#i need a drink. its been almost a decade and this guy is still haunting me someone get me out of here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

readyforthegarden · 3 years ago

Note

can you do the “our “almost” will always haunt me” with jake?? I NEED A REALLY PAINFUL ANGST WITH him

pretty pleaaaaseeee

this was pretty painful for me, because i really love happy endings, so i hope this is angsty enough for you, friend! Let's have a nice pic of Jake to set the mood, shall we?

The party had been in full swing for just over an hour now, and Jake watched as you flitted about, playing the perfect hostess. He admired the way you effortlessly weaved in and out of social groups, refreshing drinks and passing out hor’devours, laughing at all the right times. How your golden yellow sun dress fit you perfectly clinging to all the right places, and don’t think he didn’t notice you were wearing the diamond earrings he’d gotten you as a sweet sixteen present nearly a decade ago. Jake noticed it all. Your eyes connected across the living room as you were speaking to Danny and his girlfriend, and even though he’d known you since the second grade, your smile still took his breath away.

“Dude, you’re getting a little creepy.” Jake jumped, startled by his little brother, Sam, who was eating a cocktail cherry off its stem. Jake rolled his eyes as he calmed down. “You guys should just fuck and get it over with.”

“Sam.” Jake shot him a glare that would’ve withered anyone else. “First of all, already have, and second…It’s not like that. Besides, she’s got a-“

“She’s got a boyfriend, I know, I know.” Sam rolled his eyes. Jake lost himself in the memory of his first heartbreak. The two of you had tried dating while in college, but with Jake leaving all the time for different shows, and finally touring, you’d decided to end things. Jake had been upset, but always knew you two would end up together, so he didn’t mind. He still was your best friend, and would eagerly offer to take you thrifting or go to the museum with you. The day his heart first started truly to break was after the actual breakup, on one of those Saturday thrifting days.

The two of you had hit the jackpot with some old clothes and Jake even managed to find a few records for his collection. You had suggested smoothies to celebrate, and as you were leaving, sipping on the fruity concoction in the styrofoam cup, you’d bumped into someone.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” you gasped, holding out your hands. Luckily you hadn’t spilled any of your drink, but Jake hid a smile at your flustered, embarrassed face.

“It’s cool, no harm done.” the man said, looking down at you and smiling. “Holy shit, Y/N?” Your eyes were wide as you studied the man in front of you. “It’s Trent, from Camp-“

“Camp Hidden Creek!” you finished. “Wow, it’s so good to see you! It’s been so long, like what? Eight years? I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“It’s okay, I was almost didn’t think it was you, but I’d know those eyes anywhere.” Trent chuckled. “Although there’s a lot less eyeliner around them these days.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you laughed. Jake sipped his smoothie loudly behind you, beginning to feel like a third wheel. “Oh, I’m sorry. Trent, this is Jake. Jake, Trent and I used to go to summer camp together when were were kids.”

“I caught that.” Jake laughed, extending his free hand. “Nice to meet you, Trent.”

“Same, it’s nice to be able to put a face to the infamous Jake I heard so much about.” Both young men watched humorously as your cheeks reddened further.

“Are you in town for business or something? I thought you lived in Indiana.” you asked, redirecting the conversation. Trent nodded.

“My company relocated me here permanently.” he answered, shrugging.

“That’s awesome! We should have dinner together and catch up.” Jake started picking at the label on the side of his cup while you pulled out your phone, exchanging numbers with Trent. You smiled up at him, locking with his bright blue eyes. “It was really nice to see you, Trent!”

“Yeah, you too.” he smiled, holding eye contact a little too long for Jake’s taste. He cleared his throat and Trent’s smiled beamed towards him. “Good to meet you, Jake.”

“Yeah, you too.” Trent went inside the smoothie shop and Jake began walking, hearing you chase behind as you were focused on adding Trent’s contact info.

“How bizarre was that?!” you hummed to yourself, as Jake shrugged. “God, he’s still so cute. All the girls had humongous crushes on him at camp.”

“Did you?” Jake raised an eyebrow, and it was your turn to shrug.

“I’ll admit that I thought he was pretty cute.” you confessed as you took another sip of your own drink. “But all the time I was at camp, I was so helplessly in love with you, I really barely noticed anyone else.” Jake held back the grin he wanted to plaster on his face as you both continued to walk, his hand bumping into yours every now and then.

“Yo, earth to Jake.” Sam waved a hand in front of his older brothers face, making Jake come back to reality.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom for a minute.” Jake handed Sam his drink and moved away through the crowd. Memories beginning to flood him now. Shortly after that Saturday, Jake had left for a small, month-long tour. When he got back, he’d been surprised to see that you and Trent had been hanging out a lot. He’d figured that it was just a kind gesture of you to exchange numbers with him, but as long as Jake got his own time with you, he was fine. As Jake shut the bathroom door behind him and twisted the lock, he remembered more.

One night at the bar, Jake had excused himself for a cigarette break, Sam following right behind him. They had been waiting for you to get there before really starting the party, and as they stood out front and smoked, they heard a familiar giggle. Jake’s head turned to see you walking towards them, holding hands with Trent, smiling as he bent down to whisper in your ear and press a kiss to your temple. Jake stayed quiet that night, but thankfully his obnoxious little brother was at the ready, shooting questions to you as soon as Trent went to the bar to order drinks for the table.

“Sooo, what’s going on?” Sam’s eyebrows wiggled as he glanced between you and the tall man at the bar. You smiled bashfully and shrugged.

“We’re kinda dating?” you supplied, avoiding Jake’s gaze. “We met up for dinner after we saw each other that one day, and then we just kept going out and then a week ago, he kissed me. And I kissed him, and now we’re just seeing where things go, I guess.”

“Well, as long as he’s a gentleman and treats you right.” Sam’s eyes narrowed at Trent’s broad shoulders.

“Sam, he’s wonderful.” you laughed. “No need to puff out your non-existent chest, okay?”

“Listen babe,” Sam pointed one of his long fingers at you. “He fucks up one time, you let me know. I’ll get Danny to help me kick his ass.”

“I’ll do it too.” Jake spoke up for the first time since you’d arrived. “You deserve the world.”

“Thanks guys.” you smiled at both of them as Trent approached with a handful of drinks.

Jake ran the cold water for a minute before splashing some in his face. His stomach was starting to churn as another memory pulled itself into view.

Eight months later, he was knocking on your front door, he’d been home from another tour for a few days and hadn’t seen or heard much of you. It was 8am and you hadn’t answered his texts all night, and he wanted to check on you. It wasn’t like you to go radio-silent like that. Jake knocked again, louder this time, and heard a clamor in the house, and the sounds of frantic, barefeet padding against the hardwood on the other side.

“Jake!” you breathed when you opened the door. “H-Hey what’s up?” Jake took in your messy appearance, the wrinkled, oversized t-shirt you were wearing, your hair unkempt, like you’d been sleeping. Yet your face was rosy and eyes wide awake.

“You didn’t answer your phone last night.” Jake shrugged. “I wanted to come by and see if you were okay.”

“My phone?” you furrowed your brows, looking behind you towards the living room. “Jake, I’m sorry. To be honest, I have no clue where my phone is right now.” you giggled and shook your head. “It’s sweet of you to come by. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Hey babe, I’m out of my body wash, do you mind if I use some of yours?” Trent appeared behind you, and Jake’s stomach dropped to his feet. Trent was dripping water, a towel wrapped around his hips loosely. It wasn’t hard to also notice scratch marks on his chest. “Oh, hey Jake, back from a tour?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to stop by and see Y/N.” Jake nodded as Trent came closer, stopping right behind you. “She wasn’t answering her phone, so I got a little worried.”

“That’s my bad, bro.” Trent chuckled. “We had a no phones movie night last night. This one is addicted to social media.”

“I am not!” you protested as he teased you. “You’re dripping all over my floors. I bought you another body wash, it’s under the sink in the bathroom.”

“You’re amazing, babe.” Trent leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips before nodding at Jake and heading back towards the bathroom. Jake internally groaned as he noticed fading scratches on his back too.

“Well since you’re okay, I guess I’ll head home.” Jake sighed. You frowned.

“I was just going to make some breakfast. Why don’t you stay? I miss you, Jake.”

“Nah, I have to meet up with Josh in a little bit anyway.” Jake lied through his teeth. “But maybe we can hang out later?”

“I’ll make sure to find my phone today and we can make some plans.” You didn’t care if you weren’t wearing pants. You stepped out of the doorway and wrapped your arms around your friends neck, hugging him tight. Jake’s arms wound around your waist. He tried his best to ignore the faint smell of another mans cologne on your skin, just enjoying the embrace.

After taking a few more minutes to dry his face and collect his thoughts, Jake exited the bathroom, walking down your hallway and back to the party. He paused in front of a photo collage. In the center was a photo of you, Danny and the Kiszka’s as teens, the summer yourself, Josh and Jake graduated high school. It was a camping trip, and all of you kids had sat on an old wooden picnic table, Danny, Sam and Ronnie down front on the bench. You were sandwiched between Josh and Jake, your arms around their shoulders, grinning so happily at Mrs. Kiszka, your second mother, behind the camera.

“That was the best trip.” your voice was quiet as you sidled up next to Jake. “I think about it all the time, honestly. We all had so much fun that week. I’ll never forget when that lizard was in Josh’s sleeping back. He freaked out so much.”

“Yeah, that was pretty amazing.” Jake chuckled with you. He was about to say something else, when Trent appeared.

“Hey babe, I’m ready.” he said, giving Jake nothing more than a small glance.

“Oh okay.” you turned to Jake. “C’mon.” he followed the two of you to the living room, where Trent made his way to the middle of the party. He picked up an empty wine glass and tapped a tiny fork on it, getting everyone’s attention. Jake found his brothers, standing with them as everyone watched Trent set the glass down.

“First off, on behalf of Y/N and myself, we want to thank everyone for coming out tonight.” his deep voice boomed around the room. “We’re all so thankful to have such amazing friends and family.” he glanced down at you, standing by his side and you smiled, nodding. “And we couldn’t think of a better way to tell you this. A week ago this very evening, I asked the woman beside me, the most beautiful, wonderful, smart and caring woman in the world, to be my wife. Folks, she said yes!”

Jake’s face dropped. His ears buzzed loudly, drowning out the excited shouts of friends and family, and he felt sick as you raised up your left hand, showing off the diamonds and grinning. How had he not noticed that before? Were you even wearing it all night? Jake grabbed onto Josh’s arm as they watched their own mother rush forward, congratulating you and pressing excited kisses all over your face.

“I think I need some air.” Jake choked out as Josh and Sam tried to talk to him. Jake hurried past all the well-wishers, hoping to go unnoticed as he threw the back door open and stepped outside into the cool night air. He gripped the railing of your back deck, a place that used to bring him comfort after partying too hard at your house, or his early morning smoke break when you were still asleep in your bed, waiting for him to come back and keep the sheets warm.

In just over a year, your life had changed so much. When Jake had talked about proposing to you, you’d told him you weren’t ready for that commitment, that him leaving all the time was too much to deal with in a marriage. He figured you were just nervous, and that after he gave you some time and space, you’d realize the two of you were meant to be. Instead, it pushed you into the arms of someone else.

“I thought I’d find you out there.” Jake was on his second cigarette when you came outside, pulling on a cardigan sweater to fight the chill. “Smoke break?”

“You could say that.” Jake watched as you stood next to him, leaning on the railing with your forearms. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” you nodded. “I wanted to tell you sooner, so it didn’t blindside you. But the party got so busy so quick, and then once I found you alone, it was time for announcement.” Jake nodded, exhaling smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“I thought you weren’t ready for marriage.” Jake mumbled, refusing to make eye contact with you. “That’s what you said to me, when I tried asking you.”

“Jake-“

“No, why can you marry this dude you’ve been dating for just a year, but you couldn’t marry me, who you’ve known your whole life?” Jake turned to you, his brown eyes searing into your skin. “You and I have loved each other for so much longer. Tell me you still don’t love me, Y/N.” Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Jake unleashed his pent-up fury at the whole situation.

“There will always be a part of me that loves you, Jake. You were my first crush, my first kiss..first everything.” you sniffled, trying to ignore the burning feeling in your nostrils as you fought to keep the tears from spilling. “But you and I want different things from life. We’d never work in the long run.”

“I want you!” Jake tossed his cigarette to the floor, stomping it out and leaving a mark on the tan wood. “What else matters?”

“Jake, I want a partner!” you cried. “I want someone who will be there when I wake up in the morning, and someone who will be there when I go to bed. I want a family, with a father who won’t miss birthdays and holidays or soccer and t-ball or ballet because they’re out traveling the world and leaving us behind.”

“I’ve told you, I will give everything up for you, if that’s what you want.” Jake argued back.

“I don’t! I don’t want you to give up your dreams to make me happy!” the tears were spilling down your face freely now, and you patted your cheeks with the sleeve of your cardigan, trying not to ruin your makeup. “I couldn’t live with myself if you gave up your music for me. And I know you wouldn’t be happy. Trent is a good man. He’s kind and takes care of me, and he’s here. I love him, Jake. And I’m going to marry him, and start living the life I’ve wanted.” Jake’s eyes were now filling with tears. “One day, you are going to find a woman who is going to knock you off your feet. She’s going to be able to handle the lifestyle you have and want, and when that happens, I hope you forget all about me. I hope you’re so head over heels in love with her that you can’t remember a day without her.”

“I could never forget you.” Jake croaked, his voice thick from emotion. You smiled sadly.

“Maybe not. But one day I’ll be running around chasing kids, and you’ll be jet-setting to another country. We’ll have little to nothing in common anymore. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Jake closed the small gap between the two of you, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I will never, ever forget you.” he whispered into your ear. “Our ‘almost’ will always haunt me.” Jake pressed a kiss into your hair, and you lied to yourself, telling yourself that you didn’t lean into his touch like you always have, craving more. You gathered yourself and pushed away from him, once again patting your cheeks and under eye, making sure your makeup was still in place. Giving Jake one last sad smile, you went back inside rejoining the engagement party, disappearing from his arms for the very last time.

#writing prompt blurb #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #jake gvf #greta van fleet

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ivyveil · 4 years ago

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Mary Me

the one where he proposes aka the 1940s installment of The Soulmates Verse, Sign of the Times

A/N: Bringing this back from AO3, hope you guys enjoy! I wanted to create a series of ‘soulmate’ Harry/Y/N where they try to make it work each decade, and fate hasn’t seemed to get the memo. Here’s my Tumblr masterlist, and my AO3 hub! Thank you for reading, hope everyone is staying safe.

The room was swathed in a deep maroon. Curtains draped against the windows, curves forming around the sills and down the gold columns on either side.

It was a nice restaurant, with expensive-looking candles and fresh-cut flowers on each table. The bar wasn’t fully stocked enough for the crowds milling about, having yet to find its balance of supply since Prohibition ended a few months ago. It was a rough adjustment for everyone, with the prices taking a jolt and the people having to remember what a drink tasted like without poison.

While the idea of a fancy restaurant would allude towards privacy, this dinner was anything but. Granted, it was a personal room but the numerous crowds of friends and family around the table led the mood towards something more lively than dim lights and slow jazz. Tables were pushed against the walls, only a handful actually sitting down, and the band had taken its land near one of the corners, setting up an orchestra to dance for.

It was a gathering, a party.

Nerves were knotted against the floor of your stomach, and despite having a glass of champagne in one hand and hooch in the other, nothing was easing the clench. Perhaps it was residue from hardships that had only ended a few years ago, or it could be the more instinctive nerves - holding alcohol without needing to look over one’s shoulder was still new for everyone. Even now, you saw Nick stealing a glance at the waitstaff, as if sussing out which was the cop.

“‘lright, love?” Harry spoke low, his hand briefly resting against your back as he came around from behind. It wasn’t far into the party, enough time having passed for his entrance to be marked by everyone already feeling tipsy, but not raising an eyebrow at his late arrival.

His suit was understated, a black with minimal design. His mother would tailor all of his suits, resulting in most of them being the absolute extravagant pieces for all the parties he threw - the magnificent ones where the moon grew twice to try and be an inch closer, where the ocean glittered around his villa and you could strain to taste the rose-colored smoke in the air. They were alive with people and spirits and spirited people, and the types who would disappear in the morning and you’d question their existence, but never their stories.

His suit was fine, but his hair was a proper mess. Harry had insisted to you a few days ago, a dopey smile on his face as he leaned against your shoulder, that it was a rebel of the highest degree. You knew the words were bullshit, but the way he spoke sounded like a home you’d never known, so you listened.

“You need a haircut.” The words came out before you could properly hold them back, the liquor having moistened your throat and disconnected your mind from your choices.

Harry broke into a smile, this time shaking his head slightly so the curls danced, delighted, in the dim glow.

“You like it?” he asked, and you made a sour face in response. He took one of the drinks from your hands, making the low noise in the back of his throat to signal disapproval. Where Harry managed to gather his rebellious streak of societal indignity, but still manage to believe that women should be held up on pedestals and protected, eluded you.

But you were still dizzy with him. Drunk in the way he said your name, caught up in his eyelashes, a fatal swoop in your chest that felt like laying in bed after a long day’s work. You were simply infatuated, but insistent on the fact that the feelings drifted no farther. Infatuation could be controlled, but love.

Love would be an entire beast that you couldn’t battle. It would include leaving him, leaving him because Mary was cemented down in his roots. Not that you’d agree with it, but she was, and it was a reality you lived with.

They’d been sweet on each other for the first couple months. You hadn’t kept up on the details too much. But time had worn their feelings thin, wafering holes poking through in the way they loved. Which was a wrong, horrendous source of comfort to you - but it terrified you, as well. Harry was the embodiment of love, with how he danced and moved and swayed into the moonlight, and yet there was something off in the way he loved Mary. It felt like a commitment for the sake of, rather than motivated each day, and the failures of love haunted you.

“Where’s Mary?”

Harry shrugged, taking a swig of the drink and looking against the crowd. The two of you were propped against the wall, as if only existing in the plane of the party by the physical constraints. If you had your way, your souls would fall through the wallpaper and into something more exquisite.

Harry had a way of making the dullest parties exciting, and you wondered what he had up his sleeve. But his face showed no signs of telling, a crease along his forehead denting in his sudden gloom and moodiness.

“Dunno. Was gonna find her, thought she’d be with yeh.”

That was his mistake, his constant mistake, of seeking his love around you. It was there but not where he expected - it was manifestation he sought, the woman he called ‘darling’ on late nights out, not the friend he called ‘love’ because it meant nothing.

Words didn’t quite fit your mood, so you merely shrugged and shifted your weight between legs. The music had picked up but your feet had been worn to the bone by running all over town the previous night, so you prayed Harry’s stance next to you would dissuade any men from approaching.

“Think I’ve got to end things with Mary, yeah?”

It was a loaded question, especially with Harry’s eyes staring into yours. It was a rush, how the lights cascaded down the side of his face and his hair was a horrible mess, an unsightly vision for anyone in town, but he was utterly angelic nonetheless. It was a weird sensation against your throat, seeing him tragic and sad, and not knowing how to respond that wouldn’t be an attempt to benefit your own tragic and sad.

“Why’d you say that?” you asked.

“It was never right, was it?” He spoke thoughtfully, scanning your face for agreement, and apparently finding some, for he continued. “It’s reached an end.”

Silence befell the two of you, yet it was heavy with the implication of further words against his tongue. They weren’t spoken yet, but you felt with one more moment-

“I’ve got somethin’ I need to say to yeh. After it’s done.” His eyes had swept to his feet, the dirty tips of his shoes from the soil around the town.

You both were misplaced, you felt it in your soul and the way you two would wrap in each other’s auras, clasped at the hands and promising you’d escape this hellhole of a town one day. And it only was proven in how Harry’s eyebrows sloped together, a defiance in the order of things prominent in his pursed lips.

“Okay,” you drawled it out, but Harry didn’t seem to find anything humorous. With a tilted neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing and drawing your eyes in like flies to honey, he downed the rest of your champagne.

“See her over there,” he mumbled, slipping back into the throngs of the party. He was still incredibly visible, a mess of hair and clunky shoes passing through the sea towards his girl. She was sat, pretty and prim, but you could tell she felt only half. Mary had an odd sense about her, a jealousy towards you for sure, but a feeling around her sphere of influence that she wasn’t full unless Harry was there. Half-dazed without, only focused on him with, there was seemingly no win.

The pair of them slipped out into the night together, with your eyes trailing behind. Mary was oblivious as to how the conversation would go, and for that, you were conflicted.

It must have made you an awful person, how the nerves crashed against giddiness. The drinks may have kicked into effect, because before you knew it - you were swaying and dancing against the moonlight, around the tables with the rest of the folk, pained heels clipping against the floor as they did every night, dancing out the mundanity of a town life crippled with the distrust of life. It would be a conversation for the rest of the night, how Harry would retell the dramatic discussion with fire in his eyes and a sadness plunging into his heart, because he always felt guilty and you’d never understand why.

You glided out of the mass, panting with how the dance took your breath away, feeling the redness built up in your cheeks and the sweat on your brow. You passed Nick with his wide eyes and bursts of laughter, and noticed how he winked at you when you left the room. The restroom was calling.

The main hall of the restaurant was bustling with normal activity, waiters dashing around with massively weighed trays balanced against their shoulders. There was a coat rack near the entrance, huddled with pounds of jackets, hats, and scarves, and a lone Harry Styles squatted next to it.

He looked up when you passed by, the hollows of his cheeks straining purple in the grotesque lights.

You paused next to him, almost dashing around to head and pee, but his expression caught you off guard..

He looked in another world. His eyes, blue with morose, opened to look at nothing. Eyelids heavy with almost boredom, but his posture offered enough to let you know his demons were free once more.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, and once he shifted to the side, you took the cue to sit beside him, crossing your legs and ignoring your body’s protests.

His mouth open and closed, his fingers spread wide in front of him to grasp onto his senses, but they were nowhere to be found. His lips were glistening, perhaps from him licking them continuously, but a small streak against his cheek made you think otherwise.

“Was she upset?” It was all you had to offer, but it seemed like you hadn’t struck gold. He continued to mime whatever words that were escaping him, but your attention had been caught elsewhere.

In one of his hands, you had thought he was holding onto his pack of cigarettes. At second glance, however, it wasn’t. It was terrible.

The fact it wasn’t, and the fact his mouth was gaping, and the fact his eyes were glassed and that his shoulders were quivering – it all accumulated into a story you never expected.

A blue velvet box, iconic in its time, holding only one thing inside.

“Harry, is that-”

“She’s pregnant,” he managed to choke out, not glancing at the box, his voice cracking in its sudden revival, “Mary’s pregnant.”

“She’s what.”

“Couldn’t break it off, would she gonna do? Can’t go back to live with her parents, the town’s too far off-” he continued to speak, words that made sense when combined but gibberish with how he stringed them. It was a rant that had been built into his lungs and found a small stream to blow off, with only your collection of stammers breaking through the dam.

“Did you–’re you–is that–”

“Proposed. Bit rushed, didn’t get on a knee, but it did its duty. I did mine, anyhow,” he said, a desperate gloominess clutched your dress as he presented the box. His fingers fumbled against the velvet, nubbed fingertips and signs of bitten skin surrounding the nails.

Opened, the box was empty. The contents were stuck on Mary’s finger, presumably back at the party showing off the latest development in her life.

“Congratulations.” It didn’t feel as if it were you who said anything, the voice too breathless and at ease to have come out of your body, with its thundering heartbeat and screaming mind.

“Gotta get a job, gotta call up Howard ‘n see what’s not ‘n the papers. There’s gotta be something, yeah? Need a crib, now, too.” It was clear his mind was far off, into what he needed to do, in the adult-life that neither of you had never quite fit into, but was now thrust upon him.

All your mind was on, was the trip you two had been planning for the past year. Harry had promised train tickets across the country, down towards where the sun always shone and the waters were constantly warm around your ankles, even in the dead of night. Maps and notebooks had cluttered your office for months, with strings attaching your future endeavors in a maze of findings. It had started out as an escape from the Depression, the one that had seemingly ended but never quite had, the one where your throats were aching for more than speakeasies could offer.

It wasn’t going to happen. It simply couldn’t. You’d never see how he would look, dozed off across from you on your hundredth train, his backpack used as a makeshift pillow. You’d never feel the brutal mountain winds with him. You’d never be able to wander around the greatest cities of America, you’d never explore all the lives you could’ve lived, in towns you never knew existed.

The realization brought you to another moment, another question, one out of place with Harry’s rant but in tune with how your blood ran cold.

“Where’d you get the ring?”

That snapped Harry’s attention, and his bloodshot eyes managed to find you in their blur. Perhaps it was an expectation, for you to ask, but the surprise against his lips, how they parted with a slacked jaw and a sharp inhale, said otherwise.

“Wha’?”

You repeated yourself, and he staggered into a motionless statue of himself, a final shake of his shoulders until he ceased to move. Just stared at you, haunted.

I’ve got somethin’ I need to say to yeh.

“Harry.” To your surprise, it almost sounded admonished.

His eyes were pleading for you not to speak. For speaking would bring it into existence, and he could never juggle it all. Neither of you could, it was a mortal flaw that ran deep into your flesh, and now against your heart, where it felt it would stay forever.

You felt compelled to speak anyway, motivated slightly by the intoxication and the exhaustion and the bitterness in which life was taking from you continuously, without ceasing, and this was the one chance to take something back for yourself. To give a bit of yourself back towards him, to offer a glimpse of the life that could’ve been.

“I would’ve said yes.”

It was quiet.

You thought Harry was being quiet, as well, but his hands reached up to wrack against his scalp, collecting at his hair and his head went between his knees.

He gave a nod, a gentle movement from your perspective, and a choked cry. It was stifled by the sudden uproar within the restaurant – perhaps another fight, perhaps another birthday, you didn’t care – and your arm went around his shoulder, bringing him into your chest.

You cried. Tucked away, hidden behind swaths of clothing that had belonged to the rich and now hung off the poor, surrounded by lights and glamour that suddenly became cheap and instrumental, compared to what you two had deserved. He felt warm against your skin, his forehead now pressed against your shoulder as his body pushed forward in distress. Time stretched to allow for you both to have one moment, a solace against the blazing sun of normalcy. It was one minute until Anne would burst through the party doors, searching for her son, perhaps having caught a glimpse of the truth and knowing where his heart truly was.

But for that minute, his heart was in your chest, the beats matching up, the pair united for a last breath.

The box slipped from his fingers and landed on the floor, half-open and completely empty.

It was a reality you’d have to live with.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles blurb

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

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I’m Ready

Summary: “I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

Picks up right where the show left off. Not technically a fix-it, as I didn’t change anything, but I promise it gets better.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of (canon) child abuse and neglect, mentions of past trauma, working through trauma, denial, bit of pining (but, like, in a denial sort of way), some fluff, some angst (but not as much as there is fluff)

Author’s Note: So many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for endless suggestions, fixes, and beautiful images (header AND dividers!!!). Thanks to all my friends for cheering me on, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield ; I probably wouldn’t have kept going with the story without you.

This is my first Destiel story and my first time posting in a while. Please be kind.

Word Count: 7704

In case you missed it: ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been in heaven, at least not by heaven’s timeframe. Probably years, maybe even a couple of decades. He doesn’t age in heaven, and time works differently, running fast and stretching slow.

For Dean, heaven is a chance to rest, catch up with his massive found family, and just breathe for the first time since he was a kid. No worrying about Sam, no waiting for the next monster to pop out, no prepping for the next apocalypse.

Nothing like heaven to give a guy time to kick his boots off and just relax.

Unfortunately, relaxing has never come easy to Dean. Sure, he can go through the motions (binge watching horror movies, binge drinking, hell, just bingeing in general), but relaxing is an entirely different matter.

Relaxing means letting his guard down. It means giving up his hypervigilance. It means sleeping hard and staying asleep until he wakes naturally and unassisted by attackers. It means spending long moments reminding himself the monster at the end of the book is really gone.

Sam is safe. Everyone he’s ever loved is safe and close, where he can reach them.

Almost everyone.

...

Jake Walker is born on the ninth of July at twenty-one seconds past 9:14 AM. His mother Samantha is exhausted after a two-weeks-early delivery, but both she and the baby are strong and steady. Her wife didn’t faint, none of the medical team ever sounded the least worried, and she heard her son’s first shocked wail as he came into the world. Exhausted, but definitely good.

His mom Betty, on the other hand, is an absolute wreck. She’s been anxious the entire pregnancy, despite good news from the doctor at every visit, and she is terrified that the unexpected early arrival of their son means her worst fears are just beginning.

Betty takes slow, calming breaths, focusing on not clamping down too hard on Sam’s hand. She has to stay strong, calm, for her new family. She has to keep her head on straight, in case—in case —

“Your son is absolutely fine, seems he just had a real particular time he wanted to arrive. Here he is.”

Betty opens her eyes to find a delivery nurse beaming at her, proffering a small, swaddled bundle.

“Never seen such a calm baby. Here, he’s been waiting for you.”

Betty looks down into the startlingly clear, mossy green eyes gazing up at her from the squashed, serene little face, and she feels something click into place in the middle of her chest. Samantha leans her head back against her pillow, letting out a long slow breath as she smiles, and Betty’s pulse slowly finds its way back to something like normal.

“We’ve been waiting for you, too, big guy.”

...

Trauma doesn’t heal in a day, not even in heaven. All the shit Dean remembers — all the shit he tried to forget — everything he ever managed to suppress — drives him from his bed at night, leaving him sleepless on his front porch, staring blankly into the night, or tinkering on Baby in the garage, digging into the perfect engine, determined to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

Dean has never been an idiot, no matter how many times he played the fool in life. The people he and Sam couldn’t save, the people he let down, none of those deaths are on him. Dean isn’t responsible for the pain and suffering, but he’s haunted by it all the same.

The problem is, haunts don’t go away on their own. Every hunter knows that.

It’s not that he wants forgiveness; how can he be forgiven for something he isn’t responsible for? He needs to see those people, though, see that they’re okay and at peace. He has to make sure everyone is where they should be, safe and at least content. And even if he ultimately isn’t their killer, didn’t want their deaths, would have done anything to prevent them, he still needs them to know...to know everything.

He needs absolution.

And if the person who needs to hear those things the most is MIA, well, they’ve got a history of not saying a lot of things face to face. There’s always prayer, right?

Dean starts by visiting a couple of people he hadn’t been able to save along the way, feeling strangely like someone following a twelve step program. Objectively, (ie, according to the people he talks to), he’s got nothing to apologize for. He did his best; he made tough decisions in situations forced upon him. They don’t blame him in the least, and most are truly and obviously thankful for his intervention.

Their words don’t make much of a dent in the mountain of guilt Dean carries on his shoulders, but it’s a start.

Once or twice, Dean finds himself looking up at the sky, so far from empty, opening his mouth to call out — an action so common on earth it nearly became reflex —but he stops himself both times. He’s not ready for that conversation.

But he needs to talk to someone closer to him, a deeper connection than the monster victims he’s been visiting.

He’s restless, needs to move a little, needs to talk to…

Someone. He needs to talk to someone. But he can’t. Hell, he can’t even say the name.

Pacing the garage turns to a wandering ramble down the road, past Sam and his family’s house, past Mom and Dad’s house (there’s a conversation or fifty that he’s not ready for), until he finds himself in front of what can only be described as a hobbit hole. He shakes his head, not for the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted up as he knocks on the circular front door.

He’s greeted by bright red hair, a surprisingly crushing hug, and one of the brightest smiles Dean has ever seen.

“Hey, Charlie. Can we, uh...You up for a walk? I was hopin we could talk for a while.”

...

Jake grows quickly and steadily, always near the top of all his growth charts but never alarmingly so. He’s bright, quick to anger and quick to laugh, and fiercely loving. He is both his mothers’ boy, always up for a cuddle or a wrestle, and he loves to build block towers and demolish them with equal abandon.

He makes his displeasure with vegetables known early on. On this particular morning, he introduces his strained peas to the kitchen wall with surprising velocity. Betty knows better than to encourage this attitude, so she hides her smile behind calm, controlled admonition as she offers another spoonful.

Jake looks her straight in the eyes, his smile dazzling and laughter bright, and she knows she hasn’t fooled him one bit. She sighs and lets her own smile match his. He won her over the day he was born; there’s not much point trying to fight it now.

“Come on, babe, eat your peas and we’ll see about some of those stewed apples left over from Mommy’s pie filling. Deal?”

She scrunches her nose and wiggles her eyebrows. Jake’s little eyes widen at her expression, and he tries to imitate it before dissolving into giggles. Betty takes the opportunity to poke a spoonful of peas into his open mouth.

She’s not spent much time around kids before this, but Betty swears she’s never seen a baby look so resigned and exasperated in real life. But she’s played her trump card. He’s too young for the crust, but a couple of spoonfuls of smashed up fruit (apple is his favorite), and Jake is guaranteed to eat just about anything she presents.

“Pie?” she asks.

Jake smiles and opens his mouth wider.

...

“SURPRISE!!!”

The last time he was shocked this badly, Sam didn’t let him forget that fucking cat for years. Or ever, really. Seems like everyone he ever knew is stuffed into his living room, barely leaving room for the balloon bouquets and a massive… That’s not a cake, it’s…

That’s the most beautiful apple pie Dean has ever seen in his entire life.

Dean is engulfed by arms, hugging and patting and slapping his back (was that a pinch on his ass?), everyone eager to get their turn with him, wishing him a happy birthday, saying they can’t wait until he opens his presents, it’s so good to see him, he’s looking so rested!

He manages to extract himself from the wellwishers, citing parental obligations, and finally makes his way over to Mary, smiling warmly and offering him a knife and a plate. His eyes flick anxious from his mom to the golden brown circle of perfection before him, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Mary’s smile widens.

“I didn’t lay a hand on it except to take it out of the box. Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Six plates of pie later, Dean reclines on his couch, letting the relaxed atmosphere of the party sink into his bones. The excitement and crowd of early have begun to wind down, leaving a double handful of family, both blood and found, all telling the most embarrassing, terrible Dean stories they can think of.

It’s possible Dean’s never laughed this hard in his entire life.

He heaves a deep sigh of contentment and props his feet ponderously on the coffee table, draping an arm across the back of the couch and surveying the room.

Donna, one of the apparent party conspirators, tosses him a sparkling grin over her shoulder before turning back to a rather animated conversation with Charlie about the length of Dean’s wig at the LARPing battle. Sam and Kevin are recounting Dean’s worst cooking disasters to Garth’s wife, and Bobby is entertaining Mary with Dean’s disastrous attempt to flirt with the pizza delivery girl who delivered to Bobby’s house most weekends when Sam and Dean would stay with him.

If Dean had to describe one perfect day, this would be just about it, down to the flakiness of the pie crust and the amazing collection of horror movies and original vinyls he’s been gifted. Almost every single person he could possibly want present is there, and since he isn’t dwelling on absence today, Dean decides to push his wandering thoughts out of his head and just soak it all in.

Every muscle in his body hums contentedly, and Dean feels strangely warm and peaceful, but excited, all at once. It’s weird, just sitting here and enjoying the moment, not worrying about the next minute or hour or day or even year. He’s full of pie, he’s got great tunes to look forward to, and there’s nothing to worry about.

He’s happy.

Naturally, that’s when the panic sets in. This won’t last; it never does. Happiness can’t last. He learned that a long time ago.

Sure, it’s heaven, but he doesn’t deserve to be here, so something is going to spoil it for him, for everyone. Probably Dean himself, he thinks as his eyes dart from his mom to his dad. Dean always seems to find a way to fuck things up, couldn’t take care of Sam, couldn’t keep himself alive, couldn’t even keep the Empty from—

“Hey, birthday boy.” Jody’s voice somehow reaches Dean through his darkening thoughts, and he comes back to himself in stages, focusing on the warmth of her hands on his shoulders. She stands behind the couch, leaning down to squeeze his shoulders. “Wanna get some air?”

He nods blindly and climbs numbly to his feet. Jody guides him efficiently out the door and points Dean in an arbitrary direction. They walk for what could be moments or hours as Dean plows through the morass in his mind.

“I get it,” Jody finally says.

Dean glances sharply at her.

“I still have random panic attacks sometimes, wondering if Alex is safe at the hospital, if this is going to be the hunt that gets Claire.” Her eyes are fixed on some point in the distance, and he gets the feeling she’s deliberately not meeting his eyes. “I check on Owen every thirty minutes on my bad nights, and I have to lay hands and eyes on Sean to convince myself he’s really there before I can calm down. It always takes me a minute or sixty to make myself remember where we are, where everyone is, and that there isn’t some big or even small bad waiting around the corner or under the bed.”

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, stuffing down his automatic reassurances. The first half of his life was spent avoiding conversations like this, and it took him a long time to unlearn the knee-jerk reaction to brush off people’s concerns with some variation of “Everything’s fine.”

Jody, with an awareness born of decades of hunting and parenthood, senses his discomfort. She slows her steps and catches Dean’s elbow, turning him gently to face her.

“That feeling in your gut when the happiness comes, the panic, that knowledge deep, deep down that everything good is bound to turn to shit.” Jody reaches out and wipes a trickle of moisture from Dean’s face.

It’s not raining, he thinks, frowning. Where the hell did that come from?

“You're going to unlearn it. You’re the toughest bastard I’ve ever met, Dean, and you've been through literal hell. If anyone has earned their happiness up here, it’s you. You’re allowed to be happy, and someday you’ll know it.”

Dean would love to reply right now, to contradict Jody. He’d love to remind her of all the bad calls he made, of all the torturing he did in hell, of all the lies he told...

But this knot in his throat is choking him. And still Jody persists.

“I know how goddamned stubborn you are, but you’re not stupid either. We have nothing to forgive you for. Maybe once you’ve talked to everyone on your list, you’ll see that, too. But in the meantime, take a deep breath, give me a hug, and at least say in your head that you’re allowed to enjoy yourself at your own damned birthday party, even if you can’t admit it out loud.”

And if the damp patch on Jody’s shoulder bothers her as they stroll back to Dean’s house to grab a couple of beers, at least she’s tactful enough to not mention it.

...

Jake takes care of his family. He’s a fairly serious, empathetic toddler, quick to kiss other’s ouchies. After receiving his first Elmo bandage, Jake insists on bandaging his stuffed puppy’s tail, his tyrannosaurus rex’s left eye (“He fight with stegosaurus,” Jake solemnly informs Samantha as he presses the adhesive strip in place), and then an old, almost-healed shaving cut on Betty’s left knee.

“Mama better now?” Jake asks, somehow managing to sound strictly professional and absurdly adorable at the same time. He looks up to Betty for approval, and she wonders how she manages to let him touch the ground at all with how much she just wants to hold him all day long.

“Mama so much better now,” she informs him, careful to stay serious. He rewards her with the golden smile that is the highlight of her days before rushing off to find someone else he can fix up.

Both Betty and Samantha marvel in his quickness to share his snacks. They never refuse an offered Cheerio from him, no matter how damp or sticky (though a few of those disappear quickly when Jake’s attention wanders).

The discussion over a first pet is fairly quick and decisive. Everyone agrees the pet must be something fluffy that can be cuddled. Betty vetoes anything smaller than a cantaloupe, citing her clumsiness and tendency to step on things that should never be trod upon. Jake vetoes cats, saying he just doesn’t trust them, and Mommy and Mama share one of their silent conversations before Samantha speaks up.

“A puppy it is, then, Jakey. Let’s go look up some good breeds.”

Their first pet is a rescue named Garth, at Jake’s adamant insistence, though they're still not sure where he learned that name in the first place. Garth is clumsy, awkward, easy-going, and the most spoiled and cared for pet in the neighborhood.

Jake’s little sister Tabitha comes along shortly before his fourth birthday, and he takes to big brotherhood with an authority and self-assurance that delights every stranger the family meets. When she eventually starts walking, Jake is right by her side, guiding each one of her toddling little steps while a beaming Mommy and Mama follow close behind.

No one is even a little surprised when Tabby’s first whole word is “Hake.” She masters the letter j eventually, but continues to refer to his big brother by the name she gave him for most of the rest of their lives. Jake doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

“It was just a matter of time,” Samantha says one night, as she and Betty are getting ready for bed one night not long after Tabby has given Jake his new moniker. “You know what I mean?”

Betty, who has known exactly what Sam means since the day she literally tripped over her future wife at university, smiles and turns down the covers on her side of the bed.

“That’s Jake,” she says. They’ve spent hours, discussing their son’s odd, charming quirks long into the night, offering up phrases like “old soul” and “wise,” and eventually realized nothing they said could ever completely encompass the loving little person they somehow managed to bring into the world.

“That’s Jake,” Sam agrees, and turns her version of Jake’s golden smile on her wife. Mischief sparkles in her eyes, and Betty wonders how she ended up with three people in her life that she absolutely cannot win against.

“Ready to get sweaty, Betty?”

Betty groans but can’t hold back her grin. “You are the absolute worst, and that is exactly why I love you.”

…

Sam manages to shock Dean when he insists on a big family Christmas. His extra years on earth apparently helped the younger Winchester warm to the idea of holidays, finally getting to enjoy them with his son as he never did during his own childhood.

Sam doesn’t have to try very hard to talk everyone into celebrating. Things have been calm and serene, more than a little on the uneventful side, and Dean figures it will add some variety to his afterlife. Something to plan, something to look forward to that won’t be crashed by murderous Elder Gods or various other supernatural entities.

Probably.

Dean secretly loves that feeling of finding the perfect present for someone, something he was never really in a position to do back on earth. He takes a deep breath, proactively reminding himself that this is okay, this is allowed, this is good, that everything is not only okay but actually kind of great, really.

He can be happy. He can. He can do this.

The shade of red Sam’s face turns before he finally dissolves into laughter is a thousand percent worth the degradation of actually gifting someone a signed vinyl copy of Celine Dion’s first solo album.

“It’s perfect, Dean. Thanks, man.” Sam pulls his brother into a hug, and his giant paw slapping Dean in the middle of the back literally knocks the panic right out of him. Deans huffs, at a loss for words, and hugs Sam back perhaps just a smidge too forcefully before letting him go.

“You’ll never top Sapphire Barbie for best Christmas present, but this runs a close second.” Sam shakes his head, still grinning as he reads over the back cover of the album while Mary and John look on, varying levels of confusion and amusement on their faces.

“What’s he talking about, Dean?” John asks. He takes a long drink of his whiskey. “Sapphire Barbie? Some kinda code word or something?”

Sam and Dean glance at each other, their shoulders tensing automatically. For a moment, Dean can actually feel the phantom hunger pains transposed over the current fullness of his belly, and he can see a tiny Sam (still way more hair than necessary), huddled despondent and hungry under a shitty, moth-eaten motel blanket, convinced there would be no Christmas.

“Dean, uh...accidentally got me a Barbie for Christmas one year, it was — a, uh — yeah, he wanted to make sure I got a present, so he grabbed it, and…” Sam trails off.

John huffs a confused laugh, and Dean’s hackles rise at the scoff, so like Sam’s and yet so much more...condescending. John rises from the couch and goes to refill his glass. Sam seems content to let the moment pass, but something in Dean’s gut, something latent and ignored since his heavenly ascension, sparks and smolders bitterly.

“How the hell do you ‘accidentally’ get somebody a Barbie?” John asks, still chuckling, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s real fucking tired of biting his tongue.

“I stole the Barbie. Stole a couple of other things, too. A Christmas tree, some decorations, a baton.”

Mary glances between her sons, confused, before turning to John. “Where were you while this happened?”

A parade of emotions march over John’s face: confusion is followed by slow recognition. Guilt makes a quick appearance only to be chased away by dull, ashamed anger.

Dean can practically see John’s mind flashing through the scenario, recalling more about the hunt than his own sons on that cold, nasty Christmas Eve. He knows the instant his dad reverts to default setting of laying the blame on his eldest son. Dean braces himself automatically, his body viscerally reacting to the familiar storm on his father’s face.

Dean has the fleeting thought that at least his dad is drinking from a glass now; ought to hurt a lot less than being hit with a whole bottle.

“You left your brother to go steal from somebody else’s home on Christmas? After what happened with the shtriga?”

Dean knows true anger, near rage, for the first time in heaven, and the bitter wash of it through him is cutting and all too familiar.

“Pretty stupid thing to do, I know, but I wasn’t even twelve yet, so I wasn’t making the wisest of decisions.”

“Not even twelve?” Mary cuts in. “Sam? Does anybody feel like explaining this to me?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean, anything could have—”

But Dean had a lifetime of being plowed under by his dad’s inability to take responsibility, has had way more than enough of shouldering the blame for shit he should never have been left with in the first place.

“I was thinking that somebody should get a seven-year-old something for Christmas, should make sure he has enough to eat. Where were you, Dad? What were you thinking? Because you sure as hell weren’t thinking about us.”

That knot starts up in Dean’s throat again, the muscles tightening against the fear that blossoms in his chest, echoed from decades of training. Sam’s hand finds Dean’s arm, and Dean looks to him. Instead of the caution or reproach he’s expecting, though, all Sam simply nods.

“Say it, Dean.”

Dean stands slowly, facing John Winchester with every bit of strength he’s built, every bit of courage he’s earned from a lifetime of terror, and realizes that the angry, bitter man before him is no more a threat to him anymore than Chuck is. And without looking, he knows Sam stands behind him, solid and resolute.

“I wasn’t even twelve. It was Christmas, and you abandoned us. Yeah, I stole Sam a Barbie doll. You know what I got for Christmas that year? The year before? Every fucking year before that for almost as long as I can remember?”

John opens his mouth, even now unable to admit his faults, but Dean barrels on before his dad can get a word out.

“Not a damn thing from you. Not one damn thing. Not presents, not food, not a warm place to sleep or a word of thanks or approval. Not even a fucking phone call to say Merry Goddamn Christmas.” Dean pauses one last time, and it suddenly feels like he’s towering over the man whose shadow always felt too dark, too large, too suffocating; the man whose respect he used to crave more than food and water.

“What about me, Dad? Huh? What about me?”

Dean doesn’t recall leaving his parents’ house, doesn’t remember driving home, but he finds himself on his own front porch, leaning forward in his rocking chair. He takes in a long, deep breath before scrubbing his hands through hair and leaning against the back of the chair.

A breeze rifles the leaves of a nearby tree, ruffling Dean’s hair. He taps his thumb against the arm of the chair and takes a long moment to breathe in the night air.

Dean lets his thoughts roll around for a while. The stars creep slowly across the black, the crickets chirp, and the breeze continues to tickle through Dean’s mussed hair.

“You and I could write the book on shitty dads, am I right, kid?”

He’s not sure why he decides to talk to Jack. Just nice to have someone to talk to, knowing they’re not going to talk right back.

“Could just cut him out. Dunno how that’d work in heaven.” He thinks a moment, then grins to himself. “Not sure Mom’d let me get away with that. Sam would back me up, though.” Dean grins into the somehow not-empty night. “I would be the guy that brings a family feud into paradise, huh?”

Dean takes in the wilderness around him, the empty house at his back, the extra rocking chair for...a visitor, he supposes. He has learned today that heaven, as perfect as it is, still holds anger and bitterness and loneliness, and he figures that’s to be expected.

“You still did good, kid. You and me, we did good even with our shitty old men in and outta our lives. Glad we cut yours out for good. Guess I’ll figure out how to deal with mine eventually. All I’ve got now is time, anyway.”

Dean pushes up slowly, still surprised at the lack of cricks, pops, and aches that accompanied the action his last couple of years on earth.

“Night, Jack,” he says into the wind. He glances over at the empty rocking chair one last time. “If you see him, tell him —just tell him—”

Dean frowns, shakes his head, and turns his back on the night.

…

Jake’s not a crier, not really. There are inevitable tears that come with bad falls, but Jake sheds tears like it’s a physical reaction that he’s getting out of the way so he can move on.

So when Betty goes to change the sheets in her son’s room, only to find him silently crying on the floor, she panics. Sheets flop forgotten to the side as she drops next to his, reaching instinctively for his still-plump cheeks.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Mama, I’m sorry I scared you,” he sniffles, his eyebrows down low on his small forehead.

Jake has never lied in his entire young life, and Betty is torn because he is obviously upset about something, but his face is full of nothing but truth and confusion.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jakey,” she says, settling on the floor next to him and opening her arms. He instantly climbs into her lap, hooking his own arms around her neck and nuzzling under her chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Can you tell me what made you cry?”

“I...I don’t know,” he says, his little voice quiet and heavily confused. “I was playing with Tabby, she was helping me build a tower with my blocks, and then Mommy came to get Tabby for her snack.”

Betty is stumped. Jake has never had any kind of separation anxiety, as far as she can tell. He’s spent nights with both sets of grandparents, even a couple of weekends with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and never shed so much as a single tear.

“You...are you crying because you miss Tabby? She’s right in the next room, baby, you can go with her for snack time, you know that.”

“No, Mama, I —I don’t know why I’m crying. Tabby hugged me, she said she loved me, then she went with Mommy, and I felt...really happy. Like —the happiest ever, and...it was too much happy?”

The last part comes out as a question, and honestly Betty isn’t sure how to answer it.

“Well, baby,” she starts hesitantly, not sure where to lead this particular discussion. “Can you explain what you mean when you say ‘too much happy’?”

He snuggles closer against her chest, his forehead pressing along her jaw. “I dunno. I think...maybe I’m not supposed to be that happy? Is that why the tears came out? Because I got more happy than I’m supposed to get? Was I wrong, Mama?”

Betty breathes slowly, tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. “You weren’t wrong, Jake. You can be as happy as you want. There’s never too much happy, I promise.”

She feels him shift, and she looks down to meet his clear, green gaze. He studies her carefully, scrutinizing her expression, and she’s reminded why she’s always been so very careful to tell her children the truth, albeit on levels they can understand.

“You pinky promise?”

The proffered pinky is smudged, pudgy, and absolutely perfect. Betty hooks her pinky finger with her son’s, bumping his nose gently with her own.

“Jakey, you have my eternal permission to be as happy as you are capable of feeling. And no one is ever allowed to take that from you. Good?” He nods, and she carefully brushes the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Sometimes feelings are really big, and they’re just a little too big for your body. They have to find a way out, and that’s why the tears come out.”

“Is that why you cry when you watch the kissy movies?” he asks, suddenly smiling. “Your feelings are too big, too?”

“Yup. We’ve got big feelings in this family, Jakey. Better get used to it, kiddo.”

...

More time passes. Dean walks, he talks, he goes through the motions. He heals a little with every conversation, every time he reaches out, and even though some of the wounds feel as fresh as the day he got them, eventually all that’s left are faint scars. He’d never willingly erase the scars, anyway. He earned them, and he’ll be damned if something like a little death and talk therapy could just wipe them away.

Gradually — so gradually Dean doesn’t realize it until Donna makes a comment one night after their regular poker game — Dean learns to not only let his guard down but drop it entirely. He’s shocked to realize the loss of his emotional armor doesn’t even bother him.

Dean works on Baby, drinks with Bobby, teaches Mary how to make an apple pie from scratch, and even manages to have a couple of honest, semi-civil conversations with his father. They don’t exactly reach Andy and Opie levels of father-son bonding, but John does eventually manage to grudgingly admit he fucked up some (a lot). Dean supposes anyone can make progress in heaven if they try hard enough.

He’s talked to everyone he can think of, settled scores, smoothed ruffles, filled himself to bursting with absolution. Dean is so absolved he thinks he might punch the next person who pats him on the back and tells him how much good he’s done for the world.

And still, he comes home every night to that extra rocking chair.

He waits now, waits while he talks with Sam, waits while he walks through the woods, waits while he changes Baby’s oil. He can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. He can feel it around himself, like a suit of armor or a second skin. Nothing terrible, nothing ominous, but something. Which is weird because nothing ever seems to happen in heaven, not really.

Could be he’s just bored, but Dean doesn’t think that’s it. Not entirely.

He talks to Jack nightly now. It’s a habit, something to help Dean talk through and untangle his thoughts into something he can understand. He looks forward to their talks, being able to get his feelings out without being either validated or rebuffed. Just letting some steam off.

He’s done it for so long that he can barely remember the night he started. Dean knows Jack can hear him, but the kid’s been true to his word, stayed hands off and radio silent. He lets mortals deal with their own issues, keeping himself and the supernatural world well away. Even the angels leave people alone in heaven.

Especially the angels, Dean grudgingly admits to himself, late one night after leaving Sam’s house. Instead of going home to that extra rocking chair, he drives Baby slowly, aimlessly, yet somehow ends up back on that same bridge where he met up Sam all those years ago.

He parks right at the end (no traffic in heaven) and strolls out to the middle, scuffing his boots and sending little puffs of dust in the air. His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, out of habit more than anything else, and he lifts his gaze from the ground up to the full moon in the sky.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. “Hope it’s goin good for you.Things are pretty good here. I know you know, you’re everywhere and all that,” Dean waves his hand vaguely, then continues, “Just wanted to let you know, I guess. I didn’t tell you enough, but we—I —really appreciated you. Appreciate you. You, uh...you did real good, kid. Then and now.” He pauses, then takes a breath, standing straight and letting all pretense go.“Please tell Cas...he did good, and...I miss him. And I know you’re all taking the hands-off approach, but —I dunno, maybe...he could —stop by? Or…”

The silence around Dean is heavy, comforting like a thick blanket.

Or a tan trenchcoat, he thinks.

“Jack —“

He cuts himself off, though. He spent all this time in heaven working through rivers of bullshit, wearing down mountains of lies and self-loathing until he can finally be honest and open with everyone. And if he’s going to be honest with himself tonight, Jack isn’t who he needs to talk to.

“Sorry kid, I gotta put you on hold.”

Purgatory flashes before his eyes, that sense of loss and being lost, the desperation and certainty that he’d never see his best friend again.

I can’t do this anymore, he thinks. I can’t pretend anymore. And I’m done lying to myself.

“Cas. Castiel. I hope you can hear me. I miss you. I don’t know where you are. Bobby said you were here, that you helped remake this place into something pretty damned awesome, but I never see you. I can feel you sometimes, can tell some things are up here just because you put ‘em there. Someone will tell a story, and I swear I can feel you standing right beside me, can almost hear you frowning and not understanding the joke. I…”

He knows there’s something left —knows he hasn’t found the right words yet. He has no idea what that right thing is, or even what he’s still waiting for, but he figures if he just barrels on, it’ll come to him.

“There was too much in the way, back on earth, in Purgatory. Too much always coming after us, trying to kill us or worse. I got in my own damned way, never knew what to say or how to say it. Didn’t think I deserved...I should’ve…”

He’s not sure what’s more bizarre, that he’s praying to someone who probably won’t respond — probably can’t even hear him — or that he’s doing so in a place wildly opposite from that last time he prayed like this.

Dean isn’t sure how he keeps ending up in this situation, but here he is, gasping out his feelings to the night air, barely able to squeeze the words past that perpetual knot in his throat.

“It’s a lot clearer up here, more room to breathe and think. This heaven you and Jack made...it’s great. Hell, it’s damn near perfect. But there’s no you. And I just can’t see my heaven as right without you. I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

A wispy cloud, silver in the moonlight, drifts across an otherwise flawless sky. Dean stares upwards for several minutes, wondering if Cas can see the same stars tonight, wherever he is.

“Maybe...I don’t know if you can come back. Or if you even left. I don’t know how any of it works.”

He’s on the cusp. He can almost taste the next step.

Dean’s at a loss, though. He could be brave: he could say everything he should’ve said in that last moment, everything he should have told Cas.

Or he could take the comfortable path, revert to being a dick and tell Cas exactly how he feels about all this silent treatment, about the no-show in heaven or not telling him about his deal with the Empty until it was too late, about waiting until the last second so Dean would have no time—

Or he could do both.

Both is good.

Metal railings squeak under Dean’s punishing grip. He’s not sure when he grabbed hold of the bridge itself, but right now he needs all the support he can get.

“You left me! You should have told me, given me a chance. Another chance, just one more. I’m sorry, Cas, I knew but I didn’t. I— I should’ve told you, should’ve held you, I could have—“

The tears flow unimpeded, the air squeezed from his lungs in convulsive gasps, but Dean can’t stop now.

“I should have told you everything I felt, every day. I should have trusted you more, and I’m so sorry. You were always family, you were always there for me when I needed you. We both fucked up so many times, lost so much time together. I was so angry at you, at me, at everyone and everything, and I let it get in the way.”

The silence around him is maddening. Here he is, ripping his guts out in the middle of the bridge, and all he gets back is crickets and evening breezes. Dean shoves off the railing, too frantic to stay still.

“Gimme something, Cas, anything! I’m pouring my heart out! I fucked up, and I’m sorry, and I swear I’m gonna do better, but you’ve gotta give me the chance! Just...just give me some sort of answer, please? Let me know you’re there!”

The silence persists.

Just as quickly as Dean’s rage crescendos, it fizzles suddenly. He drops to the ground, back and head slamming hard against the side of the bridge as he lets out a roar of helpless rage. His fists grip his hair, teeth grinding against the wave of helplessness that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I missed my chance, I waited too long, I should’ve said— I should have—“

And then it comes to him.

His hands draw down from his hair, scrubbing his face before steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize.

“I’m an idiot.” His voice is barely audible, even to his own ears, but he has no doubt his words will reach their intended destination. “This place you built, you and Jack, it’s as good as it gets. I deserve it, I earned it. I got my family, I got the easy life for a while. I got my family. I had my rest. There’s only one thing left in the universe I need, only one person I want.”

Dean stands, dusting himself off and turning his face back up to the stars.

“I’m ready, Cas. I— I love you. And I’m ready for the next thing. Whatever that is. However that is. As long as—”

One last pause.

“As long as you’re there, that’s all I need.”

...

The inevitable day of separation comes: Jake’s first day of kindergarten. Samantha is proud of her guardian warrior, knows he’s going to succeed at everything he puts his little bullheaded mind to. Betty hopes very hard that he won’t be too lonely without Tabitha there with him. Tabitha only knows that Jake’s finger tastes good and makes her gums feel better when she chews on it.

Jake, as always, approaches this monumental step with aplomb and logic.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he says casually as his little sister gnaws on his thumb. “An’ if I don’t like it, I’ll just stay here and take care of Tabby. You an’ Mommy can go to work, then, ‘kay, Mama? I can make nut butter n’ jelly sammiches. But I’ll try it out.”

...

School isn’t so bad, Jake decides on his second day. His teacher Mrs. Harris seems to know what she’s doing (she already knows who she can trust with scissors and glue), and the other kids are nice enough. There’s different toys (“learning tools”, Mrs. Harris calls them), so that’s interesting enough, but—

Something is missing.

“Can you tell me what you mean, Jakey?” Betty asks at dinner that night. “Are there supplies you need? We got everything on the list.” She wipes a smear of sweet potato off Tabitha’s face before looking back to her son. His mouth is turned down in a frown of concentration, like he’s trying to remember something.

“I don’t need anything, Mama, just...someone. I need someone. My friend hasn’t come to school yet.”

“It takes time to make friends, baby,” Samantha says. “It’s only the second day of school. Have you tried asking anyone to play yet?”

“Yeah, and they’re fun and all, but they aren’t my friend. My friend isn’t here yet,” Jake says. Then his frown vanishes with the sudden mood change of a five-year-old, and he turns beseeching eyes on Betty, aiming unerringly at the softer target. “I finished my green beans. That means dessert now, right, Mama?”

Jake decides on the third day that the best place to wait for his friend (he just knows he’s going to show up any day now) is the playground.

“My friend likes the playground,” he murmurs. “That’s good, I like the playground, too.” He eats his lunch slowly, watching the other kids wolf down their food so they can have extra playtime. He’s barely finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, though, when he’s distracted by movement on the other side of the play yard. The door to the school opens and the school secretary steps out. Then she turns and gently pulls someone out from behind her.

A small boy stands in the doorway, white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. His blue tie is a little loose, as if he’s been tugging on it, and his tan jacket is a little too big, hanging loosely around his small frame. His hair looks like someone was in too much of a rush to comb it properly. He clutches a pink piece of paper in one hand and, in the other, a backpack inexplicably decorated with flying, winged slices of pizza.

“Late drop-off, parent had to run,” the secretary tells Mrs. Harris before tiptoeing out of the room.

With an anxious glance at the other children, the boy scuttles forward and immediately trips over his own untied shoelaces.

Jake is at the little boy’s side before anyone else can react, kneeling down to check on him. The prone child is too shocked to cry, both by the fall and by the sudden appearance of this unknown factor. Jake checks him over, then nudges him until he sits up.

“You gotta keep ‘em double tied,” Jake says seriously. “Or else that’ll happen all the time.” Without waiting for an answer, Jake sets about the laborious task of looping each set of laces in turn, rabbits chasing each other around trees and down holes until the shoes are secure.

Jake climbs to his feet and reaches down, gripping the other boy’s shoulders and helping him stand. A dark smear of jelly stains the shoulder of the coat in the shape of a smudged purple handprint.

“Thank...thank you,” the smaller boys whispers. He lifts his eyes hesitantly, and clear blue meets olive green for the first time. “I’m Chris.”

“I’m Jake.” He thinks for a long moment, frowning. Something is settling in his chest, something big and permanent and scary; at first he thinks it’s too much.

Then he thinks back to what Mama told him: you can be as happy as you want.

He smiles at Chris. “You’re with me. You’re the one I was waiting for.”

Hope and just a bit of delight flicker across Chris’s eager face.

“I am? You mean it?”

Jake nods and grabs his new friend’s hand. “Yep. Now you’re here, that’s all I need. And nobody's allowed to take you from me, Mama said so. C’mon, let’s play cars.”

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cestlestial-beings · 4 years ago

Text

The Hunter

Summary: A mysterious "hunter," John, saves her from a ghost. She's in college; he's twice her age. But she really, really wants him, and with any luck, something will happen.

Fandom: Supernatural Characters: John Winchester, Unnamed Original Female Character Pairing: John Winchester/OFC Word Count: 2,800 Rating: Explicit AO3: Link

I’m sitting on my living room couch, anxiously biting my fingernails and hoping the salt circle around me does its job, when there’s a knock on the door. I jump up. It could only be John, the “hunter” who’d shown up a few days ago, introducing himself initially as FBI Agent Carrel, asking questions about the strange happenings around my house, and later revealing it was haunted by a ghost. A ghost!

Still, I’m jumpy from my recent encounter with the a murderous ghost a few hours before. “Who is it?” I call, hopefully loud enough to make it through the wall.

“It’s John,” a voice says from the other side.

I hop out of my salt circle and go unbolt and unlock the door. When I open it, John’s standing there. It’s dark, almost midnight, but the porch lights of my small, out-of-the-way home light up him up just enough for me to tell that he’s looking a little worse for wear: dirt on his clothes, scratches on the side of his face, the t-shirt under the flannel torn in several places.

“The ghost is taken care of,” he tells me. “Bones salted and burned. You’ll be safe now.” I feel a wave of relief. Safe. And then, unexpected, a brief wave of disappointment. The ghost is gone, which means John is going to leave now. After all he’s helped me through, after the inexplicable attraction that grew during the few days he’s been here…

He turns to leave, but I grab his jacket sleeve. “Wait,” I say. “I’m… Can you… Can you stay the night?” His face is totally stoic, not betraying any emotion, so I rush on. “I know the ghost is gone, but can you stay, just in case it’s not, somehow? It would make me feel a lot better.” It’s partly true. This big, old house I’d inherited from my aunt, full of spooky vibes (which turned out to be totally valid), is far from anyone who could help if something happened. But I also can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, something would happen if he stayed.

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly and I feel a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. I flash a quick smile back at him, relieved he didn’t reject me outright.

“I can keep a watch out from outside,” he says, nodding to his car, which is, despite being at least three decades old, gorgeous.

I shake my head. “No, you don’t need to actively watch out for anything, so you should stay inside. I just want someone nearby. Just in case. It’s no trouble, really.” There’s a slight edge of pleading creeping into my voice and I hope I’m not coming off as desperate.

A long moment passes before he nods. “All right. If it would make you feel safer.”

I open the door more fully and gesture for him to come in. “I can set up the sofa for you to sleep on. Or…” I pause and bite my lip. Could I be so forward? He watches me, eyebrows slightly raised. “Yeah. Sofa,” I quickly say, ducking my head and going to grab some sheets from the closet.

He sits patiently at the table on the tiled part of the room, waiting while I set up. I straighten up after tucking in the fitted sheet, feeling self-conscious. “Can I, uh, get you something to drink?” I ask. He shakes his head, so I go back to putting the sheets on. I can still feel his eyes on me while I work.

“Okay, all done here,” I say. “I guess I’m going to head to bed.”

Another small, barely-smiling smile. He stands up and takes off his leather jacket. I should go, I think as he drapes his jacket over the chair and starts unbuttoning his flannel, but now’s my only chance. I should say something. He’ll be gone tomorrow morning, and I want him, I really, really want him.

He pulls off the flannel shirt and drops it on top of his jacket. I try to keep my mouth from dropping open. He’s in just a t-shirt now, his muscular biceps visible. Wow. He raises his eyebrows at me again, and I quickly turn and walk quickly into my room. I don’t have the guts to do anything. A tough guy like him? He wouldn’t be interested in a soft college girl like me.

I stand in front of my closet a little too long trying to decide what to wear. He’ll probably see me in the morning, so I want to look good. But not too good, like I’ve been trying. And it has to be something that makes me look mature. I pick out a satin tank/shorts combo. Yeah, this is good.

I try to get to sleep after that, I really do—if I can’t work up the courage to make something happen, I might as well get some rest—but how am I supposed to sleep knowing he’s just down the hall, a couple doors away? I toss and turn for an hour before I finally flip on the light and sit up in bed. God, I could use a drink. Just something small, to help me get to sleep.

I open my door as quietly as I can and slip into the hall, trying not to wake John. But I’m surprised to see the light still on at the end of the hall. I pad down the hallway, wondering what he’s still doing up. After digging up a grave and stopping a ghost, he must be exhausted.

When I reach the living room, I see he’s sitting at the table flipping through an old book with an open, half-finished bottle of Jack next to him. He looks up when he sees me. His eyes roam up my body, taking in my appearance, but he quickly looks away. I savor the warm feeling that spreads through me from seeing him looking.

“Hey,” I say. “Couldn’t sleep. Looks like you couldn’t either?”

He lets out a low, short laugh. “Usually can’t.”

I walk over and sit down next to him. “Can I?” I nod towards his bottle of booze.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“I’m twenty-two!” I say. Hearing it out loud, it sounds ridiculous, and I blush. I’m trying to impress this older man, and I just emphasized my immaturity.

He looks at me for a moment before nodding. “Help yourself.”

I get up and grab a couple of whiskey glasses from the counter before sitting back down and filling them halfway up. “Cheers,” I say, raising mine up. He picks up his glass and lightly taps it against mine, and we both down our whiskey. I crinkle my nose at the strength of it, burning all the way down to my stomach. It doesn’t take long for a light buzz to start running through me.

“So what are you reading?” I ask, peeking over at his book.

He rubs his eyes. “Demon lore.”

“Demons?” I ask. “Those exist?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen one?” I’m curious. What do they look like?

There’s a long pause. He clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

I can tell it’s personal, so I don’t press. I pour another glass and sip at it. John’s back to reading his book now. At least he’s tryingto read. His eyes are moving back and forth, but they’re staying at the top of the page, like he’s not processing the words enough to move on to the next line.

“You saved my life, you know,” I say.

He looks up at me. “It’s part of my line of work.”

Yeah, a line of work that’s far from easy. I lightly place my hand over his, avoiding touching his red and torn knuckles. “I mean it.” I lightly run my fingers across the back of his hand in a way that I hope is getting across what I’m hoping for tonight.

He inhales sharply and pulls his hand out from underneath mine. “You’re so young.”

I frown. “I’m an adult.”

“I should get some rest,” he says, standing up. I stand up quickly too, and he’s close now, so close, less than a foot separating us. Up close he smells like leather and sweat and blood, a combination that has absolutely no right to be so intoxicating. I set a hand lightly on his chest. I look up��he’s got at least eight inches on me—and meet his eyes. His brow is furrowed as he studies my face.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs.

My hand slides up and around to the back of his neck, pulling him down to me. I press my lips against his. He kisses back, slowly, hesitantly, then pulls away. “You’re so young,” he repeats.

“I’m old enough.” My hand is still on his neck, and I lightly run my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes. “Please. I want you,” I say, probably coming off as desperate, but not caring.

He shakes his head. “This isn’t a good idea.”

I bite my lip. His body, so close to mine, is making it hard to think. “It’s just one night,” I say.

He looks up and away, a torn look on his face.

“Please?” I say again.

His jaw sets. He’s come to a decision. I only hope…

He leans down and kisses me. Harder this time. Hungrier. His tongue runs lightly across my upper lip, pressing for an invitation. I open my mouth slightly and his tongue meets mine. My hand slips from the back of his neck to the side of his face. There’s a slight prickle of stubble against my skin, and want floods through me. His masculinity—in the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he tastes—is overwhelming in the best way.

His hand comes to rest lightly on my hip and then slowly works its way up under my top. He runs a thumb over my breast, gently grazing the nipple, and I let out a soft moan. I’ve been with other men, men my age, but it’s never felt like this. I’ve never felt so much desire.

I pull back for just a moment to pull off my top, fully bare for him. I tug at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he pulls it off. I run a hand up slowly through his chest hair, bringing my palm to rest on his jaw.

“Bedroom?” I whisper between kisses.

He nods, wrapping his arms around my hips and lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he holds me like I weigh nothing. God, he’s strong. His lips never leaving mine, he walks us down the hall and into my bedroom, only bumping a couple picture frames off the wall as we go.

When we get to my room, he pulls away just long enough to see where the bed is and then deposits me on it. He’s standing above me, eyes wild and wanting, and desire courses through me. I squeeze my legs together tightly for a second, a futile attempt to relieve the pressure building between them.

His fingers run along the band of my shorts and he makes eye contact with me, waiting for permission. I nod, and he slowly starts to pull them down, trailing kisses from between my breasts to down between my legs. Lower, and lower, until he gets… there.

I hold back a moan, arching slightly at the pleasure as his tongue stimulates me. A finger slips between my legs and slides into me and I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut. Oh, god. I’m getting closer, closer… Too close.

“Mm. John, wait,” I say, and he pauses and looks up at me, eyes still dark with desire. Fuck. “I want you inside me.”

He grins at me, more expressive than he’s been all week. He climbs up on the bed over me, lowering his head to kiss me. I didn’t think I’d like the taste of myself, but on his lips… God, I can’t get enough.

I struggle to undo his belt, distracted by the kiss. I feel his lips curl upwards against mine and then he pulls back for a moment, just long enough to undo his belt and slip out of his pants and boxer briefs.

I’m dazed, my whole body feeling hyper-sensitive and electrified. I run my eyes down him. Eyes filled with lust, scruffy beard, muscled, hairy chest, and… Wow. I lick my lips. “Condom. Top nightstand drawer.”

I lie back as he rifles through the drawer and pulls out a condom. He leans over and tears open the packet with his teeth. Goddamn. My hand drifts down towards between my legs to relieve the want building in me, but he grabs my hand and pins it next to my head. He shakes his head. “That’s my job, sweetheart.”

He drops my hand and slips on the condom. He trails a finger across the sensitive area between my legs—oh fuck—and slowly up my torso, coming to rest over my breast.

“Inside me,” I repeat.

He laughs softly. “No patience.”

“Please?”

He smiles again and adjusts himself. I feel him brush up against my opening, the whole area wet and ready. He bends down to kiss me and then pushes inside.

I turn and let out a satisfied exhale into John’s neck.

“Fuck,” he growls. He pumps in and out, slowly at first, and then faster. He presses up against my clit with each thrust and I gasp, pressing my head back into the bed. It feels so good it’s almost painful.

He runs a tongue up my breast, across my collarbone, to the side of my neck. I put my hand on his cheek and guide him up to my mouth, kissing him, short, hungry kisses as he continues to move against me.

I’m close. I’m close. I’m… I inhale sharply. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”

“You there, sweetheart?” he murmurs into my ear, his voice hoarse.

“Yes. Nnnn. Fuck.” My eyes are squeezed shut as I ride it out, pleasure pulsing through my whole body. He feels so good still. So damn good, even when it’s too—almost too—much.

He thrusts in one more time and freezes, a shudder passing through him. “Mm.” He drops his head, breathing hard. “Fuck.”

I laugh breathlessly. “No kidding.”

He pulls out and lies down next to me. We stare at the ceiling for what must be a couple of minutes, the sounds of us catching our breath the only noise in the room.

My breath slows enough for me to talk, but I’m still close to speechless. “That was… Thanks.”

He doesn’t reply. When I look at him, he’s still looking at the ceiling, a relaxed look on his face. He senses me looking and turns his head, giving me a slight smile. I smile back, a much bigger, more obvious smile.

I move myself up the bed a couple of feet so my head is over my pillow and climb under the sheets. I pat the pillow next to me, and John follows my lead and slips under the sheets with me. Now that the pleasure’s fading, sleepiness is starting to wash over me.

I snuggle up against him, the little spoon to his big spoon.

“Do you regret it?” he says softly.

I roll over so I’m face to face with him. “Regret it?”

He still looks relaxed, tired like me, but there’s a hint of doubt in his eyes. “Sex. With me.”

“Are you kidding?”

He doesn’t respond, just holds my gaze steadily.

I can feel a blush rising to my cheeks as I say, “Of course I don’t regret it. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He looks placated, though a hint of what looks like guilt lingers. “Glad to hear it, sweetheart.”

I run a hand over the coarse hair on his chest, pressing a kiss to his lips. My eyes start to drift shut in tiredness and I blink them back open, throwing him an embarrassed smile—I know my face is far from attractive when I sleep. I roll back over, and he drapes his arm over my hips.

I’d started my evening afraid of being killed by a ghost, but now I couldn’t feel more secure, here in the arms of a man who I know can protect me.

—

When I wake up, John’s side of the bed is empty and cold. The couch has been unmade, the sheets put away. Besides the two dirty whiskey glasses and an extra set of tire treads in the driveway, there are no signs he was ever here at all.

I’m disappointed he’s gone, but I’m glad I got a chance to spend the night with him. I’ll be holding on to this memory for a long time, stowed away for when I need a little release.

#spn fic #my writing #spn reader insert #john winchester x reader #reader insert #age difference #1POV

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dweetwise · 4 years ago

Note

Felix and Ace having met before. Ace won a grand prize at the table and got an executive suite. Though his next door neighbor was Felix who was here on a business meeting to design a similar casino. (I am sorry I love imagining people meeting people before the fog)

this isn’t exactly what you asked for buuuut i needed to write something for waiter ace and you blessed me with this ask uwu also if you didn’t want a ship i’m sorry but that’s what i assumed! warning for closeted felix and mentions of the s3x but nothing nsfw actually happens

word count: 1860

Felix X Ace: Strictly Business

Felix wasn’t exactly prepared for the fog to transport him into another dimension. He'd read some theories, sure, and he'd seen his father disappear into thin air all those years ago, but to experience it first-hand was another thing entirely.

He also didn't expect the world in question to be controlled by an eldritch being that forced its captured victims into a gruesome game of hide and seek, killing and resurrecting him and others at will.

But he sure as hell didn't expect to come face to face with the biggest mistake of his life.

It takes Felix a minute to recognize the man, the small camp having so many new faces and names to memorize and they’re all speaking over each other—it's a lot to take in. But then he spots a familiar face, and everything the ginger woman is trying to explain to him becomes white noise as the man he focuses on laughs at something a boy in a beanie says.

Felix’s thoughts drift back to what feels like a lifetime ago, when he was on a business trip in Austria, staying at a luxurious casino.

Him and a couple of other junior architects were invited to design an expansion to the building, and the best idea would be hired. Felix hated competition, he hated having to work on the field, and he hated the lavish, over-the-top style of the casino. But he was only starting to get his name out there, and couldn't afford to turn down any opportunities—if he played his cards right, this could be his stepping stone into more high-profile projects. Maybe he'd get to design an entire casino next time, without the twenty fake fountains and fuck-awful gold trims.

They were waited on like VIP:s while attending meetings in lavish conference rooms and bullshit marketing presentations about the brand. It was basically an all-inclusive stay, but Felix still despised it. He would have given anything to skip the unnecessary pleasantries and stay at home to draw the designs in peace.

He hated it right up until one of the waiters serving their mid-presentation coffees caught him suppressing a yawn and gave him a cheeky wink and a smirk. Felix had blinked, thinking he imagined it, but the more he kept staring, the more the waiter's smile seemed to widen.

Felix wasn't gay, but being an architect, he could appreciate aesthetically pleasing things in life. Like the waiter's symmetrical face, high cheekbones and good hairline. And eyes that sparkled with mischief even while he was outwardly completely professional.

And the way his work pants clung to his perky ass.

The waiter was suddenly a hundred times more interesting to him than the entire project. The project was predictable, and Felix once again found himself drawn to the unknown.

It wasn't a challenge to get the man's attention. He only had to linger behind after a dinner, and soon enough, there was a gloved hand brushing fleetingly against his neck as the man collected his plate. With the rest of the group having moved on, and Felix having had more than a few drinks, he'd asked if there was any possibility for room service. He was rewarded a lopsided grin and warm eyes shimmering with promise.

He always was much smoother when drunk off his ass.

He doesn't even remember what he'd designed by the end of his five-day-stay in the casino. He only remembers fucking the cute waiter against the tacky gold-trimmed headboard of the king-sized bed in his suite. And in the hot tub. And in a supply closet. It was a long week, okay?

His companion was named Luca. He'd only been working in the casino for a few months and was thinking of moving back to Italy, not being a fan of gambling or the over-the-top establishment. He had a charming accent and only spoke a couple of words of German, forcing Felix to use his own shaky English.

It was a shallow thing. Felix tried to keep his personal life private, and he definitely left out the part where he had a girlfriend back home. He'd ended up exaggerating his professional success, but wasn’t that what people did? He was just trying to make a good impression,

After the week, Felix never talked to the other man again. He got home, unpacked his bags, and freaked out. He didn't even want to think about how unprofessional he'd been and how risky it was.

And definitely not about how much he'd enjoyed it.

The more he tried suppressing the thoughts, the more insistent they got. His brain was periodically invaded by images of warm brown eyes, expressive lips twisting into a hundred different smiles, and a laugh resonating in his ear, rich like his favorite double-roast coffee. The memories had haunted him for close to a decade, and he thought he'd finally gotten past them, ready to be a good father that had his shit together.

But here he is, seeing the same brown eyes light up with the same carefree smile and the sound of the same damn laugh echoing through the air and all the memories come flooding back.

The woman next to him hollers something to the group, and the familiar face looks his way. Even with the now grey hair and added wrinkles, Felix still finds himself just as transfixed as he'd been ten years ago.

He's introduced to the group, but he only really remembers one name and the overwhelming sense of wrongness that follows it; Ace. The revelation isn’t made any easier when he notices there isn't even a flicker of recognition in the eyes he remembers so fondly.

In the following couple of trials, Felix is only disappointed further. “Ace” doesn’t have an Italian accent anymore, in fact Felix catches him instead saying something in Spanish to the woman in a blazer. He’s also very keen on gambling, and the shiny satin smoker jacket he wears in one trial could have been straight from the tacky casino they met in. Was anything he told Felix about himself true?

It takes him a while to confront the man, debating back and forth inside his head. All of his focus should be on finding his father, and he needs to keep these people at arm’s length. Ace not remembering him is the best possible outcome of their brief past together, he tries to rationalize.

But in the end, curiosity wins over rationality, and when the opportunity presents itself, Felix is unable to resist.

“You really don't remember me, do you?” Felix asks, alone in the camp until Ace returns from a trial. The man pauses, eyebrows pinching together in confusion “I didn't leave you to die on hook, did I?” Ace asks. “That happens sometimes.” “No, I mean back in the other world,” Felix explains. “We've… met?” Ace asks.

Well. If that's what you want to call it.

“Yes,” Felix simply says and immediately, Ace cringes. “I'm sorry?” he offers. “Excuse me?” “I can count on one hand the people I've encountered who remember me fondly. There's a 99% chance you hate my guts, so I figured I'd get it over with quickly," Ace explains, seeming a little wary. “I don't hate you, I just can't believe you'd forget and… lie.” “Oh, I… I do that. Did—whatever. Nothing personal,” Ace shrugs. “I really don’t remember you, sorry.” “Casino in Vienna. 2011. I stayed at the hotel for a week. You were a waiter. You said your name was Luca. We—” Felix hesitates. “…'met'.”

Multiple times on multiple surfaces.

“Vienna, huh? Hmm... Oh!” Ace's face suddenly lights up. “You were one of the suits, right? Some kind of… lawyer?” "Architect,” Felix corrects, a little miffed. “Same deal,” Ace dismisses with a wave of his hand. “So, are you still neck-deep in the closet?” “What?” Felix recoils. “That's—I'm not gay. It was a one-time-thing.” “That would be a yes,” Ace muses, almost as to himself. “So you do remember? All of it?” Felix prods. “Guess so. What, you want a repeat performance?” Ace asks, raising an eyebrow. “No! I just…” Felix falters.

‘Wanted to make sure you didn't forget me because I’ve been thinking about you for the past ten years’? No way he’s admitting to any of that, so he puts on his business face.

“Wanted to come clean. So we're on the same page. To avoid any awkwardness,” Felix says instead, and it’s definitely not as smooth as he would have liked. “Right…” Ace says, regarding him skeptically.

There's a few seconds of extremely awkward silence while Ace just stares at him and Felix looks into the fire, trying to keep his face neutral and not sweat bullets. Eventually Ace sighs.

“Look, can I give you some friendly advice?” he asks. “I… I guess so," Felix says, a little confused. “Drop the act,” Ace says, looking him dead in the eye. “The manly man, excited father, respectable lawyer—” “Architect,” Felix, again, corrects in annoyance. “—suit guy thing, whatever. It's not going to serve you any purpose in here. These people see right through any bullshit, trust me on that one,” Ace adds with a knowing smile that Felix has never seen before.

He doesn't have any time to think of a reply before they're interrupted, the girl with a beanie cussing up a storm while a young guy in a sailor uniform sits down in front of Ace expectantly and the man cracks a joke and immediately starts tending to the bloody gash in the kid's shoulder.

The wound is bleeding heavily but the duo keeps chatting without a care in the world. Felix remembers he got a gauze roll from the… blood web?—and he rifles through his meager belongings before approaching the two.

“You… um,” Felix stammers, holding out the item to Ace. “Would this help?” “Cool!" the teen chirps while Ace takes the offered item silently, regarding Felix with an unreadable expression. "Thanks—uhh, what was your name again?" the kid grins sheepishly. “Felix,” he says. “And… yours?” he asks, swallowing his pride and now hesitantly curious to learn more about his companions. “I'm Steve! This is Ace, and the moping bitch over there is Nea!” Steve exclaims with a bright smile that shows his bloodied teeth. “Dude, fuck off!" the girl, Nea, calls. “Hey Felix, anyone teach you how to use a flashlight yet?" “No, not really," Felix confesses, cautiously approaching the girl. “I understand the need for tools and medical supplies, but… what would you use a torch for?” ------------------ “So how's the new guy holding up?” Steve asks. Ace looks over to where Felix is sitting with Nea. “Allvarligt—förstår du mig inte?” Nea has apparently moved on from flashlight training to Swedish lessons. “For the last time, your Swedish sounds like gibberish to me," Felix explains. "Just because the languages are related—" “Sheiße,” Nea interrupts with a grin, moving to swear in German. “A multilingual genius, I see,” Felix deadpans. “He's learning,” Ace says, hiding his own hopeful smile behind the fluffy hair of the boy he's patching up.

(nea’s line: “seriously, you don’t understand me?”) i’m not 100% happy w this fic, esp since it’s about a new character but it’s a start at least! i also really wanted to throw in a “sure you’re hot but you were so boring i forgot all about you” line but it didn’t fit and now you just have to imagine that’s what ace was thinking

#felix richter #ace visconti #felix richter x ace visconti #dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #dweetwrites #request

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1106

survey by mickey-mouse

Who was the last person you couldn't take your eyes off of? I haven’t been feeling that way towards anyone, be it from real life or someone on the internet or a celebrity, for a while.

Do you drink the milk from the bowl after you eat all the cereal? I’ll try to drink some of it, since I do think milk tastes nice haha, but I keep it in moderation so that my stomach won’t end up being too upset.

Have you ever kissed anybody accidentally? Oh wow, how does this even happen? Hahaha but no I haven’t.

Who was the first person to wish you a Merry Christmas last year? Most likely a family member. My friends and I usually greet each other late into the evening.

Do you think it'll be the same person this year? It will probably be family again, yeah. I just can’t tell which one would be first.

Is your display picture in black and white? None of my profile photos on all social media are.

Do you know anybody who has had an online relationship? I don’t think so. I have some friends who met their SOs through dating apps, but I think all of them have since seen each other in person. I’m not sure I know of anyone whose relationship has been entirely online/virtual so far.

What food are you always in the mood for? No matter how full I am, I will always take a slice of pizza or two if it’s ever served at a table. That or chicken wings or spicy tuna salad.

When was the last time you played Guitar Hero? Safe to say more than a decade ago. I had always preferred Rock Band since I found it more fun that switching instruments was a main part of its gameplay, whereas you were stuck with the guitar on Guitar Hero.

What friend could buy clothes for you and not have to worry what they bought? Angela. We have nearly the same sense of style and we find the same things cute, so if I ever had to make a friend control my wardrobe for the day I will likely trust her the most.

1 thing that your guy best friend doesn't like about you: I don’t have a guy best friend. Hans is my closest friend of the opposite sex; while I don’t think he dislikes anything about me, I’m sure he thinks I’ve acted dumb about love and relationships many times before. Which is fine, we’re very honest and blunt about those things and I actually appreciate it when he gets brutally honest with me.

How about your girl best friend? Again, I don’t know if Angela doesn’t like a certain trait of mine but she’s well aware of my past stupid decisions i.e. staying in a harmful relationship.

Do you loan your friends money? No, but I’m ready to lend to my closest friends should they ever be in need.

Are Lucky Charms really magically delicious? I dunno, I’ve never tried.

When was the last time you had Lucky Charms anyway? See above.

Who is the last person you called long distance? I don’t do video calls with friends living in other countries, mainly because I’ve grown apart from them haha. My mom will sometimes start calls with relatives living abroad though; I believe the most recent one was a group video call with my dad’s side of the family, which included an uncle who lives in New York.

Do you sleep with a nightlight? No; I would find this too distracting and bright.

Is Lil Wayne really the best rapper alive? I never thought he was one of the best to begin with. Some of the songs he’s featured in are fine but I don’t like his slurred style of rapping very much.

What is the first text in your inbox? Like...the very first one in my inbox? I scrolled all the way down and it’s from Frances - an orgmate who has since disappeared off the face of the earth and blocked all her friends on social media lmao - asking about an org-related thing three years ago. Wherever she is, I hope she’s doing okay.

Are you taller than your siblings? I am the eldest yet smallest child in the family. My relatives get a kick out of it, which is fine because I do too HAHA

What are the first letters of your friends first names on your top 8? Myspace? Was never active on it.

When was the last time you almost cried from laughing? I can’t pinpoint an exact moment for you but this happens a lot when I watch 2 Days 1 Night, so this has probs happened recently.

Do you have “photoshoots” with your friends/family members? Not with me as the subject – I’m very camera shy and turn into an awkward stick once I’m asked to pose. But I love taking photos of loved ones, especially an SO.

Are you generous? To a fault.

Are you excited for Thanksgiving this year? I don’t celebrate that.

Are you excited for Thanksgiving ANY year? Yeah, I still don’t celebrate that.

Any plans for the weekend? I had plans to start a new series and spend a lazy day watching YouTube videos, but we haven’t had internet all day today and it’s felt quite deflating to have the first day of my weekend taken away from me. I’ve been running on data which is...fine, I guess, but I can’t use too much if I don’t want to keep paying for it. That said I’ve only been able to do surveys and stream music today. For tomorrow, I wanna go to a coffee shop and perhaps even treat myself to ramen because I’ve been craving.

Do you lay your clothes out the day before? Before Covid happened I planned out my clothes the night before, but I didn’t lay them out.

Who was the last person you bought a gift for? Andi; got them a dress and a skirt.

What was the last song you had stuck in your head? My Limb has been repeatedly playing in my head all day.

Are you ignoring anybody currently? Not ignoring, more of I’ve already given up on them.

Do you curse at your parents in a different language? I don’t curse at my parents in any language, lmfao.

Do you get the mailman a Christmas gift every year? We don’t have mailmen, buuuuut the maintenance staff in my village (trash collectors, security guards, those in charge of trimming the grass, etc) will usually hand each household an envelope in time for Christmas. My family and I help them out and place a certain amount in all envelopes.

Are you afraid of lizards? They are very common visitors in homes here so no I’m mostly not. They move very fast and get freaked out when they see humans though, so sometimes I’ll be shocked by them suddenly scurrying away.

How legible is your signature? I don’t make it legible at all so that it’s difficult to replicate. I actually get a lot of comments on it because my signature is mostly a lazy scribble and I don’t actually spell out any part of my name, which exactly fulfills my goal of making it hard to copy.

Do you think anybody else has a bedroom EXACTLY like yours? I actually live in a neighborhood where the houses are the same models, so I can confidently tell you that there are around 10-20 bedrooms that look similar to mine. But as for being styled and furnished exactly like mine, I doubt it.

How hot are your neighbors? Lol uh I don’t pay attention to this particular trait. All my neighbors are your typical suburban families with young kids, anyway.

Do you have pictures of clouds on your cell phone? A lot. I like looking up at the sky from time to time.

Do you send compliments through text message? Sure, when it’s appropriate and only with close friends.

Do/did your high school theme colors match? I never thought they didn’t go well together, that much I can say.

Do you own any Nike shoes? Several.

Have you ever rode in a VW Bug? Never.

How about a Mini Cooper? Never have, would absolutely love to.

What was the last fast food place you got food from? Yellow Cab. I got two pizzas and pasta for my family.

When you invite people to your house do you usually hang out in your room? I never invite people to my house because it’s too far compared to where most of my friends live, and it would only be a big hassle for everyone. As for my room, the only people who’ve been in it are Gabie and Angela/Hans, the latter only once.

Have you ever seen your crush/current bf/gf cry? I don’t have any of these.

Do you own any Spongebob merchandise? I’m pretty sure we have a Patrick plushie we continue to keep around.

Do you have any food traditions with any of your friends? My orgmates and I frequented a certain bar near our university; we went there whether it was to celebrate the end of an exam-filled week, or if we simply wanted to spend an ordinary Thursday with a few drinks. A few months ago they were in danger of closing because of the pandemic, but I hope life has been kinder to them recently.

Do you like Gwen Stefani? Erm, not particularly. Some songs of her I like, but I’m not a passionate fan.

Do you know anybody with a thick Jamaican accent? No.

Are you closer to your mom’s side of the family or your dad’s? Mom’s. Aside from being able to see them more often, our humor is also similar.

Have you ever been to a haunted house? I’ve stared at one, but never gone inside haha.

Yes or no: red eyeliner? Do whatever you want with your face and makeup, man.

Yes or no: red lipstick? ^ Still applies.

Would you ever own a pet black widow spider? No.

Do you wear holiday themed clothing? I don’t think I own any, so no.

At 6:00 tomorrow night where do you think you’ll be? On my way home, or preparing to head home, I hope.

Is it night or day right now? Evening.

What time did you get up today? Like 5:30. I fell asleep on the rooftop and got to see the pretty sunrise and the sky gradually change colors :)

#survey #surveys

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ton-e · 4 years ago

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Lol ok so I didn't wanna do aesthetics so I wanna brainstorm possible scenes instead

Ok so the premise is, basically, Viktor, an aspiring kid looking to enter this straining affair of the boxing world. He's young and impressionable and he's got something to say. Something that old underground New York pubs and junior gyms don't provide enough eco for.

Barnes, a big shot star in the 80s, is pretty much known as the best of the best there, holding the impressive score of 34-1. (Tho I don't know if it can count as a victory since he wasn't even there for the fight, anyway) but after a near fatal shooting which happened right before his big championship match with Rollins, a bullet piercing his right shoulder which leads to the amputation of his limb, he dissapears into the shadows. The world moves on.

I like the idea of Barnes being trained by Mary who was in his exact same spot years ago but had to give up her career to have Anthony which she doesn't regret! Between her heart problems and the growing annoyance of public attention, a baby is practically a blessing and if it puts Jarvis and Howie to rest then it's a bonus. (I also kind of like the idea of her having only losing once and it was against Maria lol)

And maybe Viktor goes to her first but, while she does seem fond, like she's looking at an old memory twice, she refuses. "Kid, I'm gonna tell you exactly what I told my old pain in the ass when he stood in your spot: I can't."

"Why?"

"Because us Carbonells train to kill, not fight. Alright, what you think boxing is, - this cookie-cutter bullshit version you kids have today? The civilized conversation, the heavy editing, the contracts promising defenses, - that doesn't mean shit. Apollo Creed had a contract.

Muhammed Ali had a contract. So did Jimmy Doyle, Frankie Cambell, and Brad Connels. A sheet of paper can't protect you from the ring, and I'm not having another kid on my conscience. Besides, these guys? They have purpose. Whether it's money, or sport, or just to chase the high - they have it. You just want the glory."

"Yeah? So what?" So what if he wants to be seen? So what if he's doing all of this hoping to impress? So what if he has to prove he's worth someone's time. "If I die I die. Big deal."

For some reason, he wants to both cry and retaliate at the look of pity that crosses her face. "Go home, kid. You're gonna break your momma's heart." Are his last words to him before she closes the door.

In a Viktor fashion, he does the exact opposite.

He likes the street fighting, - the vibrations under his fists, the crack of his bones, the violent taste of crimson metal blossoming in his mouth, it's liberating. He doesn't think about anything. It's just him and his adversary, not an enemy, just someone seeing him as Viktor sees them. That rush could ruin a man.

It doesn't hurt he's making pocket money on the side, either. Certainly better than watching some snotty kids or mowing laws, in his book.

No, what kind of hurts is seeing the sharp scrutiny in Aleksei's sharp eye and the soft disappointment uncovering Ryurik's Dad Stare when they come pick him up from the station.

He and his mother are alike a lot in that aspect, - really he's pretty sure the five, Sasha and him have had an agreement to collectively throw themselves off a cliff if they disappointed Ryurik in some way. A broken arm, bruised ribs, and black eye? Pale in comparison to what Ryurik's power really holds.

I refuse to believe Aleksei doesn't freely parent other people's kids sksk Aleksei only stops scolding him when a police officer says ''He's going to spend the first part of his life in the streets, and the other in the grave. I put my life on it." Well a certain fashion teacher is gonna design the outfit for your funeral BITCH-

"You're so damn lucky Talusha was busy digging her medicure through someone's intestines right now. Do you even know how bad you look right now? Of the mountain of trouble you're into? Are you? Viktor Iosef Novak, you look at me when I'm talking to you, -"

"Relax, relax, take it down to a two, " Viktor pushes back a laugh watching Ryurik placate his husband bc it's just cute, and ignores the shush river of Russian pet names bc they're not for him to hear. It makes him feel vulnerable tho, that Ryurik feels the need to somehow hold Aleksei back. He can take the heat just fine.

He can take it and give it just as good, because every battle he's been into before has been on his own name. But this is harder because it was never a fight, to begin with.

Fighting is easy. Stopping is harder.

It doesn't stop feeling bad when Sasha bandages his wounds and his back doesn't cool town from the target five pair of eyes fixate on. Yasha's burn the hardest thought. "The fuck you looking at?" He playfully glares, the good part of his shoulder bumping against the other boy's, who tries to small but it lifts with a strain.

"An idiot."

"Are you looking for a mirror?"

"Fuck you, Vitya."

"Hard pass."

"Okay, Viktor you're not getting away that easy, " Ronin says, arms still bound tightly around Antoska's slender shoulders and Sasha's frail middle. Despite his easy going tone, Viktor uncovers the touch of concern underneath. "Why can't you just ask your mom to teach you? Or Papa? I mean, you want to be on a knuckle sandwich diet be my guest, but it's not really good for digestion from what I hear."

"It's not the same. Your father knows another kind of style."

'He doesn't want to learn from mom and uncle Ryurik because she's a girl,' Sasha signes irritably, eyes making an impressive tumble. 'My brother, the 14 year old, making sexist comment. What a never heard of fact.'

"I didn't say that!" He exclaims, flushed. Hissing when Natalia kicks him in the tender bruise he sports on his hip. "I just said, that I want to learn boxing! And that's not the same thing as what Ma does, or you guys do. Boxing is special. But if I can't learn from Barnes specifically, then there's no point!"

The red head huffs in indignation. "Okay, so, boo hoo, some washed-up Rocky Balboa doesn't want to train you. You have options, V. People give up over worse."

He doesn't feel like being home anymore, so he flees, the call outs to his name going ignored. in the street or just outside, he doesn't know. He just knows red follows him, that concrete shakes under the stomp of his heel and that the wetness on his cheeks freezes on his face. No one gets it, no one gets HIM. It hurts, that a part of him, the part that tells him he's worthless and insignificant and forgetful , really does think Barnes has better things to do than train him.

A sleek car, long, vintage, a touch too expensive for the streets he's haunting right now, stops beside him. He continues. It follows him, engines unusually quiet.

"Mr. Novak?" A deep voice, subdued, but persuasive nonethelesss coerces him into stopping. The windows roll down, revealing a man with a smile too friendly to be true and eyes too kind to be nondeceiving. "My name is Alexander Pierce. And I happen to have an irresistible offer."

"It's in the process of extension, " Pierce expresses later, as he leads Viktor through the underground fighting bar. Its practically a huge stadium in a molehill and his mind struggles to compute how Pierce pulled it off. "I'm looking for capable young talents to craft into tomorrow's brightest stars. I'm assuming you've heard of Rumlow before?"

"Crossbones? 23-2? Yeah, I heard. He's currently heavyweight champ, right?" Barnes should have been, he wants to say, but reading the room better he thinks against it. "I don't... Actually think I've seen him around much. Maybe since '98, but that's his most recent match. What's ... Up with that?"

"He's kept that belt around him for closer than two decades. Id say its time for some adjuments in the records, don't you agree?" He doesn't like it when Pierce smiles. Bad things happen when he smiles, of that Viktor is certain. "That being said. I think you could be our following breakthrough. What do you say? I'd love to see a performance. "

"I'd be surprised if you guys had a Juniors league." He snorts, expecting a smart retort, but all he gets is a sinister grin. All of a sudden he's in the ring, without even noticing he was moved, and before him stands a beast of a man, two heads taller and promise of pain in his eyes. "... What juice do you give this kid?"

"You're charismatic. You'll need that in this world. He's your adversary for tonight. I'd suggest an old fashioned glove bump for the sake of sport, but, seeing as you're barehanded id advise against it. "

"You can't do that, " nervousness bubbles in his throat. "That's against the rules. I can't fight like that."

"Oh! Don't worry. You don't have to fight. You just have to die."

The last time Rumlow sees Barnes is on a stretcher, arm bathed in blood and with the press around an ambulance.

He doesn't know what they were. Fuck buddies to almost friends to friends with benefits? He doesn't know what he had, but he knows he lost it. All he has is a sheet of paper with scratched blue ink, digits that no longer call, and some gold on leather.

"You should treat that belt with more respect. " Rollins scolds him. Rumlow uses it as feet rest next, and doesn't flinch at the sharp slap he receives. Instead, he smiles mockingly, lower lip sticking out in a tempting pout.

"Hit a bit harder next time and maybe it'll be half close to how Barnes used to do it. Just because it felt good with him doesn't mean you'll receive the same response." The pout slips into a smile that drinks into the frustration sizzling around the air. "Besides, I don't listen to cowards, Jackie. Thought we established that."

"Oh, please. Are you ever going to let that go? I ain't gonna repeat it a thousand times till you get It through that hard head of yours, but I didn't shoot your boy toy."

'' I didn't say you shot him. Pussy like yourself, I'm thinking you hired someone. Why did you do it? Hm? Were you that scared to fight him that you wanted to kill him? Hell, I don't blame you. Man sprints like Ali and serves like Creed. "

It's Jack's turn to return that grin, that fucking blood-curling grin. " Used to, for sure. Remember when he fucked up your pretty face in '84. Now? He's a street rat barely getting by, sniffing after junk and scraps just to stay alive. Must be hard to think about, I guess, that he used to give it so good and now he can't even hold you, can't he? Not with his cripple self. "

The beer can in Rumlow's hand spills over. Neither comment. "I ain't afraid of no half-man, Brocky, " Honey-sweet words make him sick. He wants to kick Jack out, but they both know he won't stay away, and that Rumlow won't keep him away. He's too dependent on him at this point. "And not stupid enough to think he's coming back."

"... You're right. You're not afraid to fight him. You've got a lot of words worth to point the finger at, but chicken shit? Ain't one of them. You know what I think?" Rumlow sits back, smirk wide and nasty, contradicting the sadness on his tongue, the venom, the tired. " I think you were afraid to be him. That he just? Didn't give a shit. Just like I did. That he could fuck me whenever and wherever he damn well pleased without giving a shit about who had something to say about it.

You were afraid I'd say something about you, even if we both damn well know that never happened, that he found out. I think you were terrified he was gonna tell the world Jack Rollins was a faggot just like his daddy."

He can't snapshot the moment his body makes contact to the floor. He doesn't count the punches either, letting them numb over his face, no longer present for the beating. At around one point, his neck snaps to the TV screen, in sync with Jack ceasing his onslaught, and his eyeballs follow his stunned gaze.

Rumlow can recall the time Barnes lost his right hand.

And he'll brain engrave the image of him kncoking some goon out with his left.

#yeah its rushed but jsjsjs #i was impatient T-T hope this is half decent :>#earth 518 #boxing au #viktor soklov #mary #aleksei vasilliev #aleksei orlov #ryurik orlov #yasha orlov #natalia orlov #ronin orlov #sasha nikolaeva #talia novak #barnes #rumlow #barneslow #tw homophobia #tw slurs

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youngerdaniel · 5 years ago

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Youngo’s 2019 at the Movies (with Baby Yoda)

IT’S THAT TIME AGAIN, FOLKS...

Wherein this blog crawls out of the woodwork with fresh aspirations for a more consistent content strategy in the year to come. Like a Baby Yoda emerging from his floating iron egg to great the sun. So let’s dust off some cobwebs and talk about the great movies that came out in 2019.

BRIEF UPDATES FROM THE WAFFLER This year marked a turning point. No, not that fucking decade that everybody’s making a big deal about. Not even that I hit 30 but thankfully have most of my (still not totally gray) hair... Nope, I went into business for myself. I leapt off the stable lily pad of 9-5 etc. and went freelance! Life’s been full of stories since then -- both the kind I write, and the kind I get to look under the hood on. I’m happy to report I’ve written more than ever before... Just not blogs, and mostly stuff I’m not at liberty to discuss.

*Clears throat. Pulls up the collar on his trench coat.* And I may have had more hair turn gray. Turns out, running your own ship is quite a bit of work, especially when you’re teaching yourself how the hell you do it. Nevertheless, I loved the shit out of every minute of it, and I still use phrases like nevertheless. It could easily be a blog (or several) for a different time, but the short and easy explanation of the absence is I was busy, it was fun, get over it.

Besides, we don’t actually care about whatever lame excuse I have for why I haven’t been posting. We’re here because it’s 2020 and time for a listicle, dammit! This one is neither definitive nor ranked. But dang if 2019′s fodder didn’t come sauntering into theaters like the big chuckling cherub of Christmas Present, with a cornucopia of awesomeness.

THINGS I LOVED, IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

UNDER THE SILVER LAKE David Robert Mitchell’s neo noir takes a fittingly existential approach to detective fiction. An enigmatic case, hidden clues and coded pop culture, Andrew Garfield’s charmingly hapless sleuth... There’s a lot to love in this weird soup of a movie. At times nightmarish, often trippy, and an excellent performance from a parrot. Late night fodder.

CLIMAX Gaspar Noe does not make sane movies. With Climax, there’s a hypnotic quality that sucks you in and drags you along on its nightmarish journey as a group of dancers drink from a punchbowl laced with drugs. The result is absolute bedlam, and everything from the lighting to the camerawork pulls its weight to put you into the action. This is the kind of thing you watch and marvel that, “Wow, they went there.” to varying degrees of satisfaction. Like a freight train barreling toward the side of a mountain, it’s hard to look away even though you know you probably should.

JOJO RABBIT And then there’s a different kind of madness. The movie that billed itself as “The movie that shouldn’t work.” Jojo Rabbit is so full of heart. This is Taika Waititi in full force, and hilarity meets real pathos. Love is better than Nazis. It’s a simple message, and I think it doesn’t need to be much more. The relevance of such a narrative in our time is pretty disappointing, but the truth seems to be that we need ones like this to come along and remind the collective. The mashup of humor with genuine drama is balanced in a way that will feel familiar to fans of THE HUNT FOR THE WILDERPEOPLE or BOY. The performances are superb, and it’s a beautiful looking film. If you missed it last year, start the new one off right and amend this problem.

US The thing I dug the most about US was how unique it felt. Original premises in horror are on the rise, and there’s no denying the man leading the wave is Jordan Peele. The social commentary elements of this followup to GET OUT play with a little more subtlety, and in some ways it almost felt like a stronger move... But I refuse to compare the two of them. US stands out in its own right, and carries some of the most memorable performances of the year. A twisting narrative that crackles with tension, and a concept that haunts the imagination. What if your every action had an equal an opposite effect on a mirrored version of yourself? A study on the impact of the class system, and a nightmarish what-if to explain the real life series of underground tunnels that span the United States. Also, that costume design! That Alexa gag! The way this one opens up at the midpoint was such a delight in the theater. I’d apologize for spoilers, but let’s be real... You’ve seen this movie.

AD ASTRA Best summed up as “Daddy Issues in Space,” AD ASTRA feels like the kind of sci-fi mysteries that were made in the late 70s and 80s. A spellbinding journey to the far edges of the galaxy to save the world, and maybe prove that aliens exist. Oh, and to stop your possibly insane father from destroying the human race on the way. Brad Pitt is on fire, and everything about this potent emotional journey remains focused on his character’s dilemma of deciding whether or not his father was a good man, what it means to him and his own isolated existence, and whether he can overcome that shit and live a life instead of taking risks. From its opening scene to its closing one, this one blends gripping life-or-death set-pieces exploring the dangers of space travel and the cyclical nature of humanity’s progress with small moments. The journey, the heart-wrenching climax, and the harrowing trip home is well worth the rental fee. Check it out.

THE GIRL ON THE THIRD FLOOR

Some horror movies exist to make you think, some exist to cover their protagonists in black goo, subject them to grueling physical and psychological lament, and chuck ‘em through a woodchipper for good measure. The Girl on the Third Floor takes your average premise of “Stubborn and troubled guy picks a fixer-upper house to flip, only to discover horrors beyond his imagining” and leans hard into the gross-outs and festering boils of body horror. Reminiscent of Evil Dead, Amityville, and Dead Alive, there’s so much insanity to love, and the movie makes some big turns -- some surprising, some daring, some a little out there. It is by no means perfect, but it’s got a charm about its rough edges. You will never look at a marble the same way again.

I LOST MY BODY

I know. “A life-affirming work” left me a little skeptical too. But from its very first frame, I LOST MY BODY is arresting. Its hypnotic narrative follows the story of a severed hand in search of its owner, and has great fun carrying you along with its troubled protagonist’s journey from a crush to obsession. The sheer amount of visual storytelling and striking imagery is worth the runtime, but for any arthouse lovers feeling a little too chilled to hop down to the nearest indie theatre can open a new tab and have at it. Didn’t expect to be as moved by this one as I was, and for that I must recommend it.

AVENGERS: ENDGAME The fact that a movie like this can even exist is pretty amazing, and I have to say, as the culmination to the Avengers saga as we know it, ENDGAME delivered something with way more heart and character than I expected. Funny, sad, bittersweet, and massively satisfying. This is the Thanksgiving Turkey dinner of movies. It’s got everything. But the best part for me was how little fighting the big superhero finale of the decade had to it. Firmly rooted in character, taking ambitious and surprising turns in their trajectories, and balancing the fanwanks with a genuinely exciting story. I mean, c’mon. Time heist? A Greatest Hits play that also recontextualizes a few of the lesser films of the sweeping franchise? The third act battle felt a little tacked-on, but the conclusion felt like exactly what we needed.

READY OR NOT I love this movie. Love it like an adorable, scrappy friend who always manages to make their social commentary entertaining. Hide and Seek turns deadly for a bride to be when she meets her future in-laws, the proprietors of a board game company that takes their product very seriously. A darkly funny survive-the-gauntlet-till-morning ride. Great characters. Awesome kills. A few really unexpected and delightfully devilish turns. Oh, and it takes a stab at privilege and how far some people are willing to go to preserve theirs. It’s got teeth, a mean bite, and it’s fun to walk around the neighborhood. If you liked YOU’RE NEXT, you will probably love this movie. I still can’t get its final few moments out of my head. And I mean that in the best way.

PARASITE Speaking of social criticism and privilege, there’s no denying the brute fucking force of PARASITE. Following a struggling family who imbed themselves into a rich family by posing as the help, this madcap game of suspense takes so many surprising turns that even describing the full plot spoils the fun. Go into this one having read as little as possible. It will take you for a spin. Part con movie, part social critique, part comedy and part tragedy, it’s a lot to digest, but it’s a damned tasty treat.

KNIVES OUT In a word, it’s fun. Rian Johnson’s locked room murder mystery packs some wonderful barbs in the side of affluence, armchair activism, and the corruptive nature of wealth. A wealthy novelist is found dead, and all of his family members have motive... But don’t let the familiar set-up fool you, KNIVES OUT plays fair with its audience, but it is a fast runner. The story jumps ahead of you almost every time you think you’ve got it figured out. Daniel Craig’s genius sleuth is full of likable energy, protagonist Marta is full of layers, and the family are all such a pleasure to watch. Several times along the trip, I had no idea where the story would turn next, or how much further the envelope could be pushed, but by the end, I came out marveling at its construction. The production design is unreal. The direction and vibe are so unique, and by the closing image, it’s nearly impossible not to enjoy the shift in values. There’s also a speech involving donuts that I will be reciting at parties for the foreseeable future.

DANIEL ISN’T REAL

I closed off the year with this wildly inventive take on the possession trope. This. Movie. Is. Nuts. Which, considering it was produced by the same folks who did MANDY, shouldn’t come as a surprise. A mind-bending tale that riffs on Jekyll and Hyde, with a great modernization tackling the concept from a mental health perspective... It’s not the first time it’s been done, but the execution is just excellent. We follow a disturbed young man whose imaginary friend hatched from a childhood trauma makes a devilish return to play hell with his adult life. It’s a psychological horror that’s FIGHT CLUB meets THE DOUBLE. Great look. Excellent creature design and visuals for a cosmic horror that makes great use of low budget devices. If you’re looking for the answer to the age old question of “Should my third act involve my protagonist battling his inner demons literally with a rooftop sword fight?” You’ve found your contender.

I’ll tell you this, reader friend. The hardest part about 2019′s slate at the box office was deciding what to see. There were so many interesting movies that came out, brimming with big ideas and social commentary. Sad as the state of the world is, there’s no denying times of unrest have a knack for yielding great art. The Trump era has made its stamp on Hollywood for better or for worse. But the rising tide of voices pushing back give me a bit of hope, and a lot of salve for the whole existential dread thing. I think that, however small it is, is good.

For what it’s worth, none of these films are reinventing the wheel or burning flags... But they are asking questions. Okay, CLIMAX, really isn’t asking anything, but it is fun as hell. There’s just as much merit in the salve as there is in the flame that caused the burn. So may your 2020 be full of entertainment. I’ll try to get some useful content up here at least every couple of months in smaller digestible forms. Now go forth and brunch, you hungover, resolution-breaking slob.

#journal #yearinmovies #2019 #year in review #baby yoda #movies #writing

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deansinkdbitch · 5 years ago

Text

Of the seas and winds

Notes: siren song used is via link to this incredible girl who done a vocal cover of Hans Zimmer's score piece “mermaid” from POT : on stranger tides. Check it out, she’s absolutely haunting to listen to! https://youtu.be/QFo2mpFBIX8

Summary- You meet John Constantine at a local bar in Scotland near the shoreline but not all is as it seems.

Constantine X mer!reader/ fluff and mild violence. Also, its over 5,000 words- I apologise haha! Feel free to give me any feedback/ if you wish me to write more about Velinia and John etc etc etc. :)

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Waves crashed against the Scottish shoreline. Rocks took a mighty beating as the waves became stronger than normal on this brisk night. Only people utterly insane came out on this blustery night in the rain. Of course, there were ALWAYS crazy people out in this typical British weather. As the weather beat down, a tall muscular man stopped dead in his tracks. His dog barked repeatedly but not at him but out towards the sea. The man seemed to get hypnotised by the bearing waves when he could hear a song in his head. “AHH ahhh ahhhh ah...ah ahhh ah...” the melody was simple, and repeated but he couldn’t turn it off. He couldn’t turn away as his feet took charge of his entire being and walked down the stone steps that years of water damage had created. With his feet on a low rock, water crashing over his feet, his jeans soaking the salt water up, he saw her. A maiden with long hair billowing in the harsh winds.

She stared at him with her silvery eyes as her arms crossed her chest combing her fingers through some of her dark hair. “Are you my jolly sailor Bold?” she questioned in a melodic voice. “I can be whatever you want me to be,” he replied smiling, unable to get the song out of his mind. “Just answer me this. Are you the one singing that song?” he questioned. “I am...my sailor. Come... Come closer, I’ll grant you three wishes my jolly sailor.” She practically sang to him, and that’s all it took. He stepped off the rock, arm outstretched to go to her when sea foam lapped at his legs and she leapt towards him with an almighty screech.

With a vicious flip of her golden and silver tail, she grabbed the man removing his hypnotised state, and dragged him down underwater.

Up above his dog barked more viciously, left seeing his owner be dragged by the local mermaid of Culle Bay, Nunton.

---2 weeks Later---

“What can I get ya?” The barman queried as he placed a napkin on the wooden bar and wiped down the top. “Whiskey mate” a Scouse accent replied. “coming up!” came the acknowledged response.

A glass got placed in front of John Constantine, he watched the golden dark liquid got poured into it. “Cheers.” John thanked the bartender, grabbing for his glass. He had been told about a case in Scotland about men disappearing and reappearing days later washed up on shore. He personally thought Chas was talking rubbish but Chas wouldn’t let him pass this one.

“How’d you get into this cases Johnny boy? I mean really... Merfolk.” He mumbled to himself as he let his drink warm his throat as it slid down. He had met all kinds of supernatural beings. Vampires? Check. Demons? Check. Angels? Double bloody check. Hell, he’d even come across werewolves or as he knows most of them to be- lycanthropes. But mermaids?! John was convinced Chas had lost his mind. He’d be doing this job for too many decades to believe they really existed. He truly believed if they did exist then he would have spotted one by now in one matter or another.

“You gonna keep staring lass or can I enjoy my drink without your eyes boring into the side of my skull?” he questioned without even looking to the side of him. Yet he knew there was a girl just sitting there stools away from him staring at him intently. When he had no response from her, he glanced towards her barely even turning his head. She was quite the sight John thought. Her skin was almost translucent, shimmery even. Her hair long and dark. Yet, it wasn’t those features that made him check he even still breathing. It was her eyes. They were golden. Not just bright brown that deceives onlookers into thinking they were gold. They were 100% golden, like the setting sun's rays when they got the water and dance on top of the waves.

“What’s your name love?” John enquired, unable to turn away. He’d met some gorgeous ladies in his time but this woman was hypnotic. She was nothing he’d ever encountered before. Pull it together John.

“Venilia” you tell him. You had some limited English but you understood more than you could speak. You were captivated by John. He seemed so different to the fishermen in this bar. You were intrigued by his look and style. You wondered by he would wrapped slim fabric round his neck. Your curious wandering gaze didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Like what you see?” he smirked. You wasn’t sure if you liked it as you wasn’t even sure if you understood what you saw. All you knew was you couldn’t help standing up, walking over and grabbing his tie in fascination.

This made John chuckle and wonder what drugs you were on. “Its a tie love. Lots of blokes wear them.” He smirked lifting his hand up and grazing yours as he removed his tie from your grip to flatten it back down. Not that he ever wore it properly anyway.

His brief touch threw you off guard and you pulled your hand back towards you rapidly. “You on drugs or something?” he questioned. “Dont worry about her. She’s a regular but don’t think she’s from actually from here. Just comes in and watches everyone and drinks a fuck load of salty water.” The bartender explained to John as he came back out from the back. “Is that so mate?” John responded intrigued. “Yup, but she’s not harming anyone so I let her stay. Think she’s trying to learn English from people.” John gets told before the bartender tends to a new customer who just walked in.

Maybe Chas wasn’t insane after all. He thought to himself. “How about we have a little chat lass. Would love to get to know you,” John suggested as you continued to study his whole demeanor. You step forward and go to sit next to him when you hear a familiar sound from outside and quickly run out the bar. John couldn’t believe what he just witnessed. He saw you run out but he could have sworn you barely made a sound as you placed each foot on the ground. “Dont be stupid, mermaids ain’t real and you’ll prove it.” John mumbled quietly to himself, finishing his whiskey.

“Oh they’re real alright lad! This town is known for having sirens come on stormy nights luring men by their song before dragging them to the sea depths. You’d be wise to believe in what you don’t see boy.” The oldboy next to him chirped. This caused John to just snigger as he placed a five pound note on the bar and getting up. “then I guess I’m wise mate. Just don’t think merfolk are one of the myths that are based in truth.” John quipped back leaving the bar. “Now...where did you go?” he wondered to himself before deciding against looking for you and heading back to the motel by the sea instead for a much needed sleep.

John was standing by the shoreline watching the calm seas wash out into the open world. The sun was incredible which made him glad he had his shades on. “Venilia...” he whispered as he watched you walk out the waters and up the stone steps. Your naked body glistening like sea foam. Meeting you half way John took his trusty trenchcoat off and wrapped it around you.

“You’re back love.” He smiled as you stopped him from guiding you further onto land. “I’ve come to say goodbye John. I cannot return to this world above anymore. I cannot risk your life.” You tell him in perfect English but still essences of your ethereal accent remained. “I can keep myself alive. Come...” John spoke brushing hair out of your face, getting lost in your golden eyes once more.

You leaned forward and placed an intoxicating kiss on his lips before handing back his coat and returning to the sea ..

John woke up the next day his head feeling fuzzy. “What the bloody hell was that?!” he groaned. Sitting up in bed he ran his fingers through his hair. He wondered who you were to create such a dream as that. Romantic dreams were NOT his style. Dreams that were practically porno maybe, but not disney-esque romantic ones. He shuddered in disgust that he had such a dream.

It didn’t take John long to get dressed in his usual outfit and trusty trenchcoat ready to head out and do some research. If one guy said mermaids are real, then surely there must be someone else who’s not drunk nor insane to tell him more information. As he stepped out onto the street, cars screeched down the road sirens blaring. Looking around he saw people standing around watching also. “Hey! What’s gone on?” he questioned, taking out a cigarette and lighting one up taking a deep drag.

“Another guy has been found washed up on the beach dead. Fifth one in two weeks. Poor bastard.” A bystander nearest him explained. Five men in two weeks washed up dead on the beach? Okay, I’m officially curious now. Probably demons pretending to be mermaids. He thought to himself. With a flick up of his coat collar, he begins to stride down towards the edge of the road that leads to the beach. Knowing the beach would be completely surrounded by all kinds of authorities he had to come up with a plan to inspect the body and area without being seen. Unfortunately the only way he could do that was to wait til the body was at the morgue. “bollocks. Okay, wait for the authorities to thin out and the body has gone. Start with the area first. The poor dead bastard will have to wait til tonight.” He thought out loud to himself.

Hiding under the nearest stone pier he watched silently as the dead guy got carted off in a body bag and over time the authorities cordoned off the area and left. It took most of the day, and a lot of fighting restlessness, but John could finally go over. Closing his eyes, he mumbled a spell to himself and with a wave of his hand, he cast a supernatural scan of the scene. “Now... Let’s see what we find” John said to himself. Looking around he was beginning to think it was pointless until a tiny glimmer began to reveal itself in the sand. “Hello” he remarked in an almost flirty sing song. “And what might you be?” he enquired, bending down and picking up the object in question. If was thin and scaly but not as thin as a fish scale. He wasn’t sure what it belonged to. Nothing he had seen before anyway.

He stared intently, before placing it in the palm of his hand and muttering an identification spell. It was then he began to hear an incredibly haunting song play all around him. Looking frantically around him he found nothing. The song grew louder and it felt it was burying itself so deeply into his mind, he felt like he was losing all control of his senses. Quickly snapping out of it, he rapidly shoved some headphones into his ears and stopped the spell. “close call” he muttered to himself. Could they really be real??

On the other side of the beach by a nearby rock, you hid watching him. Being on the surface in daylight was dangerous, but you had to watch him with so much curiosity in your eyes. You had never come across someone like him before. He fascinated you and now you had witnessed for yourself he could use magic, your curiosity peaked to all new heights. He was different. You could sense it but the thought of your family finding out terrified you. It actually saddens you seeing so many human men die at the hands of them. All because one man denied your mother’s love many decades ago. She cursed the land folk as she called him, to forever fall under the spell of the siren song and die in the waves. It’s why she called you Velinia for it meant ‘of the sea and the wind'.

“Velinia!!” you heard your name be called in your native tongue and it was one of your pod ushering you to come back into the sea. You did as requested but you did so reluctantly. “I’m sorry Oceania” you apologise sheepishly before diving under water causing your fluke to splash the water. “Why were you up on the surface? Your mother would kill you like those men up above if she knew you didn’t wait until the night sky rose.” She practically lectured to you, but it was out of worry. Oceania was your best friend. “One of them has picked my curiosity. He was inspecting the ground where mother left the body. He used magic dear Oceania.” You explained to her before she quickly wrapped her hand over your mouth. “A human witch?! Velinia they’re dangerous!” Oceania exclaimed in worry.

“I don’t think he is. He’s different. He doesn’t even believe in us.” You quietly tell her. No more words were exchanged whilst you both swam into the dark cave that brought you deep into the ocean depths.

John managed to charm his way into the morgue and checked the body of the latest sea victim. He choked and gagged at the pungent sea salt smell that emanated off the body. There were deep scratches running from his shoulders down his chest. Claw marks down his legs also. His skin had already started to take on a shade of grey but it was the missing heart that interested John the most. “That’s a werewolf trait. Interesting. Seems like I’m going to have to find a mermaid expert to see if this is typical.” He continued to think out loud whilst he took photos on his phone of the injuries sustained.

He decided he should start at the fisherman’s pier to see if anyone knew of anyone that lived and breathed mermaid folklore. Walking over he must have asked several people but no one knew who could help him. Hell, some even laughed at him. “You’re the one from the bar last night lad! I can help you aye.” The old man from last night spoke up, wiping his hands down his jumper walking over to him. “You’ll want to speak to Helen. She owns the nautical shop in the main town centre. Word has it she knows everything about those water beasts.” He explained and John thanked him before heading to the shopping area.

It didn’t take too long to find the shop in question as it had a mermaid as it’s logo. Stepping inside he saw an older woman with greying hair behind the counter. “Excuse me love, you Helen?” John questioned. “That’d be true. What can I help you with?” Helen replied professionally. “I was told you were the one to come to if I wanted information on mermaids.” John said straight forwardly but with a charming twist. “Sorry I can’t help you.” Helen quickly stammered, her whole body language and features changing. She no longer oozed that friendly shop owner persona.

“See love, I think you can. I’m here about the rumours of a mermaid killing your townsfolk and that if innocent blokes are getting killed, that don’t sit well with me.” John explained, dropping the level of charm and switching it to a time of force. “I’m John Constantine Helen, and I’m an exorcist, demonologist and master of the dark arts. I hunt the supernatural if they hunt us.” He properly introduced himself. He studied Helen’s features to gauge what her next move would become and he deep down felt relieved when she relaxed.

“You can’t kill these beautiful creatures. They’re already so far and between hence why people think they’re a myth. But they’re smart. REAL smart. They’re not your stereotypical Ariel. They’re predators in the waters.” She began explaining as she offered John a seat out in her office where they could talk in private. “Ariel? What the fuck is that?” John questioned not having a clue what this woman was on about. “Should have guessed. She’s Disney’s take on a mermaid.” Helen told him. “Dont do Disney lass. I’m not a kid.” John quipped. This just earned him an eye roll from Helen.

“Thing is they’re as dangerous as they are beautiful. There’s many legends of the merfolk. One is that they started life as winged muses in Olympus. They were known as Sirens back then and lost to the God's muses where they were cast out and sent to earth’s seas. There they grew tails where their legs used to be. In spite of having their wings stripped and being cast out, they used their song to guide sailors towards their rocky refuge and seduced them before killing them. Some they kept and turned into mermen so they could breed.” Helen started explaining and John couldn’t help himself be interested.

“So they were wrathful bitches who took out their anger on all men because they couldn’t spite the Greek gods?” he clarified, making sure he got it right. “Correct. Other legends are based on the country. Lots are similar to ours. It’s said by some the mermaid Caesg was spotted on the beach one day in 1880. After a woman spotted her, a young lad threw a rock at her head and she scarpered back to the sea. The next day she was found dead from the head wound further up the beach. Tail and all. They buried her at the church. Others say Caesg entranced a man by the rock pier and fell in love with him. However he betrayed her by loving someone else so she cursed the men of this place to forever fall victim to the same fate.” Helen told solemnly.

“And which do you believe?” John asked. “I believe they’re both true. I believe the mermaid killed was Caesg's daughter. I believe it wasn’t the betrayal of unrequited love that made her curse the men of this town. I believe it was the death of her first born.” Helen truthfully told. “the wrath of a mother losing a child to murder will trump any of that love will create.” Helen actually made sense John thought. He was convinced that she’d be some crazed lunatic but hearing how serious she sounded, he actually believed her. “Another thing, can you tell me if these wounds match that of a mermaid attack?” He asked, handing her his phone with the photos. The sad sigh that escaped her lips and the way her hand clasped at her chest told him the answer would be yes.

“Yes. If they feel betrayed by man they’ll tear his heart out and scar him so deep they’ll forever be marked even in death.” Helen explained once more to him. Thank you love.” He replied, taking his phone, he stood up to leave. “One more thing Mr Constantine. The legends of their song hypnotising men? That’s true. Be careful of what melodies you hear. Good luck.” Helen said one last time before wishing John farewell.

John decided to walk along the seafront back to the motel. He had a lot to mull over and research for what spells would be right to fight a creature of the sea. He couldn’t believe he was beginning to believe despite trying to stay sceptical. What he wasn’t aware of was a certain pair of golden eyes from a afar watching him.

You had made it back to the surface now the moon was high. You wasn’t ready to fully leave the water until you knew it was fully safe. It was then you spotted John walking along the seafront back to the motel. You quickly darted behind a rock and peered your head round watching with fascination. Watching him place what seemed to be a stick in his mouth and use fire magic to light it, you wondered what it was and why he placed it in his mouth. It was ever so bizarre to you. Humans were a strange species indeed. You noticed that the coast was finally clear and John was in the motel. So you lifted yourself up and shape shifted into your human figure. As you did so, you lifted your hands up your sides and created a simple floaty strap dress out the sea foam crashing on the shore.

“John...” you repeated a few times to yourself in his language as you walked up off the beach and towards the motel he was staying at. You had no idea what you were going to do when you saw him. You just knew you had to. “Velinia! Don’t!” you heard from behind you in your native language and you looked behind to see Oceania looking clearly worried. “I’ll be fine sister!” you called back before turning your back to the sea and headed to the motel. Walking in the main door you saw someone at the desk. You stepped up towards them and simply spoke one word “John”. Looking up the receptionist almost dropped his jaw at your beauty. “Sorry lass, this isn’t a place for that sort of service.” He told you, but you had no idea what he meant. “John” you repeated, a smidge louder this time but not to the point of shouting. “and I told ye are lass, we don’t allow sex services here. So if ye looking for a John check the bar” the receptionist said once more. You didn’t understand much but you understood the words sex and bar. “N...no ... John....here” you stammer, trying so hard to speak coherent English.

“You after me love?” you heard a familiar accent call out. Turning to your right he saw him. John from last night. When he looked up he recognised your distinctive look instantly. “Bloody hell! It’s you.” He gasped, quickly walking towards you and put his arms round you. “Sorry mate. It’s not what you think. I know this lass. Thanks for finding her. Been worried sick all day looking for her.” John convincingly lied guiding you to his room. Stepping inside, you looked around wide eyed. It was so different to the bar where you studied how humans spoke.

“Yeah... It’s not much but it’s a bed for a couple of nights.” John told you, ruffling his hands through his scruffy blonde hair. Spinning round on your dainty feet, you smiled. God that smile could melt hearts. He thought to himself. “Why were you looking for me? I’m not that memorable.” He asked you, genuinely curious. You glided towards him with such an innocence to you, but he found it greatly alluring. You placed your hands on his chest, lightly guiding them over as you inspected his body. “woah” he gasped actually taken aback. He was used to him being the forward one. “John...teach... Velinia” you slowly said, gazing into his eyes.

“Teach you what? Who are you?” John was baffled. “John...” you stated, patting his chest. “Velinia” you stated once more, patting your chest. “Your name is Velinia?” he queried. With a nod you smiled. “My name...Velinia”. You repeat, whilst learning. “I take it you’re not from bonny ol’ Scotland judging by your accent.” John spoke, walking over to the mini bar and taking one of the mini bottles of alcohol. “Mmhmm...” you respond with shaking your head. You didn’t know the word so you figured this was the best response to do.

“So where are you from?” John asked, sitting on the end of the bed, patting beside him to guide you to sit beside him. You tilted your head in confusion glancing from the bed to him. With a smirk appearing at the corners of his lips, he told you to come sit beside him. You did as suggested and a little gasp escaped your lips at how the bed bounced slightly under your weight. “I’ve never known someone surprised by a bed before.” John chuckled. This made you look instantly embarrassed as you let your hair fall in front of your face. The next move took you off guard even more as John reached his hand up and gently pulled your hair off your face and behind your ear. God you’re beautiful beyond words he thought to himself. You glanced up at him watching him intently. He found himself not being able to break your gaze. Your eyes...they were something else. “Velinia... I...” he breathed as he leaned in closely to you, and you responded by mimicking his actions. If there was one thing you did know it was the lead up to a kiss.

Closing the gap between you both, you pressed your lips against John’s, where he instantly took the lead kidding you with power and lust. Yet it was also slow. Normally he wouldn’t waste time. He’d be hungry and impatient to speed the situation up but something was powering his mind and body to not do exactly that. You were different, you made him act differently and he liked it. Your lips tasted salty like the sea and yet it didn’t deter him away. The kiss seemed to last forever when it actual fact it was only a couple of minutes before you both broke away from each other.

Smiling, you looked intently into his eyes as John swept your hair out of your face and behind your ear. He wanted to speak, to say something but he couldn’t find the words which was unlike him. “...I stay...here to...night?” you ask in broken English which truth be told, John was beginning to find quite adorable. It was a quirk that he found made you all that more endearing. “You want to stay here with me tonight?” He asked, clarifying your question, gaining a little smirk on his lips. You nod “yes” you confirm smiling back. “Sure. You can have the bed and I’ll use the chair love.” John graciously offered. This offer made you look across the room to the chair in the right hand corner, you grimaced at the sight of it. “What? I’ve slept in worse places! Can’t think of any right now...” John rambled, deep down knowing he really could think of worse places on the spot but he didn’t want to terrify you.

“Both....bed” you suggested, hoping it was the right term to use. “Share the bed? It’ll be a tight fit love, it’s a single bed.” John questioned. Not that he minded the idea of snuggling tightly to you for the night. Once again, you nodded and a defiant little 'mm' sound escaped your lips. Seeing you go from almost timid to defiant made John plaster a cocky grin on his face. “okay then. I guess we’re sharing the bed!” he confirmed. It wasn’t long before you got distracted by other various objects in the room. Things you never encountered in the bar....like the TV. Where you sat you never noticed the bar actually had one, and here you were up close to one. John, still on the bed with the remote in hand turned it on and you got do startled, you jumped back.

This made John burst into laughter. “I’m sorry lass...I couldn’t help myself! Here, I’ll show you how I did it.” John spoke through giggles, sighing and wiping laughter tear from his eye. You walked back to the bed and curled up beside him, in an attempt to not fall off the edge. He handed you the remote control. “This thing here controls the TV over there. Press that button there” he explained, pointing the channel up button. Pressing it, you saw the TV change from an old black and white image to a full colour one with completely different humans inside. You did it again and sea creatures came on which made you jump up and pounce towards the TV again. You held your hand against the screen as jellyfish swam in the ocean inside.

You stayed there for a while because you fell asleep on the floor, causing John to smile, get off the bed, walk over and pick you up to carry you to the bed. Soon after that, you both were fast asleep.

A siren began to sing on the beach....

The two of you awoke rapidly. “What is that sound?” John queried, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. “Oh no...” you muttered, recognising the call of your mother. She was on the prowl once more.

You scurried off the bed and practically ran out the motel room, with John scrambling to try and follow you. “Velinia wait up!” he shouted, as he caught you dash across the road, barely missing the one truck that was still on the road. “Bollocks!!” he cursed, fumbling getting his left arm in his trenchcoat sleeve before making it across the road and following you down to the pier. Panting, he looked around everywhere but you were gone. “Oh pissing hell!! Velinia where you go love?!” he shouted, he could have sworn you went this way. He never loses people, so how on earth did you escape him so damn quickly.

Then that sound... No, that music started again. He desperately shaking his head, trying to fight off the magic he could feel trying to control his mind, but nothing he did could fight it. He couldn’t even keep his mind straight to come up with a contradicting spell to help himself out. He followed the sound down to the rocks below the pier where low and behold there was a mermaid sitting on a bolder.

“Are you my jolly sailor Bold?” she asked John and he couldn’t find the answer to respond. He just stepped closer, reaching out. “No, you’re not my sailor Bold.... You belong to Velinia...” she spoke, but there was malice in her words. John was tainted as far as she was concerned, so she grabbed his arm in one fast swift action and dragged him to the sea below. The rapid action snapped John out of the hypnotic state he had fallen into. He went to speak but realised he was under water. Thrashing against the grip that was had on him, he looked behind and knew he wasnt imagining things. Mermaids really were real. “You dare connect with this one Velinia? You defy all our rules?!”

John couldn’t understand anything, but he was smart enough to know this was an language being spoken. He never once stopped thrashing whilst he still had breath in him. No way was he going down without a fight. The mermaid grew more and more intolerant to John’s thrashing. Seeing a rock on the sea bed, she dived deeper, stretching out her hand, grabbed the rock and lifting her hand high above his head. “NO!” Velinia screamed, swimming out of the seaweed where you was hiding. Stretching out her arms, you knew you had to save him. John was special. You senses the magic inside him from your first encounter but you also sensed so much more.

“You’d pick this human over your own kind?!” your mother practically spat. “Yes! He’s different! Leave him be!” you cried back, fully aware John was staring right at you in disbelief you weren’t human. “Fine! Then try to save his soul before it’s too late! You my dear are vanquished from this pod!! I curse you to be human and to never return to us!” your mother hissed at you, knowing this was the worst punishment your kind could ever receive. At that point, your mother slammed the rock over John’s head, knocking him out and leaving him to sink further down. With a strong kick of your fin, you dived towards him and grabbed him before swimming back up towards the surface. As each kick got you closer, you felt your mother’s curse take it’s control and soon enough you were breaking the surface with not a fun, but two human legs.

Pulling John to safety you stayed beside him. “Please...be alive.” You begged, tears stinging your eyes as they bubbled to the surface and rolled down your cheeks. With a hefty groan, John came round, wincing as he felt the back of his head. “Damn that hurts.” He complained before you pounced on him, wrapping your arms round him and sobbed. “I thought she killed you” you cried. Taken aback, John let his kind catch up to what happened before hugging you back. “It’ll take more than a rock to kill me love.” John reassured you. “hang on.... you’re a mermaid??” he pulled you back to take your appearance fully in. Though, he saw no tail, no fluke...just legs. You nodded solemnly, I was... Mother...she cursed me. Cannot go back... Human...” you explained, patting your chest to try and help your explanation of your new found situation. “I know she’s your mother but what a bitch! You were gorgeous Velinia. You still are mind.” John responded, feeling sad and angry for you.

“You’re not alone though Velinia.” John told you, lifting your head up by your chin with his index finger. You slowly glance up at him and wonder how he could say such a thing. You haven’t learned nearly enough of his world to live alone. He could see the tears brimming to the edge of your eyes and he just grabbed you pulling you into his chest. He knew if you were to be go back to the warehouse with him, you’d be in danger by the demons that are after him. You were special. Unique. That would make you valuable in Hell's eyes.

With a hefty sigh, and much inner arguing in his mind he kissed the top of your head. “I’ll call my mate Chas. He can pick us up and you can come back with me. I’ll help you get on your feet and learn more about this world. But lass, it’s not going to be safe being around me for long.” John forewarned you. You nodded and your lips stammered as you searched for your words. “Thank you... John Constantine” he smiled, running his hand through your hair.

“Just call me John love.”

#john Constantine #Constantine X reader #fanfiction #matt ryan Constantine #mermaid lore #Constantine mermaid crossover

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kootenaygoon · 5 years ago

Photo

So,

Before changing ownership a decade previous, Tony’s Taphouse had been a biker bar called the Civic. Notorious for its rough clientele and routine bouts of violence, and for harbouring regulars who acted like nocturnal animals, most locals knew it as the Zoo. It had been the preferred haunt for the Hell’s Angels, who had long since been banned from the premises.

“It took us a long time to turn things around,” my boss told me one night, while I manned the door for a Val Kilmer and the New Coke concert. A crowd of twenty-somethings were smoking all around us.

“Whenever we tried to get people to behave they’d say ‘don’t you know this is the Zoo?’ And I would say ‘yes, and I’m the new zookeeper’.”

My boss reminded me of a small child in an enormous body, slightly immature and with a propensity for breaking stuff. He had a reputation for overdoing things, to the point that the Nelson Police Department had nailed him for multiple assault charges. The other bouncers told me he was well known for choke-slamming unruly patrons into unconsciousness, which was the reason he was no longer allowed to assist us when we ejected the city’s shitheads and drunks. The guy was easily 300 pounds, and scary as hell when provoked. The rest of the time he was an amiable teddy bear, quick to laugh and always game to sing “Chocolate Salty Balls” from South Park at karaoke, much to the chagrin of his embarrassed wife.

Most of my shifts were spent alongside a fellow ginger beard named Luke who liked playing bad cop to my good cop. During the day he worked at a pet food store, and he was well-known as a huge softie when it came to animals. While I had a tendency to treat Tony’s like my own personal Cheers, he was monosyllabic and ominous. Late into the night we would hang by the entrance swapping jokes and taking turns shovelling back lettuce wraps and chicken strips, clad in all black.

Eventually I suggested we should update our uniforms. There was a local barber named Chris Brach who bounced at Spiritbar and I admired how he dressed and carried himself like an old-school gentleman. We ultimately settled on matching vests with dress button-down shirts, with each bouncer choosing their favourite colour. I chose a blood red that was almost purple, while Luke went with sky blue. Eventually the whole team adopted this new look, making the whole place that much classier.

Working at Tony’s gave me a whole new perspective on Nelson. I knew who was doing drugs, who was cheating on their spouse, and who was banned from the premises until they came grovelling back to the owners. The Nelson Leafs were preening and omnipresent as peacocks, and in the early hours of the evening I’d encounter the more wholesome members of society as they engaged in events like paint night. Sometimes people would approach me with the latest issue of the Nelson Star, commenting on stories or complimenting me on the cover photo. The print edition was becoming increasingly irrelevant, but Tony’s was one of the few places I could regularly see people consuming it alongside their beer.

From where we stood during our shifts, we looked out at a sports bar that took up the ground floor of the Adventure Hotel. Because we were open later than any other establishment in Nelson, we would watch as the late night crowd funnelled in our direction. Crowds of drunk twenty-somethings would march diagonally across the intersection, ignoring the cross-walks, and it was our job to interpret whether or not they could come into Tony’s based on their lurching gait. Some would nod solemnly when we denied them access, while others would whip themselves into deranged frenzies. They would scream their threats to the uncaring black sky, or demand to talk to the owners. These people pissed me off.

“You’re a good bouncer and everyone loves you, but the other staff have told me you have a tendency to go from zero to sixty pretty quick,” my other boss told me, during a performance review. She was the owner.

“We don’t think it’s a problem, but it’s something we want you to watch out for. Obviously this job can be stressful at times, so it’s up to you to keep your temper in check. It’s about customer service.”

Though there were plenty of threats of violence at Tony’s, it was rare that we actually had to put our hands on people. Most were cowed into submission by our size, and knew they had to play nice if they wanted continued access to the bar. We tried to kill them with kindness, calling them cabs and reassuring them that they’d be welcomed back once they sobered up. More than once I found myself consoling despondent drunks who were horrified by their own behaviour, going through a break-up, or grieving. Some were so confused and inebriated they didn’t know how to get home. I came to love these idiots, or at least most of them, because I considered them part of the Tony’s family.

The most interesting employee was a behemoth brute named Gordo, a holdover from the days of the Zoo, who looked exactly like a bearded Bobby Baccala. The female staff adored him because of his gentle, benevolent presence. He made people feel safe. He wasn’t a bouncer anymore because, like my boss, he’d gone overboard a few too many times. He lived downstairs and oversaw the daily operations, and was only called to help during emergencies. He was the type of guy you didn’t want to fuck with, ever. He loved Tony’s and everyone on staff intensely, and if violence was needed he was more than capable of dispensing it. I’d never met someone with such a fascinating mix of kindness and malevolence to his personality, and I admired how effectively he funnelled his anger in appropriate directions.

One night, during a slow period, he stood out on the street and regaled me with stories of his bouncing days in Toronto. During those years he’d been stabbed and shot multiple times, a fact he delivered with a shy chuckle.

“This one guy was shaking my hand, right? And with his other hand he stabbed me right here,” Gordo said, pointing to his rib cage.

“So I pulled him close to me and snapped his elbow backwards, just like this.”

Gordo recreated the scene with a smile on his face, demonstrating how the guy’s arm had bent the wrong way while the bones snapped and popped. He’d regained control of the situation while the knife was still plunged hilt-deep into his side. He laughed and wiped his eyes, remembering.

“I was a lot bigger back then, if you can imagine that. So the knife didn’t end up doing much damage. It didn’t hit anything significant. Meanwhile this guy’s a puddle on the ground in front of me, whimpering like a little girl.”

When I wasn’t on the door, I would work my way slowly through the lounge area and out to the back patio where people were allowed to smoke. There was a row of comfortable couches and a long counter where people could pull up stools and drink under the gaze of Elephant Mountain. At times I couldn’t believe I was being paid to socialize, and the dance floor playlist introduced me to a new favourite artist: a young Swedish woman named Tove Lo. If we’re talking body, she sang, You got a perfect one so put it on me. If you do me right, we’ll fuck for life, on and on and on.

Paisley had finally moved home to be with her parents, and her absence had proven to be a boon to my mental health. I still missed my dogs desperately but I was finally free to move on without her constant surveillance and gossip. I decided early on that I wouldn’t date anyone on staff, but there was no shortage of young women who would find excuses to linger by the door or stand outside smoking, sizing me up. Most nights I was still ending up at Natalya’s, where I would crawl into her bed and cap the night off with an early morning fuck in the dark. She’d leave her front door unlocked and we’d pant through our routine without speaking a word. She’d resigned herself to the fact I wasn’t interested in anything beyond that, and she never bothered me with small talk. We had what we had, and that was it.

The sleep deprivation involved with working at Tony’s ended up meaning that I spent most of my weekends asleep, recovering in Brendan’s basement and only leaving the house for necessities. Sunday was my only day off, and I needed that down time to get in the right headspace for the Star. I had a couple of ambitious series going on, including one about the Columbia River Treaty, and I needed my mental faculties operating properly to adequately approach these subjects. I could sense that Ed was growing tired of my rock star attitude and reluctance to put in a full 40-hour work week. I kept finding myself asking why I was still there, but I didn’t have another option available. Both jobs and housing were scarce in Nelson, and I was barely holding on.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I told my friend Tia one night. She worked at the Hume Hotel but had started her own business called Wurst Dog. We’d been discussing whether I could find some sort of entrepreneurial gig to transition to once I was finished with journalism.

“You just have to take a chance and jump, kid,” she said. “Then see where you land. I’m sure there’s all kinds of people in this town who would give you a job doing social media or something.”

“Or maybe I could be a full-time bouncer and write on the side? Finally finish my manuscript? I dunno.”

Tia smiled and mussed my hair.

“I believe in you,” she said. “You’ve got this.”

The Kootenay Goon

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pallasperilous · 6 years ago

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Morning Glory

Rating: Gen/Teen Word Count: 1795, complete Pairing: Dean/Castiel Tags: Temporarily Human Castiel, Canon universe, anxiety, insomnia, sleep disorders, angel vessels, references to the Empty, references to alcohol abuse AO3 version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163709 Prompt: Written as a lil clapback to the fanon trope that Human!Castiel Is Not A Morning Person. (For @cr-noble-writes and @chuckwinchester)

Dean couldn’t really explain why he’d assumed Cas would suck at mornings. Maybe the 24/7 bedhead and the “it’s always 5 o’clock somewhere” shadow; maybe the fact he never really seemed convinced that “taking a shower” and “eating breakfast” weren’t just some elaborate long con they’ve been pulling on him for the last half a goddamn decade. Maybe just the way he veers into grouchy asshole territory whenever the world takes a dump on his shoes, which is kind of the definition of mornings.

Whatever: Cas just seems like the kind of guy who’d need forty minutes of silence and three cups of coffee before he’d count as human.

Hey, well, joke’s on Dean, ‘cuz the guy definitely (currently) counts as human, and he’s awake at five fucking thirty in the morning, every morning, bright-tailed and bushy-eyed and talking a mile a minute. A mile a second. He’s breaking the sound barrier and exerting serious G-forces.

Dean would tear his own face off if he thought it’d make the dude shut up until the Pop-Tarts came up. Instead he just kinda lets the Cas Chatter wash over him, like really phlegmy birdsong, or the world’s weirdest morning chit chat show.

Cas has at least taught himself to make coffee –– apparently all on his own, since Sam isn’t taking credit for it, and Sam loves taking credit for shit. It’s not the worst coffee, either. I mean, it’s bad coffee, nobody here is drinking Good Coffee, it’s a weapon, not an experience –– but it’s not watery or full of grounds or made with orange juice or some other weird dumbass goof.

Sam’s take is that maybe Jimmy Novak was a Morning Person and now that Cas isn’t using the guy’s body as a kind of celestial thermos, some of the dude’s original behaviors or genetics or whatever are sort of…coming back online, reasserting themselves. “Like the burger thing,” Sam says, shrugging.

“Well, that’s ten kinds of fucked up,” Dean answers, but then the goddamn ghoul turns out to be a whole Leave It To Beaver nuclear ghoul family and the conversation gets extremely tabled.

There’s a morning awhile after where Dean wakes up still drunk and can’t handle the thought of two more hours riding the motel bed over the rolling seas of FuckUpistan, so he gets up and showers off the townie bar fug as best he can without waking Sam – only Sam, because it’s dawn and so Cas is already up and probably singing Disney princess songs to the seagulls haunting the trashcans in the parking lot.

Dean reaches to scoop his keys and does a bleary double take when they’re not on the nightstand. He takes a moment to freak out at the possibility of Cas doing his clutch-smiting routine on the Impala, but something twigs and he peels open the door and yep, the car’s still in the lot, outlined in scribbly motel neon and highway dawn pink. There’s a faint warble of bass rolling off it in time tooooo…Dean’s gonna say Hole in the Sky? So he kinda queases his way over the lumpy asphalt and knuckles on the driver side window and Cas jumps a fucking foot, or he would if he weren’t wearing the goddamn lap belt in a perfectly stationary car.

Dean thumbs at the other side and Cas shakes himself off enough to lean over and pop it for him. Dean slides in and the car smells like three hour-old motel check-in desk coffee – his stomach immediately tries to file a lawsuit but the sanctity of the leather interior wins over his bodily need to evacuate poisons every time. Cas’s hands are back on the steering wheel, gripping it at 10 and 2 like a good boy but with his knuckles the color of popcorn, an abused-looking paper cup empty on the seat besides him, and Sabbath is still living on the profits of pride at top volume. Dean rolls it down to conversational levels so he doesn’t have to scream when he says “What’s the story, morning glory?”

Reminder: Dean is definitely still drunk.

Thankfully Cas doesn’t really know from Oasis or Sunday morning BJs so Dean just gets two blue eyeballs full of blank terror.

Dean tries again, picks the cup up off the seat. There’s a rind of dried coffee juice inside. “What’s up? Sunrise three minutes off? Songbirds outta order? Thought you’d be out here braiding your hair and frolicking in the dew or some shit.”

Cas blinks, which is something he’s been doing a lot more lately and frankly is a weird look for him. “No,” he says, voice cracking. “I haven’t done any of those things this morning.” He frowns, which is a little better. “Or any morning, to my knowledge.”

“So, what then? Bad dreams?”

Cas scrunches his face up in his left hand, pulls it back through his already frankly insane hair, sighs out a gust of Eau de Flopsweat. “No. I didn’t dream at all.”

“Congrats.”

Cas goggles back at him. “As much as I dislike dreaming as a…subject, instead of an observer. I find its absence.” He hesitates. “Much worse.”

Dean rubs his eyes because this has that angsty metaphysical angel pong to it and that’s really more of a Sam Specialty. “How’s it worse? I drink for those nights, man. It’s a few hours off of. You know.” He gestures at The Universe, Generally. “All this shit.”

Cas scoffs and leans back in the seat, although he doesn’t release the wheel from the iron grip. “Dean, in almost four billion years of existence –”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, because this is the traditional overture to an absolute diarrhea of angelsplaining.

Cas ignores him, or maybe Sabbath covers his tracks – “I have never been rendered…unconscious.”

Dean gives him a look, because bullshit. “C’mon. I’ve seen you knocked out before. Down for the count.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’ve been forced to cede control over my vessel. I’ve withdrawn into it to preserve myelf. I’ve experienced a fugue state, or been made to retroactively forget details of my experience. But I have never.” He breathes in through his nose, the edges of his nostrils going white to match his knuckles. “I’ve never been insensate and unaware at the same time.”

Some asshat pulling his rig out of the diner across the way opens up his jake brake and Cas flinches at the crack.

“Huh,” is about what Dean’s got to serve up. “You worried somebody’s gonna snuff you while you’re down? We can take shifts when we’re on the road, if that’s what’s freakin’ you out.”

Another shake of the head. “Anyone truly invested in eliminating me specifically in this…state would be too powerful or competent to be defended against through normal means. Angels can be killed, Dean. My experience of a mortal death would be – ” he cuts himself off. “Less worrisome than the alternative, in many ways.”

“Cool, so, being murdered in your sleep, not a concern.”

“I’m more concerned,” Cas huffs, “that I am unable to defend you.” His forehead droops down towards the steering wheel, like a houseplant somebody forgot to water before a Disneyland vacation.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Dean says.

“I am not,” Cas answers, “fucking kidding you.”

Dean snorts. “I made it thirty years without your feathery ass watching over me. Now you’ve just got a normal-ass…ass, you think I’m suddenly shaking in my boots? C’mon, man.”

Cas shrugs, which looks even weirder on him than the blinking.

Dean twiddles the paper cup, rolls it between his palms. “You haven’t been, like, watching me and Sam sleep, have you? Because you know I can stand that Twilight shit.”

“No,” Cas says, in a tone of infinite offense, like Dean has suggested he sleeps in girls underwear or something. “But, Dean. The experience of sleep. Dreamless sleep. It’s not. It’s not dissimilar to what we are told to expect, as angels, after death.”

(The music slides over into Symptom of the Universe and Dean desperately wishes he’d left something peppier in the deck when they pulled in last night.)

“Only I’m given to understand that we are at least…in company with each other. Though silent and unaware. We share the same sleep. In a way it’s a return to our origin as an undifferentiated host. But in human sleep.” He looks over at Dean, face slack. “You’re alone. Prisoner in a corporeal cell. Did you know,” he goes on, practically stepping on himself, warming up the verbal jet engines, “that some individuals experience a phenomenon where, upon waking, they suffer a period of total bodily paralysis?”

Dean frowns. “Yeah. Sounds shitty.”

Cas nods. “Jimmy experienced it semi-regularly.” Then he looks out and up, squints at the motel sign. Maybe he needs glasses.

“So you inherited it, huh?” Dean says, softly. Cas doesn’t respond. “So, sleeping’s shit. And waking up’s shit.”

Cas’s squint turns into a wince. “In the Bunker, I’ll get up and make coffee.”

Dean waggles the mutilated cup. “Yeah, noticed that. Thinking of buying stock in Folger’s.”

“I’ll visit the archives, or. Write letters.” (Who the fuck is he writing letters to, Dean idly wonders? Dear Angel Abby?) “Go up to the roof to,” he glances at Dean, anticipating the eyeroll, “watch the dawn. On the road, it’s…more difficult to keep myself occupied. Keep my mind off of the fact that I can no longer hear the rest of the host. That I am,” he stretches his palms out over the wheel, tenses his clenched fingers, “quite nearly useless,”

“Cas,” Dean says, even more softly.

“And that, in a mere matter of hours,” Castiel closes his eyes, or the eyes he is currently doing business under. “The cycle will repeat.”

“Cas,” Dean says. And he reaches out what he suspects is the memory of Mom’s hand and sets his palm on the back of the guy’s neck, against the damp skin and unwashed hair. The muscles there relax but the blue eyes stay closed and Dean drops the cup on the floor and sets the other hand that’s just his on the side of Cas’s face, and slowly sweeps the side of his thumb over the sandpaper jaw and waxy cheekbone.

And he pulls Cas’s head towards him, then down against his own shoulder and chest. Cas’s hands peel off the steering wheel and drift to lie, palms open, up, across their undistinguished assortment of kneecaps and thighs.

After awhile, a few more tracks in the tape, Cas’s breathing goes smoothe and deep. Dean feels eyelashes flicker against his collarbone – guy’s already dreaming.

Dean watches the dawn, reflected on motel windows.

#spn fanfic #deancas #castiel is not a morning person #pallasperilous fic #dean winchester #human!cas

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idabbleincrazy · 6 years ago

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A Fish May Love A Bird

Pairing: GabrielxReader

Characters: Gabriel, Sam, Dean, Cas, au!Charlie Bradbury, Rowena, Jack Kline, mentions of other bunker residents

Word Count: 8009 (aaaahhhhh!!!! how did that happen?!)

Warnings: angst, some fluff, major blood loss, jealousy, idk what else

Summary: Gabriel wants to throw a Halloween masquerade. Reader is starting to realize feelings that weren’t there before. (i still suck at summaries)

A/N: this was inspired by this month’s Trope prompt on @gabriel-monthly-challenge Prompt: Mistaken or hidden identity because someone is in a costume or mask. It started out as a small idea, and snowballed from there. took inspiration from the movie Ever After (switched up the quote a bit to fit the characters better).

One Week Till Halloween

You were in the kitchen when you heard the bunker door thud shut. Cas and Dean were sitting at one of the tables in the library looking for a new case. You went about fixing dinner for your various new housemates until you heard Sam call for you from the library. You set the timer on the oven and walked out to see what he wanted.

“Yeah, Sam?” You walked into the library and saw the three men standing around a huge package set on one of the tables.

“Did you order something, y/n? This was waiting for us at the post office, but there’s no name on it. It’s just addressed to our P.O. Box; there’s no return address either.” Sam looked over to you as Cas reached out to the box slowly, face scrunched up as though trying to sense if there was anything unnatural inside it.

“No, I haven’t ordered anything since before our last case. Maybe one of the new guys did?” You walked over to the table and inspected the box. The box itself was unremarkable, but the shipping label, oddly enough, was handwritten in a long flowing script, almost as though it had been made with a quill. It was strange, to say the least.

Dean looked up from the box and shook his head. “No. We haven’t told any of them the address to it yet. Sam, go grab an E.M.F. meter, would ya? See if there’s anything haunted or cursed in there before we just go tearing it open.”

Sam went to grab the one he kept in his room and hurried back. He turned it on and moved it over the box, but nothing triggered it. Setting the meter down on the table, Sam pulled the box closer, reaching to undo the tape on the side of the wrapping.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sammy. Isn’t it a federal crime to open other peoples’ mail?”

The four of you whipped around, weapons drawn automatically to face the unexpected voice.

“Brother”, Castiel sighed, slowly lowering his angel blade.

“Goddammit, Gabriel! We could have shot you, you know?” Dean holstered his gun, exasperated as always with the Archangel’s habit of turning his appearances into a jump-scare. “And what do you care if we open the box, anyways?”

“I care because it’s mine. I had wanted to make it a surprise for everyone, but Samsquatch beat me to it.” Gabriel sauntered from the entryway, stopping by your side, and taking the box from Sam.

You raise an eyebrow in curiosity and ask, “So, what’s the surprise then?”

“Well, sweet cheeks, I could tell ya, but I’d rather show ya.” He scoops the box into his arms and turns to walk back the way he came. The four of you stare at him in confusion as he stops in the doorway, calling over his shoulder, “Make sure everyone gathers here after dinner, okay?”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips as he continues back to his room. What the hell? Now, you were even more curious about his big secret. You turn back to the guys and shake your head. You decide there’s nothing for it but to wait and see, so you head back to the kitchen to finish up the cooking. The sooner everyone eats, the sooner you get to find out what’s in the box.

As you wait for the casserole to finish so you can start baking the variety of pies you prepared for dessert, you let your mind wander back to Gabriel. You had been hunting with the boys for a few years now and had heard quite a few stories about the tricky Archangel. When you had met him a few months ago, after Ketch had rescued him, and after he completed his ‘Kill Bill’ mission, the two of you had quickly developed a friendship. You found his silly puns and flirty looks a refreshing change from all the overprotective-brother vibes you’d received from the Winchesters and Cas.

Of course, you always gave as good as you got. He’d give you one of his smoldering smirks and you would toss back a playful wink and a bubbly giggle. You knew it was all in good fun, and what could you say; you enjoyed the attention. The band of survivors you guys had brought back from apocalypse world were nice and all, but none of the guys seemed to care much for actual flirting. You couldn’t really blame them though, they were nearly a decade out of practice. Those guys, they preferred to jump straight to the finish line. You, on the other hand, preferred the thrill of the chase; even if you didn’t get caught in the end. That’s what made Gabriel such good company. At least, until recently. Lately, something in the dynamic had shifted. When he winked at you, sometimes you would feel a shiver start its way up your spine. Or you would feel your heart start to race when he made one of his flirty comments. Somewhere along the line, you had started to fall for that golden-eyed trickster.

The buzzing of the oven timer brought you out of your thoughts and you shook your head to clear it. You heaved a sigh as you took out the casserole, and nearly dropped it as you realized that in your distracted state, you had only put on one oven mitt. You let out a loud hiss at the pain, quickly setting the dish down on the counter. Running over to the sink, you turned the water as cold as it would get and shoved your hand under the faucet to stop the heat from causing further damage.

You let out a curse as you kept your hand there for a minute. After you pulled your hand from under the water, you gave it a close look. It had turned an ugly red color in a big patch on your palm. You tentatively tried closing your hand and immediately let out a yelp. You called out for angelic help. You had meant to send out a mental call to Cas but at the last second, your brain switched gears and reached out for Gabriel. Help.

He appeared before you with a soft flutter of hidden wings, on full alert at your less-than-specific plea. His shoulders relaxed when he saw there was no one else in the room. He steeped over to you, eyebrows knit in confusion. “Jeez, cupcake! A cry like that, I was ready for some serious trouble. What happened?”

His eyes softened when he saw the way that your jaw was clenched and how you cradled your burning hand close to your chest.

“Just me being a klutz again. Burned my hand taking dinner out of the oven”, you gritted through your teeth.

He slowly pulled your hand towards him and placed a finger on the center of your palm as gently as he could. Soft, while light glowed from it and you could feel the pain receding as your skin returned to its healthy, normal shade. You looked up at him and could see a spark of blue fading from his eyes as his Grace settled back within him. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sugarplum. Besides, can’t have you going off fighting monsters with a burnt hand, can we”, he winked at you, still holding your hand in his. “Now, I’ll just let you get back to it. I’m sure everyone’s good and hungry by now.”

With that, he let your hand drop from his and leaned in to place a gentle kiss to your forehead, as he often did any time you had gotten injured. Your eyes had closed at the touch and you didn’t open them till after you heard his tell-tale flutter of wings. You sighed and leaned your head back against a cabinet. What have you gotten yourself into now, you thought as you got back to putting the pies in the oven. You have got to get a grip.

————————————————–

You managed to finish cooking everything without further incident and were just bringing out dessert when Gabriel and Castiel showed up to join everyone at the two long tables that now occupied the newly proclaimed dinning area. Being angels, they didn’t need to eat of course, but both of them usually came out for dessert or even just for the company. Angels weren’t meant to be solitary beings, after all. The pair of them took their seats as Dean went about passing out slices of pie to everyone.

Gabriel catches your eye from across the table and shoots you a quick wink, grabbing a slice of the double-chocolate mousse pie you knew he tended to favorite. You smiled back softly, feeling a sigh catch in your throat. You vaguely hear Charlie saying something to you on your left and manage to pull your attention away from the sugar fiend to focus on her. “Sorry, what?”

Charlie giggles quietly and quirks an eyebrow at you. “I was just saying how great this pumpkin pie is. There’s no way this came out of a can. Your baking game is definitely on tonight, I’m kinda jelly.”

“Thanks, Char. I’m glad you like it, it’s a family recipe, much better than store bought. If you want, I can teach you how to make it. I could use some help with the desserts, Sam and Dean are awful at it.” You continue a light conversation with Charlie as everyone enjoys their pie. Your attention now fully redirected, you fail to notice how often Gabriel flicks his gaze over to you.

Soon enough, plates are empty, silverware set down and conversations are winding down as the feeling of full and satisfied bellies start to lull everyone in to a relaxed state. Before anyone can leave the room, Sam stands up and asks you all to meet in the library in five minutes, and your interest is once again sparked as you remember about Gabriel’s secret delivery. Cas is on clean up duty tonight, which takes all of two seconds as he snaps the dishes from the table, cleaned and put back in their respective cabinets and drawers. You follow the others to the library where you and Dean immediately head over to get a drink from the Men of Letters stash of aged whiskey. You pour out two glasses and head over to where Charlie is standing and hand her one. Three minutes later, Gabriel enters, carrying the large box from earlier, still unopened.

“So, Gabriel, end the suspense already. What’s the big surprise”, Dean asks, throwing him an annoyed look.

“Well, I thought that since Halloween is right around the corner, and you guys haven’t had the chance to celebrate a holiday in, like, forever, why not throw a party? And not just any party; a masquerade!” With that, he snaps open the box and pulls out its contents to reveal a bunch of masks, no two alike.

“A party?” Sam starts objecting, “Look, I really don’t think…”

“No! He’s right.” You look up from the pile of masks on the table and face Sam. “We should celebrate. We deserve to. Lucifer is dead, Michael is stuck in that other world forever, things haven’t been this close to normal in a very long time. What more reason do we need?” You stare at Sam, hope in your eyes. You truly do believe a night of fun will do everyone a world of good.

Sam glances over at Dean, a silent conversation being played out between them as the rest of you just sit there. After a minute, Dean simply shrugs and walks back over to the whiskey, bringing the bottle back to the table to pass around. “Okay. Masquerade it is, then. Well, Gabriel, tells us all the rest of your idea.”

“Oh, thank Father! I thought I was gonna have to do a bit more convincing to get the Buzzkill Brigade on board.” Gabriel smirked up at Sam, who just groaned and rolled his eyes. “Anywho, back to business. This isn’t gonna be just your average costume party. I’m talking full-scale Ball, capital ‘B’! And, to keep things interesting, with everyone’s consent of course, I’d like to have Rowena cast a spell that will distort everyone’s vision, just enough to not be able to discern any identifying factors. You know, height, eye color, all that jazz.” Gabriel looked over at Rowena questioningly. She simply nodded in response.

“Is that really necessary, brother?” Castiel quirked his head, confused.

“Of course, it’s not necessary, little bro. It just makes it more fun! Jeez, have learned nothing in the past ten years?” Gabriel looked back at his brother in disbelief before turning back to the rest of the hunters who were actually starting to look quite interested in the idea. “As I was saying, no one is going to be able to identify each other until they choose to reveal themselves. This spell will also be placed on Cas and myself just to keep things fair. Now, so that no one will know who picked which mask, I’ve made it so that each of you can simply think of the mask you want, and it will get sent to your room. If someone has already chosen the mask, you’ll hear a little buzzer go off in your mind letting you know to pick another one, if not, you’ll hear a ding. So, if all of you would come over and look through the pile and make your decisions.

Gabriel stepped back to let everyone gather around the table and you got up to join them. You were surprised that even Ketch and Bobby seemed begrudgingly intrigued by the whole thing; they too were sifting through the masks, Ketch making a face every now and then at absurdity of some of them. You started looking through the pile, stopping here and there to admire a few of the more unique ones; a black old-fashioned Venetian mask with a silver pattern on it, a brass deer mask with antlers and even ears sticking out from it, a golden-colored wolf one and even a feathered mask with horns on either side that looked quite devilish.

Finally, you landed on particular mask and somehow knew immediately it was the one you wanted. It had two white Koi fish wrapped around the eyes with ornate sky-blue fins making up the rest of the face. The detail put into it was beautiful. You gently set it back down and kept the image of it firmly in your mind. Two seconds later, you heard a soft ding inside your head. You spent another minute looking around at the masks just to throw off the scent if anyone happened to be paying any attention. Although you weren’t sure why, you felt yourself getting swept up in the moment and wanted to be sure you did this right. If Gabriel wanted everyone to be strangers for the party, then a stranger you would be.

A few minutes later, everyone seemed to have made their decisions as, all at once, the masks evaporated into thin air. Resisting the urge to run straight to your room to check for your mask, you walked over to join Gabriel, Castiel, and the Winchesters as the rest of the group dispersed for the night, most of them still abuzz with plans to go shopping for costumes to wear. It made your heart light to see them so happy for once. The survivors had gone through so much over the past nine years, they deserved to have some fun, without having to worry about what might be lurking out in the night. It had taken a couple months for them to get adjusted to this world, but most of them seemed to be doing quite well. Freedom can a lot for a person.

You sat down between Sam and Gabriel and reached over to grab the bottle from Dean that was, surprisingly, still half full. “So, what on Earth made you decide we needed a party, Gabriel?”

“Well, you know me, I love a good party. This seemed like the perfect reason. Besides, what you said to Sam was exactly the case I was gonna make. You guys have been hunting non-stop for years, the people we brought back have been fighting for their lives for the longest time, and…well, I thought it was high time Jack got to let loose and have some fun.”

It didn’t escape your notice, the way he skirted past his own horrible experiences over the past nine years. You gave him a warm smile as you felt your heart squeeze in your chest at the thought of what he had been through. He had opened up to you a bit more than he had with the boys about what Asmodeus had done to him. He was far from fully recovered; you doubted he ever would be, but his Grace was back completely now and his mind seemed to wander less.

“I gotta admit, I’m already excited about it. I’m sure it’ll be a great way for Jack to spend his first Halloween. Just don’t forget, he’s got a soft spot for nougat.” With that, you got up, hugged everyone good night and headed back to your room.

Sure enough, your Koi mask was there, waiting for you on your pillow. You picked it up to look it over again, before placing it carefully in the warded lock-box you kept under bed. Mask hidden from any potential spoil-sports, you changed into your night clothes and quickly drifted off for the night.

Five Days Till Halloween

You came down the bunkers’ stairs with Charlie and Rowena, arms full of shopping bags. The three of you had decided to go the mall two towns over to pick out what you would each be wearing to the party. So far, you had all managed to keep each other from seeing what you had bought. You hoped to keep it that way. You had found the perfect dress to go with your mask and you wanted to see everyone’s reactions all at once on Halloween. It was an ankle-length, light blue mermaid-style gown, complete with sequins that looked like fish scales. The dress hugged your curves in all the right ways, though you doubted that would matter much, once Rowena’s spell went into effect. To go with it, you had also bought a pair of white strappy heels. The three of you went off to your rooms to put your things away and agreed to meet in the war room in ten minutes. Rowena needed some help preparing a few ingredients for the distortion spell she would be using on everyone at the party.

You entered the war room to find Rowena setting out some jars and bunches of dried herbs. You stepped over to the map table and looked around at the items spread out before you. “Exactly how complicated is this spell, Ro? There’s, like, fifty different things here.”

“Oh, the spell itself is quite simple. It’s the preparation that’s the bitch. Could’ve done with a bit more warning from the sweet-toothed angel. Thanks for the help, by the way.” Rowena gave you a small smile. For years, even in the midst of being enemies, the two of you had been rather amicable with each other. Now that she was firmly on team Winchester, she had softened towards you even more, in some moments, almost motherly. You didn’t question it, you knew she still wasn’t over the loss of Crowley, and if you could relieve a bit of that pain, you were glad to do it.

As you smiled back, Charlie entered and joined you at the table. “So, ladies, where do we start?”

Rowena looked between the two of you and pursed her lips. “It’s a bit boring, I’m afraid. Mostly just need to get these herbs ground up and ready to be steeped. I’ve worked out the math on how much we’ll need for the spell to work on 30 people for a full evening.” She pulled out a piece of paper from her spell-book and set it in front of you. “Each herb needs to be kept separate until the spell is about to be done. Let’s get to work, girls!”

Three hours later, you put the last of the ground chamomile into its jar, groaning as you twisted the lid tight, your hand aching from all the chopping. Right on cue, you heard a flutter of wings behind you. Gabriel came up beside you, resting his hand on your shoulder. You whipped your head up at him and were met with a beaming smile. “Heya, cupcake. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just my hand cramping up”, you replied with a wince as a flare of pain ran from your wrist to the tips of your fingers.

His hand ran down from your shoulder, along your arm, causing minute goosebumps, and he wrapped your hand in his, letting his Grace heal you. You let out a sigh of relief as the warmth traveled through you. His touch lingered a minute and you could feel the little aches pains gained from a day of shopping leave your body. You flashed him a shy smile. “Thanks, Gabe. What would I do without you?”

“Ah, sugar, without me, you’d be living the same life, just more boring and with more sore muscles.” He let go of your and shot you a wink before turning to check on Charlie.

You looked across the table to see Rowena staring back, an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on her lips. What, you mouthed at her. She simply shook her head and gave you a knowing look. You looked away first, a flush rising to your cheeks. After Gabriel helped Charlie with her aches, and Rowena denied needing healing, he stuck around to help you gather everything up to take back down to the room where Rowena kept all the things she needed for spells.

Just as the four of you came back up the stairs, Dean was setting out everything for dinner; it was build-your-own-burger night. Gabriel gave your shoulder a squeeze and left to go find Castiel. You headed over to the dinner table eagerly, you loved Dean’s burgers and had worked up quite an appetite. The only downside to when Dean did the cooking was that dessert would be store-bought. Luckily, there was an Archangel on hand who was more than happy to snap up something better, if need be. You ate your fill and went to bed soon after, the events of the day having as much of an effect on you as a grueling hunt.

Two Days Till Halloween

You paced back and forth in the library, coffee mug in hand, watching Sam clack away on his laptop. After being cooped up in the bunker the last two days with nothing to do except ponder over Wednesday’s party, you felt restless. Most of the other hunters were still out on cases they had left to investigate days ago. Dean, Cas, and Ketch were in Ohio chasing some rugaru. Mary and and Maggie were tracking down a wraith a few states over. The rest were spread out all over. Only a handful of you had stayed back.

“Anything. Just find something for me to fight. I don’t care what it is. Ghost, werewolf, hell, I don’t care if Gabriel has to zap us down to the border for a damn Chupacabra hunt!” You had stopped your pacing to stand beside Sam, hovering there as he looked through news sites for anything that might even hint at a case.

A minute or so later, he looked up from the screen. “Think I got something. It’s down in Iola, ‘bout an hour and a half away. A couple of bodies were found, drained.”

“Guess we didn’t totally wipe out the Fang Gang after all. Well, let’s take down a few more, shall we?” You left to go gear up, a gleeful spark flashing in your eyes at the prospect of a hunt. You decided to call Charlie, who had made a quick run into town with Jack to see if they wanted to join. Jack was well on his way to becoming a proficient hunter and something like this should be great practice for the kid. Charlie agreed and showed up at the bunker ten minutes later, just as you had finished gathering everything together.

The four of you piled into one of the cars in the garage; you decided to sit in the back with Jack to go over some last minute tips and to test how much he remembered about how to deal with vamps. About thirty minutes into the drive, he pulled out a few of the candy bars he had stocked up on earlier, passing them around. You thanked him and let out a chuckle as he tore into a 3 Musketeer’s bar, noting he still hadn’t given up his love of nougat. The kid had really grown on you in the past year and half, he was like the little brother you never got to have.

full case fic here

Eight Hours Later

Gabriel, h-help. Please, we need you…You hoped he would hear your broken plea as you struggled to hold on to consciousness.

The fight had gone horribly wrong. There had been more blood-suckers than you had been prepared for. You and Charlie had gotten separated from Sam and Jack; the three vamps you girls had been flirting with at the bar in town, in an attempt to get them alone, had quickly overpowered you once a few more of their clan had shown up, effectively distracting Sam as he tried to make his way over to the pool tables where you and Charlie were. You remember Jack trying to use his Nephilim powers against the vamps as you were being dragged out into the alley behind the bar. The last thing you heard before being knocked out was Sam yelling.

When you woke, you found yourself in what looked like an abandoned factory. Your head was pounding; you tried to reach up to check for blood, only to find your action stopped by the manacles around your wrists. They had chained you to the wall, Charlie similarly bound a few feet to your left. “Charlie? Charlie, can you hear me? Are you okay? Char, Charlie please answer me.”

The only response you got was a soft groan, but at least you knew she was still alive. There was still hope. Your head throbbed again and your vision blurred. You struggled to think of what to do next. You bit back a moan as you registered a pain in your shoulder. You turned your head to look, and could see now that your sleeve was completely soaked through with blood; you couldn’t remember how that had happened. Unable to think of anything else to get you out of this mess, not knowing how long you had till the vampires returned, you prayed to the one person you could think of in that moment. The one person you wanted to see most right now. Gabriel…please…hurry. I don’t know how long I can hold on…help us…Sam, Jack, I-I don’t know where they are. Your thoughts rambled on as you tried to stay awake. A few seconds later you heard the flutter of wings followed by a panicked voice.

“Y/n, y/n, oh Father, what happened?!” Gabriel crouched by your side, immediately snapping you free from your chains. “Sweetheart, stay with me now. I’m gonna get you outta here in a second, just hold on.”

You raised your head weakly to look at him as he went to check on Charlie. “You came. Oh, thank God, you came. Is she…?”

Gabriel pressed his fingers to Charlies’ forehead and her eyes fluttered open, widening as she took in her surroundings. “She’s fine, y/n. Charlie, can you stand? It looks like y/n’s lost a lot of blood, I’m gonna have to carry her.”

“Yeah, I think so”, Charlie groaned out as she attempted to do so. She was a bit wobbly at first but was able to lean against the wall as Gabriel rushed back over to you.

He knelt over you, brushing back sweat-matted hair from your face. You winced as he gingerly scooped you into his arms, careful not to touch your injured shoulder. “I gotcha sugar. I gotcha. Just hold on a little longer.” Once he had you, he grabbed Charlies’ hand and flew you both back to the bunker.

You had landed in the Dean Cave and Gabriel immediately laid you down on the couch, crouching at your side. Charlie hovered at the end of the couch, behind your head, not wanting to leave you till you were healed. “You can help her, right?”

“Of course, I can. I just needed to get you out of there first, this is gonna take more time to heal than your injuries. I got Sam and Jack back too, by the way; you might want to go let them know you’re safe.” He cupped your face and gently turned it away so he could get a better look at the wound.

The vamps had nearly drained you, it was a miracle you had held on as long as you did. One hand still caressing your cheek, he splayed the other one over your shoulder and you let out a soft gasp as the warm of his Grace spread through you. You closed your eyes as you felt your body healing, a flush rising to your face as you regained the blood levels to do so. Sure, Gabriel had had to heal you before, but it had never felt this intimate. He usually didn’t have to place his hand directly on the wounds, a touch on the head was always sufficient. This was different. His hand lingered on your shoulder a second longer than needed. You were afraid to look at him, afraid of what you might say. Instead, you focused on keeping your pulse steady.

“Sugar, look at me.” Gabriel nudged your face in his direction and you opened your eyes. You couldn’t quite read the look on his face. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me? That was too close a call. Next time, you call for me as soon as shit starts to hit the fan, okay?”

You nodded meekly, attempting to sit up. “Sorry. Everything happened so fast. Is everyone else okay? Brain’s still a bit foggy, you got the others back, right? Is the nest dead?”

“Shh, slow down. Everyone’s fine, I got them back, safe and sound. I’ll take care of the nest in a minute. I needed to heal you first.” Gabriel’s hands dropped down from your face as you swung your legs off the couch and pulled yourself upright. He took your hands in his and held your gaze. “I meant what I said. Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again. We can’t afford to lose you.” With that, he stood up and placed a small kiss to your forehead before walking towards the door. “I’ll let the others know you’re okay before I go take out the rest of those bastards. Get some rest. You’ve got a party to go to in about 48 hours, kiddo.”

After he left the room, you leaned back, shutting your eyes again as you tried to process everything that had just happened. You tried to make sense of Gabriel’s sudden seriousness and the look in his eyes as he had admonished you. You had never seen him so worried before. You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you fought back the wave of exhaustion washing over you. Gabriel was right, you needed rest.

You made your way through the bunker, finding the others in the war room. You hugged them all, glad they were safe, and made your way to your room. You changed into a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt and plopped onto the bed, falling asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Halloween

You spent the past forty hours or so recovering from that disaster of a hunt. Gabriel had healed you up, but the effects of losing that much blood still took a small toll on you. You had slept through most of yesterday, waking for small periods of time to eat and shower. You lounged around in the Dean Cave for a few hours earlier today and then had decided to head back to your room to start getting ready for the party.

After taking a steaming hot shower you dried your hair and styled it before slipping into your dress. You applied a modicum of make-up, not bothering to do the full routine since the distortion spell would probably make it pointless. You still had thirty minutes till the party started so you sat on your bed and let your mind drift off.

Your mind called up the images from the other day, when Gabriel had rescued you. The look of horror on his face when he found you chained to the wall, half-dead. You had never seen him look so scared. He had been so gentle with you, as if one wrong move might finish you off. Then when he was healing you, the look in his eyes as his Grace patched you up inside. Something was different about the way he looked at you then. It was as if he had suddenly stumbled upon some revelation that had been hidden in plain sight.

You pulled your mind from that image not wanting to dissect it further. Instead, you thought back to the feeling of being held in his arms for that briefest of moments as he brought you back to the bunker. You had never felt so safe in your life. Even as you struggled to stay awake, you trusted those arms not to drop you, not to let anything else hurt you. You thought of the feeling of his hand on your shoulder, the other one cradling your cheek. So warm against your freezing skin.

There was no hiding from the truth now. The way you felt in those moments, surrounded by him, you knew you were in love and there was no going back. Sighing, you shook your head to clear it, checking the time. Five minutes. You got up, took a final look in the mirror, and pulled on your mask, taking care not to muss your hair. As you went to grab the doorknob, you felt an odd sensation wash over you. You placed your hand flat against the door to steady yourself as your head swam. Rowena had warned you all that the spell would make you dizzy for a moment, but she hadn’t told you when she was going to be casting it.

You went back to the mirror to check it had worked. You could see yourself clear enough, but you couldn’t make out the color of your eyes. It seemed to be continuously fluctuating from shades of a deep brown up to a light blue. The same thing was happening with your hair, and your lips kept changing in shape and lipstick shade. The only things about your appearance that remained the same was your costume. Well, you could see why Gabriel wanted to use this spell. It would be nearly impossible to tell anyone apart this way.

Once you’d adjusted as best you could, you finally walked out of your room and headed to the library, where Gabriel had said the main part of the party would be held. As you got to the entryway, you froze and gasped at the beauty before you. The room had been completely transformed. Gabriel had tapped into his Trickster magic to make the library at least three times bigger, with a great arching ceiling and giant columns stretching up from a marble floor. There were sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candle sconces along the walls. You felt as though you were stepping into a forgotten century.

Against the walls were tables overflowing with candy, desserts and drinks. Gabriel had chosen a simple color pattern of black and white, which just lent more to the austere glamour of it all. You walked into the room slowly, soaking it all in. You were the first to arrive. You had all been told that you were only to head to the party once the spell had set in, and that each of you would feel it at different times. It seemed Gabriel was leaving little to chance. You smiled to yourself at how much effort he had put into tonight.

Within about half an hour, almost everybody had arrived. You looked around at all the beautiful costumes the other hunters had managed to come up with. Most of the men had decided on suits or tuxes that matched well with there masks, and the women wore dresses of varying lengths and styles. One woman, you couldn’t quite tell if it was Mary or Rowena, wore a floor-length black gown with sequins along the bodice to go with the silver and black mask she donned, which had long black feathers coming up from the top of it.

Once everyone had arrived, music started out of nowhere. Not just any regular music like you would hear at a party not being thrown by an over-dramatic Archangel, classical music. You chuckled as you heard Mozart’s Don Giovanni start up. Leave to him to choose music no one would know how to dance to. As soon as the thought entered your mind, a few of the hunters headed to the center of the room, paired up and started dancing a perfect minuet. You gaped at them as they danced lightly across the floor, absolutely confident in every step. No doubt this was also Gabriel’s doing. If only you could figure out which one was him. His tell-tale honey- colored hair was nowhere in sight among the ever-changing shades of brown, black, blonde and red. As it had been in your mirror, the only things that didn’t change were the masks and costumes. Maybe you could figure out which costume would suit him most.

You were already fairly certain that the man in the bronze colored deer mask was Sam and that the mask that was covered in brown and black feathers, with devilish looking horns on either side was being worn by Dean. The suits they were wearing looked quite similar to the ones they wore when pulling the FBI schtick. The man in the sharp black tux with the silver-trimmed, iron-hued mask definitely had to be Ketch, only he could pull that look off.

Finally, your eyes stopped on a man over on the other side of the room, sitting with some of the women, head thrown back in laughter. You recognized the mask from when you were looking through them, deciding on your own. It was a sturdy-looking golden wolf mask, absolutely exquisite in detail. That had to be him. The suit he was wearing was plain, but of great quality and looked perfectly tailored. You felt a shiver run through you as you watched him. He must have said something funny, the girls sitting around him giggled and one of them reached out to grasp his hand. He leaned in closer to her to whisper something, careful of the mask’s nose.

Your stomach sunk at the sight of him being so close to the woman. You turned away quickly and went over to one of the snack tables. You grabbed a flute of champagne and downed it in a gulp before grabbing another and filling a small plate with chocolate-covered strawberries and a few mini milky ways. You walked over to one of the tables by the entrance and sat down heavily. So much for a fun night. To think you had fooled yourself into thinking he might possibly feel the same way you did. Maybe you had just put too much stock into the look on his face the other night. It was nothing more than someone being worried for their friend.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize right away that someone had joined you at the table. Not till you heard him speak.

“I’m sorry. What?” You looked over to see a man in an all black suit, wearing a black Venetian mask covered in a silver pattern. The nose of the mask was almost like a beak. You chanced a look at his eyes and saw how they swirled from a rich brown to sea blue and back again.

“I said, are you okay? It’s hard to tell exactly, with this spell on us, but you look a bit down.”

You thought you recognized something in his speech pattern and the way his eyes kept going back to blue every few seconds was leading you to think that it was Castiel you were sitting with. As he talked, you took in his posture, slightly stiff, and his head was tilted in that bird-like gesture he often used when he was unsure of something.

You sighed and decided not to beat around the bush about how you were feeling. He didn’t know who you were, after all. “Just…I don’t know, jealous I guess.”

“Jealous? Of who?” Sensing the seriousness of the matter, he stood and offered his hand to you.

You thought for a second and took it. He led you over to a quieter spot where no one could overhear you. As you crossed the room, your eyes wandered back to the wolf mask. He had led the girl he was talking to out onto the dance floor. They looked so graceful, gliding across the floor in a perfect waltz. You blinked away the tears trying to fight their way out and tore your eyes from them. Cas called your attention back to him when you’d reached a spot slightly hidden from the rest of the room.

“Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

You let out a sigh, trying to find the words. “It’s Gabriel. Lately, I don’t know, I thought something had changed between us. The way he’s been looking at me. There’s this new gentleness to the way he touches me, I thought…I don’t know what I thought.” You trailed off and looked up at Cas. He looked confused still, the look on his face asking you to go on. “I guess I was just reading too much into it. I was starting to hope he felt the same as I do. I, I love him. But look at him,” you gestured over to the dance floor, “there he is, dancing with someone else. Flirting to his Grace’s content. I was a fool to think he could ever look at me as more than a friend.” You looked back at Cas, “After all, a fish may love a bird , but where will they live?”

“Then I shall have to make you wings.” He reached out a hand to cup your face, his other hand slowly lifting the mask from his face.

“Gabriel!?” you gasped. “I, I thought you were Castiel! Oh, God, I’m gonna be sick.” You tried to turn away but he quickly grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him.

“Please, take off your mask. Let me see you.”

You let out a shaky breath, looking into his eyes. They were once again golden, now that he had revealed himself to you. Your heart raced as you raised your free hand to take off your mask. “There. Now you know.”

“I hoped it was you.” That was all he said before he slid his hand up from yours, to the back of your neck, leaning in until he was just an inch from your lips. “I love you, too sugar. I have for some time now. I almost lost you the other night. I’ll never let that happen again.”

He closed that last inch of space and pressed his lips to yours. After a few seconds, you broke through the shock, and kissed him back. Your hands wound around his neck, your fingers winding in his hair as you deepened the kiss, parting your lips in invitation. His tongue slid over yours slowly, the taste of chocolate overpowering the champagne that lingered on yours. After a minute, he pulled back.

“Now, I believe I said something about wings?” He snapped his fingers and stepped back. You felt a new weight on your back and turned your head to see a pair of light blue butterfly wings strapped over your now shimmering blue silk dress. The dress flowed down to the floor, sparkling in the candlelight. You looked down at the forgotten mask in your hand to find that it, too, had changed. Gone were the fish; it was now covered in blue lace and a pair of wings flared out from one side. You smiled up at Gabriel, a tear sliding down your cheek. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Gabriel.”

“I never want you to feel like you have to have to be better than you already are. Don’t ever think that you’re not enough.” He wiped the tear from your cheek and kissed you softly. “Now, put you’re mask back on. We’ve got a party to enjoy.”

Monthly Challenge tags: @gabriel-monthly-challenge @archangelsanonymous @revwinchester @ttttrickster

Gabe’s Babes: @liloldlou @calamitychaos @samaxraph99

Rich’s Bitches: @warlockwriter @archangelgabriellives @green-draws0 @waywardtricks @hankypranky @thewhiterabbit42 @spnimpalaimagines @pervyprincess84

#gabriel x reader #mistaken identity trope fic #gabriel-monthly-challenge #dabble creates spn

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cleverbroadwayurl · 6 years ago

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Send My Love (To Your New Lover) (Jeremy Heere x Reader Pt 17)

Song: Send My Love (To Your New Lover) Cover by Sofia Karlberg

Word Count: 5804

Need to Catch Up? PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8 PART 9 PART 10 PART 11 PART 12 PART 13 PART 14 PART 15 PART 16

Want More? PART 18 PART 19

A/N: Oh my god I finally did it!! Yay!! I’m so excited about this and I know you guys have been waiting for like months to see this!! So yay!! I decided to keep voting open for a little longer because I know some people can’t be as active during the school year! So voting is going until tonight at 12:00 AM Eastern Standard Time (EST) Just a little refresher, two options can win so don’t worry if your pick is tied with something else! Uhh also,,, I’m not even a little bit sorry.

Taglist: @be-more-heidi-hansen @retrogarden @catatonic-kuragin @scarsonthecuffsofyourjeans @bluhimaweirdo @stargirl-murphy

Trigger Warnings: mentions of an abusive boyfriend, cuts, bruises, scratches, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of abuse, verbal abuse, mentions of the SQUIP, Jeremy crying, soft moments, mentions of blood, mentions of hospitals, mentions of nurses

“Jeremy Heere?” His head snapped and looked at the nurse who now stood in the middle of the waiting room. “Can you come with me? There’s someone asking for you.”

Jeremy blinked a few times, repeating the words in his head over and over again until it finally made sense to him. Someone had been asking to see him, at this time of night, somewhere in a unit that he didn’t have access to. He stood, still shaky from the news before walking up to the nurse, who was actually a lot less intimidating up close. She said something Jeremy couldn’t quite catch, something that sounded muffled as he walked through the halls, lights getting brighter and brighter as he walked through the dizzying halls, each room number being scrambled in his mind. Her pink uniform was almost nauseating, the color of something you drink when your stomach rolls. How fitting.

Numbers went from simplistic and easy to fuzzy and indirect as she kept going. Twists and turns in the bright light made him almost as dizzy as the car ride over, the streetlights whizzing past still haunting him. Flashes of the night kept going through his mind: you, the car, the ride to Michael’s that felt all too familiar to this journey he was making around each corridor. The nurse said something, but all of Jeremy’s senses were captivated by memories up until they stopped. Not the memories, but the nurse stopped at a room. 216. Your name was lazily scribbled on the plaque outside, and the letters themselves started to get fuzzier and blurrier as he read over it again and again. He couldn’t tell if tears were welling in his eyes again or if it was just his head trying to process every event, every turn, every moment that he wished he could forget. He wished that instead his original plan had been executed, that everything would be okay somewhere stuck underneath the stars and surrounded by the safety of the trees, not this.

With a gulp, Jeremy wiped his hands on his jeans—or rather, hand, as it was this moment that he realized he was still holding the infamous blue sweater in his hand, too nervous, hand too clenched to let it go. He blinked several times, the hallway and room coming into focus, the mint that was originally on the trim around the walls now added with a sickening yellow. There was a moment that he had to swallow back everything: the sweat, the tears, the lump in his throat, the nausea, every word, every event, every little thing that made him tick in the last few minutes needed to be wiped away. This was you he was about to see. His hand reaches for the door, still a little sweaty despite him wiping it onto his dark wash jeans that Brooke and Chloe had insisted he’d wear. The baby blue shirt was stained no doubt, but he didn’t—couldn’t worry about that right now.

He almost pulls away at the cool steel his hand begins to grip, already shaking and unsure of what’s behind the door. He was sure a monster would be in there, although he didn’t know whether or not that monster would digitize into your boyfriend or if it would remain abstract, each mark on your body become a part of the beast that you—both of you would have to conquer. Because if he was sure of one thing, it was that he would not let you do this alone, even if it meant that he would stay until the early hours of the morning, maybe 4 AM or later, staying on the line when you were worried, or anything else. Literally anything, he’d have your back for. Helping you tell your parents about what was actually going on? He’d do that. Testifying as a witness in court? Hell, he’d buy a special suit for that. Hearing you rant forever about the things that have changed and the things you felt you couldn’t do anymore? He’d do that, and then some. But right now was about slaying the monster that was lurking behind the door.

And that was the other thing, he didn’t actually know how you were. No updates were given besides the somewhat good news from your parents in the waiting room minutes ago. And now there was the added fact that your boyfriend could easily be in there that had dawned on Jeremy just seconds ago when he thought about the monsters that needed to be sacrificed to some deity in your honor. Your boyfriend had walked right for your room after what Jeremy could only call a staring contest. And he could’ve inflicted more damage—mental, physical, emotional, whatever. Given that you already had your own room in the ER was a bad sign, knowing that he and Rich had at least shared a nurse, meaning that he was somewhat okay, but you had your own team with you, everyone keeping a constant eye on you. Every sign of you not being half dead and in some kind of deep sleep that he wasn’t sure you’d wake up from was gone. Every sign of okay and maybe being released soon was nonexistent, and he knew that from the minute he saw your car stuck in your driveway, frozen, almost like he was.

“I know it’s tough, but they really do want to see you, okay? Take your time, but just know that.”

With the nurse’s words, Jeremy turned the steel door, noticing how white his knuckles had been while he’d been preparing for whatever fresh hell he was about to endure. He didn’t have much strength, but the door opened anyways, a little wind hitting him in the face as he did so. The breeze wasn’t calming, the scent of ”sterile” hitting him hard in the face. Jeremy nearly closed his eyes before taking it in, but couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at you the moment his eyes had managed to focus enough to see your figure, still, unmoving.

A shaky few steps, and Jeremy’s inside the room; alone. It doesn’t take much strain to see that you’re asleep, or what Jeremy hoped was just sleeping, the damage on your face clear in the dimmer lights that washed you out much more than Jeremy’s comfort level. At least, he hoped it was the lights and that you hadn’t actually lost that much blood. No internal bleeding, no paralysis. But there were scratches. Some deep, others just grazing your skin, but you were covered in them. Little to long, each one adding a sickening flow effect to your hopefully sleeping figure. He takes another step forward, making sure to be quiet as he does so, sure to not wake you, eyes stuck on the pulse monitor. He flicks them back to you, seeing that the black circle that surrounded your eye wasn’t just the lighting. It had been a punch, a felony committed right there on your skin. On your other cheek was a red spot, one that brought him back to the first night you two had actually talked and he had figured out everything. If he could go back in time, Jeremy would be so much more helpful, tell of each situation, and help himself help you, no matter what it took.

There are two mint chairs beside him, he had noticed them when walking in, but now used one to throw the sweater onto. While you slept, something tugged at Jeremy. He knew he had to keep you safe and sound, comfort you and be there for you in ways that you hadn’t experienced all night, or even for this entire relationship you’d struck up what felt like decades ago. Another minute passes, still deciding on what to do, how to show that he’s there for you without crossing a boundary that you couldn’t give consent to while sleeping. He looks away only to sit into the other mint chair, the darkness now providing some kind of comfort, a soft glow to you.

Finally he looks at you again and realizes just how many marks litter your arms, one almost permanently around your wrist, a clear hand mark around it. He sees similar ones to weeks ago around your neck, and he finally makes a decision. With a clear stroke of clean cut confidence, Jeremy takes your hand into his and squeezes just gently enough to know he won’t wake you. He exhales for a second, the world becoming still as Jeremy can feel himself break down in the chair, breath getting shaky as his hand unknowingly slightly grips yours.

A few seconds pass, and Jeremy jumps back as you begin to stir, eyes fluttering open, fear striking into your body but immediately relaxing into a soft smile as your eyes land on him. He’s still surprised, still worried, still in a state of shock as your pale face works its way into a look of adorable wonder at him. The usual stars in your eyes are dull, but they were still there. You inhaled, a flash of pain making its way across your face as you did so, making Jeremy’s heart break more than it already had. Breathing was a normal human function, something that was almost thoughtless and oftentimes looked over by people but now you were in pain as you did something that was usually so simple and easy. Your mouth opens slightly and Jeremy can see more of the damage done—it’s worse than he even thought as your bright red split lip comes into view in the dull but annoyingly white lights that ricocheted off the walls. He can see the strain in every moment that passes and all of the hurt that is still lingering as the corners of your mouth turn up and your and slightly squeezes his back. Jeremy can’t keep the tears from welling in his eyes once more as each action was executed, the entire world seeing irrelevant as your breath turns into an exhale within a second. “Hey,” the smile is more apparent and Jeremy’s tears stream down his face—you were okay. Not completely okay but at least enough to recognize him and know that it’s Jeremy, you’re safe, you’re sound, everything is going to be fine.

His mouth melts into a smile, tears still a steady stream down his face. “Hey.”

You inhale, pain flashing through you again, less this time as you wake up a little bit more. “I’m sorry I didn’t show. I tried, I really did.”

Jeremy shook his head, heart sinking as he did so. “No, don’t worry about it. You’re forgiven. Completely.”

“But Jeremy,” you began, concern invading your eyes as you watched him carefully. “I left you in the dark by yourself. That’s not fair and completely my fault.”

Using his left hand, Jeremy wiped his eyes before continuing, voice soft, “It’s not your fault. I promise.”

A sharp breath escapes you, and he can only assume that you chuckled at him, your smile only growing bigger. “You’re sweet.” Your eyes turn towards the ceiling. Another agonizing exhale escapes you, and Jeremy can barely keep still. This isn’t your fault. And you…you didn’t believe him. He sniffles a little bit, anger beginning to make an entrance as his eyes look towards his lap. But he controls it. Now isn’t the time for anger. It isn’t the time for revenge or any violence. Now is the time for comfort; anything he can do to help you feel better or at the very least take the emotional turmoil for a little bit.

“It’s okay, Jeremy. I’m fine. Look, I’m here, you’re here, we’re talking.” He feels you squeeze his hand and your eyes watching him. His eyes meet yours, and a second goes by, so many emotions are going through you at once, but the overarching one is still concern for him. Nevertheless, Jeremy nods at your statement, so relieved that your statement was right. You two were talking, you were coherent, and you were going to end up fine, no matter what had happened in the past was the past. This was now. And now you were okay, speaking, and reassuring him that everything is fine.

Something tugged at him, though. As much as he wanted to be completely convinced by your affirmation you’d given before, Jeremy couldn’t believe it himself. Whatever happened in the last few hours was enough nightmare fuel to keep bad memories, flashbacks, and whatever else alive and well for years. That, and there was the added fact of physical therapy, possible permanent injuries, and so much more. Your situation, your condition could change rapidly at any moment, and he could lose you. He could see the pain with simple tasks, bodily functions, and so much more. How could he believe that you were okay with everything that surrounded this moment? With another split second of confidence, Jeremy took your hand with both of his, each of his ten fingers grazing over your palm, trying to provide some sort of comfort to you. He focused on each curve of your hand, what this warmth was like compared to the cold you must be feeling because he definitely was, every callous, every scratch, every line.

“You probably want to know what happened, huh?” With a glance up, Jeremy could see one corner of your lip up, almost teasing about the events that unraveled. But stuck in your eyes, hidden underneath every joke you had, the truth laid like a sleeping dragon, ready to strike at the moment someone decided to awaken it.

“I mean, yeah, at some point. But for right now, maybe it’s best that you rest.”

“Jeremy, it’s me. I’ll be fine. That, and you have a right to know why I basically stood you up.”

“It’s your choice, but seriously, I’m okay to hold off on it for now—”

“Look at me. I’m fine to talk about it, okay? You have a right to know and this might be our last private moment where we’re both protected by the people around us.”

“Just…keep yourself safe.”

“Always.”

A moment and everything stills. It feels like a painting almost, except instead of the glassy white sickening walls, everything is replaced with darkness, similar to the trees that would’ve kept you protected that night. The neon blue almost becomes the sky, the stars, and everything else in the universe; discovered beauties and undiscovered realities. If both of you didn’t know any better and blocked out the smell of the room, it was almost like stargazing. The world felt right, music playing in the background that on some level, each of you knew was just an old Friends rerun, but on another it was almost like Jeremy’s stereo playing out into the night. Comfort seeping into the crevices, the world fading away, almost like nothing could touch you as you inhaled, pain still relevant, but it fading away with each second, beginning the story that Jeremy wanted to hear, but at the same time wanted to keep you safe from.

“I was getting ready to leave when it started. I’d made some dumb excuse, something like my mom needing me. That’s when the arguing started.” Jeremy’s hand involuntarily grips your own, out of comfort and his own chills as he mentally prepared himself for where this story would take him. He’d seen the evidence, the aftershocks, but now he was getting every detail, every clue he’d missed before. “I was close to the door when he started accusing me of cheating on him, which isn’t really true, is it? And if we were, I wouldn’t come out and tell him when he’s angry like that, you know?”

Jeremy provided a nod, telling you he was listening to every word as it flew from your mouth and settled hard onto the ground. “Jeremy, he was going to hurt you. I had to stop him.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“He was out for blood. I knew that when he stood up and ran for the door. So, I stopped him. And I don’t know one thing lead to another and suddenly he starting saying things. I can distinctly remember him saying something like ‘If you want to continue to side against me, go for it’.”

Jeremy’s mind paused everything around him for a second, familiar laughter tickling the back of his brain as the quote swirled around in his mind instead of directly hitting the floor. Each syllable, each phrase, everything about what you’d just said was almost a reenactment of the SQUIP’s logic and basic manipulation. The phrase coming from anyone else in any other circumstance would’ve been a terrible mental trip, but this, hearing it from you, was adding into his somewhat fucked reality. Your boyfriend wasn’t human, he was convinced. How do you claim to love someone and then have the capacity to tell them something so deep and twisted that they question their sense of reality and self? He could remember that feeling that everything that you were doing was stuck onto some scoreboard you didn’t have access to, something that kept track of every misdemeanor, every act that was seemingly against the other person until the world exploded. Game over, no more lives left. Jeremy unclenched his fist consciously, not knowing how it got that way in the first place, feeling himself break as it dawned upon him that this was happening to you. You, sweet, perfect, amazing, you. He couldn’t take the fact that so much was happening behind the scenes, so much pain and hurt that was undocumented, everything similar to something he’d gone through before—something he hadn’t wished on anyone. But that memory, the things he wished he could change, lingered in you and he wasn’t sure exactly how to take that other than plans to blow up your boyfriend and constantly check on you to keep you safe.

“But I don’t even know how I was siding against him for having a friend that isn’t him. And yeah, maybe I said some shitty things back, but I have never sided against him on purpose. Why would I do that? I’m his partner for fuck’s sake. I wouldn’t side against him even if I wanted to.”

“That’s not okay for him to say. I know how hard you work to make everything work. But I also know that what he said isn’t true. I hope you know that.”

“Jeremy, don’t worry. I know.” You turn away as soon as ‘I know’ leaves your mouth, almost ashamed of your own confidence; almost like you were lying and didn’t actually know. Something inside of you was forcing you to doubt yourself and the instincts you’d grown up with. And this was the moment that Jeremy’s mind became more active than it had been the entire night. It was a second that he realized this behavior, this idea that you had was a force that was causing you to not say what was on your mind, to lie, everything was a force of nature; something that had been learned, just like everything else that happened months ago. From the moment he saw you across the way in the cafeteria, to prom, to that first night, to the café, to other breakfasts, everything had been learned, forced, ingrained inside of you to almost come out as natural as you could make it seem, but there was still toxicity to it, something poisonous lurking in the limelight. “And then,” your voice waved into the room, almost ripping the edges of comfort that you’d had with him. Jeremy moved his thumb against your hand again, hoping to elicit some kind of comfort into your skin. “I don’t know, things got physical. He mentioned something about finding the sweater in my car after seeing it on you or something. I’m just so confused, I was so articulate, so careful. How did he—”

Your breath caught in your throat and tears streamed down your face. You pulled your hand free of Jeremy’s and wiped your eyes. His grip wasn’t that tight, the movement was swift and fluid, something that was so natural and repeated in your daily life that it was almost habit. He noticed the soft touches around your eyes, seeing how carefully your fingers moved around your eye with the all-too-perfect circle around it, gently wincing with each action and attempt to clear the tears. A “sorry” was murmured, but Jeremy couldn’t figure out what to do. His mind raced but was still. He made a choice; as soon as your hand landed safely back onto the bed, he’d carefully take it in his once again. But for now, the most he could do was loudly articulate to you that it was okay. So he did. He left you have the moments alone that you needed as your shoulders bounced and sobs thrashed your body around on the bed. As soon as three rang out, it was like something happened and you immediately calmed down. Another force of nature, Jeremy knew. While he knew that almost nobody saw this side of you, the hurt, the pain, the façade coming crumbling down as the masquerade ended, he did. And he knew you had trained yourself for it to be a maximum amount of time so no one could suspect a thing.

Your hand hit the bed, no sound coming from it as it did so. He took it in his hand, fingers barely grazing yours. As soon as your felt the contact, your hand squeezed his, completely holding his hand to ground yourself in a way you hadn’t seen in ages. He squeezed back, making sure you knew that everything was going to be okay, everything was going to be fine. But the action wasn’t enough. It was a halfway thing, a thing you never got, but still merely a 50-60% effort given. With an inhale, Jeremy finally spoke the one thing that had been on his mind this whole time: “You don’t deserve this, you know.”

He expected an ‘I know’. He expected another lie, another forced thing. But what he got was a truthful, quiet, “Thank you.” Your face went from sobbing in the car, asking yourself why this was happening to hard and stoic, protective and persistent. It pointed in a way that would allow anyone just glancing you over to assume you had everything in hand, under control, a face that was near wrong, blank and numb and staring at a specific point. Something that had been so practiced it’d become a part of you. Your face fit the mold that everyone expected that you had, and the only person who saw the truth was sitting beside you, gently squeezing your hand and giving it soft touches. Your eyes had a look that Jeremy had seen a few times before, but he didn’t have time to study it as words tumbled out of your mouth and covered up any white noise around the two of you, “How are you?”

“Uhh, good. Yeah, I’m good now.”

“Now? What do you mean?”

Fuck. Jeremy had to explain himself to you, this was the moment to be truthful and open. “I took the long way home and made a wrong turn. I somehow ended up on the street your boyfriend lives and I kinda saw the ambulance and stuff.”

“Oh my god, Jeremy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for—Shit, I should’ve at least texted or let you know something. I’m so sorry for worrying you and fuck, for this disaster of a night. I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Hey,” Jeremy interrupted the spiraling descent into some kind of panicked madness that he’d seen a few times before. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about me. Just focus on yourself for right now. Take some time to rest and stuff, okay?”

Jeremy knew he’d gotten through to you when you nodded at his words, your eyes looking blankly at the wall before shifting to the TV that was still playing late night Friends reruns, the night finally settling into something that both of you were a little bit happier with. For the first time that night, he refocused onto the small screen, watching you carefully out of the corner of his eye. You give a chuckle at one of Ross’ misfortunes, and Jeremy does the same, his eyes flicking at your light smile and seeing something he only had during your best moments together. The entire night was supposed to be these soft touches and light looks, but Jeremy was just grateful for this one not-so-perfect moment where you seemed happy—and not just happy enough. Genuinely having a good time and enjoying yourself. With another flick of his eyes Jeremy sees you relax into the pillows, eyes fluttering softly against your imperfect marks, everything cleaned as well as it could be. But the soft smile on your face has him melting, bringing something sweet to the otherwise upsetting situation.

“I never thanked you for being here. So, thank you. It means a lot.”

Jeremy made full eye contact with you, a soft “You’re welcome” coming from him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. That, and I worry about you.”

“You’re sappy, but adorable,” you chuckle at him, eyes lazily shining some light into him.

Jeremy blushes before looking down at his lap. It’s a reaction, a reflex, something that he had always done. It’s natural, simple, and to him, completely unnecessary. But he can’t help it—the one person that he has the biggest crush on calling him adorable was enough to make his week, maybe even his year. He takes another inhale before giving the TV another glance, everything settling around the noise that it’s making; once white and now turning into the colors that you’re meant to hear. The room was still dark, but the moment between the two of you was so bright that it was almost like everything didn’t matter. This was the two of you being comfortable, being yourselves in an outside world that didn’t allow for things like that. He spared you another glance, this time melting at your closing eyes, the stumble and attempt to stay awake as the rerun played throughout the room.

Without really even realizing it at first, Jeremy got that moment he wanted to see before, the one that felt like it was months ago. He had longed to see you falling asleep on the couch from playing Life is Strange into the early hours of the morning, seeing small ticks of relaxation in your features and witnessing the most innocent and pure form of trust. He was kind of getting that now. Sure, it wasn’t Life is Strange, and sure it wasn’t the best place for it, but Jeremy was still getting it. It was a compromise, but a compromise he was glad he didn’t miss out on. Everything he imagined about you adorably falling asleep was correct, he made a few changes in his mind, committing everything to his memory. Your mouth wasn’t slightly open, it remained closed as your head leaned to the side, heavier breaths than he would’ve thought leaving you. It was a calmer sleep, more scheduled than he had originally imagined. While you sleeping was adorable and wonderful—and frankly, a relief to Jeremy all together—it was still in a hospital room that could’ve been completely avoided, in a situation that shouldn’t have happened, in a part of town that people only visited when things were going badly.

A sudden urge to leave washes over Jeremy, careful not to disturb you. You needed the rest now more than ever. There’s a pause, a moment of contemplation before Jeremy decides to do something bold, something he should’ve done months ago when everything had first happened. He leans over steadily, observing you relaxed, your chest moving up and down rhythmically. Without a second thought, he gives your forehead a soft kiss. As he retracts, he squeezes your hand once more before letting it go completely, letting you get some much-needed rest. He sets your hand onto the plastic-y bed, making sure that the IV’s wire isn’t kinked or disrupted. The tape is undisturbed, almost like he had never been there at all. With a breath, Jeremy stands up and watches you, making sure that you’re sleeping heavily enough where his leaving won’t wake you in any way, shape, or form. It’s now that he sees the bandages around your ribcage, your shirt lifted just enough so he could see the edge of the tape. Jeremy’s fists ball up for a second, knowing that this is what your parents were talking about when it came to internal bleeding. He assumed it was from some sort of kick to the ribs, which his mind couldn’t even bring the mental image up without him getting angry and disgusted—who does this to someone they claim to love? What kind of sick moment takes over enough for you to get violent? And to the point that they’re hospitalized? Before Jeremy could get even angrier and possibly wake you, he took a breath in, glanced at the sweater in the chair adjacent to him, and softened. This wasn’t about anything except you and keeping you out of harms way, secure, and alive.

A shiver runs down Jeremy’s spine and he realizes just how cold it is in the room. Even though the heat outside is enough to make anyone want to peel their skin off, the hospital itself is cold enough inside to almost need an extra layer, especially with the gown you’d been put into. A swift move, and Jeremy grabs a hospital notepad and a pen that had been resting on the nightstand. He scrawls out a note, something about how you can keep the sweater for a little bit longer; it’s cold in the room, you probably need it. He leaves the note attached to the pad so it doesn’t get accidentally blown away by someone’s movements, or if your status changes and nurses have to—help you quickly, it wouldn’t be lost in the process. He sets the pen beside the notepad and hangs the sweater off the edge of the chair so that you can see it when you wake up. Jeremy makes his way towards the door softly, making sure that his footsteps don’t cause any disruptions throughout the room. He moves the door handle gently, slowly, softly before slipping into the hallway, careful not to miss the soft smile on your face that had planted itself there after he’d kissed your forehead and made his way towards the door.

The bright white lights make him wince, but he exhales, relief flushing out all of the worry from before. A nurse looks up from the table and gives him a smile, almost knowing exactly what had gone in the room before he had made an exit. “Ready to go?” she asks, grabbing a clipboard as Jeremy nods, unsure of what to say. The nurse smiles wider, her pink scrubs that had once seemed menacing now providing a sense of comfort and relief to him. “Don’t worry about them, they’re in good hands,” the nurse notes as she guides him back into the large room from before. He nods again, still in shock about the things that had happened, the things he’d seen, and mentally preparing himself for what awaited him in the room he’d started this horrible process in.

Through the double doors they went, and Jeremy’s eyes land on his dad’s back. Michael makes immediate contact and gives his best friend a smile, “Jer!” Everything from then on is almost blurry, still in a happy daze at the events that had unfolded. The nurse, the kiss, the TV, stupid fake star gazing with one another. The only thing he could do without was the upsetting truth that awaited you outside of the exit doors. But for right now, everything would be fine. You’d be okay for a little bit. And for Jeremy, that was enough to let him soar through the once dreadful and dull room he’d sat in for hours.

He takes a few steps towards Michael, a watery smile breaking out onto his face. Jeremy gives Michael a hug, silently thanking him for everything he’d done that night, from reassuring him about the drive, keeping him calm at his house, to finally driving him here to see you without any questions asked. The nurse says something and your parents head back along with your best friend. They give Jeremy a look of sympathy, silently mouthing a ‘thank you’ to him as they pass by, almost hyperaware of each syllable that had been spoken into your hospital room. Almost like they knew that you’d want to see Jeremy. He supposed maybe they did know.

“Jeremy?”

“Sorry Dad, what did you say?”

“I said I’m heading home. If you boys want to spend the night, you can. I’ll get breakfast for you two tomorrow. Come home when you’re ready; you can tell me all the details that Michael wasn’t able to fill me in on in the morning.”

“Yeah, sure Dad. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Drive safe, okay?”

Michael and Jeremy nod almost simultaneously before Mr. Heere gives Jeremy a pat on the back. He leaves through the mechanical doors that now had a new light to them. The watercolor paintings on the walls had now become beautiful, the receptionist now less sinister than when they had first rushed in. Things are going to be okay. The mint chairs now were ingrained in Jeremy’s brain, but instead of horror and nerves associated with them, he thought about you falling asleep, leaving the sweater and the smile he’d seen while leaving your room. The old magazines didn’t seem out of place, and while the lights were still an eye strain, for some reason, that didn’t bother Jeremy as much as it once had.

Michael looked at his best friend sharply, grabbing his keys from his pocket. “Ready?”

“Yeah. I am. Thanks from driving me.”

“No problem! We’re practically brothers dude. I’d do anything to help you. I thought you knew that because I saved you from…you know,” he tapped his temple got really close to Jeremy, almost like the action was a secret to everyone around them. It wasn’t, everyone could clearly see what he was doing, but even after all this time, Michael still wouldn’t even utter the word.

Jeremy gave a laugh for the first time that night before following Michael out through the doors they had before, high fiving and smiling all the way to the cruiser that had sat innocently outside the emergency room for hours. Yeah, things were going to be just fine.

#Jeremy Heere x reader #jeremy heere imagine #bmc imagine #bmc x reader #be more chill imagine #be more chill x reader

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