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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 years ago

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Love in a Ghost Town--Part 2: Small Town Exposure

Eddie Munson’s become content with working his day job. After the crazy stretching of events from 1983-1986, Eddie’s grateful for a little bit of normal in his life.

That is until one day, Valeria Browns shows up in town looking for a quick car fix. And she’s more than he might’ve bargained for on the eve of Valentine’s Day. Valeria is just trying to enjoy her Valentine’s Day weekend after many years of being perpetually single. She has her fun, but it’s never serious. Maybe Eddie can change some of that.

Older!Mechanic!Eddie Munson. 2003 alternative universe. BlackFem! OC.

The Upside Down doesn’t exist in this fic. But strange things do happen to th town of Hawkins, Indianna. Major Character Death that is not canon as a result of the non-Upside Down AU.

Series Warnings: Character death, Implied/Referenced Death, Smut (18+ Content)

Chapter Warnings: Past references to trauma, Implied Steddie, Mentions of Alcohol Consumption

Edited photo of Eddie by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Feel free to view my masterlist here

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The question’s been burning at the back of Valeria’s throat ever since Eddie extended the offer to show her the town personally; several hours earlier in the day. A long day if Valeria is going to admit it. But now, sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie’s pickup truck, the radio tuned into the top 40 hits, Valeria keeps replaying his soft confession, Hawkins isn’t bad anymore. From the corner of her eye, Valeria can take in the white undershirt and jeans Eddie changed into. Now the tattoos are easier to see, scattered up his forearms and biceps. Across his lap is a flannel and tucked between them is the jacket Valeria made him grab before they left his trailer.

His trailer isn’t a lot. But it’s homey. There’s hats and mugs that line the wall the couch is settled up against. The kitchen opens up immediately to anyone who enters. It was mostly neat. Some papers--mail most likely--stacked on the corner of the kitchen counter. The small dining table tucked into a corner held Eddie’s keys, wallet, and glasses as he discarded them. The coffee table in front of the couch held coasters and a bottle that seemingly was left in a rush. Eddie was quick to get it up and into the trash.

He’d shown her where the second bedroom was and let her know anything in the fridge and cabinets were free to her. Even handed her a fresh set of towels so upon their return she wouldn’t have to worry about them. As Eddie freshened up, Valeria dropped her backpack onto the edge of the black comforter. There was little in the way of decorations. A dark brown dresser on the bedside with a lamp. The walls were pretty bare. A clock rested above the closet and a shadow box with newspaper clippings rested against the wall that is shared with the kitchen. The closet had some spare hangers hanging from the silver bar, tucked into the left side against the wall were several boxes, Wayne, scrawled over one side of the boxes. She assumed it was all stuff Eddie couldn’t dare part with and though it wasn’t her business, she gingerly caressed the edge knowing how hard it is to part.

But now, she's settling in reality and she can’t help but think about what had happened to this town. “What-what did you mean by Hawkins isn’t so bad anymore?” Valeria asks above P!nk’s voice from the radio.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t catch onto that,” Eddie admits, reaching for his gear shift to shift down a gear.

“I’m new in town. Of course I’m going to catch onto it.”

Eddie nods. “Fair enough. It really starts back in ‘83. Between two missing kids, one turning up later dead, the other presumed dead but with no body, the town starts to panic. Some government conspiracy theories start to float up. They sound like hocus pocus, but of course they’re supposed to sound like that. ‘84 and ‘85 are a little blurry personally.”

“That’s when your uncle got sick?”

Eddie nods to the question. “Yeah, it’s when we started to suspect something. Didn’t get an official diagnosis until ‘86. But the missing kids and then rumors about Russian infiltrating the town in the midsts of the Cold War. This town really had a stretch of some turbulent years. In ‘86, the town’s still reeling because now it’s coming out that there were government involvements with the missing kid whose body never turned up, and the Russians. Part of the town goes on a witch hunt even still. Religion was prominent, even if we didn’t admit to it. I think they call it the Satanic Panic. At the time, I was really into this game Dungeons and Dragons.”

“I know the game. One of my friend's brother still plays. I think he’s the DM now.”

“I’m glad to hear D&D is still going strong. I founded a club back in high school for a little bit. After everything that had gone down, people needed a reason for why. Why was it all happening to us? Our small, quaint, idyllic town. And when people don’t understand something it becomes the easiest target. There were rumors about a cult being behind the reason for the reason the feds were looking at our town. Really it turns out only one kissing kid is a result of the government involved. Other kid just got lost in the woods. He’d run off, looks like there might’ve been a little trouble at home. A bad storm came through in November. Exposed to the elements like that, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Poor kid,” Valeria sighs.

“It was Jonathan’s brother that ran off into the woods. Joyce, their mother, she took it hard there for a while. But then she really turned it around for Jonathan before she passed. Joyce was always fierce.”

The truck stops, running idling mostly to keep the heat going. But there’s so much that threatens to melt Valeria’s teeth if she doesn’t ask. Like why does the town have newer looking roads and what were the feds actually in town about? How did the other person die? Did people start a witch hunt for Eddie because of the club? But she can’t quite get her jaw to open, loosen up enough for any air to come out before Eddie’s turning to her. He gestures to the side of his face. “You’re probably already putting some things together.”

Valeria inches her hand a little closer to Eddie’s outreached forearm. The truck’s parked, no where for it to go, but he keeps a hand on the gear like maybe even he’s unsure of where to place it. “People start blaming the game?”

Eddie nods. “Spring break of my last senior year was definitely a spring break for the records. To backtrack, the feds were in town because there were an increasing number of reports of illness coming from people that were working the power plant. There are old cold mines littering this state, but the biggest one was here in Hawkins before it got an upgrade. Though between you and I, it needs another one. Power plant is technically a safe distance away from old coal mines but the buildings and the conditions aren’t that great. Feds were coming in to try and keep things hush really and at the same time, following leads about Russians too. It’s sort of a mess. But this isn’t exactly public news just yet. So to the town it feels like a plague--you know? It’s a stretch of four years with a lot of turmoil. We had a mall that came in in ‘85, got burned down in the midst of this mess too. Didn’t get rebuilt until the 90’s if I remember right.

“But Spring Break, man,” Eddie exhales, staring up at the front of the pharmacy. Valeria assumes this is the downtown--where bars, stores, and much of the nightlife thrums for Hawkins. But she doesn’t want to break the spell. The more Eddie speaks, the more she feels like she can see what sort of town this place was and may still be in the depths.

“Yeah, no, Spring Break was a time. Part of the government cover up is becoming less of a conspiracy theory but between the mall fire and general turmoil, the town needs a reason for everything. I,” Eddie laughs, looking over to Valeria as he rubs his chin. “I wasn’t a straight lace back in the day.”

“You don’t look like one now,” she retorts with a snort.

Their laughter intertwines in the air between them. Eddie shrugs, turning more now to face Valeria directly, back resting against the driver side door. “Fair enough. I deserve that one. But I was dealing. I’ll admit it. It was putting food on the table. I don’t think my dad was a bad guy. I just hated the situation we were in. Mom died when I was young. Dad’s trying to take care of me but doesn’t know how to grieve his wife properly. He resorted to dealing and got mixed up real bad. When he landed in jail, I got turned into a ward of the state until it came back about my uncle. I sort of felt neglected. Wayne was a good man and I’m really grateful that he took me in. But I guess after everything--bouncing around from place to place, picking up some skills I’m not very proud of--I still wanted my dad, you know?”

Valeria nods. “There’s no one like your parents. And there’s no one else that can fuck you up like your parents.”

“Ain’t that the truth. But, I was dealing, and the founder of the D&D club. And Chrissy Cunnighman- Liv’s mom- she was head cheerleader and approached me about buying. If we run into Chrissy, you’ll understand what I mean by this, but she’s like literally an angel. I’ve known her since middle school and I swear to heaven, she’s a direct descendant. Night of the championship game, Chrissy comes by the old trailer. There was a little bit of settlement money from the feds. I didn’t want to take it, but Wayne made me promise. I upgraded the place a little with the cash. But Chrissy-I didn’t know when she first approached what was really going on. I sort of suspected the more we started to hang out. She originally just wants weed, which is fine. But when she asks for the harder stuff,” Eddie sighs, exhaling deeply from his lungs.

“I asked her to stay with me. The long and the short of it, that’s basically what happened. I didn’t want her using that kind of stuff by herself the first time. So I told her if she really wanted it, she’d have to stay with me. I’d sort of help her through her high until she knew better how she reacted to it. It’s one thing to have a bad trip and another to have a bad trip alone. It’s terrifying. But Chrissy at the time was dating Jason, captain of the basketball team. The All American couple. Jason wasn’t perfect back in high school--an insecure jackass, maybe. But I won’t paint him to be a total villain. When Chrissy didn’t show up for the party after the basketball’s championship game, it spooked him. He went to her parent’s place and she wasn’t there. Meanwhile, Chrissy didn’t even use that night. Well, not the Special K. We just smoked. She and I really spent most of the night talking. She’d previously been so…untouchable. But she was just a person. Like we all are. With her own demons.

“One night was enough though,” Eddie sighs. “By the time I got Chrissy back home later that next day, I think half the town was gunning for me. I got cornered that night. It wasn’t pretty. They wanted me to admit that I was a cult leader and I was trying to sacrifice Chrissy and corrupt her. Doctor said I’m lucky to have made it out alive.”

That does it--where Valeria had been playing it safe and keeping distance between them, a hand hovering in the gap, she finally crosses No Man’s Land and grasps at Eddie’s thigh. “If it means anything, I’m glad you did make it.”

“Th-thanks,” he exhales. His movements are measured, but he moves inch by inch to take Valeria’s hand into his. “I’m glad too.”

The calluses are prominent. No doubt a by-product of the work he does with his hands and Valeria fleeting wonders if some of them too are from his days in the band and if he still plays. But even the curiosity is drowned out by the fact that Eddie may not be here if fates were tipped a different way nearly twenty years ago. “I’m sorry it happened though.”

“I gave up on being sorry about it happening long ago. Like I said before, I had other things to be concerned about. And I knew it. I was the town freak, good for nothing drug dealer. People need a reason why.”

“Doesn’t mean you should be sacrificed in the midst of it.”

“You’re right. I made some good friends along the way. This kid, Dustin, I was going to meet up with him because he wanted to talk about the campaign finished over break. And when I didn’t show up like I agreed, he enlisted some help from some of his friends to help start looking for him. It’s because of him that I’m alive. That’s Hawkins then, though. Let me show you Hawkins now.”

Valeria nods, a small smile crossing her face. “Sounds good.”

Eddie squeezes her hand for just a moment and then they both pull away. She works to get her winter coat on while Eddie slips into the flannel and coat. They meet at the front of the truck on the sidewalk. “It’s not a lot. The mall’s got a bit more and we can head that way too if you want.”

“Here’s okay for now. I think I might explore the mall tomorrow while you’re at work.”

“Sure,” Eddie nods. “I’ll jot down the stop to get off at. There’s a bus stop just at the entrance of the trailer park. It’s a bit of a walk and I do apologize for that.”

“I’ve got good walking shoes. But where to first?” Valeria, even with the dark of the settled in evening, can take in the buildings around her thanks to the street lights.

Eddie takes hold of Valeria’s hand, nodding over to his left. “I could show you where I had my first kiss, which by the way was absolutely awful, but I think you might enjoy a quaint little bar more.”

“Which has cheap alcohol that does the job.”

“Now that it does.”

The Hideout is the opposite of quaint. The worn wood aesthetic gives away its age. The bodies that line the bar counter and some of the booths show a town that feels a bit frozen. Or perhaps is more accurate to say it’s a town that continues to fulfill its own prophecy. They’re not young. The sea is not packed. But the town has a certain prey that feeds its own ecosystem: people who don’t leave because of the haunting reality of responsibilities--the Eddie’s and Jonathan’s of Hawkins--and the people who don’t leave the small town because they are too embedded into a sense of nostalgia who can’t evolve as the times demand them. The latter seems like the best choice for one man at the bar loudly lamenting about the good old days.

Eddie leans into Valeria’s space, voice closer to her ear than usual. “Meet Jason Carver--he’s mostly harmless now at least. And I’m pretty sure he’s loaded so he’s much too slow.”

“Captain of the basketball team, right?” Valeria asks.

“Hmm, I might have to move the exam up a day by how quickly you catch on. If you’re uncomfortable, we can go.”

Valeria wouldn’t say she’s comfortable. Eddie is familiar and feels the most trustworthy. But Valeria is distinctly not comfortable in this town. Jason looks like the beers have caught up with him at the same time as age as too. He doesn’t look out of shape, as it seems more likely his cheeks are just full and the bend in his waist from his seat is a result of bad posture and the lack of a court to run up and down. Jason looks like a man who wasn’t ready to let go of something, so he doesn’t. She imagines the letterman jacket he might’ve worn like armor. The replacement, a bomber jacket, holds a familiar silhouette for him most likely.

“I don’t want to go unless he makes a direct threat,” Valeria returns.

“As long as you’re sure,” Eddie insists. “I do have backups. Aren’t many but there are some.”

“Let’s just…give him some space,” Valeria suggests.

“Absolutely.”

He leads the two of them to a booth right out of Jason’s line of sight. “Wings are the best thing about this place. Besides, my rockstar alum status. That okay? Two basket of fries?”

Valeria nods, shrugging out of her jacket. “I could go for some wings.”

“What about your drink? Whiskey straight? Hurricane? Beer?”

“Cider please.”

Tossing his jacket into the booth, Eddie nods. “Consider it done. I’ll be right back.”

In the absence of Eddie’s presence, Valeria slips out her phone. She hadn’t called Tamara to let her know about her need to stay in the town until now. No doubt to the worry of Tamara, but she hadn’t managed to have the nerves until now. It’s an easy dial once Valeria as she presses and hold the number 3 on her keypad. The line rings only twice and then shouts are filling the line. “Val, that you?”

“Yeah, Tammie it’s me.”

“Where are you? The car fixed yet?”

“It’s the transmission. Friday is the earliest the parts can come in. Eddie expedited it.”

“Shit, so you’re just stuck in that podunk town,” Tammie sighs.

“Until the car is fixed, yeah.”

“You okay? In a hotel?”

That’s the question Valeria doesn’t want to have to answer. “I’m okay.”

“Is it going to cost an arm and a leg?”

“Add a kidney in there too,” Valeria laughs.

Tammie’s laughter cuts in through the sounds of her children in the background. “Maybe a spare lung.”

Valeria looks up to Eddie, one foot resting on the foot rest of an empty bar stool. “It’s not…all bad though.” Out of the overalls, it’s clear Eddie’s built. It’s not like he’s cut to tear down houses nor does it look like he’s trying to win a body-building competition. But the lines in his back are visible beneath the t-shirt. He looks strong, and soft. It’s clear he likes a beer or two from time to time. He’s aged, his body gives that away, but he’s done so gracefully.

“So who is it? Who’s caught your eye?”

Valeria travels the length of his body back up, work boots still decorating his feet to the long tresses. He tied back half his hair, but left the other half from about the top of his ears down loose. “I don’t even know if Eddie goes for Black girls, let alone girls at all.”

Tammie cackles at the retort. “You could be his first.”

“I-I don’t want to imagine that. He is letting stay with him for free, best to not make it awkward,” Valeria states, still half distracted by the ink of Eddie’s arms.

“You’re what?” The screech pierces hard and fast in Valeria’s skull as it leaves Tamara’s throat.

Valeria closes her eyes, head dropping. “Shit.”

“You weren’t going to tell me! You were going to stay with this man who could be a serial killer for all we know and you weren’t going to say anything to me!”

“We were just discussing the possibility of me sleeping with him so I’m not sure how that’s somehow any better.”

“Yeah, sleep with him and then frolic off to your hotel room or a motel or something. But you’re staying with him! There'll be no paper trail of you being in the town!”

Checking into a motel would definitely have a hard trail for anyone to follow. “He’s…Tammie, I can’t afford to fix this car and pay for an unknown number of nights for a room. The least I can do is take the free room. And there’s a mall out here supposedly. I’ll make sure to make a purchase there or something.”

“Use your credit card, please!”

“Yes, Mom, I will.”

“You feel safe around this Eddie?”

At the mention of his name, Valeria looks back up to notice Eddie turning with their drinks in his hand. “Safe enough,” Valeria answers. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Are you about to make a move on this man? Oh, he’s not going to make it if you do.”

“I’m out with him, getting some dinner. Trying not to be rude, Tammie,” Valeria whispers. “Later, okay? And a purchase on my credit card tomorrow. I know, I know.”

“Love you, Val. Please call later, okay?”

“I will, Tammie. Love you too.”

The call ends with a distinct beep. Their ‘Love-you’s’ are punctuations to any conversations. Even if they argue, they still must confess their love. Because it is only and ever love that fuels any of their conversations.

Valeria slips the phone into the front pocket of her sweatshirt and reaches up for the bottle Eddie holds out to her. He sets his glass bottle down, a silver bottle opener also in his hands. He motions to her bottle, like he’s asking for permission and Valeria can only nod. Eddie then pops the top her drink, the fizz giving the cider just a small head of foam and then quickly settling. “Wanted to ensure you knew there was no funny business,” he confesses, a lopsided grin on his face settles into the cracked red cushions of the booth.

“Thanks, Eddie. Next round is on me if you’re up for it of course.”

“Let’s worry about that bridge when we get there, yeah.”

“So you used to play here?” Valeria asks, taking in the stage that doesn't look like it’s been used in years. There’s tables in the middle between the sides of the booths. She tries to imagine what it might be like to have a crowd of teenagers in on the middle of the week.

“Every Tuesday. Didn’t have much of a crowd most of the time, but it was nice to play.”

“No one is coming to see you play? Were you bad?” Valeria jokes. She wants to deliver with more flatness, but her smile betrays her.

Eddie snorts, raising the bottle to his lips. After he gets his sip down, he leans a bit more into the table. “I’m a metalhead. Corroded Coffin never caught flight. But enough about me. I’m old and boring.”

“Eddie, you are not old. If you’re old, god, I don’t want to think about myself.”

“No, you are the opposite of old, that is absolutely apparent. You’ve got nails like claws, which are actually really cool by the way.”

Valeria ducks her head. “Thanks. I-” She curls her hands into fists as best as she can before resting her palms around the sweating glass bottle. “I’m realizing how much I definitely stand out. Sorry.”

Eddie reaches, only just a shuffle of his hand over the wooden table, towards her. “You’re in good company then. I’m out of place here too and I fucking grew up here.”

Valeria looks up from underneath her lashes, but nods. His smile is still soft and still makes the dimples on his cheeks stand out. “I think I went to college to get away,” Valeria admits. “That’s why I didn’t really care what I studied or where I landed. Just wanted to get away.”

“Small hometown?” Eddie asks.

Valeria shakes her head. “Not-not like this. When my parents were still alive, we had a small house--single story, it was nice. Parents were sort of treading water with debt so my grandmother sold that house to help out and I moved in with her. She lived in the inner city. Wasn’t terrible like we weren’t on the verge of having lights turned off, but Gma worked her ass off to make sure of it. Just wasn’t great. Sort of grew up dealing with a lot of people on our block succumbing to drugs really. Wasn’t anything for me to see people shooting dice or shooting up on the walk to friends house. One of the dealers on the block had a thing for me but I was just trying to keep my head down. I had a temper.”

Eddie hums around his sip. “A temper?”

“I got into fights a lot,” Valeria admits, spinning the bottle. She’s not gone in for anymore over her initial sip. But her knuckles throb for a moment before she speaks, “Broke one girl’s nose. Gave a couple people some black eyes. Nearly broke a guy’s ribs. I never needed a good reason, just a reason.”

Eddie whistles. “Before or after your parents’ accident?”

“After. Lost them in 6th grade. All throughout high school and the remainder of middle school, I just didn’t know what to do with what I felt. I was pissed they died. My grief was rage.”

“Understandably so. Really are preaching to the choir, so.”

“Softball saved me. I couldn’t let my grades slip and I couldn’t get into trouble--sort of forced me to face things head on.”

“You mean you couldn’t get into fights,” Eddie corrects.

Valeria huffs her laugh, taking down her second sip to math Eddie’s fourth, maybe even sixth sip. “I couldn’t get into trouble,” Valeria returns firmly. “I got into a lot of physical fights but I was quick with a slick mouth too.”

Eddie grins at the quip. “If you can almost break a rib, I’d hate to hear the damage you can do.”

Valeria rests her elbows into the table, showing off her nails. “Why do you think I keep my nails done? They’re too expensive now to break in a fight.”

Eddie takes one of her hands, holding mostly on the tips of her fingers to get a closer look at the details. He runs a thumbs over the faux pearls. “Do you keep them decorated for all major holidays?”

“I’ll be skipping on Saint Patrick’s Day if that’s what you’re asking.”

Eddie shakes his head. His smile turns into something more flirtatious. “No, wondering if I can put in a request.”

“You say it like you’ll end up seeing the fruits of the labor.”

“I don’t assume anything.”

“Then what’s your request?” Valeria hums. Right from her periphery, she notices a person approaching with a tray. Eddie doesn’t let go of her hands even though she’s sitting back to accommodate their food.

“I get to see how they feel. And if I can get a visit between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I wouldn’t be mad either.”

Valeria knows a flirt when she sees one and Eddie is the biggest fucking flirt Valeria has ever seen in her life. “How long have you been waiting to use that line?”

“That one I whipped up fresh just for you,” Eddie laughs. He lifts her hand, arms going with the action and the food slips in right underneath. They give their gratitude to the server as Eddie lowers her elbows back down to the table on either side of their spread. “There’s buffalo sauce on the side and ranch, and I’m absolutely biased so I had them put barbeque on the side too. But I hope that’s alright.”

Valeria nods. “Yeah, that’s alright.” Eddie’s grasps on her hand loosens and with a rush, a surge that overrides all logic, Valeria grapes his forearms, fingers bent mostly at the first knuckle to let the nail tips rest against his skin. Why not give him exactly what he wants? Well, he could be a serial killer. But something tells me he’s not.

They hang in the moment, frozen like stars on cloudy skies, not exactly seen but known. They both know. “Is it curiosity?” Valeria asks. What’s really behind that is: Are you interested in me because you think I’m attractive or because I’m Black? She’s not sure Eddie will truly pick up on the nuisance. He’s lived here, in this town, his entire life probably. Possible escapades to the city and sure Eddie’s not once been rude to her--call it Midwest Manners-- but Valeria has to know before she does something reckless on a whole other level if it’s going to bite her in the ass.

“About you specifically, yes. I may be a small town guy, but my eyes still work.”

“Eighty percent of the time,” Valeria teases, drawing her hands back, nails dragging lightly down his forearms, then down his palms and over the calluses and tips of his fingers.

“The other…twenty percent of you is only slightly fuzzy.”

The click of a boot on the floors is easy to ignore, but the tan pants and black belt are hard to not see when a body settles at the edge of their table. It only takes the small glint of the gold badge on the hip for Valeria to snatch her hands back to her side of the table, as if she weren’t already on the way to it. Eddie raises a brow at the action, eyes morphing from something hot to something tender. The core melts as he considers her. “It’s just Harrington, honey,” Eddie explains. As if that’s supposed to take the edge off. “He can be a bit of a ball buster,” he continues on, flicking his gaze up. “Mostly bark, very little bite.”

Valeria follows the line of Eddie’s sight and there’s an easy grin on the man’s face. There’s something soft in his gaze down to Eddie, behind with the graying gray--longer than Valeria might’ve imagined for a small town cop. His jaw is sharp, long nose in the middle of a face that Valeria can imagine was the subject of many potential heartbreaks of this very town. He’s bigger than Eddie, muscle packed on with care and even with all his best efforts, there’s the distinct squish around his waist. Time, too, has settled gracefully on the man.

But he holds the buckle of his belt in a way that sets Valeria’s nerves on fire. More than once she’s wound up in lock up because of a fight. More than once as an officer shined the buckle of his belt in her face, caressed it like it’s supposed to be something else. Like it’s laying in wait.

“Wanted to say hi to the new face making buzz in town,” Harrington offers before sliding his gaze over to Valeria. “I’m Steve,” he comments, hand extended out.

Valeria watches it, hand raising but body rigid. “Valeria Browns, sir,” she returns.

“Ouch, no, no need for the sir,” Steve laughs, hands settling into his pockets now. “Just Steve. Is Munson treating you right? If he’s not, you like me know. A wanted man in many respects,” Steve tacks on.

“All you’d have to do is call, sweetheart,” Eddie retorts, resting his chin on the flat of his knuckles. His smile is sickly sweet and he adds a bat of his lashes to top it off.

These two definitely fucked, Valeria thinks to herself. Their laughter is easy and Steve throws a weak punch to Eddie’s shoulder. He singles Eddie out with a finger. “Just treat her right. I don’t want any complaints about you.”

Steve turns to Valeria. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come down by the station, we’ll be happy to help.”

“Thank you, s-Steve.”

“Anytime, Valeria.”

Steve reaches down into the basket of fries on Eddie’s side of the table and steals a couple. Eddie only smiles at the action. “Someone ought to be feeding you better. Fruits and veggies,” Eddie returns. Steve only shrugs at the jest and as he takes a step back, winks. He throws Valeria another polite wave before carrying himself back towards the front of the bar. Eddie takes in the lines of her shoulders--rigid and hard--under Valeria’s sweatshirt. “Take it you don’t like cops.”

She shakes her head. Her throat quakes for just a moment. As easy as the taunts were between them there’s still the burn under her skin that Valeria knows will last for hours. “Haven’t had too many good encounters.”

“Steve’s a teddy bear, really. He took over after Hopper retired. The two of them are close, but really, you don’t have to worry. Steve’s—he’s a good guy. Truly he is.”

Valeria’s sure Eddie’s words may be true, but she can only stare down at the basket of wings and fries in front of her. The glint of the badge, the grasps of the buckle are burned into her retinas. She blinks and they’re still there. She blinks again, I’m her grandmother. You think I’d lie about that? Valeria blinks again, You’re lucky they’re not pressing charges. Another blink, Keep coming back here and I might start to think you like it. Blink. Only thing you're good for is opening your legs in the long run. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Nothing had happened, but it still feels like everything had happened. Valeria reaches, hand shaking for a fry. “You two seem like you go way back,” she offers. Her voice cracks a little. Eyes threatening to spill tears. But they don’t.

“Hey, no, are you okay?”

It’s thick—the concern in Eddie’s voice is thick and it falls between them slowly. Valeria is so far from okay but she doesn’t want to focus on that. “Please don’t. It’s messy and not sexy. I’ll be fine. Just please answer the question.”

Eddie can’t help the snort. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost if not more and you’re worried that you somehow can make your trauma appear alluring. I may be many things—a freak, a troublemaker, devilishly handsome. But I don’t care if it’s sexy or not. I want to make sure you’re okay. The last thing I’m going to do is ignore the fact that you don’t seem to be doing well.”

Her chest cracks. The tears are slipping and she doesn’t care to stop them. Not now. Not when she’s being told it’s safe to crack. Eddie grabs some napkins, slipping them into her turned up palm. It’s not a sob building. It’s more like the pressuring she’d been swallowing back now marches up her chest. Her exhale is heavy and she feels like she should cough. But still she withholds and works instead to inhale and exhale again.“Damn you, Eddie Munson.”

He grins—the boyish one that’s a little shy but really it’s hiding all his secrets and desires. It’s the kind of shyness that makes Valeria know he is not so innocent. When she doesn’t move to wipe her tears, Eddie does, dabbing and holding the napkin along her eyes. Her mascara is probably already staining her cheeks. “As long as I get to meet you in the underworld, Valeria Browns. As far as Steve and I—he’s part of the group Dustin was close too who found me in the forest just outside the trailer park that night. Or rather that morning really. He and I, we had our time. I think if this town were a little bit different and he and I were just a little bit different it could’ve worked out, maybe.”

“Town freak, ex-drug dealer, metal head. Wannabe a rockstar and let me guess Steve was what swim captain. Jock. All American but inverse to dear old Carver. A real Wild West love story. Cops and robbers type of situations.”

Eddie laughs, taking another napkin to dab off what he can of the black lines. “Steve even has a cowboy hat to match. But yeah, he was swim captain and basketball captain before Carver. He graduated a year before I did finally.”

“I assume people sort of suspected?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe they did. But that’s all in the past, really.”

“It looks more present to me,” Valeria teases.

Eddie shakes his head, but wears an amused smirk. “You’re always stirring the pot. We had what we had. We have what remains. That’s all, really. So, this,” he starts gesturing between him and Valeria, “is much more present to me. And that’s okay, right?” Eddie says in a whisper. Like he doesn’t want to scare her off or break the spell. Valeria nods but looks back down to her food. Eddie continues on. Like he can’t help himself. The words fall rushed and stumble into each other. “You can say no. I know it’s strange but we can leave it here. I’ll show you around, we’ll go back home, and I’ll give you 6 feet at all times.”

“I believe you, Eddie.”

He deflates, shoulders rounding down and he nods. It’s adjacent to relief, if not relief itself that paints his face. “Just let me know. But eat, yeah? Still have an appetite?”

“I can try. That’s for certain.” Because if Valeria’s had anything she’s always had in her to try. She may not succeed but that’s never been the goal. She just needs to try.

By the time they finish their food, the night’s gotten even colder. Valeria can feel it cutting across her face, but she walks alongside Eddie, listening to him regal tales of a not so distant past. The cold ease the fire on her face, the heat of fear and some embarrassment strong, but not stronger than the cold. She takes a long glance at the old theater sign in front of her. Eddie’s voice rings out about the time he had his almost first kiss here. Where Steve got into a fight with Jonathan over Nancy, where Steve had someone else graffiti vile stuff about Nancy and then cleaned it off himself when he realized how wrong he was about it, where now dust settles on the inside. If Valeria breathes in deep enough she can smell the popcorn that might’ve been popping during all these events.

“Tell me--what’s your favorite M&M? And you have to say the red ones,” Eddie adds on.

“Green Skittles,” Valeria returns.

“Yeah, okay, those are good. But that’s not the question.”

“Green Skittles,” Valeria hums, bumping Eddie’s arm with her own. “I’m mildly allergic to chocolate.”

“You’re what?” Eddie screeches, the offense pouring from his face. “How-you haven’t even lived if you haven’t had chocolate.”

“I steal Hershey kisses occasionally.”

Eddie grins, hand reaching out for hers. She gives into the silent question with ease, slipping her fingers through his. The rings now are cold too. “I knew I liked you. The candy shop is still standing if you want to browse.”

“Sure. Just no chocolate. I don’t feel like adding an ER visit to this trip.”

“Oh, you’ll just miss Buckley then.”

“Who?”

“Robin. Pediatric nurse. Friend. Ex band geek. Steve’s literal other half in platonic form. She’s kind of amazing, but you can’t tell her I said that.”

“I’m 32,” Valeria returns.

Eddie grins before leaning down just a little. He whispers, what Valeria knows shouldn’t be a secret, but he treats it like one, “Buckley’s got all the best candy in the hospital though.”

“I can fake it,” Valeria deadpans, pulling to a hard stop on the sidewalk. She throws her thumb over her shoulder. “Which way to the hospital?”

Eddie barks out a laugh, turning to face Valeria now. His body breaks a gust of wind. “Technically, that way,” Eddie nods his head over his left shoulder. He swings their joined hands in the direction too. “I think she’s looking to get out soon, from nursing. So we probably should get to her sooner rather than later. But I’m sure I can give her a ring tonight and set something more adult up.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother,” Valeria states.

“You are not a bother. She might even be able to take you up to the mall so you’re not hiking it if she’s not got another shift. She admittedly hates shopping but she’s good company.”

“If she’s Steve’s platonic soulmate, I’m probably going to get a shovel talk.”

Eddie nods, a small grimace taking over his face. “Hmm, that is the down side. She’d kill for that boy and now by a long extension me.”

“You do that a lot.”

Eddie’s brows furrow at Valeria’s statement. “Do what?”

“You dismiss yourself. Like you somehow matter less or not the same as everyone else.”

“One day. One day and you think you have me figured all the way out?” There’s not a lot of heat behind Eddie’s words. But there’s a sternness that lets Valeria know she’s too close.

“I cried into chicken wings forty-five minutes ago in case you forgot. You cleaned my mascara off too. You can tell me if I’m dancing too close to the fire, but you don’t get to undercut me.” The words fall with an arch brow. Like she’s daring Eddie to say something else back out of line. Valeria’s not afraid of fight--that’s something she’s always known.

“To be fair, I’m mostly impressed. Took a lot of people I’m close to a lot longer to call me out on it. Wayne doesn’t really count, since he raised me and all.”

Valeria watches the lines of Eddie’s face and the tick of his jaw. There is genuine awe mixed with a clear tell. “Too close to the fire, aren’t I?”

“Maybe just a little.” Edde uses the forefinger and thumb on his free hand to press together just how close Valeria is to the nerve. The pads of his fingers don’t touch, but they are so close they might as well be. He laughs, which hopefully means he doesn’t hate her guts. Her actions may have warranted it, but she likes the ease with Eddie.

Valeria returns the sentiment with her free hand held in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul. Our outs or strikes. C’mon, there’s candy to browse.” The two resume their walk. It’s a short distance but even in the few steps the tension starts to melt.

“Steve would be disappointed,” Valeria points out. “I’m sure he’s tried hard to teach you about sports.”

Eddie holds open the door to the shop, allowing Valeria to enter first. “I’ve learned a lot. It’s funnier to be a little shit.”

The shop has redwood and red decor up the walls. It’s not quite like stepping into a time machine. The registers are all modern, but there’s something historic about the decor. It feels borrowed, comfortable in a way that lets Valeria that it’s been well lived in, but still is not hers. “What’s your favorite color of M&Ms?” Valeria asks.

“The green ones.”

“So why did I have to say red?”

“It would complete the set,” Eddie returns.

He says it like it’s obvious. Like Valeria’s supposed to know what it means. But she doesn’t. She watches Eddie walk over to the side wall, where rows of clear containers sit. You can build your own bag of candy, it appears from the way there are plastic bags on the side and scoops in each clear container. He takes a bag and scoops inside peach rings. Then he gets another bag stowing away red hots inside of it. Eddie goes on until he has a dozen bags. They’re all tied off after they’re about a third the way full. Valeria grabs half for him when it’s clear he’s done.

“I got ‘em,” Eddie returns, piling his portion on his forearm pressed up against his stomach, using his torso now as a shelf to leave the bags

“I can help. For friends?”

Eddie nods. “Bit of a tradition.”

“Is there where Robin gets her stash?”

“Possibly,” Eddie laughs, one hand still extending to take the remaining bags. “But I’ll never tell.”

Valeria turns, still holding six bags in her arms. She gravitates to the candy apples. She can’t remember the last time she had a candy apple, but the sight of the display is enough to seal the deal. There are some in caramel with nuts and some dipped in the red candy covering. She eyes the displays to see if she can determine the base apple flavor beneath and spots a green apple in red candy covering that she wants. The tower has no glass so she reaches in and plucks the one she wants off the tray.

Before she can get it fully in her grasps, a hand comes in over her shoulder and picks up the handle. Valeria turns to find Eddie already making his way to the register. “You coming or getting left?” he calls out of his shoulder.

“You’re insufferable,” Valeria mutters to herself but comes at the call. Eddie’s focused on a display--Valeria’s doesn’t pay attention to what. She’s fishing her wallet out from her pocket and slides her card across the counter as she notices the cashier finishing up. The young girl takes it, red hair pulled back from her face, and she looks bored. Not that Valeria blames her.

“Got ID?” The girl asks. Valeria holds it out for her to see and only at the question does Eddie’s attention snap away from the glass counter.

“What are you doing?” he asks, reaching up to swat her card away. But the cashier is faster and swipes Valeria’s card after verifying the name on it and the name of the ID. “Max, you know better!”

Max, the cashier only shrugs, fishing out a pen from the cup for Valeria to sign the receipt. “I don’t really give a shit.”

Valeria hands over the signed receipt and gets her car back into her wallet. The purchase would at the very least solidify her time in the town and it would piss off Eddie: two birds, one stone. “Since you paid for dinner,” Valeria returns. “Thank you.”

Eddie sighs, with a nod. “If you pay for anything else though,” he threatens, but doesn’t finish.

“You’re going to do what?” Valeria goads.

“Not in front of the children,” he answers, tucking two fingers under Valeria’s chin to tilt her head back.

It’s only an arch of her brow. There’s no word. But the facial tic is enough to communicate everything to Eddie and his eyes darken just a little in the dim light of the candy store. There he is, Valeria notes to herself.

“I’m taking my Swedish fish now, by the way, Eddie,” Max interrupts, clearly on purpose as she gnashes her teeth into the tough gelatin.

Eddie’s gaze never leaves Valeria’s. “Enjoy, Red.” His fingers slowly leave Valeria’s chin, one single digit signaling her out. “You’re dangerous, very dangerous,” Eddie laughs.

Tagging: @munsonology

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jodilinbio · 1 month ago

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Part 44

Early 2010:

Tom has been laid off for nearly 17 months. I appreciate not having to worry about him being on the road so much and enjoy seeing him have more time for the things he loves. But even though we get along well, having him home all the time is getting old. It’d be nice if he could find a job, even if it didn’t pay much or come with insurance. With our online jobs, we’d only need something part-time.

Thinking back to our adventurous days, we once boldly moved to Oregon, then to California—jobless and homeless—which nearly did us in. Sometimes, if you want out of a burning room, you’ve got to charge through the fire headfirst, not that we were necessarily in a burning room. But each long-distance move has been harder than the last, so I think it’s time to retire that adventurous side I never knew I had until I met Tom. It was fun and a learning experience, but one can only walk a tightrope so many times before falling too far to get back up. Even though the winters here are a bit colder than I’d like (it’s snowed a couple of times since we’ve been here), I love the woods. In Arizona, the flat, open land meant you could hear loud car stereos from miles away. Here, I love the hilly terrain and all the trees, even if neither cacti nor palms are native to this area. I miss the desert at times, and I sometimes think it’d be neat to live in a tropical place, but for now, it looks like we’re staying put. No guarantees, but that’s the plan. At least for now.

I’m trying to become a more forgiving person, though I know I’m not alone in struggling with this, despite all the talk of forgiveness out there. While I’ve mostly moved on from the anger I felt toward my sister, I still don’t know that I can forgive her. And I definitely can’t forgive those who created the “evidence” that cost me half a year of freedom, time with Tom, thousands of dollars, and untold degradation, anger, and fear. Forgiving people who don’t believe they’ve done anything wrong is a challenge, to say the least.

Late 2010:

There are only two hours left of 2010 as I write this. I decided I would update this bio at the end of every year rather than wait a few years. It’s easier to remember things that way and a lot seems to be happening to me at the same time not much is happening.

We still live in the old trailer on Jesse’s land. This is the longest time in the three rentals we’ve rented since we left Arizona. Jesse still drives me crazy at times too, with his dogs and his loud vehicles. But it still beats the city. Jesse’s now out of work, so that means we hear more of him than his dogs. And I don’t mean home as in fired or laid off. He hurt his back, so he told us, and is trying to retire or get on disability.

On Christmas Day of 2009, I was chatting with Marie. Had someone told me I’d be chatting with Maliheh of all people on the next Christmas I never would’ve believed it in a million years. Yeah, for me California’s definitely been the “state of reunion.” And a place full of surprises despite its disappointments.

I first found Maliheh on Facebook last May. I messaged her the day after her 53rd birthday, though I didn’t know at the time that the previous day was her birthday. My intentions at first weren’t to be very nice. I didn’t care to bully or harass her, I just thought I’d “surprise” her, so to speak, and casually drop my journal link on her.

I said something to the effect of, “Remember me? From the Deerfield/Northampton area in 1991? You were 34 at the time and I was 25. You weren’t very nice to me either.”

At the time I didn’t plan to ever contact her again, and as expected, I didn’t receive a reply from her.

Just two weeks later in early June, someone started harassing me on a site called Formspring where people can ask questions in total anonymity. I thought it was a neat idea and would be interesting to see what questions people hit me with. They were nothing out of the ordinary at first – what’s my favorite color, what’s my favorite movie, what chore do I hate the most…

It was soon clear to me that the person not only kept regular tabs on my journal but that they had personally known me at one point in my life.

My first thought was that it was either my sister or one of my sister-in-laws. But knowing it just wasn’t any of my SIL’s style, I quickly dropped them as a possibility.

Maliheh and Andy were next on the list. Especially Maliheh since I’d recently contacted her. I figured she took the time to comb through my journal and then decided to play around with me, even if she too, seemed like the serious, no pranks type.

At this time I believed Andy and I would never be friends again because he couldn’t “forgive” me for this tape of his he was so sure I had.

Either way, the “questions” kept coming.

Why is your husband such a lazy bum he can’t find a job…?

Does Tom fart more now that he’s gained weight…?

I hear you want a dog. How are you going to feed the mutt when you run out of money…?

Why did you marry a man if you haven’t been with a woman since 1992…?

Don’t you think you deserved to go to jail and pay for those you harassed over the telephone…?

This last question had me suspecting Maliheh most of all as it did not seem like anything Andy would ask.

And so I began not only doing more research on her but also sent her an accusatory message, warning her to knock it off and to never contact me again.

I went a step further and friended some of Maliheh’s friends. Not to say mean things about her, but to learn about her through them because I was curious about her, as I realized that ironically enough, I still had a crush on her. Yeah, despite our past problems and her so cruelly breaking my heart even though she never quite had it to begin with, I’d wondered about her from time to time throughout the years. I didn’t understand why I’d still have a thing for such a bitch 19 years later, but I did.

All I learned, before she contacted her friends and had them unfriend me, was that some guy used to play drums for her.

I remembered her being into the guitar, but that was pretty much all I knew about her other than that she quit smoking before we met and made me feel led on even though I didn’t handle it well back then being young and all that.

Still pissed over being “dumped” nearly two decades ago and convinced that she was the one harassing me, I deliberately badmouthed her in my journal (never using her full name) just in case she cared to check it out, though I doubted she cared, and I had no way of knowing either way at the time. Or if her friends would read along and end up turning against her for it, another thing I would later come to feel guilty over.

I even got a story idea with us as lead characters and thought it’d be funny if I sent her bits and pieces of it to read on Facebook, and also via email, now that I knew her two email addresses.

I pleaded in my journal and on Formspring for the person to identify themselves. I wasn’t scared, but I was a bit nervous. Especially before I knew what their true intentions were. But I sensed that I would eventually learn who they were. After a few days, the questions became less mean and it became more obvious that it was Andy.

And it was.

Andy, who I eventually spoke on the phone with and swapped emails with, had asked me the question about deserving to go to jail for the calls to throw me off his scent, and it worked.

At first, I was hesitant to bother with him for condemning me on how I handled my mother-in-law and basically defending the sickos that victimized me in Phoenix as well. I was not only shocked that he would take their side, but it especially shocked me because he himself was in jail if only for a day. He told me it was an experience that opened his eyes to the fact that he was a very angry person and needed to calm down. This was after he quit smoking pot and was dealing with withdrawal. He pranked some younger guy that was interested in him. I guess it wasn’t that Andy wasn’t interested back, he just didn’t like some things about the guy. And then one night they got into an argument over the phone.

“See that blue car parked on the street?” Andy had screamed at him. “Well, I’m in it and I’m watching you!”

Meanwhile, Andy had no idea there was really a blue car there. But the guy was not only terrified enough to spite him for that one but also because he was angry for having been rejected and so he went a step further by saying he tried to fondle him.

Andy spent the day in jail and did a year of probation. He felt the judge judged him before he even got a chance to have his say. This was why I was a little shocked at his defending my perps when he himself knew what it was like to be legally victimized.

After we both got some things off our chest and he agreed not to judge me for the way I live my life and handle things (though he wouldn’t keep his word), we’d continue to have fun on Formspring, only in a different way, as well as on Twitter where he would tweet his “tour dates” with his imaginary Fire Flies band, a game he’s been playing for decades.

I will admit that while it’s nice to be in touch with Andy again, who has since moved back to Springfield, so I was shocked to learn, it only made me feel bad for Maliheh. I really thought it was her for a while, even if it didn’t seem like anything she’d do from what little I knew about her. A part of me was bummed that it wasn’t her, for I kind of liked the idea of getting attention from her, even if it was in an unexpected and unusual way.

I also learned that Andy quit smoking both cigarettes and pot. He was so pissed that I could tell he was high (and said so in my journal which he had quietly followed for about a year before jumping out at me on Formspring) when he left some voice messages a couple of years ago that it’s part of what motivated him to quit nearly two years ago. I was glad to be of help!

He quit smoking cigarettes in 2002 and, having a harder time handling the heat, moved back east to a condo that is next to his mother’s condo in 2007. He’s still single but is doing well financially. He even owns his own cleaning business. I am both surprised and happy for him! He hates the cold and the snow but likes having his family around and the universal healthcare that Massachusetts offers.

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deja-you · 4 years ago

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foreign affairs | part one | paris

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: In 2020, Representative Y/n L/n is up for reelection. Lafayette, Y/n’s former best friend and current French socialite and playboy, decides this is the time to walk back into her life.

word count: 6.8k

trailer | next

2012 was the year he broke his arm and broke her heart.

During her sophomore year of college, Y/n decided she wanted to study abroad in France. She had taken a few years of French in high school and college, not enough to be fluent, but enough to hold a short conversation. Lots of college students studied abroad, and seeing as Y/n was majoring in Political Science and International Affairs, it made sense.

Paying for a year abroad was another story. Since her senior year in high school, Y/n had been saving up the money she earned from waitressing, and with the help from her parents, she was just able to afford the trip to France.

During the first week in Paris, faculty members took students around the city to see different attractions. Most students went to see the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. Y/n preferred to see France’s president’s residence, the Élysée Palace. It was built back in 1718, and the beige colored stone -- we don’t really care what this building looked like, do we? It’s a building in Paris, of course it had beautiful architecture. We’re all wondering why this is significant, right?

Okay, so Y/n loved politics and history and foundations of democracy and republicanism. She was standing outside the French White House (it’s not really white, we’ve covered this, it’s more of a beige color, but I think “White House” is a term we all understand). Y/n was probably admiring the architecture that your author is refusing to describe. Now this is where it gets more interesting.

“Pretty building, isn’t it?”

A man leaning against one wall was watching Y/n while he lit his cigarette. He had spoken plainly in English; was it that obvious that Y/n was American.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/n replied politely.

“Very. Soon it’s going to be my home.”

This piqued Y/n’s interest. “Are you running for president? I can’t remember anyone that looked like you in the polls.”

If she was being honest, she had never met anyone that looked like him in general. Charming brown eyes, curly hair, neat stubble, and a smile she would’ve remembered. He gave her an amused look and raised his cigarette to his lips.

“You wouldn’t,” he replied, then offered his hand for her to shake. “You can call me Lafayette.”

Y/n shook his hand, but she was still confused. “And you’re running for president, Lafayette? I have to say, you might need to work on your name recognition.”

“I am not running for president, chérie. Perhaps you’re more familiar with my mother, Jolie de la Rivière?”

He watched as the realization hit her.

“Jolie de la Rivière? As in the frontrunner in the presidential election?”

“The very one. I am surprised an American keeps up with French politics.”

It made sense now. Y/n could see the resemblance between this stranger she had just met and the future French president. De la Rivière had been leading in the polls since she announced her campaign, and it was almost certain that she would win the election in April. Y/n just happened to run into de la Rivière’s son?

“You want to get something to eat?” Lafayette asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Y/n was still in shock, but she nodded, wanting to know more about the man she had just met. “Okay.”

They crossed the street to a café (there was a café at nearly every corner in Paris) and took seats outside. Y/n let Lafayette order for both of them even though she knew enough French to order herself, she didn’t want to give him any reason to make fun of her poor French accent.

“So,” Lafayette said, watching Y/n curiously, “you’re an American in Paris, huh?”

“I suppose so. But less “starving artist” vibes and less musical numbers,” Y/n quipped. Was she really talking to the son of the future French president, and he was asking about her?

“So if you’re not a starving artist, what are you doing in Paris?”

“I’m a student at Georgetown and I’m spending the semester studying abroad,” Y/n informed him.

“What are you majoring in?”

“Political Science and International Affairs.”

“Political Science at Georgetown? You must be smart. Will I see you running for president some day?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed. “I don’t know about that. Maybe I’ll find a job working on a campaign or for a Senator. I don’t have it all worked out yet.”

“Neither do I,” Lafayette said. This made Y/n pause. She could tell he was a few years older than her. He was also Jolie de la Rivière’s son. How could he not have his whole life worked out?

“What’d you mean?” Y/n asked.

He shrugged. “Everyone expects me to follow in my mother’s footsteps. It’s not that I’m not interested in politics and government, I just... I just don’t want to live in her shadow forever.”

“I see,” Y/n said. “At least you’ll have connections no matter what you decide to do.”

“That is very true.”

They continued talking for an hour or so. Lafayette would ask her what it was like living in the United States. Y/n would ask him what it was like having a powerhouse mom. The conversation came easily to both of them, something Y/n had never expected from a stranger.

When the bill came, Y/n ultimately let Lafayette pay for their lunch after much protesting (Y/n only allowed for him to pay because she was a broke college student). Then Lafayette asked for Y/n’s phone number, which she gladly gave to him. He promised he’d call or text sometime and they went their separate ways.

He said he’d call, but Y/n was expecting within the next few days or weeks. She was not expecting him to call her only a few hours later.

“Y/n, hey!” Came his voice from the other line.

“Lafayette? Hi?”

“I know this is sudden, but there’s this concert at a small venue tonight. I have a few tickets, and I was wondering if you and some of your friends wanted to join me tonight?”

“Um, okay, yeah?”

“Great! I’ll send you the information.”

And then he hung up. True to his word, he sent her a text with the time and address a few minutes later. Y/n invited two of her suite mates, Rebecca and Joe, to come with her. Then a few hours later, they showed up at a small but lively concert venue. Lafayette met them there, wearing a more casual outfit, and they all went in together.

Y/n honestly couldn’t remember who was performing that night. She didn’t remember much, but she knew she had more drinks than she should’ve, that the music was loud, and that the room was incredibly hot. What she couldn’t forget was the headache she woke up with the next morning. At the very least, she had made it into her own bed even though she hadn’t made it out of the clothes she had worn out the night before.

She grabbed her water bottle from beside the bed and took a long drink. When that didn’t help, she went to find Rebecca or Joe to ask what had happened the night before. Rebecca’s room was closer, so she knocked on the door before opening it.

“Hey, Rebec-- Oh my god!”

She quickly shut her eyes but she wouldn’t be able to unsee partially naked Lafayette struggling to quickly put his clothes back on. Y/n cringed and closed the door quickly behind her. What had she just seen? Why was Lafayette in Rebecca’s room? And why was he naked?

“Y/n, mon dieu, you weren’t supposed to see that!” Lafayette had finished dressing and followed Y/n out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“What exactly was that?” Y/n asked.

He held a finger to his lips and motioned at the door. “Rebecca’s still asleep.”

“So you and... that happened?”

Lafayette rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, I guess so. It was all a blur... but, yeah.”

“We all got pretty drunk last night,” Y/n justified.

“Er, not exactly. You and Joe had a lot of drinks, but Rebecca and I decided to stay sober enough to get everyone back. So once we got you and Joe home, well, we kind of...” He trailed off and his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Oh. I see.” Y/n didn’t know what to say. “Are you and Rebecca like... a thing now?”

He shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

Lafayette really didn’t know. Neither did Rebecca.

In the next two weeks, they hooked up a few more times before deciding they were best off as friends. After that, it was a Parisian girl named Celeste. Y/n quickly got used to Lafayette’s flirtatious nature and him constantly bringing around a new girl. Sometimes it was annoying, sometimes it was a point of humor. It didn’t matter too much to Y/n, she was content being friends with him.

They grew close quickly, and soon enough Y/n couldn’t remember what her life had been like before him. There was no one Y/n preferred to discuss foreign policy with than Lafayette, and there was no one Lafayette would rather annoy than Y/n. At one point, Lafayette took Y/n to one of his mother’s rallies, and Y/n spent more time than necessary explaining to Lafayette’s mom how big a fan she was. Lafayette nearly had to drag her away so that actual constituents could talk to his mom.

But most days it was more casual stuff. Sometimes Lafayette would sit on Y/n’s phone and take a ridiculous amount of selfies on her phone while she worked on homework. Other times they would take spontaneous trips to the grocery store at night to pick up ingredients for fried rice. Every Tuesday, Lafayette and Y/n’s roommate, Molly, would listen to Y/n rant about wage gaps between different demographics in America after her Economics class. And sometimes they would make fun of cheesy romcoms together.

“I don’t understand your obsession with Nora Ephron, Y/n,” Lafayette complained, although he was dutifully pouring extra butter onto their popcorn for the movie.

“She only directed the best romantic comedies ever!” Y/n defended.

“But why is Meg Ryan in all of her movies?”

“Because Meg Ryan is the best!”

“I still don’t understand the appeal of this movie. So a kid calls a radio show and Meg Ryan falls in love with him?” Lafayette asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “No, Meg Ryan falls in love with the dad! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But she’s never actually met the dad?”

“...well, no.”

“I don’t understand Americans.”

“You just need to watch it!”

Seeing that he wasn’t making any headway with Y/n, Lafayette sighed and resigned to his position on the couch. Grabbing a blanket, Y/n happily settled down on the couch beside Lafayette and started the movie. Every now and then Lafayette would scoff at some cheesy line or make some comment and Y/n would be quick to shush him. Eventually all the popcorn had been eaten and the end credits began to roll.

“So what did you think?” Y/n asked eagerly.

Lafayette shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t get over the fact that she just left her fiancé like that.”

She rolled her eyes.

Months ago, Y/n never would have imagined she’d be invited to an election watch party for Jolie de la Rivière, but now she wasn’t so surprised. De la Rivière’s campaign had rented out an upscale restaurant that was packed to its max occupancy. Lafayette’s mother spent most of the evening schmoozing her voters and speaking with interviewers, allowing for Y/n and Lafayette to sit by the bar and mess around.

“Okay, okay, be serious this time. Don’t smile.”

“I won’t! I promise I won’t,” Y/n said.

“We’ll see. On the count of three... one... two...”

“Wait! I’m not ready!” Y/n couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, a smile spreading across her face.

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “I do not know what to do with you.”

“I can be serious.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can! Just watch.” She looked away and focused on making her expression resolute and steely. Y/n slowly looked up to meet Lafayette’s eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds with straight faces. Then Lafayette had the gall to arch one of his eyebrows and Y/n broke once again.

“That’s not fair. I was doing perfectly fine before you cheated!” Y/n complained.

“It’s not my fault that you can’t keep a straight face, Y/n.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink. “I can’t blame you. I’m so devilishly good looking, most women can’t keep it together around me.”

Now it was Y/n’s turn to roll her eyes. “I can assure you that’s not the problem here. Maybe I keep laughing because you’re so funny looking.”

“Haha. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

When she didn’t respond, Lafayette tried again. “Y/n?”

“Lafayette, look.” She pointed to a TV hung over the bar.

A reporter on the screen was announcing that De la Rivière had won a landslide election. Then the screen cut to another reporter who was at the restaurant interviewing De la Rivière in person. Y/n and Lafayette’s eyes traveled across the room to see his mother talking to the reporter. The same scene playing on the TV overhead.

“Did that really just happen?”

Lafayette’s mom had been ahead in the polls for months now, and everyone expected her to win the election. But now she really had won. Lafayette was the President-elect’s son. Both Y/n and Lafayette knew this was probably going to happen, but now that it had, neither of them really knew what to do.

Everything after that was a blur. They celebrated that night, having a few more drinks. Enough alcohol to have a good time, but not enough to get totally drunk in an effort not to embarrass Lafayette’s mom on her big night. After that, Y/n didn’t see Lafayette for a while. He was busy getting prepped by his mom’s staff to be the perfect son and getting assigned a new security detail.

Y/n didn’t mind all that much. Sure, she missed him, but now that he was gone, she could spend more time actually working on her school work and getting more sleep. How had she gotten anything done when he was around? It was during the month when Lafayette and Y/n didn’t see each other at all that Molly slapped a magazine down on the table where Y/n was eating breakfast.

“What’s this?” Y/n asked, picking up the glossy magazine.

“Apparently Lafayette is France’s most eligible bachelor,” Molly informed her.

Y/n scoffed and looked over the cover of the magazine. Lafayette was casually leaning against a wall in the photo wearing a fitted suit and a colorful bowtie. He had a casual grin on his face, and his facial hair was trimmed neatly.

“Has Lafayette always been this hot?” Y/n muttered.

Molly gave her a look. “Yes. Yes, he has.”

“He might be a bachelor, but I don’t know if I would call him eligible.”

“What’s wrong with Lafayette?” Molly took the magazine from Y/n and flipped to the fluff piece written about him. “He’s handsome, and charismatic, and intelligent. I would date him.”

Y/n watched her roommate admire the photos of Lafayette and realized this wasn’t the first time Molly had considered the thought. How many times had Y/n watched Molly laugh at something Lafayette said that wasn’t even funny?

A buzz came from Y/n’s phone and she welcomed the distraction from her thoughts. Of course the text just had to be from Lafayette. She hadn’t seen him in forever, and he just happened to next her now? Yes, because it’s going to move the plot along.

Paint the town red w/ me tonight? The text read. Bring some friends and we’ll make it a party.

She shot back a text asking him if he was even allowed to hangout with commoners now that his mom was the president. He sent back a sarcastic haha and assured her he had it all worked out.

Molly was a little too excited when Y/n asked her to come hangout with Lafayette, but what did Y/n care? If Molly liked Lafayette, Y/n didn’t care. Why should she care if her roommate wanted to date her best friend? She did her best to stop thinking about it. Molly let her borrow a dress that was shorter than Y/n was comfortable with and they headed out with a few of their friends to meet at a bar Lafayette had texted them about.

He was thirty minutes late, and Y/n would’ve been annoyed she hadn’t expected it from him. He fed everyone some charming story about having to ditch his security detail. Y/n wanted to point out to him how irresponsible he was being, but honestly, she was just glad to see him again. When he was done enchanting their friends with his stories of his grandiose lifestyle, everyone returned to their drinks and Lafayette finally had the chance to sidle up to Y/n and sling an Armani-clad arm around her shoulders.

“Been a while, stranger?” He gave her an impish grin.

“And who’s fault is that?”

Lafayette’s eyebrows shot up and he pouted. “Aw, chérie, you know I couldn’t help it. I’ve been busy, it hasn’t been easy, this last month.”

“Right. ‘Cause living in a literal palace must be so difficult.”

“I forgot how sarcastic you can be.”

She shrugged and gave him a self-satisfied smile.

“Maybe you’ll be nicer after a few drinks,” he suggested.

“...it wouldn’t hurt.”

His smile was wide and she had forgotten how much she had missed it. Lafayette leaned forward and ordered a round of drinks, and just like that, it was like they hadn’t been apart at all. Their friendship was easy like that.

After two drinks, Y/n was laughing louder than anyone in the bar. Lafayette urged her to quiet down, but by the way wrinkles formed by his eyes and he laughed along quietly, they both knew he wasn’t serious about it at all. It was after they had started taking shots that they decided they were too hot to stay indoors. The night was young, and Lafayette had already hatched a plan in his mind.

“Let’s go to a park,” he announced to their small group.

There was a chorus of enthusiastic agreement. Y/n, more than a few drinks in, was still hesitant.

“Everything is probably closed at this time. Don’t you think you should be getting home?” She asked.

“C’mon, Y/n,” Molly chimed in, “it’ll be fun. There’s no harm to it.”

Y/n wanted to argue that there very well could be harm to it, but Lafayette was too fast.

“Molly’s right. Besides, I don’t know when I’ll get a night of freedom again. Better make the most of it, oui?”

Lafayette must’ve earned his magnetism from his constant exposure to politicians. He would make a great politician if he ever decided to apply himself, Y/n thought. It wasn’t the first time she had thought this.

Everyone listened to him almost like they were hypnotized, and before she knew it, they were standing outside a small park. A small closed park. Y/n knew she shouldn’t be committing a crime with the French president’s son, but the group had a mob mentality now. Anyway, Lafayette had his mind set on breaking into the park now. There was nothing anyone could’ve one to change his mind at this point.

Y/n still felt she had to try. “It’s closed. Everyone should just go home.”

“Nonsense,” Lafayette said.

“What’s your plan? Hop the fence?”

“Why not?” Molly asked. “It’s not that high.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Y/n responded.

But seeing the look on Lafayette’s face, she could tell he didn’t share her opinion on fence hopping. She watched him give a curious look to Molly. A look she recognized. There was always a twinkle in his eye when he was about to do something stupid to impress a girl. Y/n sighed, threw her hands up in defeat, and let him make his idiotic decisions.

And idiotic they were. Enough alcohol will give you the mindless bravery needed to attempt to jump a fence to impress a girl. That’s how Lafayette broke his arm.

Dealing with drunk, twenty-something-year-old French boys seemed like a walk in the park compared to dealing with the morons that, by some miracle, had been elected to the United States Congress. Y/n didn’t consider herself to be one of those moronic representatives, but she was sure some members of the Republican party had some choice words they used to describe her.

“We have a system that is fundamentally broken,” Y/n spoke into the microphone in front of her. Today she was asking questions at a hearing concerning campaign finance laws. Tomorrow it would be working on passing a bipartisan bill or going to some fundraiser for her reelection campaign.

“So would you say that Congress is held to the same rate of accountability as the president, the executive branch? Are there more regulations for Senators and Congressman, in regards to campaign financing than the president? Or less, Mr. Conway?” She asked.

The man in question, Mr. Conway, shifted uncomfortably in his seat before responding to the question, “there are almost no laws at all that apply to the president.”

Y/n was satisfied with his answer, but still she pressed on. “Are you saying that I, and every member of congress, are being held to a higher standard than the president of the United States?”

“...yes.”

“Thank you.”

The hearing wrapped up with all the formalities, and Y/n gathered up all her notes. She made her way from the committee hearing room to her office, knowing that her campaign manager and second-in-command, Nathan Hale, would be ready to tell her what else she had on the schedule for today. She found him sitting on the visitor’s side of her desk, his feet propped up on a chair.

“You did great in there,” he said casually.

She raised an eyebrow as she dropped all her notes from the hearing on her desk and sunk down into the seat. “You stayed and listened?”

“For most of it. I had to leave early,” he admitted. “There were some... issues I had to look at.”

“Issues?”

“Secretary Jefferson tweeted about you. You’re going to want to see it.”

Y/n groaned outwardly. “No, Nathan, I don’t think I will.”

“You’re probably right, but you should be informed nonetheless.” He handed her her phone, already opened to Jefferson’s tweet. It was nothing she hadn’t seen or heard before. Just another politician attacking her character and claiming she was a talentless kid who didn’t belong in politics.

She furrowed her brows as she quickly typed out a response to his tweet. That’s interesting, coming from a man whose entire career was built off his daddy’s money.

“What do you think?” She handed the phone to Nathan to read over her tweet. “Too harsh? Not harsh enough?”

He laughed. “It’s perfect. Anddddd... send tweet. Did we just enter into a twitter war with the former Secretary of State and the Republican presidential nominee? This feels like middle school drama, not running a country.”

Y/n only shrugged. “All I have to say,” Y/n muttered as she attempted to organize the clutter on her desk, “is that politics is nothing like The West Wing.”

“No?”

“No. Nathan, what do we have scheduled today?” She asked.

“An interview with The Times later, but I’ve lined up some meetings with a few of your largest donors.”

“That’s my least favorite part of the job. Who am I meeting with?” Y/n set aside her organizing and leaned forward on her elbows.

Nathan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and read off a few names from his clipboard. “We’ve got Mercy Otis Warren at two. Mr. and Mrs. Randolph for lunch—”

“Oh, I can’t stand them.”

“—and a Mr. de Lafayette in an hour.”

Y/n’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she was convinced she had heard him wrong. “Who was that last one?”

“Mr. de Lafayette, the French president’s son,” Nathan explained.

“Since when has he been a donor to my campaign?” Y/n frowned.

“He reached out a few months ago. I thought it was strange that a foreign leader’s kid wanted to donate to a U.S. representative’s campaign, but I wasn’t about to stop him.”

“I don’t want his donations,” Y/n said.

This caught Nathan’s attention. “Y/n, he made a very sizable donation to your reelection campaign.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want his money.”

“It’s too late. We’ve already spent the money on buttons and whatnot.”

“Nathan, no!” Y/n groaned. “And you said I’m supposed to meet with him today?”

“Yes, in an hour. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Y/n pursed her lips and finally admitted, “We used to be best friends.”

“And you don’t want to see him because...?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well regardless of the length of the story,” Nathan said, “we can’t cancel on him. We need every donation we can get since you refuse to accept money from any PACs.”

“That’s because it’s the right thing to do,” Y/n pointed out.

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make my job any easier. You’re not getting out of this meeting, Y/n. You should start mentally preparing yourself now.”

It had been eight years since she had last seen Lafayette. Eight years. And yet, she wasn’t exactly in a rush to see him again. They hadn’t exactly left things on great terms. Now he was making sizable donations to her campaign? None of this made any sense to Y/n.

An hour passed too quickly for Y/n’s liking. Nathan had arranged for a photo op between Y/n and Lafayette in the lobby of the hotel Lafayette was staying at. After all, the endorsement of a foreign dignitary would be good for her campaign, it would probably make the front page of local newspapers. On the ride over to the hotel, Y/n rehearsed how the meeting would go in her head.

She’d walk into the lobby and greet Lafayette politely. The photographers would capture a few pictures of them smiling amicably and shaking hands. Y/n would thank him for his support and his donations, inquire on the wellbeing of his mother, and then Nathan would pull her out and tell everyone she had another meeting she had to be at. Y/n would apologize, thank Lafayette again, and then they would part ways. And if she never saw him again after this, that would be fine.

Maybe she should have let Nathan in on her plans, because he had different ideas of how this meeting would go down.

“The Randolphs had to cancel on us, but I’ve pencilled them in for next weekend. That means we can take more time talking with Mr. de Lafayette,” he told her.

“What? But I don’t want to spend more time talking with him. I just--”

“We can discuss it later,” Nathan cut her off and pushed her into the hotel lobby where half a dozen photographers and journalists were already waiting. The cameras began to flash.

“We have a lot to discuss later,” Y/n smiled for the cameras, but Nathan was the only one able to hear the poison underneath her words. She meant them. But chewing Nathan out was for later, right now she had an ex-best friend and current campaign donator to deal with.

Standing to the side of the lobby was Lafayette. He was wearing gray slacks and formal shoes, but he had opted to ditch the suit jacket and wore his white button down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his rather muscular fore arms. He grinned when he saw Y/n headed his way, and all of a sudden it was like she was a college student again. Memories of her year in Paris came back to her. Drinks at a local bar, watching romcoms together, attending rallies for his mom.

But bad memories returned to her as well, and they seemed to out weigh all the good ones she could remember. She had to focus not to let her smile falter in case a photographer took a photo of her looking anything less than happy to be seeing Lafayette. Journalists always had a way of spinning things.

“Congresswoman L/n, I am so glad you could make it,” Lafayette said. There may have been some things Y/n had forgotten from her year abroad, but the sound of his voice wasn’t one of those things.

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Y/n lied through her smile. “How was your flight?” She stepped forward and offered her hand for him to shake. Cameras flashed.

“Pleasant enough, I suppose.” He gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake. More cameras clicked. “It’s good to see you again. What has it been, eight years?”

They turned to face the cameras, letting the photographers take pictures of the smiling side-by-side.

“Must be. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” She was doing her best to be professional.

He placed a hand on her back that could easily pass as just a friendly gesture between two professionals, but Y/n knew him better than that. Lafayette kept smiling, but he lowered his voice so only she could hear him.

“I’ve tried getting in contact with you so many times, Y/n. We used to be best friends, remember? Although now you seem to be doing fine for yourself.”

Y/n continued smiling, but she spared Lafayette an uneasy glance. “I am doing fine, aren’t I?”

“I just don’t understand why the only way I can get you to talk to me is to make large donations to your campaign and schedule meetings with your campaign manager,” he said quietly. “What happened to us?”

“Lafayette, this isn’t the time or place to address that issue,” she said with perfectly masked annoyance. Y/n smiled for a couple more photos, then the journalists seemed to have gotten enough content of the two of them. “Besides, I think we both know perfectly well what happened.”

The end of Y/n’s year abroad came quicker than she had anticipated. Paris had been fun, but if she was being honest, she was ready to return home. Molly and Lafayette had begun dating shortly after that night when he jumped the fence and broke his arm to impress her. After that, Y/n couldn’t help but feel like a third-wheel around the two of them.

It wasn’t easy. Lafayette was still her best friend and she couldn’t avoid him as much as she wanted to without him asking questions. Since Lafayette decided to date Molly, and since Molly was Y/n’s roommate, seeing them around together was nearly unavoidable.

Y/n had reached the end of her year abroad now, so... that was good? Molly had already left for the states a week and a half ago due to a family emergency or something. Y/n wasn’t completely sure, she had gotten good at tuning Molly out when she was talking about how great a boyfriend Lafayette was, that she must’ve started tuning out everything Molly said.

With Molly gone, Y/n was left alone in an apartment and with her thoughts. She didn’t see Lafayette as much, as he really only came over to the apartment to visit Molly these days. Now that she was left with nothing to do except pack and think, she was finally hit with the unsettling reality that the real reason she didn’t like being around Molly and Lafayette when they were together wasn’t because they made her feel like a third wheel.

She shoved those thoughts deep down her throat, worried what might become of her if she let herself dwell on them too much. When ignoring the thoughts didn’t work as well as she had hoped it would, she turned to an alternative medicine. The bar was an antidote for anything and everything.

That’s where Lafayette found Y/n. Drinking by herself on a weeknight.

“What are you doing here? I’m supposed to be the drunk one that you find and drag home.”

She looked at him lazily over her third glass of wine. “One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters. But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”

“We’re quoting poetry, now?” He sighed. “You are more drunk than I thought.”

“I thought you would like it. Charles Baudelaire. He’s French. He said to get drunk, and wine tastes better than virtue.”

Lafayette took her glass of wine and drained it. Partially to prevent Y/n from drinking anymore, partially because he needed it. He looked at his best friend who was watching him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“What?” He asked.

“What,” she repeated, in a daze.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. You’re the one getting drunk alone.”

She grinned sloppily. “I’m not alone. You’re here. And you’re getting drunk with me.”

Lafayette appraised Y/n for a moment. She was watching him so earnestly, her eyes bright and lively from the alcohol. He had to look away. Eventually he gave in and ordered another glass of wine for himself. Then, halfway through that glass, his lips loosened.

“Molly broke up with me.”

For a second, Lafayette could have sworn he saw a smile on Y/n’s face. But he must have imagined it, because when he looked again, she was giving him a pitiful look.

“She did? I’m so, so sorry. Did she say why?”

“No, but I think I know.”

“Care to share?”

He shook his head and took a long sip from his glass. “Not particularly. You care to share why you’re getting drunk alone in the middle of the week?”

“Not particularly.” She repeated his words and attempted a wink.

Then the two of them fell into a contemplative silence. There was no doubt that they were extremely close friends. But that didn’t mean they told each other everything, it just meant that they always knew how the other was feeling, even if they didn’t know why.

“We’ve got so much wasted potential, don’t we?” Lafayette finally said.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasted? I may be wasted tonight, but I’ll pull it together tomorrow.”

He groaned and hid his smile, not wanting her to know that he actually found her amusing. “Shut up, Y/n. You know what I mean.”

“Maybe you’re wasted potential. You could be a president or a CEO, but instead you’re drinking with your best friend at 10:48 p.m.,” she pointed out. “But I’ve got it all figured out. Tomorrow, I’ll pull myself together from this feeling-sorry-for-myself night. And when I go back to America, I’ll pull my life together again.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Tonight is a microcosm of my time here in Paris. Paris was just a drunk mistake. A really fun, really delicious mistake. When I return to the U.S., it’ll be my Paris hang over. I’ll deal with the consequences, be miserable for a little while, but then I’ll be great. Maybe be president or meet a penguin, whichever is easier.”

“I hope Paris wasn’t all mistakes.”

“It was.”

It should have hurt more to hear her say that. They were both a few glasses in at this point and felt invincible. Everything would hurt a lot more in the morning, but they felt so good then. Lafayette spared another glance at Y/n. This was his best friend, the only girl he really cared about. The girl he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin things with. But one look at her lips made him lose any inhibition he had left.

He stared a second too long. Y/n noticed his eyes on her lips, and as if she knew what he was thinking, her lips were pulled up into a troublesome smile. A voice in the back of Y/n’s head warned her that she could ruin their friendship if she didn’t stop, but then again, she had never wanted to be his friend. Never.

“Come home with me?” She knew what his answer would be before she had even asked the question.

His response should’ve been “I don’t think that’s a good idea” or “we’re both drunk, we should both go to our own homes.” Or anything else. Anything else would’ve been better than his easy grin, his warm hand in hers as they exited the bar, and his sharp whistle as he hailed a taxi.

She could count this, right?

Lafayette had never told her he loved her. As a friend, at the very least, Y/n was convinced that he loved her. She had watched Lafayette express his affections and love for so many women before her. Y/n would be lying if she said that she didn’t die a little bit every time she saw him with someone else. She had watched him say “I love you” to almost everyone but herself.

In the back of the cab, flooded with orange light from the street, Lafayette’s hands felt warm on her body. He tasted like cheap wine even though Y/n knew he could afford something more expensive. He tasted like smoke as well, even though Y/n told him often how bad cigarettes were. The way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, it said “I love you.” Didn’t it?

I can count this, she decided with his lips pressed against her neck.

He only took his lips off her to quickly pay the cab driver, and even then he kept one hand on her thigh. Walking up a narrow flight of stairs is harder when you’re drunk and don’t want to let go of another person, but Lafayette and Y/n managed to do it. They stumbled into her apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights.

The next morning Y/n’s apartment would look like a crime scene; furniture out of place, clothes littering the floor, but she didn’t care at the moment. Any consequences for tonight’s actions would be her problem tomorrow. Tonight, all she could think about was the way he pushed her up against the wall and left bruises on her shoulders with his mouth.

By the time they made it to her bedroom, she had managed to remove all his clothes and he was taking off her panties with two fingers. Lafayette whispered something sweet in her ear, but Y/n really wasn’t listening at this point. He wrapped an arm around her waist and laid her back on the bed, placing a desperate kiss on her lips. Something in her knew that he wasn’t kissing her because he felt something, but because he wanted to feel something. Did it work?

Y/n would not know all the details of what happened the next day. All she would remember was the feel of his skin against hers, the taste of him on her tongue, and feeling more alive than she had ever felt before.

Drunken mistakes were something Lafayette was used to. Y/n had her fair share of drunken mistakes as well. Nothing compared to the moment Lafayette woke up next to Y/n in her bed with a terrible headache from the night before. He could feel nothing but dread and it was beginning to eat him alive.

“Mon dieu, what have I done?” The fact that he had really fucked up this time hit him like a train.

“I know,” Y/n replied. She didn’t share his same level of concern. “How much did we drink last night?”

“I need to go.”

Before she knew it, Lafayette was out of bed and pulling on articles of his clothing that were strewn across the room. Y/n was perplexed by his urgency and propped herself up on her elbows.

“Lafayette, relax. We were drunk, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand.”

“This shouldn’t have happened. I never wanted this to happen.”

Y/n didn’t even mask her pain, but Lafayette wouldn’t even look at her. Still, she tried to reassure him. “You hook-up with girls all the time. This isn’t that much different.”

“No, it is,” he said firmly. “You’re not just another girl, Y/n. We’re friends. I never wanted this to happen between us.”

Just like that, Y/n felt her heart plummet in her chest. Did he really regret sleeping with her that much? He couldn’t even fathom the idea of them together without panicking? Y/n’s mouth hung open but no words came out. What would you even say in a situation like this?

“I need to leave now.” He still couldn’t look her in the eye. Lafayette left her apartment without so much as another word to her.

That’s how Lafayette broke her heart.

Tag list: @fanfic-addict-98 @wordvomit-foryourmind @farihafangirls @actuallyanita @cubedtriangle @katierpblogg @ballerinafairyprincess @dannighost @ateliefloresdaprimavera

#marquis de Lafayette #alexander hamilton #hamilton #lafayette #lafayette x reader #lafayette imagine #lafayette x reader angst #thomas jefferson imagine #thomas jefferson x reader #hamilton imagine #Daveed Diggs #daveed diggs x reader #modern!au #foreign affairs

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years ago

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Is It Really THAT Bad?

Cats has been a divisive show ever since it opened in 1981. Some people hate it for being a plotless spectacle that focuses more on the visuals than on music and story, while others love it for those same reasons, as well as for being utterly campy and fun. I’m firmly in the latter category, to the point I can’t really comprehend the opposition to the film. Stuff like the jab at this film in The Critic or the mockery of it in Hey Arnold just seem weird to me; what is it about this fun, silly musical about cats that makes people’s blood boil so much?

Perhaps all these people saw into the future where the film was released.

Cats had a long, troubled history getting from stage to screen. In the 90s, Amblimation was set to make an animated version of the movie, set during the Blitz of WWII. Unfortunately, the inability of writers to find a way to turn this episodic showcase of random singing cats into a cohesive narrative combined with the failure of Amblimations films caused the project to dissolve, leaving behind nothing but some really cool concept art.

But see, this perfectly demonstrates the problem with adapting Cats: the musical is a spectacle, a showcase, it’s all about the dancing, costumes, and the songs. It doesn’t have a story to speak of, instead contenting itself with showing us a bunch of different cats and having them sing about themselves for a bit before moving on to the next cat. Sure, there’s a bit of continuity and whatnot, but this really isn’t the sort of show that’s trying to deliver a deep narrative. It just wants you to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.

No one told any of this to Tom Hooper, apparently. This director of the grounded, gritty, realistic adaptation of Les Mis was tapped to utilize this same style in a musical about magical singing cats, all while not even knowing what catnip is or how animation works. Hooper was apparently constantly butting heads with the VFX team due to his lack of understanding of how animating works. He tried to get the team to watch videos of cats performaing the stuff he wanted and forced them to give 90 hour work weeks, cementing Tom Hooprt as one of the biggest douchebags imaginable. On top of all this, the guy tried to weave this plotless showcase of felines into a cohesive narrative, and tapped a bunch of talent of various degrees of questionability to play parts. And what was the result?

An absolute disaster. The film was savaged by critics, with most positives being that the film was so bad it’s good. The film (of course) won a bunch of Razzies, and was the subject of mockery and memes before, after, and during its run in theaters. Hell, as soon as the trailer dropped, the film was mocked to death. Not helping was the rushed VFX which, again, was due to the team being under pressure from a draconian idiot who had no idea what he was doing. The film received an unprecedented bug fix, so to speak, in the form of an updated version with slightly better VFX that was shipped to theaters after the initial negative reaction. This obviously did nothing to help the movie’s reputation, of course. Hell, even in my initial review, I wasn’t super keen on the film. Most damning of all, though, was Andrew Lloyd Webber himself calling the film ridiculous, and even said "The problem with the film was that Tom Hooper decided that he didn’t want anybody involved in it who was involved in the original show."

But after ruminating on it, and after watching the film once more, I’ve decided to ask the usual question: Is it really that bad? It’s weird to ask this about a film that’s so new; I usually wait for hindsight to kick in, and look at older films considered bad. But even now, Cats is building up a reputation as a campy cult classic, with such figures as Martin “LittleKuriboh” Billamy watching the film with alarming frequency. And after reading the nightmarish behind the scenes and considering everything… yeah, I think this film deserves a re-evaluation.

This is going to be a little different, though: I’m sort of going to go through the film part by part, since this film has an interesting issue where, generally speaking, the first half is where the worst problems are, and the second half is where things start to pick up. So let’s get the bad out of the way first, then move onto the good.

THE BAD

So, I’m actually not going to pick on the VFX too much, and not just because of the horrible treatment of the VFX artists. In all honesty, the weird human/cat people, while not even remotely as cool as the insane costumes of the stage show, eventually stop being super distracting and kind of just become something you accept. Like, I’m not gonna pretend like this work is amazing, but I dunno, I think it gets harped on too much. There is some stuff that stands out as noticeably bad, though, and we’ll get to that.

A consistent problem with the film that I can’t even try to defend is the problem with the scaling. It’s seriously hard to tell how big these cats are supposed to be in relation to anything else. They honestly seem to change size from scene to scene. It’s seriously weird and baffling and there’s never any way to get a good sense of scale. Even when the cats are alongside mice and roaches, it just boggles the mind what size anything is actually supposed to be.

Mr. Mistoffelees, one of the most flamboyant and enjoyable characters of the stage show, is one of the biggest character issues with the film. Gone is the tricky, confident magician who prances and dances, and here is a meek, sniveling twerp who can barely do anything without tripping over himself. This is because the actor who plays him had a terrible audition that left him miserable due to a lack of singing and dance background. So, rather than find someone who could, you know, sing and dance, they decided to rewrite Mr. Mistoffelees into comic relief, which is just an insulting slap in the face. The cherry on top of course is how they straightwash the character and excise his homoerotic tension with Rum Tum Tugger, instead making him completely and totally straight and giving him a thing for Victoria. Out of everyone in the entire film, they did Mr. Mistoffelees the dirtiest.

Now, let’s get onto the actual “plot.” The film actually starts out fairly well, with some cool shots, good dancing, and some setup for Macavity, whose intro has a neat little nod to the fact he’s based on Moriarty. The issues don’t really start showing up until we reach the first of the Jellicle choices… Jennyanydots.

Jennyanydots is portrayed by Rebel Wilson, which is the first issue. Rebel Wilson is probably one of the worst actresses ever. She is just a horrendously, relentlessly unfunny human being, and she brings that exact quality to her role here. For her song, the vocal talent is secondary to the cringeworthy comedy Wilson puts on display. And yet, somehow, Wilson isn’t the worst part of the scene. No, that would be the horrendous CGI human-faced mice and roaches, which look like they came out of a PS3 game.

This horrendous spectacle is followed up with the appearance of Rum Tum Tugger, portrayed by Jason Derulo. I’m of two minds about this. On the one hand, I do think Derulo has the necessary egotistical celebrity swagger to play Rum Tum Tugger (especially when you consider he responded to negative criticisms of the film by calling the movie “one of the greatest pieces of art ever made”) and his design is actually one of the better ones in the film, but on the other hand, his singing and the musical choice for his song are not very impressive and really just doesn’t work all too well. It’s at least something of a step up from Rebel Wilson and her CGI abominations, but that’s not really saying much, is it?

Next up we have Bustopher Jones, played by James Corden and, if I’m being totally honest… he’s not quite as awful as he could be. Corden is basically the male equivalent to Rebel Wilson, but at least while he’s singing he manages to be somewhat amusing, whimsical, and enjoyable even. The problem comes when he throws in jokes, including one where he claims to be self-conscious about his weight… a joke that occurs in the middle of his song where he is bragging about how fat he is. Talk about sending mixed messages. I wish I didn’t have to be so harsh on Bustopher, but sadly he is bogged down by really bad shtick.

Bustopher Jones also highlights a problem with the cats in this first half. These minor roles – Jennyanydots, Rum Tum Tugger, and Bustopher Jones – are all being played by relatively big celebrities, and as such they’re going to want a lot of time to sing. As a result, songs that were ensemble numbers on stage become more one-man songs here, with Bustopher Jones being the most egregious example, turning this positive fat character into a walking James Corden fat joke as he sings his own praises rather than having his praises sung.

Following him up we have Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, who are usually fun characters with a fun little pseudo-villain song, but alas, they manage to screw that up by using a slow, jazzy version of the song originally used in earlier London productions rather than the more up-tempo version from later productions, making the song sound awkward and forgettable. Topping it all off is the bargain bin Mr. M popping in at the end for some wacky shenanigans, but at this point, the movie takes a turn towards…

THE GOOD

So as soon as Dame Judi Dench shows up as Old Deuteronomy, the film gets a sort of inverse of what happened at the start. Where the film starts somewhat awkward and promising, it slowly gets stupider and stupider when Rebel Wilson, Jason Derulo, and James Corden botch their scenes in the ways described above. Here, things start a bit shaky and unsure, but Dench is a sign things are about to pick up. What makes her so enjoyable is how, despite how utterly silly things are, she treats her role with the dignity and gravitas of something out of Shakespeare. The only thing as good as an actor in a silly movie like this going full-on ham and cheese is an actor treating their role dead serious and injecting it with such class and dignity you can’t help but enjoy it. Thankfully, Dench isn’t the only person to take her role seriously.

Jennifer Hudson as Grizabella technically appears briefly in the earlier portions of the film, but here we get to hear her belt out “Memory,” and by god does she do a fantastic job. The raw emotion and passion she injects into Grizabella is phenomenal, and it’s even more powerful when it comes back for its reprise in the finale. Victoria gets a sort of response song to “Memory,” called “Beautiful Ghosts,” and it’s a decent song in its own right, but you can tell it was a more modern composition and it just doesn’t gel super well with the rest of the songs. Still, all this is good stuff, and the “Memory”/”Beautiful Ghosts” scene is a nice, refreshing bit of emotion after the incredibly weird and silly extended dance number that is the Jellicle Ball.

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The movie doesn’t stop pulling punches; shortly after Grizabella we are given Gus the theater cat, an elderly actor whose number is all about reminiscing of the old days of theater and his many stellar roles from days gone by. Naturally, the only actor who could possibly perform this role properly is Sir Ian McKellan. I am completely unironic when I say this: This is to McKellan what Patrick Stewart’s performance of Xavier in Logan is. This sounds ridiculous, but think of it: Gus is an aging thespian, clearly a bit senile and desiring to be reborn because he has reached the end of the line, and McKellan fills him with this genuine, incredibly honest performance that really makes you feel emotional. It’s powerful. It feels so personal and resonant, like McKellan has inserted some of his own feelings into his performance, which may very well be the case. Oh, and after his song Macavity kidnaps him with a big autograph book and apparates away while saying his name, which gets me every time.

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And now, my friends, the lord and savior arrives: Skimbleshanks.

This is, hands down, the best scene in the entire film. Everything comes together here: the music is absolutely fantastic, the dancing is choreographed extremely well, and it’s clear that everyone involved is having a blast. This is a concentrated essence of what Cats should be, and it’s really a shame Hooper didn’t understand that this is the energy needed for the entire production. The most crucial element, of course, is Steven McRae, who not only has a lovely singing voice and looks dapper as all hell in his red suspenders, but is a tap dancing maniac. This man has feet of fire, and his tapping adds a whole new layer of fun to the song. Overall, this is a perfect scene, and probably one of my favorite scenes in any film ever. For a brief four minutes, everything about this film works. I literally have no idea why this cat wants to be reincarnated, he is straight balling in this life.

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But the hits don’t stop! Right after this song, Taylor Swift descends from the ceiling, and we get “Macavity.” In the stage productions, this is a song sung by Bombalurina to describe how nasty Macavity is, since she’s traditionally a good cat; here, she’s reimagined as a villain, and so this song is basically her acting as Macavity’s hype man, singing his dastardly praises, and best of all, Macavity joins in at the end! I’m certainly not a Taylor Swift fan, but she really kills it here, and definitely makes this one of the best songs in the movie with her hilariously forced accent and insane energy. It’s just a shame that from here on out Macavity ditches his villainous pimp coat and is now a nude Idris Elba, but I suppose this is equivalent exchange for Skimbleshanks being so amazing.

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While not as incredible as the previous two songs and not quite as good as the stage version due to the removal of the latent homoeroticism, Mr. Mistoffelees’s song is actually okay. It’s nice that he gets to sing his own praises here, but it’s just nothing compared to the stage version, even if it has a fun little finale and it actually is genuinely heartwarming when Old Deuteronomy returns and sings along. It’s a sweet moment that almost makes up for how much Mr. M has sucked the whole movie. Oh, also, all of the Jellicle choices Macavity kidnapped fight back against their captor Growltiger, with Skimbleshanks aggressively tapdancing at him and Gus using his acting skills to make him fall into the Thames. This is so goofy that it wraps back around to being awesome.

The movie winds down in the goofiest way possible after the gorgeous reprise of “Memory,” with Macavity being caught on a big sculpture and apparently running out of magic, leaving him stranded like a regular cat. Then we get one final fourth-wall breaking song where Judi Dench directly addresses the camera that has the music swell up to the point where it seems like the song is ending numerous times without actually ending, and each time is funnier than the last. Really, what better way could you end such a silly film than with this?

Now, a general thing that’s great about the film is the choreography. The dancing in the movie is spectacular. I don’t really have a bad thing to say about it. And, in a broad sense, the music is good too, even if the singers aren’t always perfect, the backing tracks are great, and there’s a lot of fun in the tracks in the latter half of the movie. McRae and Taylor Swift’s contributions in particular are great, and Hudson’s version of “Memory” is incredibly powerful, as is McKellan’s take on Gus’ song.

Is It Really THAT Bad?

No.

Look, it’s hard to be like “Wow this is a fantastic masterpiece of film” or anything like that, because the movie has blatant and evident problems. But this is literally the reason I made this review series; I’m asking if the movie is really as bad as people say, and in this case, no, there’s too much genuinely enjoyable in the film for me to say it’s deserving of several Razzies and a spot on the Bottom 100 of IMDB that places it above Master of Disguise and The Emoji Movie. Like, seriously? This is worse than the 90 minute commercial starring the abusive dick who called a bomb threat on his girlfriend? Hell, this movie is rated worse than Artemis Fowl, which is definitely a contender for the worst film ever made (and amusingly enough also features Judi Dench in it). Artemis Fowl has next to no redeeming qualities in it, and it certainly doesn’t have Skimbleshanks, whereas Cats has several fun scenes and also has Skimbleshanks.

I definitely think there’s more of an argument for this film being so bad it’s good or camp at best, but it’s definitely more enjoyable than you’d think it would be. If you can learn to live with the weird CGI, it’s a fun, goofy romp that you might find yourself feeling for at times. After my second watch, I have to say… I’ve started to unironically enjoy this movie. It might even be one of my favorites of all time. I can’t even deny that it has a lot of stuff I don’t like, and it falls flat in a lot of ways the 1998 film soars, and it screwed up some of my favorite characters… but there are so many moments where the fun and heart of Cats shines through brighter than it has any right to, and all the failures of Hooper and Universal seem distant for a just a few minutes.

So yeah, is this movie good all around? No way. But is it fun, does it have value, and is there more redeeming qualities than the critics let on? Oh yes there is.

#Is it really that bad #IIRTB #review #movie review #Cats #Cats 2019 #Andrew Lloyd Webber #musical #so bad it's good #Tom Hooper #Judi Dench #Rebel Wilson #James Corden #Jason Derulo #Taylor Swift #Idris Elba #Sir Ian McKellan #Steven McRae

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idreamofplaid · 5 years ago

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Beneath the Smile

Summary: Jared’s struggle with depression bubbles to the surface, and the reader is there to love and support him through it.

Characters: Jared x Reader; Jensen

Word Count: 2119

Warnings: Discussion of depression

A/N: This fic was inspired by an Ask I got from @sandlee44. It takes place at the time of Jared’s Season 3 breakdown. It is, of course, fiction. All the love to Jared always for having the courage to share his personal struggle with so many of us fighting the same battle.

It was two o’clock in the morning when the phone rang. I reached in the dark for my bedside table and patted my hand over the smooth surface until I found it. When I turned it over, the little screen brought a faint amount of light into the room. Then my eyes focused, and I read the name of the caller. Jensen. I sat straight up, instantly awake now, and pressed the button to answer his call.

“Jensen, what’s wrong? Jared? Is he okay?” My words were spilling out of my mouth at a rate to match the now pounding beat of my heart.

“He’s okay, Y/N, but I think you should come to Vancouver.” I noticed that his voice was still in the register of Dean deep. At first, I thought that was because of the late hour, but as he kept talking I realized it was because he was exhausted. “I’m at Jared’s apartment now. I came home with him.” My heart sank down to the pit of my stomach. I was terrified of what Jensen was going to say next. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

I struggled to find my voice. I had to ask, had to know, and Jensen wasn’t the kind of person to offer up information. The mere fact he’d called me told me just how serious this was, especially considering it was the middle of the night on the east coast where I was. “Tell me what happened, Jensen.”

I could practically hear him thinking, trying to figure out the best way to tell me whatever it was. “Jared had some kind of breakdown.” I grabbed a handful of my comforter and clutched it in my fist. “He was late coming back to set, so I went to his trailer to find him. He...he couldn’t get off the couch. He’d...just...shut down.”

“Why?” It was all I could think to say. My mind was racing, flying back through all the years I had known Jared. I’d been scared something like this was going to happen for a long time. Jared’s struggled with depression went all the way back to high school.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Nothing unusual happened. It’s about what he’s thinking and feeling, but that’s something he should tell you.”

I got off my bed and went to the closet while Jensen talked. My suitcase was on the shelf where I’d put it when I got home from my last trip to Vancouver. “Where is he now?”

“He’s sleeping. It was a long day.” Jensen paused, and I could tell he was weighing something in his mind. “The producers wanted to shut down production, but Jared wouldn’t. We’re going back to work tomorrow.”

I dropped my suitcase on my bed with a thud and zipped it open. “Jensen, please keep an eye on him. I’m catching the first plane I can tomorrow.”

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

It was early October, and the air was filled with a crisp Canadian chill. Jensen had arranged to have a car and driver pick me up at the airport and bring me back to the set. I’d only been there once, but it still seemed familiar to me, probably because I’d pictured it so many times. It was the way I stayed connected to Jared over the months I was falling in love with him from thousands of miles away.

I walked up the steps of the very trailer I’d imagined so many times and opened the door. The inside was neat, but not perfect. That was a good sign; Jared was at least trying. Keeping things tidy was a challenge for him because he had the type of personality that just exploded around you in a sunburst and often he was so wrapped up in that energy that the details of his surroundings didn’t even register with him.

There were throw pillows scattered over the couch. I’d gotten them for him after that first visit because I thought his work space needed a homey touch. I wanted him to be comfortable here. I made my way to the sofa, sat down, and picked up a navy pillow. I hugged it to my chest and remembered the first time Jared brought me here.

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

One Year Ago

The smile had barely left Jared’s face since we’d gotten to the lot. He enjoyed being here, and everyone clearly loved him. The hair stylist had winked at me as she settled him in the chair and handed him a pack of gummy worms. “It’s the only thing that keeps him still.” Jared had pulled one of the sugar covered candies from the pack and held it out to me. I’d taken it from him and took a bite. The sugar had quickly covered my tongue, and the sound of Jared’s laughter caused a smile to bloom on my face.

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

Present

That seemed like a long time ago at the moment. The rattle of the door pulled me out of my reverie, and I hastily put the pillow back into its place. Jared sighed as he walked through the door, then he saw me. “Y/N.” He scrunched up his face, and the spot at the bridge of his nose wrinkled. “What are you doing here?” He was immersed in the look of Sam Winchester from head to toe, complete with all the layers, but he was still every bit my Jared. My Jared, full of sunshine and the darkness that tore at him.

I chose my words carefully. “I thought you might like to have me here, and...I wanted to be with you. Jared took off Sam’s jacket and dropped it on the counter. We were going to talk about it eventually, so I might as well say it. “Jensen called me.”

Jared had unbuttoned his cuff and was rolling up the sleeve. He stopped when he got to his elbow and hesitated before moving on to the other side. “He did?” Jared lifted his eyes to glance at me, his hand was on his sleeve motionless. “What did he say?”

I didn’t want to make Jared uncomfortable, but I couldn’t stop staring at him. The love I felt for him had guided my every move these past few months. I was actively engaged in trying to make myself a better person for him. He inspired me like that, and he didn’t have any idea.

“He told me you had a hard day, but he didn’t give me any details.” Jared didn’t answer, and I stayed quiet too. He walked over to the couch and sat down on the other end, then he leaned back and stretched his arm out across the back. He wasn’t making eye contact, but he shrugged and started to talk.

“I don’t know what happened. Shooting was going great. We were taking a scheduled break, and I came back here. I planned to unwind for a few minutes, listen to some music, but when I got here something just kind of came over me.” Jared lifted his arm and ran his hand through his hair. “I just started thinking I don’t belong here.” I saw him swallow, and I wanted to reach out to him, but I knew it was important to let him talk. “Look at this.” His head turned, scanning the trailer. “I’m a lead on a TV show. I’m not that good. There are so many actors better than me. There are people who hate me because of what I have, and there are people who want to be my friend because of it, because of what they think I can do for them.”

Jared tipped his head back, resting it on the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. “There’s just so much pressure. What if I can’t keep this up. I’m cracking, Y/N.” He turned his head to look at me without lifting it. “I sat here on this couch, and I couldn’t move. I was scared if I went out there, everyone would know. They’d know I’m fake, that I’m not really what they think I am at all, and I can’t do this.”

Jared abruptly lifted his head and stood. His back was to me as he continued. “How’d I get here? I got lucky. That’s all. I’ve always been too skinny. My hair just does whatever it feels like. I have too many moles that have to be airbrushed and covered with makeup. I can’t cry when the script says to do it. It always looks forced, and then after I can’t stop crying because I couldn’t cry.”

He turned, ran his hand through his hair again and then down over his face. “I want to be good at this. I want to be an actor, but there’s so much of this that isn’t acting. Image. I don’t want to hear that word anymore. I’ve got all these people telling me who to be and what to say in interviews. They tell me how to dress.”

Jared took a deep breath. “There’s so much pressure. Kripke told Jensen and me at the very beginning that this whole thing is riding on us. If it fails, it’ll be because of me, Y/N. What would PR do if this got out? How would that look? I had a breakdown on set. I couldn’t take it, Y/N.”

It was time to say something. “Jared, come sit with me.” This time when he sat down, it was beside me. I took his hand in mine, so big, so strong but soft. “Jared, you have a very special gift. Acting is part of it, but it’s not the most important part. You know how to connect to people.” It was true. That was what had drawn me to him in high school. Jared circulated outside cliques; he actually saw people.

I scooted closer to him. “The world doesn’t always appreciate that. It wants to put us all in a shiny box, and you resist that.” I slipped my free hand into his hair and combed my fingers through the soft locks that he thought were so problematic. “You keep hold of what’s real about you, no matter how many cameras and lights they put in your face. Your heart is kind; that’s why I love you.”

Tears formed in his eyes, and they threatened to fall. “I don’t deserve any of this, Y/N. I’m not worth it. I’m not who they think I am.”

I pulled my hand from his hair and let it rest on his cheek. “It doesn’t matter who they think you are. It matters what you know, and you’ll figure it out.”

A single tear slipped down Jared’s cheek, and he nodded silently. Then he wrapped his arms around me and held on. “I love you, Jared.” I rubbed my hand up and down his back. “You don’t have to be anything for anybody. Just you.”

After a few minutes, he pulled back and began to try to compose himself. “Jared, you don’t have to put on a face for me. I want you just the way you are.”

I fed him, using the ingredients in the fridge to make a sandwich. When Jared got like this, he tended to stop eating. It wasn’t time just yet to talk about finding him a therapist, but we would have that conversation before I left Vancouver. Right now, the focus was to take care of him by keeping him hydrated, nourished, and feeling safe, feeling loved. With this last in mind, I asked him. “Do you want to lie down with me?”

He bit his lip, and it would have been cute if my heart didn’t hurt for him. “Yeah. I’d like that.” I led him to the bed at the back of the trailer. Jared unbuttoned his top shirt and took it off, followed by toeing off his shoes. He took off everything else, leaving him in his t-shirt and boxer briefs. I made my way to the little closet in the corner and found one of his shirts I could wear, then went back to the bed where I found Jared under the covers.

I climbed in next to him, and he pulled me close. There was no sex; this was more basic, more intimate. Jared eased his hand beneath his shirt where he could feel the warmth of my skin. We stayed wrapped in each other like that, and I gave him the comfort he needed until he fell asleep. I would make sure he got the rest he needed too, and when he woke up; I would still be there to love and support him.

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @maddiepants @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @iknowwheremytowelis @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @oldfreakything

Sam/Jared Love: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @theychosefamily @winchesterxfamilybusiness @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @i-joined-social-media-finally @wingledsam @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @wendibird @fantasy-shadows @team-free-will-you-idjiot @waywardnerd67 @neii3n @fullmooner @supernatural-took-me-over @julesthequirky @songbird400

#jared angst #jared fluff #jared x reader #reader inser #spn rpf #jared oneshot #jared fic

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theatrediva1975 · 4 years ago

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Take It or Leave It (Chapter 1 - Leave It)

The sunlight streamed through the window overlooking the small, round kitchen table that served as Olivia Bennett’s dining room table/office desk/craft table and truthfully any flat service she needed. The apartment was tiny but efficient and just enough for what Oliva needed. The job offer to teach at a brand new charter school had come out of the blue and she had all of two weeks between the offer and her first day. Coming off a bad break up, the death of her mother and the elimination of her job in Florida, the offer couldn’t have come at a better time. Olivia grabbed this apartment off an online ad, sight unseen, and prayed for the best. She packed up whatever would fit in her SUV and the small trailer she rented and she didn’t look back. She bought some furniture and decorated her new little home. School started, she made a few friends and a year and a half later, she didn’t think she could have been more content.

Then she met Lieutenant Commander Eric Blackburn. Olivia smiled as she stared out the window at the flowering dogwood tree that grew on the side of her building. Recalling their “meet cute”, she smiled into her tea cup. He was the complete opposite of any man she had ever dated. Usually attracted to alpha male assholes who acted like they were the end all be all, Olivia was completely smitten by the slightly older, steadier, more mature military man. He was quieter, more introspective, softer than the others. He was incredibly intelligent, thoughtful and he had a wicked sense of humor he seemed to save just for her. No doubt, she was falling hard for her sweet sailor.

Olivia jumped at the loud rap of knuckles against the front door, splashing hot tea all over her t-shirt and the essay papers on the American Revolution she was grading at her kitchen table. Quickly grabbing a towel from the breakfast bar, she attempted to pat the papers dry.

“Keep your shorts on!” she called out as she jogged to the front door, stubbing her baby toe on a box sticking out from under the coffee table as she passed. “Dammit all to hell,” she muttered as she ripped the door open to reveal Eric Blackburn on the other side. Speak of the devil, she thought to herself with a smile.

“Hey there,” she said as she stepped back, tripping over….something, to let Eric in the apartment. “This is a surprise.” Olivia noticed the stony look on Eric’s face as he moved past her. No kiss on the cheek, no smile, nothing. And it was the middle of the day. It unnerved her.

As he stepped further into the apartment, Eric surveyed the landscape of her living room. The boxes sticking out from under the coffee table, the empty shelves that had held her DVD collection, the pile of laundry on the far side of the couch. “Yeah, kind of a last minute thing,” Eric responded with a grimace, looking around at the mess. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Olivia winced at his tone. “I got some bad news the other day,” she explained slowly as Eric turned to her. “My lease has been a month to month for a while now and the landlord decided to call it so he can move his wife’s kid brother in or some such thing.” Olivia hadn’t wanted to bring it up until she had something else in place. It had only been a few days since Mr. Leonard dropped his little bombshell on her and she had been scrambling non stop trying to find a new place to move into. She hadn’t mentioned it in their few conversations because Olivia didn’t want Eric to feel any kind of pressure to invite her to stay with him. They weren’t there yet, having only been dating for a few months. They were just enjoying getting to know each other.

“I’m leaving in sixteen hours,” Blackburn stated.

Stunned, Olivia just stared at him. It wasn’t just what he said, but also how he said it that set Olivia’s teeth on edge. It was the tone, she guessed, that he used with his team. Short, clipped, authoritative.

“Oookay,” Olivia responded, hating the slight shake in her voice. She didn’t like his tone and didn’t know where this was heading but she was starting to feel a pit in her stomach. “You’re being spun up?”

“No. I am being deployed. Two weeks early,” he said, emotionless.

Looking around the room, and the small disaster it was, Eric was getting more and more agitated. He was a military man, after all. Neat and orderly was the way he lived his life and this was the opposite of it. And with his frame of mind at the moment…the loss of Echo team, the deployment being moved up, the way Bravo was already itching for a fight. Eric just sighed and shook his head, shifting his focus from what he was going to be facing to attacking the situation in front of him.

“Deployed? Doesn’t that mean for months at a time?” Olivia was desperately trying to learn all the military lingo. Google only helped just so much and she hadn’t met anyone else in Eric’s circle, so it’s not like she could lean on any of the other wives and girlfriends.

Eric sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he responded testily. “I wanted to tell you in person.”

“For how long?”

“Three months, at least,” Blackburn responded.

“Three months,” Olivia repeated. As she began pacing in the small spot in front of her coffee table, her brain kicked into gear as she put two and two together. Her brow furrowed, her Irish temper beginning to flare. He was leaving. She knew this was part of the deal with dating a military man, especially someone like Eric who commanded a specialized unit. Still, she felt there should have been some warning. Especially when that one particular word clicked: early.

“Ok, just so I’m understanding correctly, you’re saying that while you are leaving in the morning, you were already scheduled to leave in two weeks for several months and you’re just now telling me? Is there anything wrong with that assessment...Lieutenant?” she added saucily at the end. Eric took a deep breath to stop himself from snapping at her. He knew he was wrong to have kept that from her but it had been so long since he had been in a relationship and things had been so good between them, he hadn’t wanted to ruin it by bringing up the deployment. But with the loss of Echo team weighing on him, the sailor in him who was looking at months of combat and handling a Tier One team was pushing the boyfriend who just wanted to curl up on the couch and help his girl find a new apartment out of the way. “Look, I just wanted to stop by and tell you in person that the timeline had changed and I’m leaving in the morning” he repeated, almost coldly. “This is my life. Take it or leave it.” The words had barely left his mouth and he wanted to take them back. This was not what he had in mind when he came over here.

Olivia felt her heart stop. “I’m sorry. What did you just say to me?”

The two stared at each other. How had things gone from zero to a hundred in less than three minutes, Olivia wondered. “You heard me,” Eric said quietly.

Tears began to form in Olivia’s eyes. “Wow.” She turned around to take a second to pull the tears back, leaning on the little dining room table. A range of emotions were rolling over her as she stood there. Anger, betrayal, fear, disappointment. Why hadn’t he told her he was being deployed? Did he plan on breaking up with her before he left? Was this the easy way for him to end it? Had she completely misread the situation? Whatever the answers were to the myriad of questions popping in her brain, she knew one thing for sure - she promised she would never let a man break her like her ex did. So Olivia squared her shoulders and stood tall as she turned around to make the decision for him.

Olivia spoke as she walked towards the door. “Well, thank you for stopping by and informing me,” she said, figuring if he was going to use his ‘lieutenant’ voice, she was going to use her ‘teacher’ voice. Olivia swept her arm in front of her in the universal sign of ‘here’s the door’. “Please, do not let me keep you away from your duties.” She knew she was being passive aggressive but she also knew she had to be or she’d do or say something stupid.

Eric sighed and moved towards her. Olivia opened the door and moved back, attempting to stay out of his reach. “Look,” Eric began. Before he could get another word out, Olivia lifted her hand to stop him.

“It’s fine,” she said quietly, opening her front door. Olivia bit her tongue to stop herself from asking him to be careful and come home safe in one piece. With her decision to just let go a moment ago waving its flag in her face, she chose to remain silent.

“Liv…”

“Goodbye, Eric,” Olivia said sadly. With one last look, Olivia quickly closed and locked the door, leaving a stunned Eric Blackburn on the other side.

Not wanting him to hear her, Olivia quickly moved through the apartment to her bedroom in the back and sat down on the edge of her bed and started crying. Shit, she thought. What had she just done?

****************************************************************

The following morning, Eric sat at his desk, staring off into space. He replayed the prior afternoon over and over, seeing everywhere he went wrong. He should have told Olivia about the deployment sooner, he should have had his head on straight before he stepped foot in her apartment, but above all else, he never - never - should have given her the ultimatum of “take it or leave it”. And he really should have just sucked it up and went back to her place last night and begged for forgiveness.

Eric dropped his head into his hands. He had never felt so torn. He desperately wanted to go to Olivia. But there wasn’t time. They were set to take off within the hour.

A light knock on the door jamb caught Eric’s attention. Adam Seaver stood leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey man. Ready to go?”

Eric shook his head. “No, not really.”

Adam chuckled. “I find that hard to believe,” he replied, sitting in the chair across from Blackburn’s desk. “What’s going on?”

Eric looked at the Green Team instructor as a thought took hold. “Can I ask you to do me a favor while I’m gone?”

Adam shrugged. “Of course, man, anything. You know that.”

***********************************************************************

After Eric left the apartment, Olivia threw herself a pity party, complete with mint chocolate chip ice cream. She went to bed without checking her emails, texts or social media. She had zero desire to do anything except berate herself for her own childish behavior and recognize that her long standing insecurities and low self esteem issues had reared their ugly heads and cost her perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to her. It wasn’t until the next morning that she learned about what had happened, finally logging on and seeing the news about the SEAL team that had been killed in Afghanistan.

By that point, she knew she would be too late to reach Eric to try and apologize. He had much more important matters to attend to than her, she thought.

Olivia worked through the rest of the week in a fog. She had made no attempt to find a new apartment and she was down to just over a week to get her place packed up and find somewhere to live. Another teacher on staff had offered to let her use her guest room for a few weeks until she found something. It was a sweet offer but she also knew that said teacher was the resident cat lady and the idea of sharing the space with her and her six cats held little appeal. She’d rather go into debt by getting a hotel room until she found something.

After an excruciatingly long Friday, filled with exams, quizzes and a less than attentive group of teenagers, Olivia trudged into her apartment, knocking into boxes along the way to her bedroom where she changed out of her heels and work clothes, stuck her hair up in a messy bun that never looked as sexy as it did in the magazines, and put on her favorite, practically threadbare, Bon Jovi “New Jersey” tour t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. After reheating some leftovers in the microwave, she grabbed a bottle of wine and curled up on her couch with the mission of not getting up until she found an apartment. Not five minutes in, there was a knock on the door.

Olivia looked through the peephole in the door to find a petite blonde woman on the other side. Not recognizing her, Olivia unbolted the door but left the chain on so she could crack it open. “Yes?”

“Hi, Olivia? I’m Victoria Seaver,” the woman explained. “My husband, Adam, works with Eric on base.”

Olivia’s eyes widened slightly, a shiver soared up her spine. Was she here with bad news? “How can I help you?”

“Do you mind if I come in?” she asked politely.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Olivia responded, shaking her head at herself as she closed the door and took the chain off. She tried to run her hands down her shirt in a terrible effort to look presentable in front of “one of the wives”. The thought of meeting a Navy wife had intimidated her for some reason. Maybe because they always seemed way more put together than she was.

As she reopened the door, Victoria smiled at her. “Oh, this place is so cute!” she exclaimed. “It’s so sad you have to move.”

Olivia’s brow furrowed. How did she know that? “Um, I’m sorry it's such a mess,” Olivia stated apologetically. “I’ve been trying to pack as best I can between school and grading and everything.” Olivia scrambled to pick things up off the other side of the sofa and the chairs on either side of the coffee table to give Victoria a place to sit. “Please,” she gestured.

Still smiling, Victoria thanked her. “I hated moving so much when Adam was working his way up through the ranks,” Victoria lamented. “I mean, I finally have a system, but it took me years to develop it.”

“How did you know about…” Olivia began.

Victoria raised her hand up, again with a smile. “Eric told Adam how sorry he was to be leaving in the middle of all of this. So, we’re here to help.” The statement was said so matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Olivia stared at the woman, searching for what to say next. “I-I don’t...um, help? Help with what?”

Victoria felt bad for the girl in front of her. Brand new relationship with a military man and it’s someone like Eric Blackburn. A brilliant man, no doubt. But a serious dummy in the relationship department. Victoria reached out and took Olivia’s hand. “Eric told Adam you lost the lease on your apartment. And with having to deploy sooner than anticipated, Eric asked Adam if we would take care of you so you weren’t stuck doing this all by yourself.”

Take care of her? Olivia was shocked into silence. She didn’t think Eric even talked about her to anyone at work. She couldn’t help but stare at the patient woman sitting in front of her with her jaw dropped open, then dropping her head to hide the tears threatening to stream down her cheeks. She couldn’t, however, stop the sob that fell from her, causing Victoria to drop her hands, scoot closer to Olivia and wrap her arm around her shoulder.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Victoria cooed in Olivia’s hair as the tears fell.

The comfort and support prompted Olivia to, out of nowhere, retrace the steps that led to the outpouring of emotion, telling Victoria about the afternoon Eric last visited and then began telling her all about how they met and some of the dates they had been on before finally admitting out loud what she knew she should have been telling Eric, not the sweet stranger sitting beside her. “I’ve fallen in love with him and now it’s too late,” Olivia choked out.

Victoria once again grabbed Olivia’s hand. “Olivia, I have known that man for a very, very long time and as much as I adore and admire him, Eric’s an idiot.”

Olivia’s head snapped up at the statement and saw the glint in Victoria’s eye as she chuckled at her. Victoria continued. “He is a brilliant strategist, a cool headed straight shooter in a sea of politically motivated egos and he is, rumor has it, quite a deadly shot. But when it comes to interpersonal - or should I say, personal relationships - Eric Blackburn is about as astute and communicative as a 15 year old boy.”

Both women paused for a moment before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Well, I guess that could be said for most men, couldn’t it?” Olivia queried, earning her a rueful nod from Victoria.

“My Adam can be just as bad,” she confessed. “But enough about the boys,” Victoria continued, eyeballing the bottle of wine on the table. “Got an extra glass?”

Olivia smiled and nodded, heading to the kitchen to grab a glass, a plate, fork and a few little snack items to offer her guest. “Sorry for all this. I am sure you have way more important things to be handling right now than some overwrought, hysterical chick you’ve never even laid eyes on.”

Victoria shook her head. “Stop it. I am happy to help. That’s what we do - we help each other,” she explained. “Being a Navy wife or girlfriend or partner, we all experience similar things. It’s never the exact same thing but trust me, we are all here for each other.” As Olivia returned to the living room, she watched Victoria pull a tablet out of her bag. “So, with that said, I took some liberty.”

As Olivia settled in, Victoria proceeded to open up the app for a local real estate site she had bookmarked, showing Olivia several places she hoped would pique her interest. “I did some research on this place and found some places that are in the area and comparable.”

For the next few hours, the two women researched the local real estate market and made phone and email inquiries on several properties Olivia liked and could afford. They finished off the bottle of wine and then finished off the remaining mint chocolate chip ice cream. By the end of the evening, Olivia had several places to see the following day, but more importantly, she found a friend.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Victoria said as she stepped over the threshold to head home. “Tonight was kind of a daddy/daughter night but Adam has several things to do this weekend before Echo…” she trailed off.

It was the first time that night that the subject of Echo team had come up that night and Olivia wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. So she just went on instinct and pulled Victoria in for a hug. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine what this is like for you all to be going through.”

Victoria squeezed her back and when she pulled away, Olivia saw the tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she began. “It affects us all, whether it’s one life or a whole team. We truly are a community, Olivia. We have each other’s backs, 100%. You’re a part of that now, too. Whether you like it or not,” she finished with a wry smile which Olivia returned. Victoria continued. “Well, Hannah, my daughter, needs a distraction right now, like we all do, so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if she tagged along with us.”

Olivia shook her head. “No, absolutely not. I’d love to meet her.”

Victoria smiled and leaned in, hugging the young teacher once more. “Welcome to the family, Liv,” she said in her ear. She pulled back, catching Olivia’s face in her hands and gave her a wicked grin. “You’re stuck with us now!”

The two women laughed and waved good night once more before Victoria descended down the stairs to the small lobby below. Olivia watched her leave before going back inside.

Curling up on the couch after cleaning up the dishes left behind, Olivia grabbed her laptop. She stared at the screen, knowing what she had to do but also hated it had to be done this way - impersonally, digitally. Calling was out of the question, so this was her only option.

Opening up her email program, Olivia chewed on her bottom lip, wondering what to say, where to start. Talking to Victoria had helped Olivia achieve some clarity and understanding but more importantly, a certain amount of hope that all had not been lost. So she typed just seven words:

Come home safe, sailor. I’ll be waiting.

Olivia never imagined she would get an almost immediate response so when her email alert chimed, she froze when she saw the response.

I promise.

One tear trailed down her cheek as she closed her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks that all was not lost after all.

#seal team #seal team cbs #eric blackburn #oc

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luninosity · 4 years ago

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Working on the last (?) Character Bleed bonus story, today...

James Parr, clutching six bottles of wine, stared at the door. He hadn’t knocked or rung the bell yet, partly because of the armful of wine and partly because he was busy telling himself to remember to breathe.

The door gazed back, pale blue and noncommittal. Maybe it didn’t approve of his choice of shirt, or his hair, or his sudden complete panic. What if Colby Kent’s door didn’t approve of him?

He shifted weight, did not turn and flee, and murmured, “Knew I should’ve worn the blue shirt…”

He didn’t know why he was here. More accurately, he knew why he’d come: Colby and Jason Mirelli had extended an invitation for dinner. And no one in any sort of right mind would turn down that invitation. Between Colby’s sweetness and Hollywood power, as movie star and writer and producer, and Jason’s muscles and family legacy, interwoven with the whole history of the industry, anyone would say yes; they might also say yes out of sheer curiosity, as Colby tended to be adorable and precious but private, and any glimpse inside was an honor.

Also, industry legend said that Colby was a genius cook, and Jason wasn’t half bad either. James’s stomach suggested pointedly that he go ahead and knock.

He couldn’t. He just…couldn’t. Could he?

He knew they’d asked him. He didn’t know why him, why they’d taken an interest, what’d prompted the invitation. He’d never even met Jason, though they’d been at the same events on occasion; he had met Colby, briefly, during the auditions for Steadfast. James winced, remembering.

He’d wanted the role of Stephen, as quite a few people had, and he’d been lucky enough to get a call to come in. Colby Kent was non-negotiable as Will, obviously, as producer and—though the world hadn’t known it yet—scriptwriter. James had done the scene with Colby, and it’d been a gorgeous scene, lush and clever and full of first meeting anticipation on a balcony. He thought he’d done all right, but he also knew he hadn’t been quite right; he’d wondered even then. Colby was so very good—the awards attested to that—and had balanced Will’s privilege and sarcasm with delicate unexpected vulnerability, and James had possibly been just a little too flirtatious, treating Stephen’s lines about choices with not quite enough weight. He’d hoped he’d get a chance to do it again for real; he could take director’s notes readily, with humor and without argument.

He hadn’t had the chance, of course, because Jason Mirelli had walked out of formulaic action-hero thrillers and right into Stephen’s Royal Navy boots and also into Colby’s heart. Jason had shown the world that he was brilliant, and James knew he’d been the right choice; everyone knew. No resentment possible, not with that performance. Only admiration.

He’d be seeing Colby again tonight. If he managed to knock on the door. He did some more silent communing with it. That wasn’t the only reason for his nerves.

Jason, on the phone, had said casually, “Oh, there might be four of us, you know my friend Evan, he’s been the stunt choreographer on all your superhero movies, yeah? He’s in town too, so he might drop by, if that’s cool with you.” And James had squeaked out some sort of embarrassing high-pitched affirmative, and collapsed back against his front door, because he’d just walked in from the gym when Jason had called.

Evan. Evan Richards. Who had, yes, been orchestrating and choreographing and training everyone for all those stunts, for all four films so far. Who was devastatingly competent and patient and gorgeous in every conceivable way, as far as James could tell. Who was, in fact, the man James’s pathetic heart had fallen head over heels for, literally, because he’d walked in to meet their choreographer and learn the first-ever set of moves for his super-soldier character, and then he’d tripped right over a mat, because holy shit the muscles and the motion, fluid and flexible and fast and smooth as silk, on display and glorious…

Evan, who’d been practicing some more complicated moves that he himself would be doing as James’s double, had spun around and run over and been at his side in a flash. Had held out a hand, while James sat on the floor and stared up at strength and power and big brown eyes and, oh god, dimples.

Evan Richards was kind to everyone, even actors who forgot their own names while ogling him. Evan when not working on a film taught Krav Maga and self-defense classes at a local LA place, and offered classes for all levels and ages. Evan never seemed to be upset about anything, not even when someone hadn’t practiced enough or wasn’t getting a move; he’d just calmly explain it all again, with demonstrations, without making anyone feel guilty or inadequate. Evan tended to look at life that way, with calm good humor and excitement about challenges; he possessed a level of self-discipline that James’s impulses could only dream about, from morning workouts to the literal three alcoholic drinks James had seen him consume in nearly six years to consummate professionalism on set, but he managed all that in a laid-back sort of way, never judging anyone else for different decisions, which was good, because James himself had very definitely made some terrible ones regarding vodka and fluffy pink feather dusters, on occasion.

Evan made all their movies better; he made James’s life better, and James’s heart had never recovered from that first tumble into pink billowing clouds. He’d thought it might; he’d thought it would get better, with time and Evan’s apparent lack of need to stare at him in turn.

Nearly six years in, it hadn’t.

He’d tried flirting with Evan. James knew he personally wasn’t some sort of heaven-sent sculpture of male athleticism, definitely not compared to Evan in a clinging super-suit. But he thought he was reasonably attractive—thick dark hair, blue eyes, good chin, what an ex had called “that wholesome young Superman look”—and he was pretty good at sex, and he was—he hoped—a decent guy to have around. That might be something Evan liked, right?

He’d always loved falling into bed with friends, making people happy, any and all genders welcome, sometimes all at once. He could be, and had been, up for just about anything, and he liked people who were enthusiastic and kind and confident about what they wanted and liked. He’d thought, well, if he’s interested—I’m interested, and maybe—

He really had tried. Complimenting Evan’s skill. Complimenting Evan. Asking Evan out for dinner—not drinks; James had noticed that—which had gotten a yes, but a complete and baffling immunity to flirtation over excellent sushi, as if Evan thought he really just wanted to be friends. Learning some good massage techniques and offering to give Evan a backrub had led to, well, him giving Evan a backrub, on set, both of them fully clothed, and Evan had thanked him after. Pretending to not understand a tricky bit of choreography had worked to the extent of getting Evan’s hands on him, but they’d been profoundly professional hands, and James had finally given up and pretended to get it at last.

After that one he’d gone back to his co-star’s trailer, flung himself dramatically across her couch, and despaired, “What am I doing wrong? Is it me? Am I unlovable? Elizabeth, help me.”

Elizabeth, who’d known him for years, had moved his legs, sat down, and patted his hip. “To be fair, darling, you’re kind of a slut. Perhaps he’s not into that.” In that amused years-faded English accent, the affection shone.

“I am,” James had said, “but I just like making people happy. I want to make him happy. How do I make him happy?”

She’d patted him some more. “Perhaps don’t throw yourself at him quite so hard? He might be shy.”

James, who’d seen Evan welcome a new pair of stunt guys to set by running over and immediately diving into a recreation of the famous fight scene from the third John Kill movie, which both guys had jumped right into while grinning, had said doubtfully, “I don’t think so…”

“Perhaps he’s not in fact into men?”

James had sighed. And had drunk far too much of his hotel’s mini-bar, later that night; had winced at sunlight, on set, and had opened eyes to discover Evan holding out Gatorade and painkillers and a protein bar.

He really had given up, or mostly. Stopped trying to flirt. Dated a couple other people, not seriously. Started trying to get used to being a friend, resigning himself to making Evan happy that way.

He’d noticed that Evan liked travel and exploring new locations; James had made sure to do some research and to mention historic sites or local marketplaces or neat old castle walls they were allowed to ride bikes on. Evan had an astonishing sweet tooth for someone with those abs, and James found a tiny ice cream shop in Prague that deserved every bit of its reputation and brought him there, and loved the way Evan’s eyes lit up and the way Evan wanted to try every flavor and the way Evan licked a sample spoon.

He’d wanted to hold Evan’s hand, walking back to their hotel along medieval cobbled streets under a low-hanging moon. He’d wanted, and he knew he was still and maybe always would be in love; he knew that like a stab to the heart. It felt like the moonlight and tasted like cookies-and-cream, sharp and sweet.

He’d called Evan after they’d wrapped, after they’d all come back home to LA. He’d tried not to. Not being pushy or needy. He’d made it three days. He’d just wanted to hear that voice, calm and happy, talking about an upcoming martial arts class or ideas for changing up some heroic choreography. Evan had answered promptly, and they’d talked for two hours before Evan had headed to bed, having an early morning. After, James had started looking up the address of a secret jazz-themed speakeasy he remembered—they had a good non-alcoholic cocktail menu, too, and to-die-for chocolate cake, and spot-on historic recreation—because he thought Evan might like it, and then he remembered that they weren’t actually dating and they weren’t on location and Evan had no reason to put up with his company day after day.

He sighed again, in the present. Clung to wine. Tried not to drop any. Evan might be here and see it.

He hadn’t managed to knock, but the door opened anyway. James almost took an inadvertent step back, because muscles, but caught the reaction in time.

“Oh, good,” Jason Mirelli said, grinning at him, “you’re right on time. And you brought, like, all the wine. Here, I can take those.” Boulders shifted and mountains bulged; the sleeves of Jason’s shirt stretched outward in forest-green despair as big arms collected all of James’s offerings. “Come on in.”

James shook himself out of fascinated speculation about how Jason ever hugged Colby without crushing adorable blue-eyed slender height. “Um. I didn’t know what you, um, liked? So I just…brought a lot of things?” Good god. He was an actor, a successful veteran of press and publicity tours, and a grown man of thirty-two years. Surely he could talk. “Thanks for, um, inviting me? I mean…yeah. Thanks.”

“Hey, we’re fans. We’ve loved all the Star Captain movies.” Jason sounded sincere, too. Honesty in craggy features, deep velvet-brown eyes. Casually upending the world: in what universe were Colby Kent and Jason Mirelli fans of James Parr? “By the way, Evan’s already here.”

#character bleed #bonus scenes #fic in progress #soon

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xoluvx · 5 years ago

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water and oil - t.h x reader

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warning: cursing? and some mediocre writing.

Word Count: 1.5K

This was a request by a very special friend of mine @mwitsmejk - I tried my best to follow through with the vision. It was actually quite hard writing this because at one point, I had no idea where to go. It’s not the best, but I hope you all enjoy. ♡

Water and oil. That was the best way to describe the relationship you shared with Tom. Yes, Tom Holland. Simply put, you couldn’t stand each other. Every time he walked into the room, you felt your blood boil from his sheer existence. He was the person who walked into a room and drained the energy.

He was nothing more than a diva who couldn’t get his own water. Your words, not mine.

Water doesn’t mix with oil. That’s just science. You don’t get along with Tom, those are just facts.

This strong dislike begun before you even started filming your movie. The plan had been to meet and get to know each before the table read. Just to get acquainted. You were playing his love interest, after all.

Instead, Tom blew you off. He didn’t care enough to get to know, or so you assumed. He’d sent his assistant to apologize on his behalf and that was that.

You didn’t like Tom. But you quite enjoyed his best friend’s/assistant’s company. It wasn’t easy being friend with Haz. Tom was like a leech. So needy. He always needed Haz’s attention. You couldn’t spend more than five minutes talking to Haz before Tom approached, rolling his eyes making a snarky comment about hiring “your own assistant”.

You’d simply scoff, directing your attention to Haz letting him know you’d talk to him when the snakes cleared out.

Tom, shitty little Tom, made it his mission to make your life miserable. Coffee or tea? Sorry, Tom had taken the last cup. Turn up the AC? Sorry, Tom needed to be warm for this scene. Sandwiches for lunch? Nope, Tom was on a strict diet. He couldn’t see sandwiches laying around, too much temptation.

You’ve had enough. You were done being second best to Tom. This was your movie too. Not just his. Nobody took your last cup of coffee. So you’d made up your mind. You were going to confront Tom and let him know this had to stop. You knew this wasn’t going to dissolve the hate you had for him, but it would hopefully make things a little better at work.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” He asked his hand clinging to the doorknob.

“I just came to talk to Tom.” You replied playing with your fingers.

“Tom went out, he’ll be back soon.” He opened the door welcoming you in. You stepped in looking around the trailer. This was the first time you’d visited and for a guy, it was pretty neat. You were sure Haz did all the work.

“So… what were you going to talk to Tom about?” He asked making his way towards the small couch. You followed close behind taking a seat next to him. You looked around, even his trailer was bigger than yours.

“Oh. Just been really annoyed lately. Wanted to talk to him about it.” You spoke fast, stuttering a little. It did sound a little silly when you said it aloud. Two adults arguing like children. That’s what you and Tom looked like.

Harrison nodded his head, sighing. “Tom is great.”

You scoffed crossing your arms leaning on the couch. “He’s a jerk!”

Harrison squinted watching you rant about how awful Tom was. He finally broke your rant, “are you sure you don’t like Tom?”

The question came out of nowhere and you were taken aback by the remark.

“Me? Like Tom? Psh. Did you hear me- I hate him. What?” You were stumbling over your words. Your shoulders rising up in defense like you’d just been attacked.

I mean you had. How dare Harrison think you liked Tom? You certainly didn’t like Tom. You didn’t like the way his hair bounced when he walked and you definitely didn’t like the way he looked in those grey shirts his character worse all the time. No way. Nope. You did not like Tom.

Just as you were going to continue defending yourself the door to the trailer flew open. Tom walked in, noticing that you were sitting on his couch. You didn’t have a chance to react before you heard him speak. “What are you doing here?” He emphasized ‘you’, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I was just leaving.” You reply standing from the couch, hardly any expression on your face. You glared at Harrison before closing the trailer door behind you.

“What were you talking about?” Tom asked Haz removing his shoes before tossing his body on the couch where you’d been previously sitting. Harrison shook his head, his lips curving downwards. “Nothing.”

“Was she giving you trouble?” He asked seriously.

Haz shook his head again, his hands rubbing on his thighs. “No.”

Tom furrowed his brows, knowing that you’d definitely been up to something.

The next day, you were standing by the snack table. You were determined the get that cup of coffee today. Suck on that, Tom. Your fingers curled around the warm cup.

You had two seconds of peace before you felt Tom’s presence. He glanced at your coffee cup, “better not have gotten the last cup.” You smile mischievously knowing you had. Because you’d gotten there early and handed a cup to the entire crew.

Tom grunted, shaking the box of coffee. Empty.

You brought the warm cup to your lips, taking a small sip before turning on your heel to walk away. Tom was quick, he stepped in front of you prohibiting from going anywhere. “What’s your deal?” He asked.

“Back off,” you snarled trying to walk away. But he was quicker and stronger. His hand reached for your arm, holding you still. The coffee in your cup shook, threatening to spill.

“You’re going to drop my coffee!” Your voice was harsh laced with annoyance.

“Should be my cup of coffee,” Tom replied watching your eyes intensely.

You gulped. He was so close to you. So much so that you could almost connect the dots of his freckles. You could see the bags under his eyes from the crazy hours of filming. And those lips. That you had yet to taste.

Taste? You shook your head trying to shake out your absurd thoughts.

“Nervous?” Tom asked watching the way your chest was heaving. It was moving rapidly, he could practically hear the beating of your heart.

“That’s enough coffee for you,” he remarked taking the cup of coffee from your hand before turning on his heel. Leaving you standing there dumbfounded.

But you weren’t going to loose this battle. You ran up to him, your body slamming into his back. You hadn’t meant to run into him, you’d gain too much momentum and didn’t realize it until your face smacked his back.

Tom screamed, the hot cup of coffee now on his shirt.

“Oh” you managed to say watching Tom turn around, fumes coming out of his ears.

“I’m sorry-” you said. You truly were.

The hand Tom was using to fan his shirt had stopped moving. His eyes searched words. That was probably the only time you had ever said anything nice to him?

He noticed the way your face softened, a hurried hand going to fan his shirt. Your lips were parted, a panicked expression on your face.

“It’s okay,” Tom finally said moving away from your hands. He could feel his heart beating in his throat and he was sure you would hear it. So he quickly excused himself. You stood there watching his figure disappear. You didn’t notice Harrison watching from the side, a small smirk on his face.

“So, you sure you don’t like y/n?” Haz asked as Tom who was currently scrolling through his phone. Tom’s ears perked up hearing Haz’s question and his mind was flooded with thoughts of the coffee incident.

He thought of the way your lips curved downward in regret. The way your eyes bulged slightly, brows raised, lips parted.

“Hate her,” he responded nonchalantly pushing the thoughts out of his head.

“You know, I think she has a little crush on you.” Haz said watching Tom’s every move.

Tom’s body tensed and he stopped scrolling through his phone. He didn’t look at Haz though. And the conversation didn’t continue.

"What are you doing here?” you asked as you watched Tom stand from his chair.

“What are you doing here?” he retaliated.

“I’m having dinner with Haz.” you crossed your arms.

“I’m having dinner with Haz.” Tom argued pointing at himself.

“We were set up” you said at the same time. And you had to admit, it took every fiber in your body not to laugh in that very moment.

Tom’s eyes searched your face, trying to decide if he should leave or -

“We’re already here. Let’s have dinner.” The words came out of his mouth flawlessly and you swore your knees went weak from the request.

Water and oil don’t mix. That’s just science.

But water and oil could mix. All you need is an emulsifier; creating a stable mixture of water with droplets of oil spread through it, or oil with droplets of water spread through it.

Only then can water and oil mix.

#tom holland #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers

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littlemisssquiggles · 4 years ago

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Hello Squiggles :) Glad to see you're back! I just wanted to ask... Do you have any theories on what will happen in the next RWBY volume? It's always so interesting to read your speculations!

Hiya Seaberry. Apologies for the very late response. To be honest with you fam, I don’t really have any theories or speculations for the next volume…at least not any more after seeing the preview clip and learning of the news that the events of V8 will take place over the course of 24-48 hours (1 to 2 days) in the Remnant RWBY timeline.

What I can tell you is what I was originally hoping to see for V8:

In the beginning, I was hoping that we would have gotten to witness Oscar go on his own separate journey with Ozpin, similar to his fairy-tale counterpart in the Little Prince. I was hoping we would’ve seen Oscar and Oz actually bonding, mending any former tensions and misconceptions they had of each other within the time they spent out in Mantle alone together surviving; ultimately achieving the same level of harmony and comradery that Ozma eventually learnt to have with the other Wizards in his lineage. I was hoping to watch Oscar mature further as a huntsman so that by the time he reunited with the other heroes for the inevitable fight against Salem, he would be stronger and much more in tuned with himself as a wizard of light; demonstrating an aptitude for his magical abilities that we haven’t seen seasons prior.

I was anticipating possibly a small parallel moment where Ruby is either off on her own dealing with Salem---possibly after she was kidnapped and taken to her herself or something along those lines---only for her to be saved in the end by Oscar as a neat little nod back to all the times Ruby has protected and saved Oscar over the past few seasons.

And above all else, I was hoping that the news of Oscar’s alleged death would’ve lead into more development for our heroes resulting in characters such as Ruby Rose and/or Yang Xiao Long realizing the error of their past actions with what happened between them and the General (and essentially Ozpin as well). I was hoping that the realization that their actions of deception towards Ironwood and their former Atlesian allies unintentionally contributed to Oscar’s death would’ve been used to a very big rude awakening for our heroes.

Not only that but I had also hoped that Oscar’s death would’ve triggered Ruby being forced to FINALLY confront her feelings over her mother’s death leading to possibly some more Summer Rose revelations in respect to her and her relationship with her loved ones---Ruby specifically.

Those were the three major things that this squiggle meister was anticipating might potentially happen for next season. However; given what we’ve learnt so far about V8…I dunno but I doubt those theories or speculations will even be possible anymore. So for now, I’ve decided to take a stance on doing the exact same thing I did with V7---which is go into the new volume with as little expectations as possible and just judge what the showrunners give us as it is revealed to us within the series as the episodes come. At this point, I honestly don’t know what to expect any more for V8---at least; not until we get more info on the season like the volume trailer.

For now I think it’s best that I savour any prospective theories I could cook up for when either the volume trailer or the season drops so that at least then I’d be able to match up my theories based on what is presented to me a la the PLOT. Hope that answers your message Seaberry. Again sorry for taking so long to reply. Hope you’re well, fam!

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

#squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #rwby volume 8 theories #rwby theories #seaberry-siren #squiggles answers

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years ago

Text

Idle Hands Are an Angel’s Plaything by mattzerella_sticks

Three cases - man kills wife. woman steals from where she works. employee kills their boss. They shouldn't have anything in common. Except all three suspects claim they have no memory of committing the crimes they're charged with. Sounds exactly like a case for the Winchesters.

Three days investigating, however, and they're drawing blanks. Nothing adds up in any way that makes these crimes align into a neat box. Dean's ready to call it quits, but humors Sam and Cas by agreeing to interview a few more people. However he soon starts to believe this town has something pertaining to their expertise when he suddenly finds himself its next victim.

Will they manage to defeat the monster without Dean doing something he'll regret? Or will the only way to free himself is to let go of the chains he forced himself into long ago?

For the @supernaturaltropecelebration and their amazing Halloween Challenge!

Kevin grunts in his sleep, trying to wake up from the strangest nightmare. Blinking into consciousness he finds himself in a different position than when he fell asleep. Instead of his eyes adjusting to see his beige ceiling, he stares into the bloodshot stare of his wife Darla. His hands at her throat, grip slack.

“Darla?” he whispers, hands moving to her shoulders. Shaking, he asks again, “Darla?” More panicked, twitching fingers returned to check for his wife’s pulse. A sob crawls from his chest as he realizes nothing beats against his touch.

“No, Darla,” he whispers, rolling off her and collapsing back onto his side of the bed. “How did this happen…”

His hands stay frozen at his sides until he works through his shock and calls the police.

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

The Impala pulls into the diner parking lot, fitting in between a rusted truck and a Prius. Dean sneers at the latter car as he gets out, “Fuckin’ douche mobiles…”

“Dean,” Sam sighs from the other side, “focus.”

“Why? We have jack shit anyway.”

“There’s got to be something tying these crimes together!”

“Yeah, humanity ,” he scoffs, leaning against his Baby’s hood, “Listen, I’m not sure if there's anything happening here that falls under ourjurisdiction, okay?”

Sam rolls his eyes, dialing up the softness in his features. Resembling more labradoodle than man, he asks, “Can we go over it all one last time?”

Dean tries to resist, but he succumbs to his brother’s masterful manipulation. “Fine. But let’s at least grab a booth before it gets too crowded, okay?”

Nodding, Sam moves away from the car and over to the diner. Dean turns to Castiel, the angel perched on the hood as well. A silent observer to their bickering. “You think there’s any foundation under the house Sam’s building?”

Head skewed to the side, Castiel squints at him. “While these events are muddled and pedestrian… you two have had less to go off of.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, tapping Baby’s roof twice, “we have.” He pushes himself off, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “Come on, otherwise Sam’ll order us all salads.”

“I’d like some fries.”

“Well you can order your damned fries when we get inside.”

They walk together, barely an inch of space between them. Castiel’s arm brushes against his with each step, each time making the blush burning his neck to grow hotter. He could move away, but Dean chooses to stay on his path. Reasoning that Castiel should be the one to do so, finally learn about the personal space bubble he frequently bursts. Eleven years, countless battles, and all of pop culture downloaded into his mind in the span of a second and Dean still has to tell him how if he can feel his breath when he talks Castiel isn’t far enough away.

Sam arches an unimpressed brow when they enter, handing them their menus. “Took you long enough?”

“Bite me, Sammy.”

“I’d rather the food. Less calories.”

Dean exaggerates a frown, Sam copying him. Castiel elbows him in the side, glancing between the two. With a sigh he drops the argument, burying his head into the menu. Keeping silent when his brother and angel carry on the conversation. Only surfacing when the waitress swings by asking for their order.

As expected Sam orders a salad, while Dean opts for a BLT and Castiel asks for his fries. Once the waitress is out of earshot, Sam looks to him. “So,” he starts, “can we go over the case now ?”

Tamping down his comments, Dean nods wordlessly. He fiddles with one of the napkins, bending and crumpling the edges before smoothing them. The urge to tear them up spikes, but Dean ignores it. Not in the mood for one of Sam’s lectures about wasting napkins.

“Now the reason we came here over going home was because of the first incident, where a woman was arrested for murdering her co-worker. Although from how she told it to the press, it wasn’t her.”

“Except,” Dean cuts in, “while Cas and I interviewed her, you checked the footage and didn’t see her eyes flash.” What Sam saw, and related to them, was how Kristie twisted the oxygen valve in the storage shed enough that its contents would hiss open. So when her boss, Mark, went for a quick smoke break, the tossed match would ignite the canister and obliterate the shed, everything and every one in it.

“And from our conversation,” Castiel adds, “she didn’t seem too regretful of her co-worker’s death.”

Kristie confided that bad blood existed between her and Mark. That he offered to help her with her diving suit near constantly, made suggestive comments and harassed her often for a date. “I mean why should I be blamed?” Kristie asked, “He was the idiot who kept smoking near oxygen tanks even when Larry told him again and again to find somewhere else to take his breaks! All I was doing was counting our inventory… sometimes I’m just on autopilot, y’know, it’s so boring… anyone could have made that mistake!”

“But then there were the others,” Sam continues, swiping around on his tablet. He shows the articles he pulled. “Banker who transferred over a hundred thousand into her own account and the man who strangled his wife in their bed.”

“Doesn’t mean there’s a shifter though.”

“Three instances where people claim they have no memory of committing a crime?” Sam scoffs, “Might not be a shifter but it’s something .”

“What else could it be, Sam?” Dean rolls his eyes, “Cursed object? All three of the perps didn’t mention buying or finding anything strange, and I doubt one of those could travel so far in a few days. Especially since none of them travelled in the same circles. Witches? There’s no pattern - usually it’s either murder or theft, they don’t do both!”

“So maybe we need to work harder,” Sam growls, slapping Dean’s hands, “and quit it! I thought I told you how much I hate when you do that.”

Dean frowns, following Sam’s gaze to see the sprinkling of napkin shreds all around him. He drops the rest of it, whipping wide eyes up at his brother. “Sorry,” he says, “must have lost focus or something…”

Sam sucks in a sharp breath, judging him silently through his pointed expression. Feeling guilty, Dean ducks his hands under the table.

“As I was saying,” Sam says, “There’s probably something we’re missing… or we’re not considering. Usually we’ve at least spoken to a witness or a family friend at this point, but with how every day there seems to be a new crime we hadn’t had the chance to.”

Dean snorts, “They should really change their town motto. Most exciting hamlet on the bay…”

“I agree with Sam,” Castiel says, “we’ve learned nothing from simply combing through crime scenes or questioning the suspects.”

“At least we’re all on the same page about that,” Dean hums, eyeing the waitress as she sways closer with their food. “Case talk over with, now’s time to eat!”

The waitress arrives as Sam readies an objection. Unable to raise a protest, Sam swallows back his words to make room for his salad. She hands each boy their order, taking extra care when giving Castiel his. “Now would you like anything else?” she asks them, eyes trained on his angel.

Castiel smiles at her. “No thank you, we’re good.”

“Are you sure?”

A tornado whips up in his stomach, upending the trailers of his emotions settled there. His jaw tenses, fingers flexing as he watches her flick her ponytail to the side. A voice whispers for him to trail fingers through Castiel’s hair and repeat what his angel said, to glare at her until she walks away.

He doesn’t do any of that; instead hissing a breath out his nose and digging into his sandwich.

She leaves soon enough, with a promise to return at a moment’s notice. Dean sulks into his burger, cheeks puffed up as he eats.

The others at the table discuss their plan while they eat, every few beats looking to Dean for his input. With his mouth almost always stuffed Dean didn’t talk. Each time Sam found him with gnashing teeth and crumbled foodstuff his lips curled ever downwards. Castiel seemed confused at Dean’s sudden mood shift, unknowing to what caused him to withdraw.

Unfortunately the sandwich, as large as it was, couldn’t last forever. And his voracious appetite meant he finishes far faster than everyone else. Sam still has half his leaves on his plate, speaking more than he ate, while Castiel picked at his fries.

Now without any sort of shield, his brother expects him to participate. Dean nods and answers when needed, but completely checks out of the conversation.

It’s not like him to do so on a hunt. However it’s their third straight one after a salt n’ burn and a harrowing ghoul hunt. Where Dean was almost intimately familiar with what a spike tasted like, if Castiel hadn’t burst in at the eleventh hour. White shirt sticky with sweat and stained with dirt, hair damp against his forehead. Apparently the ghoul tricked his angel, smothering him under six feet of dirt at a play to take him off the field.

“I dug myself free and came straight here,” Castiel explained as he untied Dean, “I couldn’t waste a second, especially on something as mundane as appearances.”

At least, that’s what Dean thought he said. His mind was too focused on the image of Castiel kneeling in front of him, chest heaving and glistening, fingers dancing around the rope. He only started paying attention when Sam rushed in, gun aimed at thin air.

“Nice of you to show up,” Dean barked, shoving the rope off of him and stepping away from Castiel with a blush, “What were you doing? Thinking about what you could turn my room into when you became an only child?”

Neither Sam nor Castiel laughed. Which made for a very awkward ride back to the motel. The atmosphere so stifling between them Dean escaped to the bathroom. Washing away the ghoul stink and rubbing one to the earlier scene. Imagining if Sam hadn’t burst in.

As good as it felt he regrets it only because it gave the others space to find another hunt and overrule his whining.

“Dean?”

He surfaces from his memories and into the present, blinking at Castiel. “Yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

Dean studies the furrowed brow on his angel’s face. Mirroring the expression, he asks, “Why shouldn’t it be?”

Castiel’s frown deepens, and his head skews to the side again. “Because your hand has been on my knee for quite some time.”

Blanching, Dean whips his gaze to where Castiel claimed his hand rested. Like he said, it lays on Castiel’s knee in a picture of innocent affection. He flicks his eyes up to Castiel, and then to Sam. His brother watches with amused interest.

“Of course my hand’s there,” Dean says, thinking quick, “I - uh… I’ve been trying to get you to scoot over so I can go to the bathroom.”

Face smoothing immediately, Castiel sighs. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because,” he jerks a thumb at Sam, “didn’t want to interrupt this one while he was on a roll.” With Sam’s bitchface in the background Castiel moves so Dean can stand. He winks with fake mirth, “Won’t be long.” Then Dean speeds away to the bathroom, hands buried in his pockets and face stoic.

The diner’s bathrooms are single occupants, and Dean finds both the men’s and gender neutral bathroom locked. Sighing, he sags against a nearby wall and plays with his phone. Trying not to focus on the feel of Castiel’s knee in his hand.

Why it was there Dean couldn’t answer, nor did he need an answer. Otherwise Dean will have to confront a host of problems he isn’t in the mood to face. Not wanting to think about it any longer, he chalks it up to exhaustion. Dean then distracts himself by pulling up a game, hoping with each row of Tetris he clears he can believe his excuse.

While deciding where to shove a T-piece, Dean overhears a nearby conversation.

“Can you believe how sad Tony sounds in this caption?”

“I know, but can you blame him? Broken up like that…”

Dean pauses his game, interest piqued. Shuffling to the side, he spies their waitress conversing with another girl at the last booth. Taking a break from working, she chats with her friend with no fear of being found by her boss.

“Who would’ve guessed Felicia was faking it all this time…” her friend says, taking her phone back. “Like did you hear from Jessica?”

“No, why? What does she know?”

“From what she told me - and this is from what Bea told her - that they were having this sleepover. Bea woke up to Felicia spooning her, and her hands were… y’know .”

“ No! ”

“Which, you’d think Bea would’ve woken up screaming!”

“I know I would’ve,” their waitress says, “y’know Creepy Josh tried something like that with me during a party the other night? Lucky I wasn’t too wasted to stab my key into his hand.”

“So that’s why he wore that bandage throughout the show,” her friend says, “I thought it was a character choice.”

“No, that dildo has no character.”

“Anyway, Bea was super into Felicia’s touch. Has had the hots for her for awhile, apparently. Her own best friend .”

“And Felicia felt the same?”

“Apparently…” her friend glances behind, Dean watching as she extends her neck as far as it can go. Whipping around, she smirks, “Speaking of hands and feeling up … who are those two snacks in your section.”

Dean tracks where she looks, shuddering as logic points to only one table - his . “I know,” their waitress gushes, “you don’t see faces like those in this crummy town.”

Her friend nods. “When I walked in I nearly dropped to the floor at the sight of the guy with the long hair.”

“Sure he’s nice,” their waitress says, “but did you not see the daddy in the trench coat?”

“Really? A trench coat?”

“What! He makes it work,” she defends Castiel’s fashion, “Besides, he has this air about him like… he could take real good care of me…”

Rolling her eyes, her friend grabs for her soda. “I doubt he’s gonna be the sugar daddy of your dreams, Monica.”

Monica sighs. “A girl can dream can’t she…”

Dean glares at her from his hiding spot. A girl cannot dream, he thinks, especially if that’s what her dreams are about. His grip tightens on his phone, the plastic digging into his skin. The bathroom door opens and startles him from his spiraling.

Faced with an empty bathroom, Dean remembers what he came to do. He shakes off the annoyance and hurries into it, going through the motions as he calms his racing heart. Stands in front of the mirror as he repeats to himself, “It’s stupid… don’t let it bother you.”

The voice from earlier returns, whispering again. “It’s not stupid… allow yourself to feel…”

His hands squeeze the porcelain sink as Dean wonders why his inner voice decided to take on a grating southern twang.

“Dean?” Castiel knocks on the door, “Dean? Are you in here?”

Broken from the spell, he turns to the door. He opens it, his angel on the other side. “Yeah?”

“You were gone for a long time,” Castiel says, “Sam’s paying… we’re heading out.” Castiel’s hand twitches at his side, reaching out to him. “Are you okay -?”

“Peachy, Cas,” he says, stepping around the concerned touch, “Police station coffee just hitting s’all… let’s hurry and clear this mess up so we’re not stuck here another night.”

Castiel nods, guiding Dean from the bathrooms and towards the exit where Sam waits. On their way there they pass Monica, cleaning their table. She leers at Castiel, obviously raking her gaze over him.

Impulsively Dean presses his hand against Castiel’s lower back and pushes him forward. “Pick up the pace,” he says loudly, “can’t keep Sam waiting, angel.” Ignoring Castiel’s look of confusion, Dean focuses instead on the bewildered expression Monica creates. Holds his head up a little higher.

“Isn’t that… better…”

“Isn’t what better, Cas?”

“I… I didn’t say anything, Dean,” his mouth thins worryingly, “are you sure you’re okay?”

Unconvincingly Dean mutters, “Like I said, Cas… damned peachy .”

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

Dean loses his footing almost immediately after climbing onto the fishing boat. He stumbles forward, nearly falling on his face. If it weren’t for Castiel’s firm hold on his arm he would have known what poopdeck tastes like.

“Rough waters today,” Jim, the captain, tells them, “if you ain’t got your sea legs than you won’t stand much of a chance, son…”

“I’ll manage…” Dean huffs, flattening his suit jacket with nervous hands. He glances at Castiel, pouting at how unruffled he seems by the waves. “How are you not affected?”

Castiel smirks, “Angel grace is a good substitute for ‘ sea legs ’.”

“Whatever,” he says, “you can let go now.”

The fingers around his bicep tighten, a rush of pleasure shooting up his spine. “I think it would be best if I help steady you.”

Blushing, Dean snaps his mouth shut with a click. He looks to the waiting captain, pinched dimples on full display. “So, about your crew member, Kevin Johannsen?”

“Johannsen was a real good fisherman,” Jim starts, leading them towards a pile of nets. Jim picks one up and begins folding as he talks. “Had this uncanny ability to guess wherever the most fish were in an open sea. One day he pointed to a patch and said ‘cast there’ and we nearly capsized from the amount of fish we hauled in! It’s a real shame to hear what happened…”

“Yes, well, that’s why we’re here,” Dean says, “We just wanted to see if Kevin had been acting strange in the last couple of days.”

“Strange?” Jim asks, “What do you mean strange?”

“Exhibiting unusual behavior,” Castiel clarifies, stepping closer. “Doing or saying anything that might have seemed out of the ordinary… maybe he found something while fishing that he kept for himself?”

“No,” Jim answers, “no, can’t say that he has. Any garbage we dredge up gets tossed back into the sea where we found it… and as for Kevin himself he was as normal as he always was. Cursing out the Patriots, drinking the same amount of beers he always did, telling the same jokes …”

Dean arches a brow, the word like a dangling string he felt drawn to pull. “Jokes? Kevin was a regular comedian?”

“Well, he weren’t a Jerry Seinfeld or a Sam Kinison, but he knew how to make us all chuckle every now and then,” Jim says, turning to his crew, “isn’t that right boys?”

There’s muddled agreement. One man, made burlier by his fleece-lined denim jacket, gives them more information. “Kevin liked repeating what he saw on TV, stole a joke or two from Family Guy. Liked doing that Borat thing…”

“Borat thing?” Castiel asks.

Dean rolls his eyes, “It’s this actor… ‘My wife’?”

“Yeah,” the man says, “he liked that one a lot.”

“Although,” another crewman speaks up, “he sounded more and more like the Honeymooners in the past few months.”

Dean latches onto that, hackles raised. He explores it further, hoping the dark rock sinking in his gut was right. “Kevin having problems at home?”

“Not anymore than the average guy,” Jim shrugs, “Complained about Darla more than ever, though…”

“How so?”

The burly man explains how Kevin found his marriage growing stale, and had taken to flirting with one of the girls who sold their fish. “Kept saying how he wished he didn’t marry Darla right out of high school, had more time to sow his seeds,” he tells them, “That if he could he would get rid of Darla and immediately go after Michelle. Pretended to call up hitmen or asked questions about how fast a person could sink to the bottom of the ocean…”

“And,” Dean rubs at his forehead, pressing against the growing headache, “you were all surprised to hear that this guy murdered his wife?”

Jim scowls. “He wasn’t like any of those disturbed people you see on the news. Kevin was normal, like one of us. It was just jokes between boys.”

“Jokes that led to a woman’s death,” Castiel growls, barely containing the venomous glow dripping from his glare.

“Hey!” Jim objects, “We didn’t tell Kevin to do what he did -”

“No, but you allowed him an open forum to discuss it,” Castiel says, “treated his very obvious threats as silly make believe. In what way could joking about murder be acceptable in any work space? You should have fired him and, at the very least, alerted Darla to what her husband was saying.”

“Why would we have done that?” Jim asks, “We all thought it would blow over. He wasn’t the first man to wish he wasn’t married, we’ve all been in that position once or twice.”

“Yet Kevin was the only one who took extreme measures,” he challenges, “If I were you I would think long and hard about the learned behaviors of how women are treated, especially how easily violence towards them is overlooked.”

Each member of the crew wore a mixture of shame and anger, all directed at Castiel.

Sensing the turn of the interview, Dean lays a hand against Castiel’s chest and pushes him backwards. “I think this is where we’ll take our leave,” he chuckles, “thanks for your time.”

Ignoring his angel’s protests Dean hurries them off the boat, waiting until they’re far enough away on the docks to talk.

“I can’t believe those men,” Castiel huffs, “treating those threats as something harmless like a joke -”

“Hate to break it to you Cas,” Dean says, “but that’s all men.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to accept it. Why did you make us run away like that?”

“Because as much as I hate what they said,” he sighs, “I know when to pick my battles.”

“No you don’t.”

“Fine, I know how to pick your battles.”

“They wouldn’t have been able to hurt me,” Castiel tells him, “But I could have taught them a lesson or two…”

The hand still glued to his arm clenches tighter, Dean wincing in pain. Underneath that, though, a current of heat stings his lower body. His dick stiffens and rises somewhat in his pants, adding to the already intense blush coloring his cheeks.

Noticing Dean’s pained expression Castiel cools his anger and releases him. “Sorry,” he says, “I… I forgot my hand was there.”

“S’okay, Cas,” Dean chuckles, “Next time take your frustrations out by writing your local representative…”

“Do we have one? I thought since we don’t vote…”

“...Never mind, Cas. Let’s just go call Sammy and tell him it was a bust.”

They shuffle over to the Impala, at a distance uncommon to their friendship. Dean wants to reach over and calm his angel, express further how unsettled he was by the others’ callous remarks. Remind Castiel that even in all the whirling madness there are a few voices of sanity trying to help others listen to reason. Only some people prefer having their ears stuffed up, comfortable with the silence. And most don’t want to rock the boat and mess up what already works.

Like Dean. Because as much as he wants to hold his angel all he uses his hand for is to open Baby’s door, start the engine, and call his brother.

He picks up on the third ring. “I was just about to call you.”

“You find anything?”

“No,” Sam sighs, “I think you might be right about this one…”

Dean tempers his grin, only allowing a tiny fraction of it show. “What makes you think that?” he asks.

Sam explains what he managed to uncover while snooping around the bank. How Linda was on the fast track to unemployment, her boss showing him the letter of termination they planned. Her co-worker Sandy told Sam how Linda complained about having issues with money. “Apparently she was buried deep in debt after some serious online gambling,” he says, “So we have a motive.”

He reigns in the ‘I told you so’, instead saying, “Same here. Ol’ Kev talked pretty heavily about not wanting his wife around anymore…”

A surge of warmth rocks over him from the thought of wrapping up the case quickly. While it’s an odd feeling to have when discussing murder, making him sound so flippant, he doesn’t care. Picturing his bed in the Bunker gives him tingles, especially when his imagination adds the perfect cherry by placing Castiel atop of his covers.

In the fantasy Dean drops his bags and glides in, kneeling at his bedside. Gently caresses Castiel’s face, the feel of his stubbles so real under his fingertips. As if the welcome relief of a case closed hit him now, while they tie up their loose ends. His angel would then flutter his lashes and whisper.

“...Dean?”

He bites his lip, “In a second, Cas - I’m on the phone.” Adjusting himself in his seat, Dean focuses on the conversation with his brother. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“That I’ll meet you at the motel and we can hit the road as soon as you want -”

“ Dean !”

“ What ?”

He whips around to face Castiel, a hush heavying his tongue. Instead of firing the command Dean chokes on it while taking in the scene.

Castiel stares with wide eyes, Dean’s hand softly cupping his chin. Thumb brushing the cleft, visible beneath the stubble, and his fingers press against his firm jaw. His angel’s plush lips part slightly, as if too stunned to attempt another sound. Dean mimics him, as he cannot understand how his hand got there nor why he hasn’t pulled away.

Sam’s on the other end, asking for Dean again. Wondering what’s happening. A yell, louder than all the rest, cuts through the static playing in Dean’s mind. He jumps, hand flying from Castiel’s face like it burned.

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam huffs, “what the hell is going on over there?”

He wonders the same thing. Suddenly Dean remembers how his hand found itself onto Castiel’s knee in the diner, and the way he pressed it possessively against Castiel’s back. Then the suspects’ testimonies filter their way in as well, all boiling to the same point.

Dean rubs his hand across his forehead, dimples flashing at him from the rearview mirror. “Looks like the road’s gonna have to wait another day, Sam.”

“Dean? What do you mean?”

“Turns out this case is exactly in our wheelhouse.” He ends the call, promising to explain more when they meet at the motel. Signing off, Dean drops his phone onto his lap and tightens his grip on the wheel. Dean speaks to the windshield, not trusting himself to look at his angel. “You good?”

“I am fine,” Castiel starts, concern bleeding through his gruff voice, “But are you…?”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Dean rushes out, neck hot.

“Funny. You sound exactly like everyone else we’ve come across.” He doesn’t need to see to know Castiel arches his brow while he talks, the sass translating perfectly.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m not lying. I… it was like my hand had a mind of its own.”

“I believe you.”

“Because I wouldn’t do that,” his mouth won’t shut up, “unless you wanted me to, it’s kinda creepy and -”

“Dean,” Castiel cuts him off, hand laid across his thigh, “it’s okay.”

Throat dry, he roughly swallows against the heart that jumped up there. Faced with either addressing the problem or ignoring it, Dean relies on where he has the most experience. He shifts into drive and speeds away from the docks. Silent the entire ride to the motel.

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

Sam shifts his gaze between the two, expression wrinkled with suspicion. He glowers at them, hunched over on the chair. “Explain to me again why you changed your mind on this?”

Dean glances at Castiel briefly, his angel sitting next to him on the bed. “I just,” he starts, wringing his hands, “I think that we might have missed something important.”

“Which is…?”

He huffs, physically withdrawing from the conversation so he can think.

Even with how fast Dean drove, Sam beat them to the motel. Waiting for them with twisted brows. Hoping they could shed some light on the stilted and urgent ending to the earlier conversation. Unfortunately Dean could only give half-formed answers, bathed in vagueness. He relied on trust to get Sam to accept the bull he force-fed him.

Sam knocked away every spoon.

“Dean?”

“Dean seems to be suffering under the effects of possession.”

He glares at his angel, lips trembling. Castiel returns a softer gaze, smiling with his eyes. “All of those arrested admitted to not remembering what they did, yet each had motives for doing what was done,” Castiel says, “Either they were filmed committing these actions or had their fingerprints found at the scene of the crime… we believe it must be a ghost forcing people to act on impulses or desires they usually ignore. And Dean is the ghost’s next victim.”

“Really?” Sam says, turning to Dean, “Is that true?”

Dean’s head bobs side to side before sighing. “Yeah, discussed it in the car,” he lies.

“So you’re possessed?”

“Looks like it.”

“What’d the ghost make you do?”

“What?”

Sam crosses his arms, straightening to a more imposing level. “You’d have to have done something you wouldn’t have done. Acted on an impulse… what was it?”

Once more he skirts the truth with his brother. Grinning wide enough his teeth nearly jump out of his mouth, Dean says, “Saw something really sexy down by the docks and started rubbing my junk like no tomorrow… almost got caught for public indecency.”

It’s a gamble that works in his favor. Sam’s nose scrunches in disgust and he cries, “Gross, Dean. God!”

“Hey you wanted to know!”

“Ugh,” Sam stands, spinning on his heel, “Whatever. Go wash your hands, pervert. Then you’re gonna help me and Cas with research.”

Dean nods, pushing off the bed. He looks to Castiel and mouths a quick thanks. His angel winks in return, sending Dean off to the bathroom to wash his hands and will away the blush staining his cheeks.

When he comes back Sam won’t look him in the eye and Castiel moved further up the bed, scrolling through his phone. Dean digs around for his laptop and sits by his angel’s feet. Close enough to not raise Sam’s suspicions but far from any temptation his hands might succumb to.

A healthy dose of fear bubbles inside at the image of his hand creeping, without his knowledge, over to Castiel to play with his feet. He shudders and shifts so his legs dangle off the side, face turned even further away. It doesn’t stop him from being very aware of his hands. Jumping with each twitch and worrying whether it was him or the ghost that wanted him to click a link or scratch an itch.

He wasn’t much help in terms of research.

In the third hour of Dean staring more at his hands than his laptop, Sam cries from nearby, “I think I got something!”

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. “What is it?”

Sam beckons them closer, “So get this…” He waits until Dean and Castiel are hovering behind before continuing. “Apparently the town was the home base for this motivational speaker in the 80’s. Really weird guy by the name of Benjamin Moreley.”

“A motivational speaker?” Castiel asks, “What’s that?”

“They get paid through the nose to shout a few words and come up with catchphrases,” Dean tells him, “All in an effort to get people to ‘ change ’. It’s a real racket, especially these days.”

“And back then, too,” Sam says, “over the years Moreley’s messages became some kind of movement, real cult-like. Anyway… listen to this clip from one of his speeches and see if it strikes a nerve.”

Sam unmutes the video, starting it from a minute in. He hits play, allowing Moreley to live again. Benjamin walks across a makeshift stage, soaking up the applause. Dean uses those few seconds to scan and judge the conman. Takes in the ruddy face, sweating profusely under the heavy lights. A hankey with a rich, purple color held tight in his fist, matching his shirt. His suit was white and stained in certain areas. The crowd watching him didn’t find Moreley as pathetic as Dean does, fawning over him loudly.

“Because it is when we take hold of what we want,” Moreley says, southern twang grating but unfortunately familiar, “fight against all the brainwashing society has forced upon us, to fit into their perfect little boxes, that we can truly be happy. The Id is our most basic part of ourselves - fundamental to our needs and desires. Why should we ignore it when doing so makes us miserable. We should be waking up every day with a goal of making each day better for yourself than the last. Looking at every opportunity, asking ourselves ‘does this make me happy’? And if it does, great… go for it. If the answer’s ‘no’... then don’t do it! Somebody else will!”

“Wow,” Dean snorts, “guy sounds like a grade-A douche…”

The laptop snaps shut without warning, Dean’s hand flat against it.

“Dean, what the -?” “I didn’t do that,” Dean says, “I didn’t mean to…”

Castiel huffs, “I guess this answers our question.”

Dean draws his hand to his chest, rubbing it. He frowns, “How’d the bastard die?”

“In all his speeches about giving into your impulses,” Sam says, “he forgot to mention the consequences. He was sued by a few followers for the expected - lost jobs and spouses leaving. Moreley’s defense was that they were happy in the moment, and that’s all that mattered. Halfway through the trial, though, his wife burst in with a gun and shot him while he was testifying.”

He whistles, “Damn…”

“Apparently Moreley was giving into his own temptations,” Sam shrugs, “sleeping with a few of his followers. When his wife found out she decided to lean into his teachings. Took her revenge then swiftly shot herself, too. It was all detailed in this comprehensive article they wrote following the case, even had copies of the wife’s suicide note.”

“If Benjamin Moreley’s ghost is haunting people,” Castiel asks, “where is his body buried?”

“Close by.” Sam re-opens his laptop, scrolling towards the end of the article. “In this huge mausoleum at the center of the Joseph M. Whorly Cemetery. It’s an hour outside of town.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Dean asks, “Let’s get a move on!”

“Dean…”

He bites his lip at his brother’s tone, not caring for it one bit. “Sam,” Dean sighs, “come on -”

“You shouldn’t be going,” Sam rushes, “if you’re possessed then you’re a liability.”

“I’m not gonna let a damned ghost stop me from doing my job!”

“We all saw what happened, Dean!” Sam drags a hand across his face, wiping away the aggravation. “Listen, what if it were me who was possessed? Would you want me coming along on this hunt, doing whatever the ghost is doing to you?”

His mind runs away with the prompt, painting a scene that makes Dean’s blood boil. Sam’s hands on Castiel’s knee, caressing Castiel’s face. Fingers that weren’t his carding through his angel’s hair or tiptoeing down his chest. Finally catching up to his thoughts Dean sneaks a peek at his hand to find it drifting towards Castiel.

Dean shoves it into his pocket, face hot with embarrassment. “I’d want you far away,” he mutters, “so, so far away.”

Sam arches a brow, worried by this display. Dean prepares for his brother to ask another question, saved only by Castiel clearing his throat.

“As much as I agree not having Dean on this hunt,” he starts, “what if the ghost hurts Dean in our absence. Who knows how much his power has grown since the first attack, he could seriously hurt himself.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “what do we do about that?” Dean isn’t worried the ghost will hurt him, confident in his own control against the wannabe Manson. But he doesn’t want to sit on the bench for the rest of the case.

Sam thinks for a moment, grin unfurling when he finds an idea. Dean’s skin crawls at the gleam lighting up his brother’s eyes.

“I think I have the perfect solution…”

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

“Stupid motivational speaker ghost,” Dean mumbles, knocking his head against the motel divider for the umpteenth time, “why’d you have to latch onto me? Wasn’t there some other unlucky sucker you could’ve found?” His arms sag overhead, wrists pulling against the silver cuffs as far as they can give.

Sam’s solution was simple and made the most sense. Dean still complained the entire time.

“Listen if this all works as planned, we'll be freeing you in no time,” Sam said. After testing the cuffs above Dean’s head, making sure they wouldn’t break the divider, he hid the key. Ignorant to Dean’s protests all the while.

“You better hope so,” Dean huffed, “If this isn’t the right ghost then I think the next impulse I’ll have is shaving your head while you sleep!”

Sam hitched the bag over his shoulder, looking to Castiel. “Ready to go?”

Castiel, who stood at the wayside watching Dean’s imprisonment, finally tore his gaze away from Dean. “Yes.” They left without glancing behind, especially when Dean whined about how his nose itched.

A quarter of an hour later, Dean only had himself for company and his nose continued to irritate him. He shifts, ass numb from the awkward angle he was stuck in. “Couldn’t they have left me with a pillow to sit on or something…?”

Suddenly the sound of the doorknob turning cuts across the room. Dean whirls around to face it, confused as to who it could be. Sam and Castiel should still be driving to the cemetery. If it was housekeeping, which Dean hoped weren’t the case, then Dean better have a good excuse to use.

Luckily Castiel is on the other side of it.

Dean relaxes slightly. “Cas,” he says, “What’re you doing here?”

“Well, Sam and I were a couple of blocks away from the motel when I realized this wouldn’t be the most preventative measure,” Castiel explains, shutting the door behind him, “The ghost could use its strength to break the chain, or worse, your bones in such a way to slip your hands free and hurt you. So I suggested one of us staying here, with you, while the other goes to the cemetery. Since it’s a mausoleum we won’t need to dig… Sam agreed.”

“And he let you take babysitting point?”

Castiel shrugged, smiling. “If the ghost does have abnormal strength, then at least I will be able to match it.” He carries a nearby chair over to face Dean, sitting on it. “As we all know, I’m very powerful in my own right.”

The wink sets off a chain reaction. Reminds Dean of the earlier display on the docks, and the effect it caused within him. His dick stiffens again as he pictures Castiel pinning his wrists in one hand and using the other to squeeze his crotch. Dean’s hands spasm against their chain, twitching for freedom and Castiel.

Things became much more complicated than they were when Dean was alone.

Dean lapses into silence, trying to regain control over his hands. The longer Castiel stares at him, unblinking, the less his hands listen to him. Castiel’s presence produces a hypnotic orbit, where every time Dean thinks he’s free his eyes get sucked in again.

Suddenly Castiel leans forward, elbows perched on his knees. “Y’know, I rather prefer you like this.”

He wets his lips, voice raspy. “Like what?” Dean asks.

“Cuffed,” he says, foot tapping rhythmically, “can’t run away… can’t distract… cannot hide, like you usually do whenever a situation becomes too… intimate .” His hands slowly slide down his thighs and rest on his knees, Dean tracking the movement. “If I wanted to I could ask you a question - any question - and you’d have to answer it, wouldn’t you?”

Dean neither confirms nor denies.

“You are patient, though. Could probably wait out the awkwardness until Sam returns…” Castiel chuckles, “Funny, how of the three of us only youwere possessed. Like the ghost knew you had these... hidden desires. Do you have them, Dean? Would you like to touch me?”

He spasms, weak enough that a groan eaks past his lips.

Castiel grins, gaze darkening. “Your hand on my knee… on my back… my chest… as brief as they were, they all felt rather… nice .”

Startled, Dean’s jaw drops at the admission.

His angel carries on, straightening against the chair. “I could’ve asked you to keep them there, told you it was okay. Except you wouldn’t have responded well at all. You’d panic and then make a joke, act as if your affectionate gestures were anything but - especially in front of Sam. Keep up appearances… you can’t do that now, can you? The ghost has removed all pretense - for your hands at least. Your mouth, however, can still deny. But do you want to? Is it worth denying any longer?”

Dean struggles to laugh away Castiel’s suggestion. Except with the intensity of his angel’s stare and the heavy words he spoke, Dean finds little will to carry on the charade. Unburdening himself from his doubts and fears, he shrugs, “I guess it isn’t. It’s… tiring.”

“Would you like to touch me?”

“... Absolutely .”

He attempts to reach for him, only can’t get far with the cuffs still on. Castiel sighs, clucking his tongue at Dean.

“You can’t do that right now, unfortunately,” he says, stretching his leg until his foot is pressed against Dean’s crotch, “But there are other… pointsof contact .” Castiel steps down on Dean’s crotch, lightning flashing behind his eyes as Dean’s legs spasm. The rattling of the chains against the divider gets drowned out by heavy breathing.

Dean bucks against Castiel’s foot. “More!”

“In due time,” Castiel tells him, dragging his foot away, “We’ve been through so much, though… so many years of pining behind closed doors… why should we blow it all in fifteen minutes?” He drops to the floor on his knees, kicking the chair away. Crawling until barely an inch of space exists between their faces.

Castiel’s breath ghosts against his lips. Dean tips his head to capture them, only for Castiel’s thumb to dig into his chin. “No,” he whispers, “not yet. Only when I say so, understand?” When Dean doesn’t respond Castiel pinches a nipple. “Understand?”

“Yes!” he yelps, blood rushing to his dick.

“Good.”

Pulling away from his face and chest, Castiel rests on his haunches as his hands trace the seams of his jeans. “This must not be comfortable for you, can it?” he asks, smirking, “I can take it off if you desire?”

Dean nods, not trusting his voice. Except Castiel pinches him again, on his thigh. “Please,” he pants, “Please, Cas.”

“It is no problem…” He unties his boots, pulling them off to spend more time removing his socks. Peeling each one off slowly, scraping his blunt nail up the soles of his feet as the black fabric comes off. Once more his legs jump and dance uncontrollably. “Ticklish,” Castiel notes, “I’ll remember that…” Moving on Castiel drifts up to the belt, playing with the buckle. He unbuckles and re-buckles the accessory so many times Dean feels lightheaded from the bloodloss. Satisfied, finally, Castiel whips the belt off and snaps it. “Later,” he promises, setting it off to the side.

His fingers deftly unbutton his jeans, tugging them and his boxers away until Castiel exposes his ass and legs to the motel carpeting. Folding his jeans allows Dean the chance to gasp in as much air as he can before Castiel shoves him under again. He glances at his bare legs and exposed crotch, notices how his heavy dick rests in the middle of his bramble-like pubes. With only his shirt on Dean resembles Winnie the Pooh, and his knees scoot closer as if to shield himself.

Castiel guides them to where they were, frowning. “Why are you trying to hide again, Dean?”

He bites his lip, blushing. “Cause I look -”

“Amazing.”

“What?”

Castiel places his hands on Dean’s thighs and splays his bowlegs while dipping close to Dean’s face again. “You look amazing,” he places a kiss to Dean’s chin, “gorgeous,” another to his cheek, “awe-inspiring, lovely,” two to his eyelids, “miraculous,” pecks his nose, “and sexy .” Finally Castiel embraces Dean’s lips, tongue immediately poking past them for a taste.

Dean’s wrists burn from how the cuffs cut into them, keeping him from tugging Castiel’s hair or squeezing his biceps. His angel enjoys Dean’s struggle, though, breaking the kiss to laugh.

“This isn’t your time to touch,” Castiel says, “When it is, I will let you know. Until then… allow me to explore .”

They must have different understandings of what the word ‘explore’ means. Because to Dean it feels like torture . Unable to participate, passively watch Castiel comb over every piece of his body. Moan while Castiel nibbles his ear and tugs at his hair. Vision dizzying while Castiel twists his nipples and laves at his navel. His cock, stiff like a frozen popsicle, leaks precum without being touched at all. Castiel circles it: scratching his thighs, squeezing his balls, and breathing on its tip. All Dean can do is jerk forward, except he never makes contact. His angel tips backwards every time.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, “good little hunters are patient .”

“Patient?”

“You can wait a little longer, can’t you?” Castiel asks, brow arched devilishly, “Especially since I’m making this so good for you.”

“Too good,” Dean whines, “Let me… please, let me…”

“Let you what, Dean?” he asks, “Like I said, you cannot touch -”

“N-no,” Dean interrupts, “Let me… let me…”

“I’m waiting.”

“ Come .”

Castiel considers the request, thumbs kneading the skin under his thighs. Hums a maddening melody that sends shivers racing up and down Dean’s spine. “You have had a rough day, haven’t you,” he says, “It's not easy giving up control… I guess you may come. But -” his left hand slips into Dean’s asscrack and presses against his hole, “Allow me to help you along.”

“Of course, Cas,” Dean sighs, fluttering around Castiel’s thumb, “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Please…”

“I didn’t think Dean Winchester would be the one to beg…”

“Only for you, angel,” Dean babbles, “I want to be the only one for you… so bad.”

“How bad?” Castiel asks, right hand squeezing his dick, “How long ?”

“Don’t know,” he answers, “One day I blinked and-and all I wanted to do was have you near me. Have you on me. You told me once that you built me from the ground up? Well I want you to tear me the fuck down - up - whatever . Crash through my walls like a fucking wrecking ball until there’s nothing but debris. And then build me again.”

“Are you always this demanding with your partners?”

Dean chuckles, “Only the ones who’ve kept me dangling at the edge for far too long.”

“Then stop talking,” Castiel commands, “and let me push you over.”

He dies there, bare assed and on the cusp of an orgasm. At least, that’s what it felt like. Because one second he was staring at a glowing Castiel and in a blink Dean floated over his own body. Saw how glazed over his eyes became, barely a ring of green around the overly black pupils, and the specks of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Compared the nakedness of his own body to how clothed Castiel still was. Lost in the immense pleasure, Dean barely noticed how Castiel hadn’t removed his layers. Yet with his entire being one delightful static he could take in the little details. Dean floats on a cloud of pure delight as Castiel pumps his dripping dick with abandon. Giggles while Castiel kisses against his chest, rucking up the sweaty shirt he wears.

Soon the static turns into a lightning storm, the cloud he rests on darkening. Dean is struck by a stray bolt, piercing his spirit and waking him from his spell. His body groans with the need for release. His wrists bleed from how they’ve rubbed the metal cuffs. Huffing, Dean begs his angel, “Can I… Oh please, please, please, Castiel, can I…?”

Castiel nods, “Of course.”

The divider snaps in two, Dean’s hands raking through Castiel’s hair. His fingertips twitch with newfound freedom. Overwhelmed by the different choices, Dean feels drunk. His nails scrape against Castiel’s scalp, down his neck and across his trench coat. He grips the jacket as the giddiness fades into his riptide-like orgasm.

Come shoots from his dick without warning, ripping a roar out from a primal part of Dean’s being. His legs bounce and his vision dangerously fades for a moment. Dean shuts down, sagging onto Castiel’s shoulder. In the next beat his systems reboot, and he gasps for breath.

“Cas,” he breathes, “ Casssssss … CasCasCasCasCasCasCasCas-”

“I’m right here, Dean,” Castiel whispers, stroking his head, “You were so good… so good.”

Dean chuckles, chains rattling. “Don’t know ‘bout that,” he shrugs, “I touched you…”

“I said it was okay, didn’t I?”

He sighs. “This is all really okay with you?”

Castiel halts, the suddenness scaring Dean. Makes him fear he said something wrong, especially when his angel draws back and cups his hands in his face. “Dean,” Castiel says, “There are no words to describe how okay I am with all of this. I am post-verbal, completely. Nothing in English, Enochian, or any other language can come close to describing the fire that burns inside for you. I only…” He ducks his gaze, sheepish for the first time since he entered, “I only hope that whatever… this was… it wasn’t an ending, or a means to an end. It’s a beginning . Is that… what you want?”

Dean’s face hurts from how wide his grin stretches. “You kidding?” he laughs, “I’m not going anywhere . Chuck himself couldn’t write me out of your life, or vice versa. What we did now, it ain’t no ‘Once Upon a Time’... but I’ll be damned if we don’t get the ‘Happily Ever After’ we deserve.”

Their foreheads knock into each other so Dean can only see Castiel’s face. Studies the gentle blue waves of his eyes, peaceful enough to lull him to sleep. His blinks slow and lengthen, lids heavier each time.

Castiel huffs. “You’re tired.”

“No I’m not,” Dean yawns, straightening against the divider. “I can still go. I have to…” he glances at Castiel’s crotch, “it’d be selfish if you did all that and I konk out like some pillow princess.”

“I won’t mind, Dean,” he tells him, “Don’t feel obligated. Besides… we have the time.”

Dean startles, lips parting. “Yeah… yeah, I guess we do.”

“Lay down, Dean. Relax…” Castiel guides Dean’s head to the side, laying it on the jeans he folded earlier. Then his angel follows, wrapping his arm around Dean. Castiel’s chest blanketed his back, easing Dean into unconsciousness.

Before his eyes closed, Dean wrapped both his hands around Castiel’s, squeezing it. “I’m so happy…”

“As am I. Now rest… I’ll be here when you wake up…”

Dean sleeps the easiest he has in years.

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

He wakes with the slam of the front door, a frightful breath rushing into his body. Dean jumps to a sitting position, staring wildly at his brother.

Sam gapes down at him, bag plopping beside him as his grip slackened considerably. Skin pale, his brother’s hazel eyes fade to grey as he processes the sight in front of him. Dean uses the time to take his still shackled hands and pulled his shirt over his junk. “Cas,” he hisses, “Cas, wake up!”

Castiel growls from behind him. “I’m not asleep, Dean.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Angels don’t sleep.”

“Oh, then you chose to let Sam walk in without warning me?”

His angel perks up, squinting an eye open to see the younger Winchester standing in front of the still open door like a zombie. Flying to his feet, Castiel stumbles over to the bed. “Sam?” he gasps, “What are - what are you doing back so soon?”

Watching Castiel panic sets Sam off. Realizing what he walked in on, he claps a hand over his eyes and spins on his heel. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I left you two alone!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Sam, but how else were we supposed to pass the time?”

Sam splutters, shoulders tensing. “I can’t believe you two were here… while I had to salt ‘n’ burn all by myself!”

“I apologize for the deception, Sam,” Castiel blushes, “if you had known exactly what impulses Moreley made Dean act on, then you would have seen how prudent it was that I stayed here.”

Curiosity piqued, Sam cranes his neck to the side and peeks in. He won’t look at Dean, still pantless. Instead he focuses on Castiel. “His impulses?”

Dean sighs. “Cas here was more magnetic than usual… my hands couldn’t stay away?”

Sam’s eyes rolled heavenward, the hand hovering nearby steeples at his temple. “Could you please put on pants if you’re going to be an idiot?”

“It’s kinda hard when you’re handcuffed…” Dean bites his lip, faltering somewhat. “This… you’re not upset, are you?”

“Kinda,” Sam admits, terrifying Dean, “I mean I was worrying the ghost was gonna make you hurt yourself when all it wanted was for you to fool around with your best friend? I could’ve left you two in the car if that were the case… at least I wouldn’t have been alone.”

Dean’s heart calms at the confession. Glancing over at Castiel, however, he sees his angel’s expression dim. Sensing what needs to be done, Dean clears his throat. “Actually,” he says, “we weren’t… fooling around.”

Sam turns to him, shocked. “What?”

“Me and Cas,” Dean continues, smiling, “it was more than that, Sam. Deeper and… shit. Like, you might see me holding his hand without needing some wackadoo ghost prompting me. So I’m asking again… you’re not upset, right?”

“Dean, I…” Sam offers him a smile, “no, I could never… I’m happy for you two.” He looks between them. “Happy, but also traumatized… I didn’t need to see your dick.”

Dean pulls his shirt further over his junk. “There were more important things than getting dressed… at the time.”

“If you give us a few minutes,” Castiel says, “we can have this place as clean as you left it -”

“Nope,” Sam cuts him off, groping around for his duffle, “you could bathe this entire place in a blacklight and there wouldn’t be a bright spot, I still won’t be able to sleep. I’m gonna see if there’s another room or… sleep in the Impala. You two can have this room.”

He almost leaves until Dean calls for him. “Where’d you put the handcuff key?”

“Bedside drawer!” Sam shuts the door behind him, Dean and Castiel alone again.

Dean stands, moving towards the drawer. Finding the key, he makes quick work of unlocking them. He chucks them to the wayside and rubs his ruined wrists.

Castiel glides over, gently bringing Dean’s wrists close. He lightly brushes his lips against the skin there, a rush of electricity crackling against it. The tiny wounds and cuts heal themselves, the red skin fading into its usual color.

“Nice.”

“So?” Castiel says, “How are you feeling? Are your hands your own again?”

Dean shrugs, laying his hands against Castiel’s shoulders. “Kinda hard to tell… I don’t have any other impulses I’m ignoring at the moment?”

Castiel raises a brow. “Really? None?”

“Okay… maybe one.”

“What is it?”

He shoves Castiel against the bed, scrambling on top of him. Legs spread wide to straddle his angel. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I chose to do that.”

Castiel chuckles, “Was that it?”

Dean kisses him, rolling his crotch so it rubbed against his angel’s tenting slacks. “Not even close… I’ve got a lot of pent-up frustration I need to work through.”

“Well we have the time, Dean.”

“We do, don’t we?” Dean sighs, “We finally do.” They kiss again, Dean’s hands sliding away from Castiel’s wrists to cup his jaw. The stubble scrapes delightfully against his palms, reminding Dean that as fantastical the chain of events were, it’s all real. He and Castiel actually came together and the world didn’t end.

Rather, it felt like his world was only beginning.

#Supernatural #Spn #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Supernatural fanfic #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Sam Winchester #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #Supernatural Trope Celebration #SPNTC #SPNTC Halloween 2019

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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Of Dust and Ashes (Chapter 18)

Hello, lovies- it’s Friday and time of the Holidays. I do hope all is well with you.

Chapter warnings: gunfire and implied human trafficking.

Clint x ofc

series Rated: M (for smut, major character death, sexual assault and graphic violence)

I run on Kofi.

Masterlist

Chapter 18: There’s a new King in town

The air was lighter in the truck, as they made their way back home. The truck itself was significantly heavier, loaded with supplies. While they did consider turning back and going home the way they came, Clint felt much better about exploring. Deanna would have preferred to go straight home.

He liked to know what the state of things was beyond the farmhouse and it had been a while since he had gone out this way. She would much rather go home but there was a part of Clint that was still the hero, the Avenger. She couldn't fault him for that. They knew the way they came was safe, why test their luck?

“What’s that?” Deanna leaned forward. The could see the town in the distance but something was blocking the road. “Is that… Is that a roadblock?”

“Looks like it.” Clint’s voice was tense and his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Why?” She asked. “It doesn’t look like an accident.”

“Doesn’t look like it, no.” Clint slipped his hand out from under hers and gave her a firm look. “Keep your hand on either a gun or a bow. Keep your eyes open.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Something doesn’t feel right.” He was more focused on scanning the area, trying to keep his eyes everywhere at once.

The truck slowed as they came closer to the roadblock. It was made up of trailers stacked two high and set on their sides. The tops faced them with the wheels pointed in toward the town. Large letters were pained in neat black blocks.

“All hail the new King Jacob.” Deanna whispered, reading the words.

“Well, shit.” Clint threw the truck in park.

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed his bow and quiver from where they rested between the seats. It was less threatening than a gun but made it clear still that he had a weapon on him.

“I’m going to get out and speak to these gentlemen. As soon as I get out, I want you in the driver’s seat. Don’t lock the doors and if we need to scram, I’ll jump in the seat and gun it. If something happens and I can’t make it to you- if I say go without me- go. I’ll catch up.” As he finished speaking, he lowered the windows a few inches.

“Clint-”

“No. I said I’d protect you so let me do that.”

“But-”

“Plus- I can’t be behind the wheel and getting information at the same time. Not having to worry about the get away car helps me. So will you please listen?”

When she didn’t say anything, he opened the driver’s side door. As he slipped out, she slipped herself into the seat. It was warm from him and that made her want to cry- though she couldn’t begin to explain why that was.

As she lifted her leg over the cup holders in the middle, her ankle smacked against the hard plastic. She took a hissing breath as pain bloomed to life. She’d been so good about protecting it and being able to walk on it again was a blessing. Still, all it took was one bad move to aggravate it. One bad twist or solid hit and the joint would swell for a few hours and the pain would be worse for at least the rest of the day. If she was lucky, by morning it would be better.

Now wasn’t the time to think about how badly she may have fucked up her ankle. Whatever she did to it, it would heal. As long as she could manage to drive, that’s what mattered. God, she hoped things didn’t go sideways.

“Afternoon, folks.” Clint spoke, his voice carrying loud and clear through the still air.

“What do you want?” The largest of the men yelled back.

“Just passing through. Didn’t expect to find the road blocked.”

“Yeah well. Gotta pay the toll and get permission from the King before you can pass through here.” A lanky man to the left announced.

“I wasn’t aware we had Kings?” Clint cocked his head to the side in thought for a moment before adding, “Do I pay a toll or get permission to pass? Or do I have to do both?” The men looked at each other, waiting for someone else to step up and clarify. “Is the toll more of a fee to have my case heard by the- you said he called himself a King?”

“King Jacob.” Another man spoke, nodding to himself before continuing. “A King for the people when the systems of the old ways and the rulers of old have abandoned us.”

“Oh...Kay.” These guys were clearly off their rockers. Clint decided it was not in anyone’s best interest to point out monarchies were really the government of old. America didn’t really have ‘rulers of old’, since it was a baby country in the grand view. But they did have one thing right at least, the government that was in place was still in shambles.

“So- what’s the toll?” Clint asked, taking a mental side step around that steaming pile of questions.

“Her.” The man holding the biggest rifle pointed the muzzle at the truck.

“The dog?” Clint knew damn well that they didn’t want the dog. “He’s actually male and you don’t want him. Kinda annoying, that one.”

“Not the dog.” The largest man snapped. “The woman.”

“Oh.” Clint really didn’t want to do this but they were going to make him spell it out for them. “She’s not a thing- not a currency. She’s my companion and equal. I will not trade her for passage like livestock.”

“But she is.” The largest man trained his gun on Clint. “Drop your weapon and hand over your woman. If you do it quick enough, King Jacob may grant you passage without confiscating your supplies.”

“Yeah- thanks for the offer. Let me just-” He cocked his thumbs back toward the truck and started walking backwards toward it. These were not men he wanted to turn his back on.

Inside, Deanna got ready for whatever was going to happen. There wasn’t a moment that she thought Clint would sell her to them. It was rather surprising to her to realize exactly how much she trusted him.

Clint walked backward, not taking his eyes off of the men. He looked calm, relaxed even but there was a tension that radiated off of him, hiding under the surface. It was the same tension that she saw back when they first met.

“When I jump in the bed, you floor it.” His voice was low, measured.

“Bring us your woman.”

Clint smiled and waved, “Just a moment!”

“Floor it?” Deanna hissed when Clint’s eyes turned back on her. “But there’s a massive roadblock?”

“Fine. Floor it in reverse. Turn around when you can.”

“What if you fall or-”

“Don’t worry about me.”

That was the last thing Clint said before walking backward a few more steps. There was an air of calm around him. He held himself as if men didn’t have powerful guns trained on him. It was like he didn’t care. It was like he saw himself as invincible.

He wasn’t though, and that’s what scared Dee. He was only a man with only a bow and arrow. Could he take these guys? All of them while he was surrounded and out in the open? Sure, he had been an Avenger but still, Deanna had her doubts.

If something happened to him, if he died- she didn’t know what she was going to do. Sure, she could walk and drive now though with pain still and only for short periods of time but where would she go? She didn’t even know if she could get back onto the property without Clint.

“Stop stalling and get your woman out.” A man demanded. Clint’s hand tested on the rim of the truck bed. He put a smile on his face and tightened his grip.

“Yeah, sorry fellas but I spoke to her and she politely declines your invitation. We’ll be getting out of your way now.”

As Clint hauled himself into the bed of the truck, landing on boxes and cans, packs of bottled water and almost Trust as well, Chaos erupted around them. Dee, for her part, gave the truck a rush of gas as soon as Clint’s feet were off the ground. The truck surged back with squealing tires as men began yelling.

Threats were thrown their way. Demands of retribution before that gave way to simple gunfire. Clint wasted no time, crouching low in the bed and nocking an arrow. He seemed unfazed by the fact that he was being shot at, that they were being shot at.

A part of Dee wondered how many times Clint had faced situations similar to this. Sure, they wouldn’t have been when the world had actually ended but still. How many times had Clint been crouched in the bed of a truck, showered in gunfire and praying that the driver didn’t get shot.

“Turn around up there.” Clint yelled, completely unsure of Dee could actually hear him over the roar of the engine and the shower of gunfire.

She did. He was thrown against the side of the truck as she made the maneuver quickly, jerking them around. The moment he had a clean line of sight, Clint nocked an arrow and let it fly an instant later. It hit its target and detonated on impact, killing one man at injuring at least two others.

Dee kept driving, going as fast as she dared until she was sure she couldn’t hear the gunfire in the distance. When the world around them fell silent, she still kept driving, putting mile after mile between her and King Jacob’s crew. Short breaths shuddered through her. Her knuckles were white and she was vaguely aware of the ache in her ankle.

Her stomach turned and suddenly, she slammed the breaks. There was a solid thump as Clint and Trust both where thrown against the cab of the truck and plumbed with canned goods, boxed foods and water bottles. Dee didn’t notice though, as she threw the truck into Park and shoved the door open. She flung herself to the ground, landing on her hands and knees and promptly emptied the contents of her stomach.

Absently, she heard the sound of Clint’s boots on the gravel. He was by her side before she had finished, holding her hair back and rubbing her back. He didn’t say anything for a while.

He waited as she dry heaved a few more times and struggled to get her breathing under control. He waited to see if she would fall into a complete panic attack or pull herself out of the spiral. And he wouldn’t be able to blame her in the slightest if she fell to panic.

“I’m okay.” She groaned the words. Clint handed her an uncapped bottle of water wordlessly and she took it with a mumbled thanks. First she rinsed her mouth a few times, each time spitting the water to the ground. Part of her, that small part that came to life when the world ended, hated letting the ground have the valuable clean water. It was overruled by the part of her that needed the taste out of her mouth.

After warring with himself in silence for a bit, Clint asked, “How’s the ankle?”

“Sore. Probably will ache in a bit for a while.” He helped her to her feet and when her ankle buckled under the pressure of standing, he was there to support her.

“I’ve got you.”

It was a relief to sit in the passenger seat again. Clint pushed Dee’s seat back and propped her foot up on the dash. He promised that if she took it easy on the foot now and rested it, kept it up and when they got home- iced it, she would likely not see much healing undone for more than a day or two. She hoped he was right.

“So...” She drew out the word, letting it hang in the air until Clint looked at her. In front of them, the gate was quickly come into sight. They had been driving for many hours now and the sun was hanging low in the sky. The path they had taken home was full of twists and turns on the off chance that they were somehow being followed.

“So?” Clint finally asked.

“What’s going to happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happens to the world- to America if people are just naming themselves King? Carving out territory?” It was a version of something she’d asked before. It was something she tried not to think about too much. But facing it down on the road, it was hard to ignore the question of what was going to become of the political world in the long term.

“Well… more than likely, large countries like us will splinter and fracture into smaller groups. In time as the government regroups and things return to what they were like, or something similar.”

“How?”

“Well, the gaps in the government will likely end up filled by those who control territory now. State lines may end up getting rewritten to accommodate the new territories. Federal laws will probably end up reworked to avoid civil wars in some areas. Depends on how much of a military those claiming power hold and how much the government is able to regain control of our military.”

“Will they call on you guys- the Avengers- to restore order? Or to try and return the governments to what they were?” Deanna whispered.

“Maybe. Probably, at some point.” Clint shrugged. “I don’t think- I don’t know if I would go. I think- I kind of want to just be for a little while. Or a long while.”

“Just be?” The farmhouse was coming into view in the distance now. Being inside the gates was enough to take a weight off her shoulders. There was safety within the gates. Sure, she felt safe with Clint but outside of his property, there was a tension even with him as he tried to watch everywhere at once.

“Not a part of the team. I just… I can’t be a part of them. Not right now. Maybe not ever.” He shrugged, as if he could shrug off the weight of the conversation. “I really don’t care what government is calling the shots as long as I’m left alone.”

“So, someday, when the world rights itself- stay locked away on the farm?”

“Why not?”

~~~~~<3

The turkey was too large to roast in the RV oven, much to Deanna’s dismay. She’d made it a good while without having to cook in the farmhouse but now there was no way around it. Well, in truth, she could have had Clint dismantle the turkey and roast it in pieces but that would ruin the spirit of the event.

And so she set to work, trying hard to ignore the kitchen that belonged to another woman, to ignore the home that belonged to a family that she wasn’t a part of. That family was gone. All that remained of it was the man, doing his best to carry on as the ashes of what had been settled around him.

She told herself there were many things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. She was thankful for the butter, Clint had been able to trade for it the day prior. She was thankful for the fresh herbs from their garden and for the garlic from his root cellar. She was thankful for Trust, her ever loyal companion.

“It smells amazing, Babe.” Clint came in, cheeks and nose pink from the cold air. He wrapped an arm around her waist and nuzzled his cold nose into her neck making her flinch away. “Got a heater going in the coop for the chickens.”

“How’d that go?” Dee asked, mixing a box of stuffing into a pot of water and butter. His touches had grown more affectionate over the last few days and it still surprised her.

Clint whined, “Tony bit me.”

“Again?” Dee laughed, turning in his arms after she took the pot off the burner. There wasn’t much left to do but wait for the turkey to finish. She indulged herself and allowed her arms to drape around his neck.

“Yes again.” He pouted.

“Why haven’t we eaten Tony yet?”

“Because I want chicks. If we can get a few breeding- we can have eggs, chicken and maybe even trade some.”

“So thought out.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “You think this- whatever- will last long enough for that?”

“Don’t know.” He admitted. “But if it does, I want to be set. And if it doesn’t- the more self sustaining the farm can be, the better in my book. I had always intended it to be a refuge. Laura-” Words trailed off, the name making him doubt himself.

“It’s okay.” Dee whispered, resting a hand on his cheek. It was hard for her, to be in their kitchen with him, talking about the wife he still very much loved. It wasn’t something she would ban Clint from speaking of. It wasn’t something she wouldn’t gladly suffer if it would mean putting his mind at ease.

“She- ugh, She didn’t like it so much. But humored me, since it was to keep her and the kids safe. Lot of good that did though.”

“Hey.” She waited until his eyes were looking down into hers. “You did the best you could. You didn’t fail them. The others did. Not you. You did the best you could.”

“This year,” Clint whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’m thankful for you, Dee.”

His lips met hers in a sweet kiss. One that was chaste and full of undefined affection and care. They still hadn’t labeled this thing, that was growing between them and Deanna told herself that it was okay. They didn’t need labels in this new world. Labels didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was her and him, against anything and anyone who challenged them.

“I’m thankful for you too.” She whispered when they pulled apart.

~~~~~<3

The tag list is always open. Feel free to drop me some love- lord knows I run on praise.

Tag list: @usedtobegoodfriend96, @acoholic-muffin (I swear to god, if you ever change your username and picture at the same time I will be so lost), @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @winterisakiller, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @carissime72, @myoxisbroken, @coyotesongwriting, @wegingerangelica, @faemapfae, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123, @tnystrk-exe

#clint barton x oc #clint x reader #Clint Barton x Female Reader #clint barton x reader #clint x original female character #clint x ofc #clint x original character #clint x oc #clint barton x ofc

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