with Dean.

Dean wore his black tux, his shaggy hair neatly slicked back. Their bodies were flush against each other. His eyes locked onto hers, a hint of longing and desire flashing through them. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph” She muttered as she traced over the picture.

“You wanted me sooo bad” Dean teased, poking his girlfriend's cheek, a twinge of cockiness in his tone. Y/N’s head whipped to his direction, playfully smacking away his hand, “Hey! You wanted me just as much, shut up” She defended with a grumble, Dean snickered in amusement though he didn’t deny it.

Y/N shook her head as she continued flipping, her eyes widening when she landed on a picture of her and Xander in 2001. She was sitting on his lap on the porch of her safehouse. She bullied Sam into taking the picture of them kissing so she could keep it for memories.

She quickly snapped the book shut before Dean could see it, “Okay! Enough of that” She said quickly, tossing it back into the box. Sam chuckled, a smirk on his face as he watched Y/N frantically slam the book shut. “Why did you slam that so fast?” Dean questioned, his eyebrows furrowing in curiosity as he peered up at her.

Y/N’s internally panicked but played it off like it was nothing. “Nothing, nothing. Just say a spider coming up the spine” She said casually, “Oh, what’s that?” She pointed to a grated gate to the back of the room. Changing the subject. It was chained and locked prior but the lock was busted open, presumably with a sledgehammer.

Dean’s head snapped over to where she was pointing, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the busted open lock. “What the hell?” He muttered, standing up as he approached it. Sam and Y/N followed close behind. Sam reached over and pushed the door inwards, a loud creaking from the metal echoed through the room. It was filled with all sorts of arsenal.

Their mouths fell agape as they peered around the room. “Son of a fucking bitch” “Jesus fucking Christ” Dean and Y/N gasped in unison, they looked like kids in a candy store. Sam let out a loud whistle, “Holy shit”. Dean was the first to venture in, a grin spread across his face as he looked around. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me” He practically laughed in excitement as he picked up an old Colt .45 off the table.

“Look at this, they had land mines” Y/N pointed out as she scanned the area. “Which they didn’t take,” Dean pointed out as he placed the gun down. He and Y/N knowing shared a look. “Or the guns…I guess they knew what they were after, huh?” She added as she turned to Sam. The younger Winchester wore a skeptical look on his face as he shone his light on some old wooden boxes.

“Hey Y/N/N, check these out. You see these symbols?” Y/N made her way over to him, squinting her eyes as she looked at the boxes. “Yeah, that’s binding magic” She said aloud, pointing at one of the symbols. Sam and Y/N exchanged a wide eyed look as Dean looked confused, “These are curse boxes” Sam said aloud,

“Curse boxes. Aren’t those supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right? Kinda like the pandora deal?” Dean questioned. “Yeah, yeah. They’re built to contain the power of the cursed object.” Y/N nodded in confirmation. “Dad’s journal did mention a whole bunch of stuff, you know? Dangerous hexed items, fetishes. He never did say where they’d end up” Dean stated as Sam and Y/N nodded.

“Yeah, well this must be their toxic-waste dump,” Sam deadpanned. He narrowed his eyes at an empty space. It had dust around it, the center was dust-free. Indicating a box was previously there. Y/N noticed this and brought her finger up, pressing it to the dust. “One box is missing” Sam pointed out, bringing his own finger up to the empty space before dusting it off simultaneously with Y/N.

“Great,” She muttered sarcastically. “Well, maybe they didn’t open it” Dean said hopefully with a shrug, smiling awkwardly at Sam and Y/N. Sam gave him a look that clearly said “really?” As Y/N let out a scoff. “When has our luck ever been that good, babe?” She pointed out, patting his shoulder.

____________________________________________

The Impala and Harley pulled up to the beat down apartment complex in quite a sketchy neighborhood. Parking side by side with their respective drivers holding the wheel and handlebars. Y/N flicked up the visor on her helmet to get a better look at the car they saw on the tape back at the storage facility after greasing the palms of the security guard to get the footage.

“Connecticut. Last three digits, 8-8-0” She said the plate number out loud as she turned to the Winchesters. “Yup. That’s it” Sam confirmed as Dean clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Should’ve blacked out their plates before they parked in-front of the security camera” He snickered.

“Damn morons” Y/N muttered as she pushed her visor back down. She let out a chuckle as she looked over at the complex. “Nice place” She deadpanned, peeling her helmet off. “If you’re looking to get shot, that is” Dean added with sass as he shut the Impala off.

The trio clambered out of their rides, staring at the shady place. Sam looked less than pleased as his eyes landed on the cracked door that looked like it was practically hanging by its hinges by the entrance. “What an absolute shithole” He muttered as Dean shut his driver door, heading round to the trunk with Y/N.

Y/N was now kneeling in-front of the door to the apartment of the suspects from the video, trying her best to make the least amount of noise to pick the lock. It sounded like the two were inside so Sam and Dean cocked their guns behind her.

They stayed close behind her, keeping guard with their weapons readied and at the ready as she picked the lock to the door. It didn’t take too long before the lock clicked open and it slightly creaked as she pushed it in.

Dean and Sam were immediately on high alert when they heard movement from inside the apartment. “I can’t lose…I mean, really. I- I can’t lose” Wayne said as he picked up his drink from the table. Y/N whipped out her own gun as they trudged down quietly the dusty hall to the apartment.

“I mean, this thing really works. You know what I’m saying?” Wayne told Grossman as he picked up the cursed rabbit's foot. Sam, Dean and Y/N exchanged a look as they pressed their backs to the wall, “I’ll tell you one thing, there’s no way in fuckin’ hell, we’re handing it over to that stuck-up bitch now. Not after all we’ve been through” Wayne insisted.

“Mhm” Grossman agreed, Wayne smiled as the two men got up from the couch. “Let go, huh? Let’s get out of here. Let’s go have some fu-” Wayne didn’t get to finish his words when Dean made himself known, “Freeze, freeze! Nobody move” He bellowed with clear authority as they all emerged from the corridor.

Wayne and Grossman were frozen in absolute shock and terror as Y/N and Sam stood by Dean’s sides, guns aimed directly at them. They were completely outnumbered; and it clearly showed by the panicked looks on the two men’s faces.

“Don’t move. Don’t move!” Sam commanded. “What is this?!” Wayne demanded, fear potent in his voice as they held their hands up. “Stop and give us the box!” Y/N shouted as she inched towards Wayne, “And please tell me that you didn’t-”

“Oh, they did” Sam interrupted her words, nodding his head towards the opened curse box on the table. Y/N audibly groaned with annoyance as Dean’s eye twitched. “You opened it?!” He growled before grabbing Wayne by his collar and backing him up into the wall, pressing the barrel of his gun to his throat.

“Uhh! Are you guys cops?!” Wayne groaned, “Huh?!” Dean glared at him, “Are you guys cops?!” He asked again, panicked, “What was in the box?!” Y/N demanded as she trudged over to Dean, pointing her gun straight to the middle of Wayne’s forehead. Wayne breathed heavily as his eyes flickered over to the table.

The cursed rabbit’s foot rested perfectly in the open for taking. Their eyes moved over to the table, “Oh, was that it? It was, wasn’t it?” Dean asked, his attention now on the table as Y/N kept her gaze on Wayne. “What was that thing?” He muttered, Wayne took this opening to smack Dean’s gun away from his throat.

Causing him to accidentally pistol whip his unsuspecting girlfriend across her nose. “Fuck!” Y/N cursed as her hands instinctively went to her nose, dropping her gun in the process to stop the blood from spilling out from the wound.

Her gun dropping on the ground caused a bullet to go off, ricocheting around the room three times before the same bullet narrowly grazed Sam’s hand, resulting in him dropping his gun with a painful hiss. Almost as if it was….dumb luck.

They all instinctively covered their head, except for Y/N, who was nursing her nose. The bullet died, narrowly missing Dean and hitting a nearby lamp. Sam was dumbfounded, until he realized Wayne’s friend, Grossman, was eyeing Y/N’s discarded gun on the ground. He gritted his teeth as he tried, retrieve it, only to get pushed by Grossman and into his brother, their backs hitting each other.

Dean’s accidental back blow from his brother, resulted in him toppling over onto Y/N. The two lovers went crashing into a table with heavy grunts, as the rabbits foot went flying into the air and onto the ground. “Sorry!…AAHH!!” Sam apologized, only to get tackled by Grossman.

Dean’s body was somehow tangled between Y/N’s legs from the fall, his upper body pressing into her inner section. “Motherfucker, you’re heavy! Get off, you’re crushing my vagina!”

“Sorry, sorry” Dean mumbled as he tried to untangle himself from between Y/N’s legs. Dean grunted as he got up off of her, looked over at Sam and Grossman who were in a scuffle on the ground.

Wayne was slowly inching towards Sam’s gun when Y/N tried to sit up, “Oh no you don’t!” Dean attempted to reach for it, only for Wayne to retrieve it. Comedically whacking the elder Winchester across the face, causing him to grunt and fall once more on top of Y/N.

Y/N winced as her still bleeding nose hit the carpet, “Oh sweet baby Jesus…” She mumbled as Dean muttered another groggy ‘sorry’.

Meanwhile, Grossman was strangling the younger Winchester. His head was beginning to get hazy when he realized the cursed rabbit's foot was just fingertips away. Desperation kicked in and Sam reached for it, retrieving it within a matter of seconds.

Suddenly, a rush of adrenaline took him over once he had the rabbit's foot in possession. So he yanked Grossman’s hands off of his throat before lifting his knee between them, kicking him in the mid section.

The single kick sent Grossman flying a few feet into the air, landing across the room. “Dean! Y/N!” Sam shouted as he scrambled to his feet, “I got it” He held up the rabbit's foot, as Y/N helped up a groggy Dean, still weak from the slight blood loss.

“No you don’t” The cocking of a gun caught his attention, Wayne held Sam’s gun towards him. Dean’s eyes widened as tears welled up in Y/N’s. “No” She winced. Sam braced himself for impending death by his own gun, only for when Wayne pulled the trigger. The gun got jammed.

Dean took his chance and pushed himself to his feet, in an attempt to snatch the gun from Wayne, who was repeatedly trying to fire the jammed gun. Faith seemed to step in and a panicked Wayne ended up tripping on his own feet and into the couch. The couch went toppling over, rendering Wayne unconscious with a blow to his head.

Sam and Dean shared a surprised look as Y/N shouted, “Sam!” To gain his attention, upon seeing Grossman attempt to use the bookshelf to pull himself up and shoot Sam. But the bookshelf came down onto Grossman, resulting in the gun he had prior in his possession, being launched into the air.

Sam caught the gun one handed with ease as Grossman fell to the ground with a grunt, falling unconscious with one last book to his head. Everyone looked disheveled and confused, Dean and Y/N’s heads went from the unconscious man to Sam. “That was a lucky break” Y/N groaned as she clutched her nose.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked softly, looking a little shaken from the strange set of events. Y/N nodded before wiping some blood away with her thumb, the metallic substance now staining her cream colored T-shirt. “Yeah, I’m alright” Y/N assured, giving his arm a light squeeze as Sam trotted over, still clenching the now cursed rabbit's foot in his hand.

“Is that a rabbit's foot?” Y/N raised a brow as Sam lifted the foot to get a better look. “I think it is” He responded as he furrowed his brows. Dean looked equally flabbergasted, “Huh” He muttered before turning to Y/N again to get a better look at her busted nose.

The Impala and Harley were now parked outside of a diner, Y/N had sunglasses on along with two cotton swabs sticking up her nose. Her head was tilted back, resting on the seat in the back as Sam sat in front, trying to find anything about the rabbit’s foot from John’s journal.

Dean emerged from the convenience store next to the diner with a plastic bag in hand. “I’m not finding anything on it in Dad’s journal” Sam piped up as Dean clambered back into the driver's seat with the convenience store bag. “Good grief” Y/N murmured, still pinching her nose with two fingers.

Dean nodded as he pulled out a Gatorade, a bag of frozen peas and a pack of smokes. Handing it to Y/N. “I think I got everything you need to help reduce the swelling” he explained as she sat up straight, letting out a slight hiss as she took the items before dropping the bag onto her lap. “You’re a saint, sweetie” Y/N mumbled with a weak smile before taking a sip of the bottle.

“Yeah yeah, whatever” Dean huffed with a sarcastic tone, but his voice held no trace of hostility “Just trying to keep your pretty little face in tact” She rolled her eyes with a scoff as she pressed the peas to her nose but there was a tinge of a smile playing on her face.

Dean then took out the last item from the bag, a bunch of scratch offs. He smirked as he handed it to Sam. “Dean, come on” The younger Winchester scoffed with disapproval. “What?” Dean asked exasperated. “Hey, that was my gun he was pointing at your head. My gun don’t jam, so that was a lucky break” Dean defended as Y/N snorted from the back seat.

Thinking of an innuendo from Dean’s words, only to groan in pain again from the snort which was painful to do.

“That’s what you get” Dean shot back with a wink, only to receive a playful middle finger from his girlfriend. “Not to mention them taking themselves out, also a lucky break” She added. Dean nodded in agreement, shoving the scratch offs in his brother’s hand. “Here. Scratch one”

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. “Come on, little Winchester. Scratch and win” Y/N urged as she tossed the peas beside her, digging into her pocket for a coin. Sam sighed as he accepted the coin, Y/N dropping it into his palm. “Dean, Y/N. It’s gotta be cursed somehow” Sam mumbled as he scratched at one of the tickets. “Otherwise Dad and F/N wouldn’t have locked it up”

He then handed the ticket back to Dean who did the math quickly in his head, his jaw dropping. “$1200. You just won $1200” He gaped. “No fucking way” Y/N exclaimed as looked over Dean’s shoulder to peer at the ticket. Sam’s jaw dropped also as Dean laughed, “Whoo!!!” He exclaimed celebratory as he and Y/N high-fived.

“I don’t know, man. That doesn’t seem that cursed to me” Dean smirked, handing his brother another ticket. Sam wore a stoic expression, snatching the ticket from his brother. “Lighten up, dude. Maybe it’s a lucky rabbit's foot, not cursed” Y/N suggested as Sam began to scratch another ticket. “Well, that’s a hell of a lot of luck” Dean muttered, but a smirk still played on his face.

Dean was practically giggling to himself, laying out all the winning lotto tickets on the hood of the Impala while Y/N spoke on the phone with Bobby, who was reprimanding Sam. She leaned against her bike, which was parked next to Dean’s car as Sam paced infront of her. “Sammy, calm down” Y/N tried to ease his tension.

“Look, Bobby, we didn’t know” Sam defended as he stopped in front of her. The phone was on speaker but Dean was too distracted by the tickets to hear the conversation. “You touched it? Damn it, Sam” Bobby exclaimed as he held up the rabbit's foot. “Well, Dad never told us about this thing. I mean, you know about his storage place in Black Rock?” Y/N shot back.

“His lockup? Yeah, I knew. Hell, I built those curse boxes for ‘em” Bobby confirmed as Sam’s eyes spotted something shiny on the ground. “Look, you have got a serious problem. That rabbit's foot ain’t no dime-store notion” Bobby warned them as Sam knelt down and pushed the newspaper side. Underneath was a gold watch. He lifted it up and showed Y/N, who’s jaw dropped as Bobby said.

“It’s real Hoodoo. Old World stuff” Bobby explained as Sam turned to show Dean the gold watch, raising it to the air. “Awesome” Dean mouthed in awe. “Made by a Baton Rouge conjure woman about a hundred years ago” Bobby told them. “It’s a hell of a luck charm” Y/N muttered, “It’s not a luck charm. It’s a curse. She made it to kill people, kids” Bobby exclaimed.

“What?!” Y/N exclaimed as Sam looked equally shocked at the revelation. “Yeah. See, you touch it, you own it. You own it, sure, you get a run of good luck to beat the devil. But you lose it, that luck turns. It turns so bad that you’re dead inside a week” Bobby explained.

“Well, so I won’t lose it, Bobby,” Sam assured him, “Everybody loses it!” Bobby exclaimed, “Well, then how do we break the curse?” Y/N countered as Sam shoved it into his pocket, “I don’t know if you can. Let me look through my library and make some calls. Just sit tight” Bobby muttered in frustration.

“Thanks, Bobby” Y/N muttered as Sam paced over to his brother. “Oh, and Y/N” Bobby added, she then took the phone off of the speaker and pressed it to her ear. “Yeah?” She asked, “That knife you gave me, I think I lost it. I’ve been trying to do my best to look it up but I keep coming up empty” He told her lowly.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, part of her mind was yelling at her to tell Bobby that it appeared in her bag but the other part was screaming to not say a word. Her mind was spinning trying to come up with a response but was coming up blank.

“Oh, yeah?” She asked slowly, trying to keep her voice neutral so that Dean and Sam wouldn’t get suspicious. There was a beat of silence before Bobby exhaled slowly on the other end of the line. “Yeah, it sucks. I think I’d have luck finding a needle in a haystack” Y/N forced out a short snort.

“Well, I guess that’s better than finding out if something was wrong with it. Don’t stress it, Bobby” She told him, her eyes darting over to the boys. “Yeah, I guess so” He responded, he didn’t sound very convinced but didn’t say anything else on the matter. “I’ll talk to ya later” He mumbled. “Yeah, alright. Bye” She muttered, hanging up the phone.

“Babe, we’re up 15 grand” Dean cheered as he waved the tickets. Sam frowned along with Y/N, he still hadn’t told Dean that the rabbit's foot was anything but good luck.

“Don’t worry, Bobby’ll find a way to break it” Dean assured Sam and Y/N as he opened the door to the diner. Allowing Y/N in first. “I’m sure he will” Y/N agreed, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze as she walked into the diner which made her realise how hungry she was.

Sam still looked worried but Dean was trying to make the best of the situation. “Until then, I say we hit Vegas, pull a Rain Man. You can be Rain Man” Dean said excitedly. “I like it” Y/N added with a short laugh as they approached the host. “Look, we just lay low until Bobby calls back, okay?” Sam insisted before turning to the host.

“Hi, uh, table for three, please?” He said politely. The host wore a wide smile before shouting, “Congratulations!!” He then pulled an alarm, causing a bell to ring throughout the restaurant. “Exciting, I know” Dean muttered as he and Y/N shared a confused look and Sam looked around the restaurant with an expression that said, ‘What in the holy fuck is going on?’

The host then presented Sam with a large check, “You are the one millionth guest of the Biggerson’s Restaurant Family!” The trio held up the large check with faces that said, ‘the fuck?’ The entire staff emerged from the back with cameras, snapping pictures of the three. Suddenly they all started blowing party horns as everyone cheered.

Yellow, red and orange balloons came falling from the ceiling along with streamers and onto them.

Y/N peered over the check to read the prize, “Dude, free food. We’re getting free food for a year! Way to go, Sam!” She cheered excitedly. Sam cringed in discomfort as Dean and Y/N smiled widely for the camera, mainly at the fact that they could stuff their asses for free. Not caring whether the food was terrible or not.

Now sat at a booth, Dean was shoveling his third bowl of ice cream down his throat while next to him, Y/N was gnawing at her second cookie. “Bobby’s right. This lore goes way back. Pure Hoodoo” Sam confirmed, sitting across from them as he shut his laptop. “You can’t just cut one off any rabbit” He began. “Hmm” Dean hummed.

“It has to be in a cemetery, under a full moon, on a Friday the 13th.” Sam finished as Dean placed his bowl down on the table, “I say from now on..we only go to places with Biggersons” He suggested, Y/N smiled in response as Dean started groaning from a brain freeze, clutching his forehead.

Sam chuckled in amusement, “Serves you right, I told you to eat slower” Y/N teased through her mouthful of cookies as she placed a soothing hand on his shoulder while he hunched over the table, shaking his head. “Usually you’re begging me eat faster” Dean shot back with a wide grin.

“That’s a different type of faster” Y/N responded with a wicked smile. “Yeah I could've done without hearing that” Sam muttered with a grossed out face and a groan, causing the couple to laugh in response. “You know, Sam, you should really try their pie” Y/N joked, still munching down on her cookie. Sam frowned slightly, shaking his head, “No, I’m good” He replied reluctantly.

A very attractive waitress suddenly approached their table, her short skirt riding up slightly. “Can I freshen you up?” She said in a sultry tone, gesturing to Sam’s mug. “Yeah, yeah. Sure” Sam muttered, avoiding eye-contact with her. The waitress flashed him a wide beaming smile. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how hot she was, her eyes roaming over the woman.

The waitress smirked at the psychic, taking her attention off the mug just for a second. Only for a little bit of coffee to spill from the mug, onto the table. The woman gasped before placing the mug on the table, “Oh gosh. I’m so sorry” She exclaimed, grabbing a rag which was tucked into the pocket of her apron. Y/N leaned back into her chair, watching as the waitress bent over to clean up the coffee.

Her seductive smile towards Sam didn’t falter. “Oh, no don’t worry. It’s okay, I got it” Sam assured her, attempting to help her clean the mess up. “It’s no trouble, really” The waitress giggled with a bright smile. Dean looked almost starstruck, his jaw slightly hanging as he stared at the waitress.

“Okay” Sam mumbled, clearing his throat. “Sorry about that” The waitress said as she wiped up the coffee, purposely leaning in to swipe the rabbit's foot from Sam. She pickpocketed him so quickly, none of them noticed due to how they were all shamelessly ogling her as she walked off, her hips swaying with every step she took as she looked back at them with a sultry smirk.

Y/N was the first to snap out of it, “You’re both taken man, quit staring” She grumbled, firstly kicking Dean in his shin and then Sam’s shin underneath the table. Both brothers flinched simultaneously, hissing from the kick she sent to them with her boot. “Ow! What the hell, woman?” Dean exclaimed, rubbing his shin.

Y/N rolled her eyes at her boyfriend, “You were eye-raping her” She said in an annoyed tone. “And you weren’t?” Dean retorted with a huff. Y/N opened her mouth to retaliate, to call him a hypocrite but quickly clamped her jaw shut when she realised that he was right. “Hey, I have no idea what you're talking about” She denied hotly, crossing her arms across her chest. Dean barked out a laugh at her response.

“Bullshit, you were checking her out more than I was” He teased her. The two weren’t actually mad at each other, however. They were quite secure in their relationship, for it being new, you’d think there would be a lot of insecurity between them. But truth be told, Y/N would rather stick a hot poker in between her legs than be with someone other than Dean. It goes both ways.

“Fine, I’ll admit that I looked at her for longer than appropriate but you were staring like a perv” Y/N replied in fake annoyance. Part of her was still a little jealous, even if she wasn’t actually annoyed. “What can I say? It’s in my DNA” He said with a shrug and a smirk. Y/N rolled her eyes with a soft smile. “You’re an ass,” She muttered.

“Yeah but I’m your ass,” He reminded her. Sam fake gagged at them from across the table as he shook his head, earning middle fingers from both Dean and Y/N. Dean stuck up one of his fingers, his other hand resting behind Y/N’s backrest of the booth while Y/N stuck up both her fingers at the younger Winchester.

Sam simply cackled in return, picking up his hot mug of coffee. Which ended up slipping from his grasp, onto the table and began dripping onto his pants. “Oh! Oh, shit. Ah” Sam panicked, quickly pushing himself up from his side of the booth.

Only to accidentally bump into a waiter behind him, who was carrying a tray of food. The array of food scattered across the ground as the waiter fell back first, due to Sam’s ‘structured’ build. Dean and Y/N were agape at the sight. The waiter groaned as he sat upright on the floor, covered from head-to-toe in food.

Sam looked mortified as he muttered a quick and embarrassed “I’m so sorry”. He then turned to his family with a similar expression, Dean and Y/N shared a confused look. “How was that good?” Dean muttered, Sam quickly dug into his pocket. Only to come up short, now realizing they had been conned by that waitress and the rabbit’s foot was now gone.

The trio let out collective groans when they came to the same realization. “Son of a bitch” “Jesus Christ” Dean and Y/N exclaimed in unison as they all made a break for it to the door of the diner, they all frantically looked around for the black haired waitress.

When they realized she was nowhere in sight, they began running towards their vehicle. Sam then stumbled and tripped comically with a loud, “Whoa!” Resulting in Dean and Y/N freezing in their tracks. Sam grunted on the floor from his faceplant as his brother said, “Wow, you suck”

Y/N shot him a slight glare as she and Dean rushed over to help Sam up. When they got to his side, they each grabbed one of his arms and pulled him to his feet. Both his knees were cut open, the fall causing his pants to rip. “So what, now your luck turns bad?” Y/N asked as Sam painfully dusted himself off.

“I guess” He responded as Y/N wiped the dust off of his face. “I wonder how bad” Dean muttered. Sam gave his brother an unamused frown, “Please don’t say that” He winced.

_______________________________________________

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

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@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

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Xoxo

#dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #spn #dean and sam #sam and dean #supernatural fandom #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 2 days ago

Text

Batting for a draw

A belated entry for Day 1 of @charles-rowland-week, loosely inspired by the book Swordheart by T. Kingfisher, where Charles's soul is bound to an enchanted cricket bat (which used to be an enchanted sword) and Edwin is the one who accidentally summons him. You can either read it below or here on AO3!

Prompt: cricket bat

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5K

Relationship: pre-Edwin/Charles

Summary: Charles, an immortal warrior, used to be bound to an enchanted sword, but times have changed. For the past three decades, he’s been trapped inside an enchanted cricket bat forgotten in the back of a cupboard, until Edwin Payne needs a place to hide from his tormentors. Now that Edwin has summoned him, Charles just has to convince him to let him stick around.

***

Charles drifts for a long time.

There’s no way to know how much time has passed in this cluttered little cupboard, leaning against the wall among dozens of other forgotten things. Sometimes, he’s vaguely aware of footsteps outside, people shouting to each other, bells ringing, the drum of rain against windowsills and the howling of wind. Sometimes, he’ll stir to almost-wakefulness as the door of the cupboard opens and a hand reaches in to grab something, but no hand ever closes around him.

Part of him is aware that he’s collecting dust and that it’s been far too long. Iris said she would come back for him after she hid him, but she never did. Something bad must have happened to her, which means that Charles failed her, just like he’s failed all of his wielders eventually. Maybe it’s best that he’s trapped in this cupboard until someone tosses him away like trash.

Whenever he thinks that, he lets himself sink a little deeper into his barely-conscious state. He doesn’t want to think about his failures.

The cupboard opens and closes. People talk as they walk by. Bells ring. Wind and rain rattle the windows. And through it all, Charles is just there, forgotten.

Until finally, someone picks him up and the whole world glows red.

***

Edwin knows, even as he picks up the cricket bat, that there’s no point. He’s not going to fight Simon and his friends. They all play every sport St. Hilarion’s has to offer, while Edwin has never been what anyone would call athletic. It’s a shame, he’s heard the coaches mutter, because he’s a fast runner. The only problems are his coordination and his upper body strength and his preferences for doing literally anything else but participating in sports.

So no, he’s not going to try and hit Simon and the others. That would only get him a worse thrashing. They’ll already be cross that he got away from them by biting Simon’s hand and kicking Miles in the stomach after they dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night; he doesn’t want to make it worse. But it’s comforting to have something in his hands as he crouches, barefoot and shivering in his pajamas, in the little cupboard of the athletic building. It’s not his usual hiding place, so he’s hoping that will throw his pursuers off. It’s not as if he ever voluntarily ventures to this part of campus.

The last time they dragged him out of bed, they locked him in the cellar of their dormitory all night and for most of the next day. Edwin missed an exam and got a stern telling off for wandering somewhere students aren’t allowed and missing all his classes. There was no point in telling anyone why he’d ended up in the basement. There never was.

But from what he heard them whispering to each other tonight, they have worse plans for him this time. Which is why Edwin needs to stay still and quiet until the coast is clear and he can sneak back to his room.

Nervously, he runs his hand over the smooth wood of the cricket bat, comforting himself with the repetitive motion. It feels oddly warm in his hands.

And then the entire cupboard is illuminated in red light, so bright that Edwin can hardly see. He yelps as the red light seems to engulf his hands and the cricket bat, leaving searing heat in his wake. It should hurt, he thinks distantly. His hands should be burned to ash. Instead, it feels almost pleasant, like he’s dipped his hands into a bowl of warm water.

The red light coalesces into the shape of a person. Edwin blinks, and the light is gone, leaving only afterimages dancing across his vision and someone sitting in his lap.

***

The boy—Charles’s wielder—lets out a little shriek of surprise at finding Charles in his lap. For a moment, there’s a scramble as they both try to adjust their limbs so they’re not practically on top of each other, to no avail. The cupboard is barely big enough for one person among all the clutter, never mind two. The other boy’s knee is poking Charles in the shin and the cricket bat is pinned uncomfortably between them.

“What was that?” the other boy asks indignantly, in a posh, bossy sort of voice. Charles can’t see him in the dark, but he smells nice, like soap. The body pressed up against Charles’s is warm and clad in something soft. Pajamas, maybe.

Charles shrugs his shoulders, reveling in being able to move again after being still for so long. “That was you summoning me, mate. Name’s Charles. Nice to meet you.”

“Summoning? I didn’t summon you.”

“Think you did.”

The boy makes a strangled noise. It’s kind of cute. “What are you doing here?”

“Told you, you summoned me.” Charles grins. “What’s your name?”

There’s a brief silence, like the boy is considering whether or not to answer. “Edwin Payne.”

“Nice to meet you, Edwin Payne. Now, what are you doing here?”

Edwin shifts uncomfortably and says in a quieter voice, “I’m hiding.”

“Hiding?” Charles perks up. This is why he was summoned after all, to leap to his wielder's defense. If some manner of sorcerer, demon, or assassin is after his Edwin Payne, he's going to make them regret being born. “From who?”

“Simon Mould and his friends.”

“Who’s Simon Mould? A hitman An evil wizard?” Charles hasn’t gotten to fight a proper wizard in ages.

“No.” The boy sounds puzzled now. “He's just an arsehole. Do you really not know who Simon is? I thought everyone here knew him. His uncle is the prime minister and he never shuts up about it.”

“What happened to Old Maggie?”

“ Thatcher ? She died years ago.”

“Good fucking riddance.” Charles considers. “What year is it?”

Another pause, this one more worried. “2025.”

Huh, it's only been 36 years since Charles went in the cupboard then. Not as long as he thought. “And where are we?”

“St. Hilarion's School for Boys,” Edwin says slowly. “You don't go here?”

St. Hilarion’s? It doesn’t sound familiar. Why would Iris have hidden him here? “Nah, school was never my thing.”

“Then why on earth were you hiding in a cupboard in the athletic building?”

“I wasn’t hiding. You summoned me, remember? Guess I was waiting for you, wasn’t I?”

He feels Edwin draw back a little, not that there's much space to retreat.

“Not in a mad stalker sort of way, mate,” Charles says quickly. “You summoned me, so now it's my job to protect you.”

“Charles, are you... well?” Edwin sounds like he's choosing his words carefully.

“Yeah, I’m aces. Where's this Simon wanker? Sounds like he needs a good arse kicking.”

“Hopefully looking for me on the other side of campus. He said he stole a book from his brother. He and his friends were planning to sacrifice me to a demon or some nonsense.”

“A demon?” Charles really doesn't like the sound of that.

“Yes, and I don’t feel like being trussed up like a virgin sacrifice and have the pictures end up on Instagram.”

Charles has no idea what Instagram is, but it sounds sinister. “That’s not happening.”

“I hope not.” He feels Edwin edging away towards the door. “It was nice meeting you, Charles, but I really should be—”

Charles slaps a hand over his mouth as braying laughter echoes outside.

“Oi, Payne!” a boy's voice bellows. “You hiding in here, you little bitch?”

Edwin goes very still. Charles doesn't even think he's breathing.

“Better not make us come find you, Payne!” another boy shouts. “Or we'll kick your arse.”

“Nah, he'd probably like that,” someone says, followed by another burst of laughter.

Edwin draws in a shaky breath.

“Right.” Charles moves into a crouch, clutching his bat. “I've got this.”

“That's not necessary,” Edwin hisses. “They’ll move on.”

From nearby, there's the sound of a door behind thrown open. Something crashes to the ground loudly.

“Mate, they’re here to sacrifice you to a demon.”

“They’re just trying to frighten me.”

“That won’t make you any less sacrificed to a bloody demon.”

“It’s not as if it’s a real ritual.” Desperation edges into Edwin's voice. “They’re just bullies.”

Bullies are plenty dangerous, but Charles sees his point. “Fine, I’ll just bang ‘em up a little. No real damage.”

“Charles—”

But footsteps are approaching and there's no time to waffle. Charles explodes out of the closet, bringing his bat up in between the legs of the boy who was about to open the cupboard door. The boy lets out a thin little wail and buckles, knees hitting the ground. With a whoop, Charles aims his cricket bat at the next boy's shins, not hard enough to break bone, but just hard enough for it to hurt like hell. Sure enough, his victim screams, hopping around like his leg’s been torn off.

The battle fever is rising, urging Charles to fight and fight until the enemies have fallen under his blade. But there are no real enemies here and no blade, just a cricket bat and a bunch of stupid kids who think sacrificing a classmate to a demon is a fun lark. He releases his bat and it flies through the air, smacking a fair-haired boy across the face hard enough to make his head snap around. The book in his hands falls to the floor as he clutches his face, screaming about a broken nose. There are three more boys with them, hanging back as they eye Charles warily.

Charles smiles at them as the cricket bat returns to his hand. “This is the part where you run, yeah?”

The boys don’t need to be told twice, turning tail and scrambling away. The one Charles hit in the nose is still wailing the entire way, the little wanker. Charles waits until their footsteps have receded before he turns. Edwin is still sitting on the floor of the closet, knees drawn up to his chest and a furrow in his brow as he watches Charles. He's maybe sixteen or seventeen, barefoot and clad in flannel pajamas, his light brown hair tousled from sleep.

“Who exactly are you?” Edwin asks, watching Charles with trepidation.

Charles feels almost giddy with post-battle adrenaline. “I’m the servant of the sword. Well, the cricket bat. Like I said, mate, you summoned me, so now you’re my wielder.”

***

“So, you’re an enchanted sword,” Edwin says, watching Charles devour his second plate of spaghetti with the same single minded focus he used to fight off Simon and his friends.

He’s not sure why he didn’t go running to a teacher to tell them that there was a madman with a cricket bat hiding in cupboards on campus. He’s not sure why he allowed Charles to escort him back to his dormitory to “make sure those arseholes don’t try anything else.” He’s especially not sure why he left campus with Charles to grab a bite to eat after Charles mentioned how hungry he was. Objectively, these are all monumentally stupid decisions.

Maybe it’s the way Charles put himself between Edwin and his classmates without a second thought. Maybe it’s the fact that Edwin watched him fight and is sure that Charles could have done far more damage to Simon and his friends if he wanted to. Edwin has never seen anyone move that fast before. That the worst injuries dealt were a broken nose and a few bruises speaks to how careful Charles was to keep his promise to Edwin and not hurt anyone too badly.

Or maybe it’s that Charles is a beautiful boy that keeps smiling at Edwin and it’s been a long, long time since a beautiful boy smiled at Edwin.

“Sort of,” Charles says through a mouthful of spaghetti. “Really, it’s that my soul is bound to an enchanted sword.”

“But you’re not a ghost.”

“Nope. Immortal, actually. Can’t die. Trust me, plenty of people have tried to kill me.”

The server gives them an odd look as she walks by, shaking her head and muttering about “the drugs at that school.” Edwin sits a little lower in his seat. He knows that many of his classmates sneak off campus to the Treehouse, a restaurant which is open late and apparently very lax about checking IDs. St. Hilarion’s students are technically only allowed off campus unsupervised after Year 11 and only during daylight hours, but that’s never stopped Simon and his friends. Edwin has never been to the Treehouse before and feels a little thrill at having gotten away with breaking a rule.

Unless he ends up being murdered by an immortal warrior bound to a cricket bat.

“But there were no swords in that closet,” Edwin says. Knowing Edwin’s luck, he would have run himself through.

“Not anymore.” Charles pats his cricket bat, which leans against the wall next to the table. “One of my wielders was real paranoid that someone was going to steal me away from him, so he turned my sword into a cricket bat to hide it. He was going to turn me back eventually, I think, but I got stolen from him not long after that, so I guess he was right to worry, wasn’t he?”

Edwin has so many questions that he doesn’t know where to begin. He supposes he should start with the most pressing one. “So, when I picked up your cricket bat…”

“You summoned me,” Charles says brightly, looking at Edwin with those big brown eyes.

Edwin remembers that red light. He’s been trying to convince himself that he imagined it, but there’s no way anyone was in that closet with him before Charles seemed to appear out of the light. “You keep saying I’m your wielder. What does that mean?”

“Well, whoever wields the sword, or the bat, I guess, wields me. I’m here to protect you, fight your enemies for you, aren’t I?”

That’s a lot for Edwin to wrap his head around. “I don’t have any enemies.”

“Six blokes just tried to sacrifice you to a demon.”

“They wouldn’t have—”

“I took a look at that book. Not sure how Simon got his hands on it, but it’s a real grimoire. The spells in it work. If they tried to sacrifice you to a demon with it, it would have worked.”

Edwin swallows hard, regretting the plate of fish and chips he just finished. He looks down at his hands, which are pressed tightly together in his lap. “Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? Not much good if I let my wielder get dragged to Hell by a demon five minutes after he summoned me. I’ve lost a lot of wielders, but that’d be a new record.”

Edwin glances up. “How many wielders have you had?”

“Too many to count.” Charles appears to be no older than Edwin, but he suddenly looks much older, like the weight of his immortality weighs down on his shoulders. Edwin wonders how many times there’s been a flash of red light and Charles has found himself face-to-face with a new wielder.

“What happened to the last one?” Edwin asks.

“I don’t know.” Charles shoves around forkfuls of spaghetti, gaze averted from Edwin. “Her name was Iris. She was a psychic medium. A powerful one. Loads of people wanted to use her for her powers. There was a witch who wanted to take me from her, so Iris made me get back into the cricket bat. She said she’d come back for me. That was in 1989, so I guess she never did.”

“1989?” Edwin looks him over, taking in the jacket, the earring, and the eyeliner. “That explains some things.”

Charles’s beaming smile returns. “Hey, the 80s were aces. Great music, great movies, great clothes. Probably my favorite decade and I’ve seen a lot of them. How’s 2025?”

“If you’re asking about the music, the movies, and the clothes, I am very much not the person to ask,” Edwin says dryly.

“Guess we can find out together, can’t we?”

Edwin feels his face flush under the force of Charles’s warm smile. “So, what happens now?”

“You tell me, mate.”

“Well, you’re no trapped in a cupboard, so I suppose you’re free to go to whatever it is that immortals bound to a cricket bat do,” Edwin says, confused.

Charles’s face falls and Edwin instantly feels like he kicked a puppy, though he’s not sure why. “That’s now how this works. You’re my wielder.”

“Charles,” Edwin says as gently as he can manage. This is why his only friend is Niko, the most forgiving person in the world. He’s rubbish at handling other people and their emotions. “I told you, I don’t have enemies to fight.” Charles continues to look crushed, so he adds, “I don’t even know how to play cricket. I think I’d make a rather rubbish wielder.”

“Well, you’re my wielder until you die, get defeated in battle, or pass me on to someone else willingly,” Charles says.

Edwin doesn’t like any of those options. He doesn’t quite understand this wielder business yet, but the thought of this bright-eyed, smiling boy being relegated to a weapon seems utterly wrong to him. But he can’t just stick Charles back in the cupboard and forget about him, not after Charles saved his life.

“So you’re stuck with me, yeah?” Charles flashes an uncertain smile.

“No, I believe you’re stuck with me,” Edwin says. “I’m not very good with people, I’m afraid.”

Charles’s smile widens. “I’m aces enough with people for the both of us. And if anyone gives you a hard time, I’ll just whack ‘em with my bat.”

Edwin snorts as the server comes over to pointedly put the bill down on the table.

Charles shrugs sheepishly and takes another bite of spaghetti, leaving a smear of sauce on his chin. It makes him look no less handsome. “Left my wallet in my other cricket bat, mate.”

Edwin sighs and reaches for the bill. He’s not sure what it means to have come into possession of an enchanted cricket bat with an immortal fighter bound to it. But he’s letting himself succumb to the tentative hope that it might mean that he has a new friend.

***

Charles always has a good feeling about new wielders. No matter how many of them he fails or how many trade him away, he always lets himself hope that this one will be different. Maybe this one will make it to old age with Charles by their side, protecting them until the very end. Maybe he'll never let this one down.

But he thinks that this time, he might be right. Edwin Payne seems different: a little awkward, a little prickly, but a good sort underneath it all. And he’s not a king, a general, or anyone else prone to ending up on a battlefield. Besides almost getting sacrificed to a demon by some dumbarse classmates, how much trouble can he really get into? If the worst thing he has to protect Edwin from is bullies, then this should be the easiest job Charles has ever had.

As they walk back to St. Hilarion’s campus side-by-side, Charles tilts his head back to feel the cold wind on his face. It’s a gray, miserable night, with no stars to speak of, but he knows they’re there, and that’s enough. After over thirty years in a cupboard, there could be a hurricane and it’d be the most beautiful weather Charles has ever seen.

“I have a single room, so you’ll need to sleep on the floor,” Edwin says apologetically.

Charles shrugs. “So long as there are four walls and a roof, I’m good, mate.”

“And you’ll need to keep a low profile. My teachers will have questions if I start walking around with a cricket bat-wielding bodyguard. Especially if Simon reports the boy who broke his nose. Did I mention that his uncle is the prime minister?”

“I can show you how to put me back into the cricket bat if you need to hide me.”

Edwin looks horrified at the very thought and Charles feels a stab of affection for his new wielder. Yeah, he has a good feeling about this one. And not even because Edwin’s pretty fit, though that helps. Those green eyes are something else.

“Charles?” Edwin asks as it begins to drizzle.

“Yeah, mate.” Charles holds out a hand to feel the cold raindrops against his skin.

“How did you end up bound to a sword?”

Charles thinks of his own useless screaming, his father’s merciless gaze, the burning agony of the sword driving into his chest. “Usual way, I suspect.”

“There’s a usual way to end up bound to a sword?”

“Don’t worry about it, mate.” Charles slings an arm around Edwin’s shoulder. “It’s a good life. I’ve seen the world, met plenty of interesting people. I’ll never die. If I’m hurt, just have to go back into the bat for a bit and I’m good as new. It’s brills.”

Edwin doesn’t look convinced. “Can you be freed?”

No one has ever asked Charles that, not in the many, many centuries he’s existed. He’s never really let himself think about it. “I don’t know,” he says, hearing the tremor in his own voice give him away. “No one’s ever tried.”

“Well,” Edwin says. “I suppose that’s another thing we can figure out together.”

Yeah, Charles thinks as the rain falls around them. He thinks this is going to be aces.

***

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#dead boy detectives #dbda #payneland #charles rowland week #ghost's writing #ghost's fic

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