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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 13

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: For those who didn't catch my announcement on Monday, I released Part 12 earlier this week! Now, on to a confrontation I think a lot of you have been waiting for...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Attempted sexual assault. Protective Dean, angst, hurt/comfort.

Part 13: “Boiling Point”

Usually, Christmas was your absolute favorite time of the year.

This holiday was a baker’s dream, and you and your grandmother used to volunteer at the church bake sale every Christmas Eve. Grandpa George had done his best to help you in the years after she died…but you just didn’t have it in you this year.

You considered it an accomplishment that you pulled down some of the decorations from the attic, putting them up around your house, and buying a little four-foot tree (also hauling it into the house yourself). However, you knew that you wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Day, at least.

Sam and Dean had already invited you over to spend it with them. You would have the chance to get to know Eileen better, and you would even get to meet the famous John Winchester…

But you still had one reason to dread the end of the month.

Nick Savage threw a Christmas party every year. It was equal parts celebration and networking, and as a top performer of the sales division, you were expected to come.

The problem was, this time the party was going to be held at his house.

“You can’t just not go?” Andréa asked, shortly before taking a massive bite of her burrito. The two of you were grabbing dinner together after another long day at the office, followed by a movie later.

You’d realized just how much you had missed your best friend.

“Yeah, that’ll be great for me. Josh will get to chat up the whole team and get them clamoring to kiss his dick. Nick will give him the Sales Manager position just to spite me,” you said, while picking at your taco salad. “He keeps pitting us against each other for his own enjoyment, but I swear to God he harps on me the most.”

Andréa frowned. “Are you sure Nick just doesn’t have a thing for you? It sounds like he’s a little boy, picking on a girl he likes.”

You pursed your lips. She still didn’t know the full extent on your boss’s thing with you. You hadn’t told her about the last time Nick cornered you in his office, dangled a promotion in front of you, and basically gave you an ultimatum: sleep with him, or don’t move up in the company.

You hadn’t told anyone, for that matter.

You were just trying to figure out how to not get fired, while still getting compensated for your hard work. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, it was.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks about me,” you said vehemently.

It earned your friend’s gaze, and her raised eyebrows.

“Whoa,” she chuckled. “Easy there, Miss Congeniality. That’ll be sure to earn you the promotion.”

“No, really,” you said. You stabbed into your salad with a fork. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of having to tap dance my entire work life around him. He’s a goddamn child who thinks he can have whatever he wants just because Daddy gave him his own little kingdom!”

Andréa eyed you more with concern. Her hand reached for your arm. Meanwhile, you were forcing slower breaths through your nose.

“You okay?” she asked. “I don’t like the ‘crazy town’ look in your eyes right now.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Just hangry, I guess.”

You took another bite of your food. Andréa gave you a skeptical look, but she let it go for now, with a smirk.

“Yeah, well. Eat a Snickers, bitch. I don’t need you snapping on me again,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but you had to laugh a little. You shoved at her shoulder.

She gripped her own arm in fake panic. “Someone call the cops! This crazy woman just punched me out over a salad!”

You tried to shush her, even though you were giggling. Your head swiveled around in the restaurant, giving apologetic eyes to the people around you.

“Although, $20 for a few sprigs of romaine lettuce and a sliver of chicken? That’s worth punching somebody the fuck out,” she said, throwing down her napkin. “Let’s never come here again.”

“Agreed,” you nodded. “I don’t think they’ll let us back here anyway.”

A few days later, you didn’t want to admit you were stressing out over this night.

“Have I said thank you? Because I mean it. Thank you for taking time off for this,” you said, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in Dean’s blazer.

He looked good in black. It was classic, and the new suit was smart without being “too much” for him. (Sam had taken him to his “suit guy,” as Dean called it.)

Dean grabbed your arms to stop your slightly flustered hands. He smirked down at you as his eyes once again took in your dark red dress. It was simple and sleeveless, but elegant, falling just above the knee. Of course, you had to be wearing the tallest pair of black heels he’d ever seen.

“It’s no sacrifice, believe me,” he replied.

You smiled, but he noticed something behind your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked. “Seems like you don’t really want to go to this thing.”

“I don’t,” you admitted on a sigh. “But my boss will know if I’m not there…I told you about the open Sales Manager position, right?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean nodded. His smile slid into a frown as he watched you bustle around your room, looking for your purse while you smoothed out the soft waves you’d managed to style your hair in, checking your eyeliner and lipstick too in the mirror.

“As usual, it’s down to me and Josh,” you said. “If I keep my numbers up and use tonight to network with my own team, get the rest of the guys on my side, maybe Nick will see that I’m the right choice.”

Dean came up behind you, resting a hand on your lower back.

“And this manager job…that’s what you want?” he asked.

You turned to him with a questioning look. “Well, yeah. I’ve been working here for five years, busting my ass.”

“And I got no doubt that you’re good at what you do,” Dean said. “But you do know, there hasn’t been a day since I met you that you didn’t have something crap to say about that job, and those people you work with.”

You frowned, and you thought about what he was saying. Sure, you complained about Nick, but did you really talk that much shit about your job?

“Everyone has things they don’t like about their work,” you reasoned. “Even you have your bad days.”

Though he tended to keep those days to himself, you knew when he’d had a tough call at the firehouse. You’d been trying your best to be a listening ear if he needed it, or if not, at least a soothing presence. It was more often the latter with Dean.

He acknowledged your point with a nod. “Okay, fair enough. I don’t know…I just think you’re wasting your talent.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, you’re like…an artist. It’s nothing me, or Sam, or Andréa, or anybody in your life hasn’t told you before,” said Dean. “You went to school to do your dream. And I know life happened. But I also know that when I walk into the firehouse, it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. Can you say that when you walk into the Savage building?”

You took in a breath. You understood what he was saying, but as much as you wanted to indulge the fantasy of owning your own business, being your own boss, creating your own menu, and giving people quality baked goods…you had to live in reality here.

Opening a brick-and-mortar business was expensive. And most restaurants, even bakeries, weren’t profitable for at least one to three years. You still had plenty of bills, and not even a car since the accident.

“I’ve invested too much time here to quit, Dean,” you said.

The conversation died there, but it left something new and awkward between you two. You tried to put it out of your mind while he drove you both over to the “filthy fucking rich” side of town, through a massive gate, and into a wide parking lot that had a valet driver waiting. Nick’s ridiculous house was a monument to trust fund kids everywhere.

Dean reluctantly handed over the keys to the Impala.

“No donuts in the parking lot.” He eyed the 20-something-year-old valet with all due scrutiny. “Trust me, I’ll know.”

You smirked and slipped your arm around his to tug him up the steps, toward the large double doors of the house.

“Come on, Rambo. Baby’ll be fine without you.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean quipped back. Still, he moved his arm out of yours, just to wrap it around your waist and pull you against his side. His lips pressed against your cheek.

“You look sexy as hell,” he said lowly near your ear. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“No.” Your smile deepened. “But doesn’t hurt to mention again. I might just have to reward my boyfriend for humoring me tonight, getting all dapper himself.”

You and Dean made it up to the porch and you knocked on the door. He shot you a raised brow as his lips tugged upwards.

“Oh, yeah? We talkin’ lace or satin?” he asked. His lips brushed your temple.

You pretended to think. “Little of both, actually. It’s new. And it’s red…and I might just be wearing it right now.”

Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. His gaze subtly dragged over your every curve, as if he had x-ray vision to spy through your dress. You maintained an enigmatic smile.

“Oh, you’re diabolical,” he muttered. His hand moved down to playfully squeeze your ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle the sound you made, as that’s when the doors finally began to swing open.

Dean’s hand moved up a respectable few inches, resting on your waist.

You both smiled and greeted the attendant who let you into the house.

A quick text let you know that Benny and Andréa were already here, each holding a flute of champagne. You and Dean met up with them in the huge living room space (which might has well have been a grand hall, for how large it was).

It held 50 people easily, but the party was already spanning the entire house, of at least two stories. It made your house look like a modest Barbie Dream home, without the pool attachment.

And Nick Savage was at the center of it all, greeting each guest and their “plus ones.”

When he spotted your group, he smoothly excused himself from the conversation with Josh and his wife, and headed over to you.

“Incomiiing,” Andréa quietly sing-songed. She sipped her champagne.

You steeled yourself, and you did your best to give a polite smile when Nick arrived with a pleasant “Merry Christmas.” You forced yourself to remain still when his hand fell on your arm, and he reached out to shake Dean’s hand in greeting, followed by Andréa and Benny.

“Welcome, you guys,” he said, giving you a smile that hid just a hint of a smirk. “Justin let you know where everything is, right? Lotsa drinks, the good stuff, I promise. Plenty of food, hot chocolate and eggnog fountains, if that’s your thing. And a hell of a lot more out back by the pool.”

“Great, thank you,” you nodded politely.

“All right! Let’s party,” Nick fist-pumped in the air. He pointed towards you and Dean. “You need a drink in your hand, stat.”

“I’m fine for now. Going to wait until I have something to eat first,” you replied. If you were going to get a glass of wine, it wouldn’t be one that Nick handed to you.

He pouted a little, but he looked at Dean next. “How about you, big guy? What you drinkin’?”

Dean shot you a glance, but before he could respond, Nick interrupted.

“You look like a whiskey guy. Am I right?” he asked.

Dean inclined his head. “Guilty.”

“Perfect. See? I’ve got an instinct for people,” Nick said, tossing you a wink as he headed for the nearby bar. “I’ll be back. You crazy kids relax and have fun.”

You had to admit, he knew how to turn on the charm when he had to. But who the hell said crazy kids under the age of 45?

“He’s uh…got pep,” Benny remarked.

Andréa snorted and tapped her glass. “He’s a few shots in already.”

“You think?” Dean asked.

You nodded in agreement, rolling your eyes. If there was one thing you could count on, it was for Nick Savage to be drinking.

“He knows how to act when everyone’s watching,” you said.

You looked up at the high-vaulted ceilings and expensive artwork on the walls, not noticing how Dean glanced at you with the edge of a frown.

At the very least, the food was excellent. It was served in a large back room that served as a banquet hall, meant for entertaining.

There you and Dean actually had a good time, with you sipping on red wine and Dean on a glass of the “good stuff,” all while playing cards with Andréa and Benny and a few of your coworkers on the sales team.

“I just can’t believe Adam quit, to join our main competitor, no less,” said Marv. “I had absolutely no idea he was thinking of leaving.”

He was the team gossip. He prided himself on knowing every coming and going on the sales floor, which confounded you, since Marv was also a bit of a hermit. He either kept to his office like it was a bomb shelter, or you could catch him in the break lounge grabbing yet another coffee, all the while keeping his ear perked up for scraps of conversation.

“Yeah, you did, Marv,” you replied with a smirk. “You’re the one who saw Adam’s resignation letter on his own desk.”

He hadn’t even handed said letter to Nick yet.

“Well, I knew it then, obviously,” Marv said, with his hands open wide. “It leaves us without a manager…which I think, not for long.”

His eyes met yours knowingly.

You smiled. “We’ll see. I think Josh is playing kiss-ass tonight.”

You turned your head and spotted Nick and Josh taking shots of tequila together at the bar, with the latter wincing at the burn with a lime peel in his mouth. Josh’s wife was sitting off to the side, rolling her eyes.

Your gaze focused on your boss for a moment. You shook your head at the state of him, with a loose tie and the top buttons undone on his shirt, laughing boisterously and egging Josh on.

Fucking frat bros.

“That’s your boss, huh?” Benny remarked.

“In all his Cuervo-stained glory,” Marv replied. He shook his head as well.

It made you realize something.

As nice a time as you’d been having, for about an hour at most, your good mood soured the moment you were reminded of the office politics. Of Josh and Nick and everything in between. Was this really what you wanted for the rest of your career?

The rest of your life?

Maybe Dean was right, you thought. You knew you were good at your job. You knew you were fortunate to even have a job that paid your bills…but maybe “being good” wasn’t enough for you.

If there was one thing you’d learned from your grandfather’s death, it was that peace was precarious. And sacrificing too many parts of yourself, for money, wasn’t a fulfilling life or even a happy one.

You wanted to be happy. You also wanted peace.

So you leaned over and laid a hand on Dean’s, which rested on the round table.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His head bowed near yours. “Hmm?”

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked. He raised his brows at you.

“Really? I thought you needed to stay and schmooze with your people,” he replied.

You smiled and drew your thumb across the inside of his wrist. “I think I’m done.”

Dean looked a bit confused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. And you brushed your lips against the corner of his mouth. “You were right. It’s not worth it.”

A flicker of a smile began to tug at his lips, but his brows drew together.

“Hey. Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t bow out just because of me—”

Your hand tightened on his wrist.

“No, baby. It’s me. My choice,” you said. “Let me just use the restroom real quick, and we can go.”

Dean nodded, and you stood.

“What, are you leaving?” Andréa asked. She was tucked into Benny’s side with a piece of red velvet cake poised on her fork. “You didn’t even finish your cake!”

You laughed. Turning down dessert was a big deal for you, but you’d live.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I just need to call it a night, but I’ll be back in a sec to say goodbye. Hold on.”

Andréa blew out a breath as you walked away from the table.

“She’s gonna miss the White Elephant gift exchange. Last year, someone got a 60” smart TV,” she said.

Benny whistled.

“I wouldn’t mind an upgrade,” he said. He shot Dean a glance. “What do you think the guys would do if we showed up with something like that to the station?”

Dean scoffed. “I think the Chief would have a damn conniption.”

Bobby was old-school. He thought they had enough distractions from the job as it was.

“Probably right,” Benny chuckled.

Andréa smiled in amusement. But her eyes clocked the way Nick glanced your way as you walked by, down the hall and to the right. She sipped at her glass of pinot grigio to wash down the rich cake.

Still, she discreetly watched the man down another shot before he took his leave of the bar. He laughed at something Josh said and waved him off.

She gave Nick credit for not stumbling on his feet, and only swaying slightly on the same path you took down the hall. It didn’t mean he was following you, necessarily. This house was like a small Smithsonian. And yet, something niggled in the back of her mind.

Andréa remembered how you’d acted at dinner the other day when talking about Nick. And how drained you’d seemed lately when she saw you after work. She’d thought that was just about finding your way after George’s death…

Marv distracted her with a question as Dean and Benny continued to talk, and she answered him with her usual charm. But she kept one eye on the hallway, waiting for you to come back.

She made it about another minute before she turned to Benny and Dean, leaning in close.

“Hey, Dean,” she said. “Maybe you want to check on her? She’s taking a while.”

Dean didn’t look concerned as he checked his watch. It hadn’t been all that long, but he still pulled out his phone to text you.

“She left her purse here,” Andréa said. She started to get up out of her seat. “I’m just gonna go see if she’s okay.”

Benny grabbed her hand before she left the table.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said, but she met Dean’s confused gaze. “Okay, look. I’ve been noticing some things with her recently. I have no evidence except for how well I know that woman, but something’s off with her. It happens every time she talks about that asshole Nick.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he tried to read between the lines.

“What’re you saying exactly?” he asked.

Andréa let out a breath. “I’m saying, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

You hummed as you washed your hands in the bathroom. Wine runs right through me. I should know better.

You’d also been trying to quell your anxieties and just get through the night. But you realized now that there was no kind of calm like the peace you had, now that you knew what you needed to do. Starting tomorrow, you were going to start looking for a new job.

A knock at the door made you jolt slightly.

“Someone’s in here!” you called without looking over your shoulder. You finished washing your hands and dried them on the hand towel hanging on a silver wall rack.

The door cracked open, but before you could protest, a man stumbled in.

Of fucking course it was Nick Savage.

“Excuse me?!” you breathed in shock. You watched with wide eyes as he pushed the door closed and seemed to take notice of you for the first time. He smirked.

“Oh, hey,” he said. Somehow, he was only slurring a little. He straightened his white blazer. The black satin shirt he wore was wrinkled and he smelled heavily of tequila, and that was with a couple of feet of distance between you two.

Your shock finally melted into a glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Gotta take a leak. It’s my house after all,” he shrugged, leaning a hand on the wall closest to the door for balance.

You shook your head, and with a huff, you tried to get by him.

His hand wrapped around your arm. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to catch up tonight.”

You shoved his hand off of you.

“Don’t you ever in your life touch me again,” you warned him. Your eyes were as hard as your voice. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet—no. In the whole damn universe who sickens me more than you, Nick Savage.”

Nick straightened a little, frowning at you. Whatever he saw in your gaze, he didn’t seem to like the challenge. When you reached for the doorknob again, he grabbed your arm and shoved you hard into the nearest wall.

You gasped as the air rushed out of your lungs. Before you even realized what was happening, you felt his clammy hands on your bare shoulders, his hot alcoholic breath on your face. You raised your hands in defense, pushing against his chest.

He was taller and stronger and pinned you harder against the wall, with his knee shoving its way between your legs. You stared up with wide eyes of fear, and his hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your scream.

Your nails bit into his arm and wrist, trying to peel back his sweaty hand, just an inch to free your voice and let you breathe. To your left you heard the door bang open.

Please—

And the hand was peeled away entirely.

You could only blink and watch as Dean barreled through, grabbing Nick and bodily hurling him away. Nick opened his mouth to spout something angrily, but Dean continued to stalk forward and grab the man again.

Nick attempted a lazy swing at Dean’s head, but he bat it away. His fist connected roughly with Nick’s face, snapping his head back with a cry.

It was almost too fast for you to track what was happening right in front of you, but Dean dragged the drunkard the rest of the way across the bathroom, even over the tub, and slammed him against the beige tile so hard that it knocked a few of them loose. Nick’s head smacked audibly against them and he groaned at the impact.

The men were around the same height, but Dean was honed by years of firefighting and fueled by rage. One hand gripped high on Nick’s collar, while his arm pressed against the man’s chest. Then into his throat.

“Give me a reason,” Dean said, in a voice much calmer than he felt. Behind his eyes was wildfire.

“What?” Nick choked.

You finally broke through enough of your shock to know you had to do something.

“Dean!” you uttered. You cautiously went to him, but he glanced at you over his shoulder in warning.

“Stay there,” he told you firmly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, even though your voice shook. “Let’s just go.”

Despite the blood dripping down from his likely bruised nose, Nick chortled a laugh. It earned Dean’s slow head turn, returning his attention to the decision at hand. His fist tightened in Nick’s shirt.

“You heard me,” Dean said. His voice was laced with steel. “I said give me a reason not to break your miserable fucking neck.”

“Dean,” you gasped.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, fireman,” Nick slurred. “I clearly don’t have all my wits about me right now. Can’t be held lia…li-ble for my actions, now can I? I’ll have your badge by end of the week.”

You let out a harsh breath and finally went to Dean. You laid a hand on his back. Every muscle was tense and straining under his white dress shirt.

“Dean,” you pressed. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

Nick smirked lazily in Dean’s face. It was the look of a man who was used to getting his way.

“I’d listen to her,” he said, with a mocking glint in his eyes. “Or I could just fire her on Monday. Make it easy on myself.”

Dean seethed. His forearm slowly rolled harder into the man’s neck, pressing on his windpipe. The sounds of choked air were satisfying.

“Yeah, or I’ll have the police down here in ten minutes or less,” said Dean. “I’ll clue you in on a little something. My dad’s a cop. I’ll reckon he’ll be happy to put a fucking douchebag like you in the can with the real charmers.”

Dean gave a mocking glance to Nick’s silk shirt, his gold pinky ring and loafers.

“How long do you think it’ll take for one of ‘em to make you their little bitch?” Dean said.

Nick glared back at him, with a frisson of intimidation behind his eyes. He glanced at you over his shoulder. Dean noticed and tightened his hold.

“Don’t you look at her, you piece of shit!” he warned. His voice was low and dangerous. “Make your choice. You gonna come down to the station easy, or difficult? Please say difficult.”

Nick held up placating hands. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall; one foot was planted on the ground while the other was in the tub. The shower curtain was half off its hooks.

Dean eased up enough for Nick to take a breath.

“Okay, let’s say we do that,” he said, with a cough. “I’ll get bail. Then I’ll fucking walk, ‘cause I own this town.”

“You mean your dad does,” you snapped.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Same name, same shit, sweetheart.”

Dean grit his teeth and tightened his grip again in warning. You wrapped your hand around his arm, but he didn’t budge.

Nick met his eyes.

“How about this. Get your greasy fucking hands off me, and we’ll call tonight a wash,” he proposed. “No foul, we all take our balls and go home.”

He then snorted at his own joke. “Balls…”

Dean tilted his head, but didn’t move a muscle. “Or?”

Once again, Nick smirked.

“I’ll report you to your boss for assaulting me in my own house. And uh, she’ll be fired, obviously.” He shrugged. “By the time my lawyers get done with her, she won’t be able to sling lattes at Starbucks.”

Dean’s face was stony, tight with outrage. His whole body was coiled like a spring as every cell in his body fought against ripping this man apart.

But he still felt your hands around his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Dean, don’t. He’s not worth your career. Please,” you begged.

The bathroom door pushed open again, and he heard Benny’s voice.

“Hey, brother.” He dropped a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, now. You got him. Ease up now.”

Dean’s teeth ground together. He looked down, and his stare bored into Nick’s. Dean pressed his forearm into the other man’s throat again, enough to almost feel the give as the man struggled for breath.

“Remember how that feels,” Dean said icily. “20579, Dean Winchester. The next time you want to threaten my badge, that’s my number.”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly. At the time, Dean took it as fear. But really, it was recognition.

Winchester, Nick thought.

Dean then leaned in closer, so only Nick would hear his next lowered words.

“First and last warning,” Dean said. “If you touch her again. If I hear anything more about you giving her a hard time, not a dime in the world is gonna save you from me.”

When Dean finally pulled his arm away and let go, Nick’s face was red and spluttering as he coughed and slumped into the bathtub.

Dean turned on his heel in anger and disgust. Andréa was supporting you with her arm around yours, but she released you to let Dean take over. You stared up at him with tearful eyes, and you reached for his hand.

He took it with his left, holding you steady. He then wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the bathroom.

The air was tense and silent inside the Impala. It was a long drive back to your house, and Dean hadn’t looked at you once in 20 minutes. His gaze was firmly on the road. He hadn’t even turned on the radio.

You had his suit jacket draped around your frame, but your insides still felt cold. You glanced over at him and stared at his profile for a moment, wishing you knew what to say to break the silence. To reassure him that you were fine. (Even though it would've been a lie.)

He felt your stare and turned his head towards you.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked. His voice was gruff. “Andréa said she’s been noticing something off about you for a while.”

Your lips pressed together. “Can this part wait until we get home…please?”

Dean’s jaw ticked, but he turned back to the road ahead.

The car was silent for the rest of the hour.

It was a relief to turn the key into the door lock and step through the threshold of your house. Dean followed you inside and tossed his wallet and car keys on the side table by the door.

Somehow he always managed to miss the little basket you put there for exactly those things, but you weren’t about to remind him.

You slipped off your heels and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, to steady yourself. Dean leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He didn’t say anything, but you still felt his eyes on you.

With a sigh, you turned and met his gaze.

“Just tell me,” he said. “How long?”

You took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“It started before I even met you, Dean.”

His brows raised high. He tilted his head at you as incredulous anger tightened his face.

“What?” he said. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You shook your head and grabbed his arm. “Okay, come here.”

You led him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. You explained that it started small, with compliments on your clothes, your hair. Then it was lingering looks, “innocent” brushes of his hand, touching your arm, your shoulder.

When you’d tried to put distance between you and Nick, the drunken shenanigans began. The comments grew heinous and sickening, and so did his threats.

And nothing you did worked. Not distance and professionalism. Not refusing his advances outright. Not threatening to go to HR.

All while you spoke, Dean was quiet, but on edge. You saw it in how he gripped his knee, with his other hand fisted against his mouth, elbow resting on his thigh.

But the hardest part of the conversation came when you told Dean about the day of the car accident—how Nick had demanded you come to his office and gave you a sickening ultimatum.

At that, Dean could no longer remain still. He got up and started to pace across the living room. He was a man of action, you knew, and his reaction was almost everything you’d feared.

I should've told him, you thought. You knew.

Although you now felt relieved, even in your guilt, you also knew this next part wasn’t going to be fun either. Because Dean finally erupted.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked.

Briefly, you closed your eyes. “No.”

“Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” His hand buried itself in his hair as his jaw clenched. Even if your friend Andréa hadn’t known, she’d still seen enough to suspect something. It completely blew his mind, in the worst of ways.

“Jesus Christ!” he shook his head. “Why am I always the last one to know when something’s going on with you?”

Tears watered in your eyes as you looked up at him. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I mean, really. What are we doing here, huh?” he exclaimed, his hands open wide. “Honestly, tell me. Because if you can’t trust me, then I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Your eyes widened, a trill of panic lacing down your spine. You stood up and went to him.

“Dean, please, it wasn’t about that,” you said. You implored him with your eyes to understand. “I wanted to tell someone…God, you don’t know how bad I wanted to tell you. But I knew how you’d react. Just like this. I didn’t want to make the situation worse!”

He frowned deeply. “You didn’t want help? You didn’t want me to protect you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you snapped. But then, you sucked in a shaking breath, trying to calm yourself. You got closer and rested a hand against his chest.

“Of course I’m grateful that you protected me. Dean, I love you for it.”

You grasped the ends of his jacket with both hands. All you really wanted to do was bury yourself in his warmth and sleep for the next ten years. You were still raw and frayed inside.

Dean looked down at you, and his heart clenched. He couldn’t help but hold you back. His arms wound around your lower back as he pulled you against him. His chin rested above your head, and you sighed in relief.

“I thought I could handle it,” you confessed, in a smaller voice. “I worked so damn hard…I wanted to fight for my job. But Nick knew I didn’t have the money or the resources to fight back for real if I reported him, or even if I sued him. And before tonight, I didn’t have enough to take to the police.”

Dean pulled away just enough to see your face. He grasped your arms, gentle but firm.

“I’ll take you to the station right now,” he said. “My dad can help you. Hell, Sam can help you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head.

“You heard him, Dean. With his money and connections, he’ll get off. And then he’ll make both of our lives hell,” you said. “He’ll go after your badge—”

“He can fucking try,” he snapped.

“Stop, okay? I don’t want that,” you pleaded.

A sharp breath escaped through his nose, and he let you go.

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” he said. “How can I help you if you won’t let me?”

He was beside himself with frustration, and even hurt. You knew it in the way he tried to walk away from you, but you reached for his arm to stop him, with tears burning in your eyes. You didn’t want him to think that you didn’t want his support. That you didn’t trust him.

Because that couldn’t have been any farther from the truth.

“I’m sorry!” Your tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You tugged him back towards you, earning his furrowed glance. “I was…scared. I…I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with it at all.”

The longer Dean looked at your face, the more he crumbled.

Once again, he turned to gather you back into his arms. And there your tears fell in earnest. Your body trembled with quiet sobs, and he held you tighter. His heart broke a little more as his hand soothed over your hair. He shushed you more gently, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this, let alone for this damn long,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward for a moment as he mentally kicked himself. You didn’t deserve this, or his anger either.

He just couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed any signs, like Andréa had. All these months… It threatened to drive him up a fucking wall.

“You’re safe, and I’ve got you,” he said, continuing to hold you securely against him. “We’ll handle this, like everything else.”

After a moment, you nodded, letting out another shaky breath. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into his chest.

You already knew you must’ve looked a state, after the night you’d had, but you didn’t truly realize it until you were looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Mascara and lipstick smudged, hair disheveled, tears staining your cheeks.

Ugh. You hastily scrubbed your face clean with makeup wipes. Then you tamed your hair, brushing through the frizz and calming it back into relative normalcy.

You went for the zipper of your dress next, but you couldn’t get it down all the way. You turned to look over your shoulder.

“Dean,” you called.

He was in your room, rifling through his bag to grab the clothes he’d brought to sleep in.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Come ‘ere a sec?”

He obliged you, drawing into the bathroom. His white dress shirt was only half unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. You met his eyes in the mirror.

“Can you unzip me?” you asked.

Dean looked down where your hands were holding both sides of the zipper on your dress. He took one side from you and unzipped it the rest of the way, stopping at the small of your back. He caught sight of the red, sheer lingerie underneath.

Noticing the way he paused, you smiled slightly. You turned toward him and tugged the dress down the rest of the way, so he could see the rest of the ensemble. It was a simple corset-style nightie, but true to your word, the lace was paired with satin trim lines.

Your hands ran up his sternum and undid the last buttons on his shirt. You grasped near his collar and leaned up on your toes for a slow kiss. Dean unconsciously held you to him by your shoulders, his eyes closing at the feel of you.

But when they next opened, he caught sight of the bruise on your shoulder. It was about the size of a thumbprint.

His throat tightened. After a moment, he parted from you, but he didn’t continue where you left off. You looked up at him in confusion.

“Baby?” you asked.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t answer you; couldn’t even articulate what the hell was in his head. So he just turned and went back into the room for his change of clothes. It left you frowning, bereft, and worried.

You changed into an old shirt and some shorts before you got into bed. You slipped under the covers and watched Dean. He sat with his back to you as he unclipped his watch and set it down on the nightstand. By now he’d changed into his faded, gray Lawrence Fire Department shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Your throat constricted with emotion, namely with anxiety.

“Are you still mad at me?” you asked.

Dean paused. He glanced back at you, saw you laying there with a hand gripped into the covers. His brows furrowed when he saw your shining tears.

He turned and got into bed with you. He slid his arm under your head and wordlessly encouraged you to come closer. His free hand soothed across your arm.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said at last. But he was still upset, and deeply unsettled. As the night replayed in his mind, he knew that at the root of his fury, there was fear.

“I just keep thinking,” he said. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t called out of work tonight.”

You looked down at that. You laid a hand on his chest.

“I wouldn’t have gone to the party,” you said. Though if you were honest with yourself, you probably would’ve thought yourself safe with Benny and Andréa. “I just…I really didn’t think he would try to—”

You tried to take a breath to steady yourself, but it was a tremulous release. The memory flashed behind your eyes, the remnants of panic and fear under your skin.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Dean’s hand was caressing your cheek, brushing away your tears.

“All right, shhh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s over,” he said. Once again, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. Guilt hit him between the ribs for upsetting you all over again. “I promise you’re safe, and I’ve got you.”

You did your best to take in deep breaths, letting them out more steadily. Dean wanted to put the matter to bed for tonight. He really did…but he couldn’t help pressing one last thing.

“Just tell me you’re not going back there on Monday, unless it’s to HR,” he said.

You paused, shook your head a little. You didn’t want to rev him up again, but you knew Nick.

“He doesn’t make idle threats, Dean,” you reminded him. “But there’s a reason why he waited until tonight, at his house. He’s not going to try his luck at the office, where everyone’s watching.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean retorted.

You saw his point, but you almost didn’t want to acknowledge it. You couldn’t afford to quit.

“I still need my job, for now,” you said. “But I will start looking for something else, so I can get out as soon as possible. I promise.”

Dean wasn’t happy. Both of you knew it. You also sensed that he wanted to argue more, but was holding back for now. You appreciated that.

You truly didn’t want to get into it anymore with him. You just wanted to close your eyes and try to forget about tonight, knowing that you’d fail.

Dean still held you, with his hands rubbing up and down your back. His touch and his heartbeat soothed you until you managed to fall asleep.

AN: Dean knows, and it ain't pretty. What did you think of the confrontation? Unfortunately, I'm drawing from real events here (not myself).

Next Time:

The mystery of "Azazel" thickens, Dean deals with another tricky fire, and the reader has a realization of her own...

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

Keep Reading: PART 14

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#Boiling Point #Smoke Eater #Part 13 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #benny lafitte #zepskies writes

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hugsandchaos · 5 months ago

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Wait, guys!

So I’ve made jokes about Danny being friends with Wind before he met the others, but what about Twilight and Time? Here’s what I have for those two.

With Twilight, he met Danny when he went out after dark to just go and stargaze in the Ordon Spring because it’s nice. He saw Danny after spending about an hour in the spring, when he heard footsteps and someone panting like they’d just pushed themselves past their limits. He goes to investigate and finds Danny using a nearby tree to support himself.

The kid looked like he was struggling to see straight and collapsed before Twilight could ask him what was going on. After bringing him to the village and getting some help, they came to the conclusion that he’d been running or living in the forest for a while and had simply passed out from exhaustion, but the scarring on his chest was very worrying. When he woke up, he freaked out and nearly hit Twilight.

The ranch hand was patient with Danny’s refusal to let anyone too close and answer some questions. The kid looked around at almost everything as if it was out to get him and he was terrified.

Luckily, after a few weeks, they managed to gain his trust and saw big improvements. He was talking to them and helping out around the village. Danny claims to be lost and unsure what to do, but in the meantime, he’s staying with Twilight in his basement and helping out.

Yes, he wanted that. Yes, they thought it was odd. No, he doesn’t care.

When Danny meets the Chain, he’s surprisingly okay with it. That’s because he realized that Clockwork probably wanted him to help the group in some way. And yeah, he told Twilight all of this.

With Time, the old man was near a pool of ectoplasm for whatever reason and Danny kinda just popped up like “Dude, are you lost? Pretty sure the nearest town is, like, 10 miles from here or something. What are you doing here??”

Time, being both confused and surprisingly chill, explained the situation. Danny offered to help, Time accepted, and they got out. Danny stuck by Time until they reached the village, where Danny stopped and they said their goodbyes and “good luck with whatever you’re doing”s.

When they meet up again, it’s because Danny went to check out what was up with the timelines joining without actually joining back together and he found the group. They were in trouble, so he stopped to offer a hand. He had a brief chat with Time and explained that he thinks he should stick with them since the black lizalfos might have something to do with whatever’s going on.

The kid ends up joining. The rest of the group is fairly surprised and would like a bit of backstory, please.

I’ve honestly come to really appreciate the “Time and Danny duo” thing. They’re both a couple of cryptids who drop random pieces of lore and give no further context.

Time genuinely respects him, partially for committing to the whole “cryptid” bit and mostly for his strengths. One more piece to the puzzle is that Danny helped the group communicate and coordinate better by asking simple questions like “What are you thinking?” or “What if we do this”, which prompted them to talk about their plans more.

Danny sees his role as the leader and goes with it for the most part. He’s not going to just butt in and start questioning Time’s role in the group when he clearly has it for a reason. But there was a moment when he essentially took charge. Let’s say that there were a lot of poes or some ectoplasmic entities. Time just turned to Danny and went “Got any ideas?” and Danny said “Yeah, just let me handle it. I got this one.” and proceeded to mop the floor with them.

Time doesn’t know much about ectoplasm, only that it’s green, it glows, and it hurts like acid. He also knows Danny is more knowledgeable in that field, and that some of his blood is actually mixed with ectoplasm, so Time believes it to be a smart move to let the expert take charge.

Oh, yeah, and he’s seen the ghostly wail. If the kid is in ghost form and tells you to cover your ears, please, for the love of Hylia, get behind him and cover your ears. Unless you wanna get blasted who-knows-how-far.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #linked universe #linked universe time #linked universe twilight #dp x lu

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greenheartart · 19 days ago

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I'm not very good at this sort of thing. I wasn't sure I wanted to say anything at all, since this has always just been my silly little safe place for loving Undertale. Not a place for other things, especially political stuff. But then it felt weird not to say anything. To just continue on and pretend nothing has happened and everything's okay.

Because it's not.

The fact that Trump has managed to get reelected is horrific. I've spent the last two days oscillating between dread and disbelief and burying myself in games for hours on end, just to try to forget about the world for a while. Hasn't really helped, if I'm being honest. My body hurts from how tense I am and I can't seem to shake the stress headache at the base of my skull. It feels like there's no escape from it. It's everywhere online and when I leave my house, it's still everywhere I go, in campaign signs on lawns and in the conversations I overhear from strangers. All my friends are scared and anxious and angry and frustrated, and none of us know what to do about it.

And I imagine it's the same for many of you.

It's an exhausting thought that so many of us are struggling right now. I hate it, and I'm so sorry we're all going through this.

I guess what I want to say that I know I'm more of a background presence, even on my own blog at times, but if anyone needs someone to reach out to, I'm here. My inbox is open and so are my DMs. If you feel alone and need to talk to someone, or want a distraction from what's going on and want to talk about fandoms or pets or anything else, or hell, have even just wanted to say hi and have needed an excuse, please. Reach out, ask to chat, just say hi. I'll answer.

And I also want to say I'm not going anywhere. Maybe things will take longer for me to get to than I want for mental health reasons, or maybe I'll throw myself even harder into this to cope. Who knows. I just know that I love telling stories and I love making art, and I love getting to share that with all of you and getting to see you love it too. I'm horrified by the world right now, but that just makes me want to push back against the horrors harder in the only way I know how.

Community is important. Art is important. We have to find joy and connection wherever we can, especially when things are at their worst.

So... just take care, everyone. Do whatever you can to keep your head up and don't give into despair. I'll see you around soon. ♥

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twopoppies · 4 days ago

Note

May I share some grieving thoughts from someone who has walked this road too many times for folks who may not have been through this before?

It is okay to feel how you feel, and there is no rhyme or reason to it. Your feelings are valid for you, and may not match what others are going through at the same time or at all, and it is okay. The only way out is through. Sometimes all you can do is the next right thing. And that is enough.

It is okay to box those feelings up for short periods of relief: just don’t leave them shoved away permanently. The only way out is through. But taking a time out is okay.

The loss and pain of the moment does not taint the past, in the long term. It may feel like it, but time and perspective will remind you what a gift the journey before was. That joy, love, growth while the person was alive is still valid and important and shaped who you are today. It is okay to celebrate that. It is okay if it is bittersweet. We honor the person by keeping that journey intact. They impacted us, and that is an important thing to honor in their story. Watch the videos. Replay the conversations. Celebrate what was. Don’t give death the power to ruin their positive impact on you.

Just like their absence hurts you, if you fall into being absent in your life because of the pain, you are causing your loved ones that same pain. Choose to honor the deceased’s life by loving yours fully, by being that light you are missing for the people in your life like the deceased was for you. I try to be thankful for the things I get to experience, even without them, because I am going to experience the hell out of them and then someday tell him about all the stuff he missed out on. Even though I believe he is here and sees.

Don’t perpetuate the pain, or initiate a legacy of withdrawal. Pick an honoring activity - for me it is tipping outrageously in their memory and finding joy in the joy they would have found in it. Make it something they championed, or took quiet pleasure in. Keep it to yourself, something between you and their memory. Walk a shelter dog and chat with your person, hide hug rocks, donate read books to the library, serve in a food center. Whatever makes you recall the bond you felt. And love people, for you and for them. The best legacy is one of love and joy, not sorrow and hurt.

Of course, it will be up and down. It strive for the up. Time does heal, and it DOES get better. Don’t let the negative win. Don’t let rot taint their life. OneDirection will never be the same. But it still meant a lot, and that should be honored. It can still mean a lot going forward, and that is honoring.

It has been 5 years since my last big loss. It catches me by surprise sometimes still. But their story is done, and mine goes on: I still reach for the joy I had in getting to be a part of their story. I refuse to lose that too. Because people are involved in my story now. I am still a part of theirs. And I don’t want them to have this hurt of me dropping out of my story: And I let him live on in my adventures, my good work with disadvantaged people, and my love for the people and world I am in. That is the only thing I can still give them, and with time, I am able to do that more and more.

It hurts. It hurts so much. It feels like I can’t breathe, like it overwhelms everything I do, and like I just want to hug his momma so much it causes me physical pain. But each day, it will get a little better. It will blindside you, may catch you by surprise, and that is okay. Because estoy know it won’t be like this forever.

Anyway. I thought grief was a straight line process, and if I power through the stages, it would be done with. That I was betraying their memories by laughing, finding joy, continuing my story. I hope this helps anyone feeling unsure or overwhelmed or lost or guilty.

Thank you for all of this, darling. I'm so sorry you have so much experience with grieving. But your insight is so helpful. ❤️

#grief

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redux-iterum · 1 month ago

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Charred Legacy: Chapter Thirty

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Finally!”

The yowl of delight echoed through camp. Several heads turned with surprise that lightened into amusement as their eyes found Cloudpaw and Ashpaw bouncing around together, cheering.

“Finally, we’re going!” Cloudpaw shouted, nearly crashing into his sister, had she not deftly stepped out of the way.

Speckletail poorly restrained a chuff. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go before, but we’re making up for it now.”

“Oh, it’s so fun!” Brightpaw batted Cloudpaw with a light paw, getting him to stop and turn to face her. “You’ve got to meet Grasspaw and Badgerpaw, they’re both super cool and nice.”

“I wanna meet all the other apprentices!” Cloudpaw crowed. “And the leaders, and—”

“And I bet I’m bigger than all of ShadowClan!” Ashpaw interrupted, pausing in his bouncing to wriggle like he was about to tackle his brother. “They’re gunna be so scared of me!”

Fireheart watched the pair gabble to each other for a moment, tickled at the elation, before looking to Aspenpaw and asking, “Are you excited, too?”

Aspenpaw tilted her head thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’ll be nice, but I kinda wanted to stay home. I told Goldenflower I could watch Bramblekit and Tawnykit for her…”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Speckletail said kindly. “Frostfur and Willowpelt are there to help her. You just enjoy your first Gathering.”

With the work you put into making this as pleasant as possible, Fireheart thought, I’m sure it’ll be fun for everyone.

Speckletail had been the one to announce which cats were going; to the Clan’s unanimous relief, she also announced that she would be going in Bluestar’s place. The youngest apprentices and Fireheart had been selected, with Darkstripe being left at home (also to everyone’s relief, Fireheart’s especially). Teaselfoot, Mousefur, Dustpelt, and Sandstorm were the last picks, all of whom were happy to go and were chatting to each other about this cat they were hoping to catch up with and that gossip they heard about something or other.

The younger cats with reasons to be friendly and confident. Perfect for keeping up appearances that we’re all doing fine. Fireheart’s whiskers twitched. Thank the stars Sandstorm’s in a good mood tonight.

“Everyone ready?” Speckletail called, and turned at the several nods she received. “Then let’s go. Whitecloud, you’ve got everything?”

The lanky tom dipped his head. “We can handle ourselves until you get back. Good luck.”

With a flick of her tail, Speckletail started off out of camp, the Gathering party trotting along after her. The tom apprentices visibly restrained themselves from racing ahead, though Ashpaw walked a little too quickly and had to slow down multiple times.

“Shame the clouds are out,” Sandstorm remarked once they reached the burned part of the forest. “Think Suriin’s upset with us?”

Mousefur shook her head. “It’s just the season. We’re bound to have a little weather no matter what. And why would she be upset in the first place?”

“I’unno.” Sandstorm kicked at a charred pebble as she walked. “We don’t have our leader with us?”

“That’s not our fault,” Dustpelt said firmly. “We’re doing the right thing by our Clan. She’s not well enough to lead.” He looked at the apprentices moving alongside him. “If anyone asks, just say she’s sick.”

A sigh escaped Fireheart before he could stop it, a mingling of frustration and grief. Every eye flicked over to him and he shut his mouth, staring straight ahead. Sandstorm, just a bit ahead of him, gave him a sympathetic face and lightly tapped his shoulder with her tail before turning forward again.

Nothing else was said—even the apprentices were more subdued—until they stepped into the untouched clearing of the neutral grounds. The dead grass was dusted with whatever snow was able to cling onto such a thin surface, leaving the ground as icy mud.

“Go ahead,” Speckletail said to a vibrating Cloudpaw and Ashpaw.

The pair didn’t wait, streaking forward with shouts of joy. Fireheart had a fraction of a heartbeat where he was terrified for Cloudpaw, before he mentally kicked himself with the reminder that this was a time of peace and friendship. From here, he recognized the vibrant patched pelts of RiverClan, with tiny and dark dots announcing ShadowClan. WindClan was nowhere to be seen, but he was sure they’d show up very soon. All of the Clans, regardless, would be kind to his nephew.

ThunderClan’s party arrived to greetings from the other Clans. Fireheart caught up to Cloudpaw, who had stopped just on the edge of the crowd and was looking around, a little lost.

“Let’s meet with my friend, if he’s here,” Fireheart said to him. “He has an apprentice, too. Badgerpaw, his cousin.”

“Oh!” Cloudpaw perked up out of his confusion. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Ashpaw poked his head out of the crowd, a couple cats having to lean back a bit to let him through. “Can I come?”

“Of course,” Fireheart said with a soft chuff. He led the pair around the edge of the gathered cats, head lifted a little higher to see if he could find…

There he was, just visible towards the front.

“Rainpath!” Fireheart called.

The little spotted tom looked over and pricked his ears, blinking his wide eyes. “Fireheart, hello!”

“I’ve got someone for you to meet.” Fireheart paused as the tom approached (notably, without his apprentice) and gently nudged Cloudpaw forward. “This is my nephew, Cloudpaw.”

Rainpath very clearly had some thoughts, going by his eyes going huge and his head cocking to the side, but all he said was, “Blessings, chrii. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Rainpath.”

Cloudpaw’s energy seemed to sap out as he shyly shuffled his feet. “Hello.”

Ashpaw defensively stepped up alongside his brother and puffed out his chest. “I’m Ashpaw. I’m his brother.”

The ShadowClan warrior (who, Fireheart realized with some amusement, was not much taller than Ashpaw) recovered from his shock and bowed his head respectfully. “Blessing upon you, Ashpaw. I wish my cousin was here to meet you.”

“Badgerpaw?” Aspenpaw asked, coming up to them. “I heard Fireheart say that.”

“Indeed.” Rainpath nodded. “Am I right to think you are their sister?”

“Aspenpaw.” The molly nodded back. “Hi.”

“She’s the apprentice of the deputy,” Fireheart added.

“Oh, yes, I wanted to ask—” Rainpath leaned forward and lowered his voice. “How does Bluestar fare? I heard she wasn’t well at the last Gathering.”

Fireheart’s spirits fell immediately. “She’s…”

“Excuse me.”

The little group all looked up in surprise—a rather tall and lithe blue-grey RiverClan molly had just stepped out of the crowd, a pair of little grey faces behind her.

“Greetings,” Rainpath said cheerfully. “I don’t believe I’ve met you.”

“Call me Mistfoot.” The molly cocked her head at him, but her eyes stayed on Fireheart. “You’re Mosspelt’s kittypet friend, aye?”

Fireheart purred. “Aye. How can I help you? Is she looking for me?”

“She’s at home.” The molly stepped to the side. “But I, ah, heard your apprentices talking, and I wanted to have mine meet some jolly strangers. Come along, you two.”

The grey faces emerged, followed by grey bodies. The tom had unusually long fur, stone-colored with a few white markings on his toes, chest, and chin, his eyes amber and bright. The molly, larger than her brother, had the standard RiverClan fur length, the color silver-and-white, her stripes greyer than what silver usually had to offer, and her face—

Her face.

Hard and noble for such a young apprentice, with serious light green eyes.

“This is Stormpaw,” Mistfoot explained, her paw resting on the tom’s head. “And this is his sister, Mintpaw.”

They look just like their parents.

Fireheart stared at them, transfixed.

“Hi!” Ashpaw trotted over to them. “I’m Ashpaw of ThunderClan. That’s my brother, Cloudpaw, and my sister, Aspenpaw.”

Aspenpaw bowed her head. “Hi.”

Mintpaw lounged her head to one side. “Hello. You’ve a pretty face.”

Aspenpaw blinked and her ears went back. “Thank you, er– I like yours too.”

“Don’t go making her bashful, duckling.” Mistfoot lightly tapped Mintpaw with her paw. “You know how ThunderClan is about that.”

Stormpaw, meanwhile, peered at Cloudpaw with great curiosity. “Did you get your face in some red silt or something? And your tail, and—”

Cloudpaw made a face and looked down. “I just look like this.”

“Really!” Stormpaw reared his head back, eyes wide with wonder. “You must be a point, then. I heard that’s a kittypet thing. Are you a kittypet?”

“He is not!” Ashpaw marched up a few steps to stand to the side but ahead of Cloudpaw. “He’s my brother! ThunderClan all the way.”

“Wow…” Stormpaw looked up at Fireheart. “But you’re a kittypet, right?”

Mistfoot sighed with exasperation. “Stormpaw…”

Fireheart purred. “I was, yes.”

Stormpaw looked to his sister. “Can you believe—?”

A rusty call sounded off and Stormpaw clamped his mouth shut. All of the cats lifted their heads to the flat boulder, where the leaders and Speckletail sat. Somehow, Rookstar and his Clan had come without Fireheart noticing. He forced himself to look away from the twins and pay attention to the leaders.

“Evening, everyone!” Crookedstar said, jolly as ever. His eyes lifted to the sky. “Suriin, I hope you aren’t cross with us tonight; you keep passing clouds over the moon! But we have news to give, and friends to gossip to, so let’s get this done quickly and continue our conversations.” He looked to Speckletail, lowering his voice a little. “First, as I’m sure everyone is curious about: is Bluestar well to have sent you in her place?”

Speckletail didn’t miss a beat. She stood up straight and spoke loudly and clearly. “Bluestar has been den-ridden with a sickness we rarely see. I’ve been taking over Clan responsibilities so that she can rest and let that sickness get out of her system.” She returned attention to Crookedstar. “It’s unfortunately made her a little confused about time passing. Her fever is palpable from a paw away.”

Concerned and sympathetic murmurs followed this. To Fireheart’s relief, no one questioned this, although Rookstar’s eyes were scrutinizing.

“Well, let’s pray the old girl recovers quickly,” Crookedstar said, ears back unhappily. “I hope the rest of your news is better.”

“It is.” Speckletail continued to talk to the crowd. “The forest has been generous to us in these desperate times, and our newest apprentices, Cloudpaw, Aspenpaw, and Ashpaw, are doing well in their training. We’ve also lost any scent of the dogs; we hope that means they’re gone.”

“It doesn’t,” Rookstar said quietly.

Speckletail blinked and looked at him. Silently, she sat down, and he stood up.

“They’re in our territory now,” he said. “They killed Gorsepaw.”

The crowd gasped or muttered in horror, and even Crookedstar lost his cheery demeanor. Fireheart and Rainpath looked at each other in grieved shock.

“Poor Wrenwhisker,” Rainpath whispered.

Fireheart nodded in agreement.

“The dogs disappeared before we found him.” Rookstar sighed so quietly Fireheart almost didn’t hear him. “We haven’t scented them since.”

Blackstar regarded the twiggy leader next to him with sympathy in his normally-stoic expression. “You have our sorrow.”

“Hm,” was all Rookstar said. He sat down heavily and looked at Blackstar in return.

Blackstar stood. “Loners have been avoiding our patrols in the Aulmir. We’ve no idea why; we have no quarrel with them, nor have they with us. At least, not recently.” His eyes glinted. “At the very least, we do not compete for our meals. We eat better than usual.”

“Congratulations on that,” Crookedstar said. “You do look a little less skeletal than you often are in winter.”

Blackstar gave him a dry look, but said nothing, only retreating back for Crookedstar to take his place.

“Well, we haven’t seen the dogs either,” the patched tabby said. “Which is fortunate for us, because we have kits that need to explore and train with their Clanmates! Four of them, in fact. Plumpaw and Dapplepaw, and my very own grandkittens, Stormpaw and Mintpaw!”

Stormpaw puffed out his chest, just like Silverstream had when Fireheart had met her at his first Gathering. Mintpaw yawned.

“That’s all from us,” Crookedstar finished. “Now, finish up your chats, my friends, and we’ll all be on our merry ways before Suriin sends more snow.”

As usual, conversations continued, some as if they had never been interrupted. Fireheart looked at the apprentices, who were comparing tail-lengths, and then to a sad Rainpath.

“I pray Wrenwhisker is well,” the little tom said quietly. “Losing his apprentice like that…”

“It’s horrible,” Fireheart agreed, heart full of icy thorns. “I wish he was here, so I could tell him I’m sorry.”

Rainpath said nothing, but his expression told on him as he watched the apprentices. He was afraid the same thing would happen to another apprentice. His own, perhaps.

I know that fear, Fireheart wanted to say, but kept in his mind. You’re not alone. I feel it too.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #charred legacy #chapter #chapter thirty #book three #arc one

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unformula1 · 8 months ago

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Hope (LS2 x OP81)

synopsis: Is all I want too much to ask? Is it something wrong with me? – All I want (Olivia Rodrigo, HSMTMTS) OR Oscar and Logan have a deep chat. w/c: 603 a/n: small little fic, nothing too wild !! day 15 of Loscar posts until we get a LOSCAR PODIUM(series masterlist)

If there’s one thing Logan knows all too well, it’s clinging on to whatever thread of hope is left.

Hope.

A feeling of expectation and desire for something to happen.

Hope.

Wishing hard that someone would smile at you and congratulate you.

Hope.

Praying to whoever’s up there to give you one chance to show how amazing you are.

Maybe his expectations were far too high for him to ever reach, or maybe he was the problem. For some odd reason, Logan always felt it was the latter.

Watching champagne celebrations from afar and seeing everyone else raise the trophy he earns so hard to touch just once. If everyone else can do it, why can’t he?

Logan brisk walks to his driver’s room, swiftly manoeuvring past whoever was in his way, briefly waving and smiling to everyone and especially the cameras. His throat stings from holding back the tears but he doesn’t let anyone else see.

He feels the tears slowly rising, so he quickens his pace, turning the corner and pushing the door open.

Oscar?

“Oscar?” Logan raises his eyebrow, pulling every string of effort left in him to not break down in tears right now.

“Hey Logan.” Oscar waves, as if this is normal. It’s not.

Logan takes a deep breath. He wants to cry, of course he does, but now Oscar is here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be…” He clears his throat, “Out there? Celebrating.”

“For what?” Oscar asks.

“Lando. I don’t know, you’re supposed to be anywhere but here right now.” Logan emphasises on the ‘but’. He’s got to get Oscar out of here.

“I already did. Now I’m here.” Oscar deadpans.

“I can see that.” Logan says, trying not to sound like he’s holding back tears.

Oscar shifts himself slightly closer to Logan, taking a few steps to close the door behind Logan and locking it.

“Okay. Now you can cry.” Oscar says.

“No- What?” Logan shakes his head, “No Oscar, I’m fine, you should go celebrate with Lando now.”

Oscar doesn’t reply. He stares blankly at Logan before hugging him.

This is unexpected. Logan freezes, everything in his body stones to solid. His body doesn’t follow his thoughts.

Hug him back.

Put your hands around him.

Nothing.

Oscar eventually releases Logan from the most awkward hug known the mankind before smiling widely at him.

“I’m proud of you.” Oscar says blatantly.

“What?” Logan blurts.

“I am very proud of you.” Oscar repeats, but slightly slower.

Logan takes a second to process the words but when he does, he smiles before the tears start flowing out.

He can’t control them, he wipes them off his face and turns around so as to not face Oscar. He can’t face Oscar like this.

Oscar turns Logan back around and hugs him again. This time, Logan manages to hug back, he sobs violently as he lays his head on Oscar’s shoulder.

“You’re a strong person Logan, and I’ll always be proud of you.” Oscar whispers which causes Logan to hug tighter.

Logan never wants to leave this moment, the warmth of Oscar’s body enveloping him, for the first time feeling genuinely loved by someone.

If there’s one thing Logan knows all too well, it’s clinging on to whatever thread of hope is left.

Hope.

A feeling of expectation and desire for something to happen.

Hope.

Wishing hard that someone would tell you how much they treasure you

Hope.

If there’s one thing Logan knows all too well, it’s clinging on to hope, knowing that someone is waiting for him in the light at the end of the tunnel.

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outofmydepthatapublicbeach · 8 months ago

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hi babyy could you write julien x reader based on once more to see you by mitski?

jj chats: okay so i didn't know this song until now and now i am completely in love with it. anon: are you okay?? this song is so good but so heartbreaking!! also this is major angst and in my opinion very sad.

warnings: RPF, use of y/n, secret relationship, reader feels the relationship cannot continue for some reason (its not specified so you can think of whatever you want, not out yet, don't want the public to know), pet names used (baby, sweetheart), reader and julien cry, sad ending.

feedback is encouraged and i'd love to get some just please be kind!!!

“In the rearview mirror, I saw the setting sun on your neck, And felt the taste of you bubble up inside me”

Months of hidden truths, of abhorrence towards those who permitted you two from being together. Months of hiding behind tinted windows and keeping traces of your love away from anyone. Julien and you were getting so damn tired. You started to fight about it, about the hiding. You were two grown people, why couldn’t you just be happy together? Sitting in the driver's seat, Julien was facing a lake. One of your many secluded spots, this one in particular held precious moments. Julien glanced at the rearview mirror, watching as you paced back and forth. The sky cast a golden hue onto your face, making your eyes look as if they were glowing.

As Julien watched your movements she felt warmer and lighter. She knew she couldn’t live without you. She shook her head, she couldn’t stand seeing you so upset. She opened the car door and stepped out, advancing towards you.

“But with everybody watching us, our every move”

“Julien, please. Get back in the car,” you pleaded. Hands reaching towards your head, running quick fingers through your hair, and then holding onto your neck in an attempt to soothe yourself.

“No,” Julien retorted. “I won’t get back in the car (Y/N).”

“But-”

“But nothing! I am not going to let you leave me!” Julien boomed. The early evening air was chilly, which added to both of your stress.

“We do have reputations, we keep it secret, won't let them have it”

Your eyes started to tear up as you stared at your lover, “Julien we can’t,” you stammered. “What would people say?”

Julien took another step towards you, her eyes full of worry. She thought of anything that could ease you. “I know that it is hard, keeping us a secret. But if the only other alternative is losing you then it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be with you any way you want.”

Her words caused your heart to ache, “I want to be with you. I just don’t want them to know yet, I'm not ready.” Your teary eyes overflooded and your cheeks were now red, you choked out “I want to keep what happens between us. That won’t ever work. They’ll find out somehow, they always do.”

“So come inside and be with me, alone with me, alone, with me alone”

Julien hesitated, worried if she took a step close that you might run and never come back. “Not with us. I promise baby, I will protect you.”

You shook your head, turning away from her. Your arms snaking up your torso, holding yourself together like tape.

“Just come back to me, I’ll make everything okay.” Julien gulped.

“If you would let me give you pinky promise kisses, then I wouldn't have to scream your name, atop of every roof in the city of my heart”

Julien, with a newfound confidence, walked right up to you and held you close to her body. “My heart yearns for you, baby I need you. I would do anything for you.”

“Julien we can’t-”

“Let me promise you this sweetheart, that we’ll be okay, alright?” Julien lets go to spin you around, making you face her straight on, her hand gently wrapped around your wrists, holding you still. “I love you so much. My heart beats a language only you can understand, it's locked by a key only you possess. I love you so much it hurts baby.” Julien pauses, searching your eyes for something that she doesn’t find. “You own my heart (Y/N), let me prove that to you. Please, baby.” Julien, how always to stoic one between the two of you, was now a mess of tears. Her own eyes reddened and tears fell from her chocolate brown irises.

You gain enough momentum to leave Julien’s grasp. As much as you want to stay, some malevolent force pulls you from her arms. “I’m so sorry. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore Julien. I can’t.”

“Please baby, please don’t,” Julien whimpers, trying to reach for you.

You pull away from her fast, your legs moving you to your car at record speed. As you get further away you start to hear the dreadful noise of Julien’s sobs.

“If I could see you, once more to see you”

Julien felt as if a bomb had gone off in her chest, decimating her heart, and shredding her lungs. The air doesn’t feel right around her, the sky too cheery.

You weren’t doing much better, once in your car you broke down. You punched the steering wheel, tears streaming down your face in a constant flow.

The end of a prologue that should have been the epilogue. The beginning of something that should have lasted to the end. Now it was just a precursor to the future sequences of events that both of you dreaded more than your worst fears.

Neither of you wanted to lose each other, yet that is what you both got.

#julien baker x reader #boygenius x reader #julien baker fanfic #julien baker fluff #mitski song fic #anon #req #julien baker au #julien baker one shot #julien baker angst

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pixiedustjellicle · 3 months ago

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Platoria one shot please

I don't like many ships, but they are soft and do give me feels.

A soft thump thump of paws hit the ground, but the white queen had picked up his scent before the vibration of his landing. Her nose scrunched up in a smile and she covered her face with one paw as she stretched out, pretending the patch of sunlight was suddenly far too bright. Really, she just wanted to hide the blush that certainly showed on her pale pink nose.

Two weeks since the Ball, and every day without fail, when her people left the house, Plato came to visit. Jellylorum called them twitterpated, whatever that meant. And Skimbleshanks had tried to sit them down to have some sort of chat about how when cats grew up, they started getting new feelings… but the two had managed to change the subject by asking him about his weekend on the Midnight Mail.

Plato laid next to her, reaching out to nudge her with a paw. When her blue eyes finally met his, the young tomcat just melted, a purr rising in his chest. He was growing less shy with every meeting, and for good reason. Victoria didn't judge him for his father, she didn't make fun of him for being more introverted.

<Do you have it?> He signed with his paws, green eyes wide with hopeful excitement. After only a moment she nodded, standing up and motioning him with her tail to follow her in through the open window.

That was new. Every cat's territory was sacred, and so far, he'd only been allowed in the garden. He didn't expect she'd let him inside, and his heart pounded at the consideration that she really trusted him so much. After only a moment, he followed her in, carefully stepping as he looked around at the fancy things she had. She'd told him about her people, how they brushed her and gave her toys and a treat every night.

He was jealous. Jealousy wasn't healthy, he knew. But to have a family that wanted you, feline or human… it sure sounded nice to the young tom, who'd never had either.

He paused to look at the softest bed, wondering if they both could fit, curled into each other, then remembered that she was a pedigreed cat. Her people had picked her specifically. They wouldn't want him when they could have her. Not that he blamed them.

Victoria jumped up to a human bed, a smaller one, and motioned to the book on it. Some cats could read- and Jennyanydots promised to teach him- but he couldn't yet. But Victoria had promised him a special book that anyone could read, because even her people's kitten could read it. In fact, she read it to Victoria so often, that even without hearing it, she'd learned it by heart. And she really thought Plato would enjoy it.

He looked at the picture on the cover and gave a goofy smile. There was a pure white cat, a ginger one, and three little kittens. When Victoria opened it, his eyes lit up. It was filled with pictures! Every page was full of pretty drawings, and they told the story… a sweet mother cat, ever beloved by her person, lost outside with her kittens. A- very handsome, of course- ginger tom to help guide them home. And when the tom was staring at the white queen’s eyes… Plato found he was no longer looking at the pictures.

Victoria looked up at him as she turned through the pages, to see if he was ready for her to move on, only to see him looking at her like the tribe looked at the Moon. Her heart fluttered like butterfly wings.

<What do you see?> she asked, tilting her head slightly.

<Bastet herself.> he replied, resting his head over hers. And this time, Victoria purred as well.

#cats the musical #victoria cats #plato cats #admetus cats #platoria #cats the musical fanfiction #theyre so soft #victoria is deaf #you can not change my mind

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momo-de-avis · 1 month ago

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The reason I was so incensed and wanted to scream the other day was because during a company meeting I tried to bring up a subject which was the absence of a colleague (the guy who pays us) who went on vacation but didn't warn us but the team leader instantly, with a smirk, interrupted me and said "yes he did he always does". I gave her the benefit of the doubt and said that if an email was sent out it did not reach me. She then said "he always sends an email, you just didn't read it" and then immediately turned away, everyone else interrupted me further and the conversation continued and this wasn't even what I wanted to say, it was something tangentially related but not that. For perspective. Minutes earlier someone mentioned a company wide sent email and someone else said they didn't receive it. Do you think she got the same dismissive reply? Of course not. She got concern. Whereas I was given a nasty smirk and dismissiveness and immediately labelled a liar.

I stewed in so much rage for the next five minutes I actually whispered to a colleague that I was just going to abandon the meeting cause I'd never felt so disrespected. And I could tell the team leader was watching me the whole time and actively ignoring me. She could see I'd not finished and she turned away and actively just ignored me because for some fucking reason in the last two months she decided to hate my guts for no reason. The colleague I whispered was the one who put his hand on my arm and actually said that I wasn't done talking.

Since the subject they were discussing was halfway through I said "just finish what you're saying and I'll say what I was meant to ask, cause it doesn't make sense for me to interrupt right now but yeah I didn't even say what I wanted" and then the team leader has the audacity to say, in a high pitch mocking voice "nOw FiNiSh wHaT yOu'Re SaYiNg".

The thing that really pissed me, and this is what made me stew in rage, was that early this month the guy who pays us went on vacation but we didn't know. Someone found out and informed us on the group chat. Chaos ensued cause we hadn't been paid. At the time this was unravelling I was in training for another company, in a different city, and asked someone else to go ahead and ask what should we do but we were joking around saying it should be someone the team leader loved. The thing was everyone refused to do it because they were genuinely afraid. So I went ahead and asked.

But in the meeting, when I mentioned that the guy went on holiday and didn't warn anyone, suddenly the same people that had gone into chaos said "actually he did send an email" so I just blew up at that moment. I don't know why everyone ganged up on me but I just went "this dude went twice on holidays, the first time he sent an email, the second time he didn't, and I don't know why everyone here is saying he did when about a month ago you guys were the ones panicking and refusing to ask what do we do and I had to be the one to go ahead and ask cause everyone refused".

Literally everyone in that meeting made me a fucking liar while the team leader mocked me like some fucking school girl.

That was the moment I decided I'm done with this shit and after January I'm putting my life in order and I'm getting tf out of this place. I cane home in tears if rage. I dissed a dear friend for doing this to me and her excuse was she misunderstood everything. Yeah sure fucking whatever.

I like my colleagues but I work with a bunch of cowards. All I wanted to ask was what is the appropriate procedure when the guy is on vacation and we have not been paid yet (couldn't even formulate the full question cause those people can't have a normal conversation).

The whole meeting was focused on one dude (save for a very serious matter that did need addressing at the end) who the team leader has the hots for and everyone knows. The favouritism is obvious though fuck me if I understand why she decided to hate my guts out of the blue. Literally did nothing to her.

#vent #i have been in a state of utter anxiety for the past two days #i just want to secure a handful of companies to work for and move along #i am fed up with this

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ynscrazylife · 1 year ago

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Hey for your 4k celebration could you do purge the poison from marina with anyone from the mcu please?

Poisoned Mind, Poisoned Heart | Chapter 1

Series Summary: Dr. Strange turns to you, Wanda’s ex, to help him stop her before it’s too late. Can you do it or will Wanda corrupt you, too?

A/N: This is what came to my head when I listened to the song! Hope it fits. I'm excited for this series to start. Let me know if you want to be on this taglist.

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist

Doctor Stephen Strange was the last person you expected to see when you opened up your door. For a fleeting second, you considered slamming the door in his face, but that type of rudeness was never in your nature, no matter how much the flight in your fight or flight response was yelling at you to do so. “I should really start looking through the peephole before answering my door,” was what you ended up saying with a sigh.

Stephen fixed you with a small, knowing smile. “I’m going to pretend that’s just because I might’ve been a stranger and not because you don’t want to see me,” he joked. You knew what he was doing - trying to ease you into whatever reason he had for coming over here when he hadn’t seen or spoken to you in years with humor.

“Well, this isn’t just you being in the neighborhood and wanting to have a nice chat, is it?” You said, glancing down at the intricate costume he adorned.

Catching onto the fact that you didn’t want him to beat around the bush, Stephen gave you a slight nod. “May I come in?” He asked politely.

Despite being still weary and a bit nervous, you stepped aside. You knew that if he was coming here, he must have a good reason. Years ago, after the civil war between Steve and Tony, when you left the Avengers and said goodbye to being a superhero, you had strictly instructed everyone to leave you alone unless there was some threat to the universe. You had gone back briefly to help them fight Thanos, but quickly returned to your civilian life afterward.

Stephen walked in and you closed the door behind him, but didn’t lock it. You weren’t intending for him to stay long. The sorcerer took a moment to look around your hallway, at all the paintings and photos on your walls. “Nice house,” he murmured, picking up a photo of you on a nearby table and looking at it.

“Stephen,” you warned gently.

Stephen cleared his throat and set down the photo, turning back to you. “What do you know about what Wanda has gotten up to recently?” He asked.

It was akin to him dumping a bucket of ice water over your head - you visibly flinched, taken aback. Wanda. You had worked very hard to get over the woman you once loved, the love that ended due to you being on opposite sides of the Accords. Like Natasha, you had sided with Tony not because you really believed in the Accords, but because you wanted to keep the team together. Wanda hadn’t seen it that way and you didn’t exactly blame her for it, until you two started to get into awful screaming matches.

“I heard on the news about Westview . . . They say that no one’s been able to reach or find her since,” you answered carefully, remembering the conflicting emotions you had when finding out about it all. Even after all this time, you haven't been able to fall out of love. She stuck with you. A part of you hated it, the other part was enchanted by it. You still wanted the best for her and discovering what happened in Westview was painful.

“That was true, up until now,” Stephen said, taking a small step towards you.

You tried to hold back the gasp building up in your throat, but you failed. All you could do was bore your eyes into him as you waited for him to continue.

“There’s this . . . girl. Her name is America Chavez and she has these powers of accessing alternate realities that Wanda wants. I think she’s been corrupted by the Darkhold . . . If she gets access to these alternate realities, there’s no telling what she’ll do,” Stephen said.

You furrowed your eyebrows, now confused and feeling a little overwhelmed as his words swarmed your head. “Alternate realities?” You questioned.

“I can explain everything in detail, but I think you can get through to her, Y/N,” Stephen said.

No matter if you still loved her, if there was some deep part inside you that wanted to help, you still felt reluctant to return to that life. You started to shake your head. “She doesn’t love me, she fell in love with Vision,” you muttered, trying - wanting - to deny it.

“She never stopped talking about you,” Stephen revealed softly.

This caused you to squeeze your eyes shut, feelings and memories of another time washing over you all at once. “Stephen, I can’t-” you started to say.

“Let me explain everything back at the Sanctum Sanctorum and then we can go from there,” Stephen said, his voice still as sweet as honey. So charming and alluring, “This . . . isn’t just a threat to our universe. It’s a threat to all the universes.”

That was the nail in the coffin - you would never be able to fully rid yourself of your natural, heroic instinct to help people. “Okay,” you agreed, letting out a breath. Despite just telling yourself that you were only agreeing to hear him, you knew deep down, in your heart, what you got yourself into - you were going to try and help. Help Wanda, help Stephen, help the goddamn multiverse.

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snailor-bee · 1 year ago

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Marco x NB!Reader / SFW / 2.1k Summary: Marco is finally going to confess to you! If only it would stop going wrong... Notes: Written for @op-xreader-zine! All the art is done by the amazing @issatheartist thank you for working with me on this! ;w;

This was it! Marco was finally going to do it. He was going to walk up to you and confess.

He'd been crushing on you for a while now and it was time. He'd dealt with the teasing from his brothers and the nurses for far too long. Originally Marco had held himself back because he hadn't wanted to ruin what the two of you already had.

Friends, nakama, family.

Still, everyone had insisted that he go for it and had completely ignored his reasonings for maybe why he shouldn't—"Marco, you can't seriously use your rank as an excuse; the only person higher than you is Pops"—so that's how he found his hands sweating, wrapped around a bouquet of flowers.

Maybe it was a bit simple but at this point, Marco figured it was better than nothing. His head felt like a jumbled mess and he hadn't really planned out how he was going to do this but he'd wing it as he went along, all Marco had to do was find you and—

So distracted by his thoughts, he bounced off someone's body made a little oof of pain.

"Marco!" Izou's voice broke through his thoughts. "Watch where you're going. What are you doing?"

"I, uh," he couldn't bring himself to say it. Izou was the ship's gossip and if Marco said he was looking for you in order to confess then you'd hear about it before Marco even got to you. Sweat beaded at his brow as Izou's sharp gaze took him in. Uncharacteristically, Marco knew he looked nervous.

Which might as well have been blood in the water for a shark, when one was dealing with Izou.

Then all at once, Izou's posture softened and he smiled. "Are those for me?? For my birthday!? Oh, you shouldn't have, these are my favorite too!" Still gushing, Izou grabbed the bouquet and Marco was too stunned to stop him.

"A-ah, yes. I was worried you wouldn't like them, yoi," he said, going for a smile. It was a bit strained but Izou didn't seem to notice. Marco cursed himself internally. He'd been so focused on the almost-not-quite-confession, Izou's birthday had completely slipped his mind.

"No, they're perfect ," Izou enthused happily and Marco sighed fondly, letting the anxiety of confronting you fade. He could always do it later.

The next 'attempt' wasn't really an attempt.

Marco had been walking down a street when his inner phoenix noticed a section of smooth rocks. Without too much thought, he reached out and snatched one up. He frequently did this; the drawers in his office were filled with random bits and bobs, shiny pieces of metal, rocks, and other random things that appealed to his phoenix half for whatever reason. Marco never mentioned it to anyone but a few of his brothers who had been around him for years had picked up on it, though they were kind enough not to point it out.

So, without much thought, when he saw you chatting with some other shipmates, Marco ambled over and handed you the rock. "Here, for you."

You raised a brow and looked into your palm before running your thumb over the stone's surface, feeling out the texture.

Inside, his phoenix cooed and Marco was grateful he wasn't in his half-form. He could tell that his tails would be going wild right about now, watching your reaction.

"...Thanks," you said at last, sounding confused before you pocketed the rock and turned back to listen to the story that Ace had been in the process of telling. It didn't deter Marco at all, you had accepted it!

Feeling thrilled somewhere deep in his bones, he barely felt the jab to his ribs.

"Hey," Thatch whispered, "you know they aren't a bird, right?"

Confused, Marco cocked his head. Thatch gestured at you with his chin. "They probably don't know why you just handed them a rock. Shouldn't you be doing more, uh, human courting stuff?"

There was a few seconds of incomprehension before the meaning hit him and Marco felt like dissolving into dust and disappearing forever. He leaned over to bury his head into Thatch's shoulder to cover up the sound of his groan of pain as his brother laughed and patted his back.

"Don't worry, you'll get them next time, birdie."

Next time ended up being a love letter.

Old fashioned? Maybe. But Marco was getting desperate. At least this would be crystal clear.

He'd gone through numerous editions. The trash can in his room was overflowing with failed attempts, bunched up balls of paper scattered around his desk as he tried again and again until he finally felt he had it all down.

Exactly what about you that made him smile, how the simple sight of you lifted his spirits and the sound of your laugh made his chest tight. He'd bared it all.

Walking across the busy deck, the night breeze ruffling his hair, Marco was barely able to return the greetings he got as he passed by scattered groups. He'd locked eyes with you right away and once you noticed him coming, you'd said your goodbyes and were coming to meet him halfway.

The closer and closer the two of you got, the more and more nervous Marco became. The butterflies in his stomach were making him feel like he might throw up. What if you didn't return his feelings? What if you thought the letter was lame?

What if you went to read it right away? Oh fuck , he hadn't thought this through. He didn't want to watch your face as you read the confession, heartfelt though it may be. If you had to turn him down after he poured his heart onto the parchment, Marco really didn't know how he was going to take that.

Saying it to your face, letting you turn him down gently without realizing the true depths of his feeling was way more appealing.

His step faltered before a rush of heat flashed beside him. On instinct he tossed the letter into the roar of fire. Ace was likely showing off and didn't even notice the slight disturbance.

"What was that?" you asked, finally having made your way to him.

"Nothing," Marco said quickly. "Someone did their report so badly, so I had a bunch of corrections but thinking it over I realized I'll just have them redo it. Makes it easier, yoi."

You laughed. "Harsh. I'd hate to be them, putting in all that work for nothing."

Marco shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "Yeah but I'm sure they'll get over it."

"Wow, Marco, you're not very good at this are you?" Ace asked with a snicker. Marco glared, fork paused midway to his mouth. Thatch elbowed him good-naturedly from his side. They were sitting in the galley, the shipmates talking around them creating a symphony of noise that easily hid the conversation from others.

"Good at what, yoi?" Marco asked, placing the fork down. Thatch threw an arm around his shoulders and shook him lightly as Ace's eyes sharpened with glee.

"Now Ace," Thatch said, mockingly sweet, "don't go teasing our resident birdbrain here. He's trying so hard, the poor thing."

"Get off," Marco said, irritated as he pushed at Thatch until he let him go, laughing.

"Think they've even noticed?" Ace asked thoughtfully before shoving something into his mouth and chewing loudly.

Marco opened his mouth to answer but Thatch beat him to it. "Hopefully not, though Marco looking so pathetic has been quite amusing." Thatch batted away his hand before Marco could punch him in the ribs, the bastard.

Grunting with annoyance, Marco looked away just in time to catch you several tables away leaning your head back with a laugh and he stared, heart suddenly in his throat. He couldn't help it, you were just so—

"Plus the whole ships been taking bets at this point," Thatch tacked on and Marco tore his gaze away from you.

"What?!" Marco demanded as Ace hooted joyfully. Thatch shrugged, grinning all the while.

"Maybe you shouldn't look like a lovesick bird all the time and we wouldn't have to take bets on when you finally get your act together. Do not" —Thatch pointed a steak knife menacingly in Ace's direction after a garbled noise had started— "talk with your mouth full. Swallow."

Dutifully, Ace swallowed his barely chewed food and took a second to catch his breath before barrelling on, "Whatcha got planned next, Marco? Anything good?"

"Excuse me? All my ideas have been fine so far!" Two blank looks had his hackles raising but before he could argue more, your voice rang out.

"Hey, Marco!" Immediately he whipped his head up and caught your eye. You waved before you arrived behind Ace, patting him on the shoulder. "I was wondering if we could spar later?"

Quickly, he nodded back. "Yeah, that sounds great!" Embarrassingly, he heard his voice hit a slightly higher pitch, almost as if his voice had cracked. Ace and Thatch did a terrible job at stifling their giggles as Marco felt his face flush traitorously.

"Great!" you enthused, apparently having not noticed. "See you after lunch?"

Not trusting his voice, he nodded and you skipped away happily. Once you were far enough away, Ace and Thatch collapsed into loud laughter, Ace banging on the table as Thatch wheezed out between his laughs, "What are you Marco, twelve ?? What was that?!"

"I hate both of you," Marco grit out between clenched teeth before shoving his half finished tray of food at Ace. "Finish this, I'm leaving, yoi."

"Good luck on your dateeee," Ace managed to yell out before he got too far away. Marco flipped him off over his shoulder.

"So, Marco." You looked uncharacteristically anxious as you fidgeted and looked at everything except him. Marco felt his stomach drop to the deck. What was wrong? You hadn't... noticed had you? Fuck, this was not how he wanted you to find out.

He'd come to find you for your spar after Ace and Thatch had literally laughed him out of the galley. You'd seemed eager enough to see him before dragging him to a quiet part of the deck, mentioning you had something to say first.

Seemingly steeling your nerves, you looked into his eyes and they burned with determination.

"I've liked you for a really long time now. You're literally one of my best friends and more than that you make me feel like I can fly, like nothing could ever hurt me. I didn't really want to mention this and have it ruin our friendship but I can't keep it to myself anymore. Please go on a date with me!"

Time seemed like it stood still as he gaped at you. He could see your cheeks flush, likely with embarrassment at your proclamation but he was still reeling.

Finally, you swallowed. "And if you don't feel the same—"

"No!" he cut in, finally finding his voice. Marco grabbed up your hands, cradling them close. "No, don't. Just, I—" He chuckled with wry amusement before pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. "I'm just a little shocked. I've been trying to ask you out for ages now."

"Wait, really?" you asked, mouth dropping open. He nodded with a smile. There was a strange buzzing in his body, from his toes up to the tips of his ears. Everything felt a little fuzzy, a little warm. He wanted to run around the deck like a teenager again, grab you close and never let go, scream over the railing until he ran out of breath. So many different emotions were raging through him, he was beginning to feel dizzy from the weight of all of them.

Deciding to just pick one, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into his chest, breathing in your scent as he began to chuckle lowly. You joined in and soon the two of you were full-out laughing. When you separated, he brushed a hand against your cheek reverently, giddy that he was able to do so.

"To be honest," Marco began, "I don't think I can spar right now, I feel like my knees are made of jell-o."

You laughed again. "That's okay, I'm feeling the same. Wanna go tell Pops instead?"

Marco ran a hand through his hair, before smiling at you. "Sure. We're about to get the teasing of a lifetime."

You held out a hand and he took it, fingers twining together with yours like they were meant to be.

"We may as well get started," you said back, fondness shining in your eyes and maybe, just maybe, a hint of something more.

#one piece #one piece x reader #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #marco the phoenix x reader #bee writes #bee writing

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