#motel they’re gonna be alone and he hates his life so much and he’s so lonelyyyy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaeminlore · 4 years ago

Text

Landslide | Mark Lee

summary: time makes you bolder. even children get older, and i’m getting older too.

words: 7.1k+

category: teacher!mark, single parent!reader, fem!presenting!reader, graham is the sweetest kid, mark is that teacher that lets kids pick earthworms during recess, friends to lovers, mark’s apartment is flooded so now he has to live in domestic bliss with his secret crush oh nooooo

warnings: talk of absent fathers

author note: it’s my birthday tomorrow so i wanted to give u all a present for supporting me for so long!! here’s to you <3 (cross-posted on /honklore)

Mark helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Mark advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Mark grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Mark.

Mark ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Lee forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Mark giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Mark to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Mark actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Mark did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Mark puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Mark checks his text messages.

There’s one from Taeyong: “I’ve already got Haechan on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Mark forgot that Haechan lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Mark’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Mark didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Mark has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Mark right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Mark doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Mark gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Mark is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Mark’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Mark gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Mark pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Mark! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Mark is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Lee! It’s rude to call him Mark!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Mark reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Mark.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Mark and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Mark studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Mark acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Mark clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll text you.”

Mark spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Mark is his teacher.

Mark’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Mark is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Mark glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Mark to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Lee?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Mark gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Mark.

“How have you been?”

Mark sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Mark pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Mark. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Mark bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Lee is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Lee? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Mark decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Lee’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are heard before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, and you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Mark’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Mark is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Mark’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Mark teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Mark mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Mark gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Mark himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Mark has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Lee cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Mark around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Mark giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Mark blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Mark knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Mark thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Mark gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Mark tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Lee! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Mark’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Mark gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Mark feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be. Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Mark reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Mark has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Lee?”

Mark grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Mark’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Mark feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Mark grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Mark, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Mark leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Mark thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Mark takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Mark asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Mark watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Mark, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Mark reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Mark wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Lee let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Mark trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Mark scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Mark places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Mark’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Mark says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Mark Lee would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Mark grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Mark up by jumping on his chest.

Mark sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Mark, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Mark rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Mark and Graham enter.

Mark likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Mark, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Mark rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Mark insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Mark giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Mark reminds you.

“But Mikey is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Mark’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Mark scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Mark is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Mark laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Mark blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Mark is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Mark,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Mark opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Haechan comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Mark, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still high despite its blunt sarcasm. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Haechan, Mark’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Lee’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Haechan looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Haechan to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Taeyong’s, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Mikey, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re rambling and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Johnny about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Mark tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Mark didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Haechan scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Mark’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Haechan grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Mark, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Haechan in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Haechan’s voice cracks

You shoot Haechan a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Johnny’s.” Mark says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Haechan says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Mark laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Mark is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in the shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Mark is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Haechan’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Mark didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Mark was alone in a dorm with Taeyong, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Mark even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Lee?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Mark jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Mark realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Mark holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Mark says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Mark’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Mark and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Mark’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Mark scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Mark smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, copper brown under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Mark’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Mark Lee!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Mark has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Mark’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mark laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Mark.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Mark.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Haechan told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Mark pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Mark stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Mark. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Mark again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Mark in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say.

Mark confesses, “I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Mark is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Mark bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Mark’s voice is a low rumble. Copper eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Mark.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in onyx black disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#Nct fluff #nct fanfiction #Nct angst #Nct scenarios #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee fanfic #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #destwrites

848 notes · View notes

honklore · 4 years ago

Text

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham. Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fluff #pixiecap//

776 notes · View notes

naralanis · 4 years ago

Text

little bumps in the road (pt. 4)

Parts 1, 2, 3

they’re in kansas now, and for the first time since this madness began, lena is completely and utterly alone.

they’ve stopped at the dingiest motel lena has ever seen in her life--which, given the places they’ve frequented recently, is really saying something--the kind of place that is maybe definitely run by a serial killer or someone nearly equally unsavoury.

and lena? lena is not coping well.

“i’ll be gone twenty, thirty minutes, tops,” kara had said exactly twenty-four minutes ago. “keep the blinds shut, and don’t open the door no matter what--no matter what, lena.

and so lena has been sitting here, waiting, staring at the worn wood of a door that maybe had once been painted red, not moving a muscle. she’s sitting cross-legged on the miserably thin mattress and scratchy bedding, hugging a floppy threadbare pillow tightly to her chest because she’s afraid the panic will simply burst out of her if she doesn’t hold on to anything at all.

lena tries to calm herself, she does--has been trying for the past twenty-four minutes and thirty-nine seconds. she tries to distance herself from her thundering heartbeat and shallow breaths, tries to remove herself from her own fear. she closes her eyes, measures and calibrates the movement of her lungs, thinks of a metronome in her head to help her keep a smooth, steady rhythm that isn’t so frantic as it is now.

she focuses on the pilled, rough fabric of the pillowcase, lets her nails (she’d like to clip them, would like to stop digging crescents into her palms when she clenches her hands into fists with nervousness) drag across the fabric and catch onto the rough stitching of the seams, counts every little rip, every little torn seam.

then she focuses on the smells--there’s that odd, lingering odor of old plastic that comes from the phone and the tv; there’s the dust that irritates her nose a little, makes her eyes water some. and then there’s mothballs, which this room is sure to have an abundance of, which smell oddly comforting for some reason, like an old house with old cabinets.

she’s almost back in control, can feel her lungs expanding further now, with more ease, when the hum of the staticky television set--it was almost on mute, the volume is so low--breaks her concentration, shatters it like hot glass doused with ice.

“...and it’s... it hurts, really, that i was not able to see the madness; it pains me that my own sister was capable of such atrocity...

lena jumps, fumbles for the remote and raises the volume until it is deafening, so loud and deafening it’s like her brother is yelling at her--but he isn’t, he’s speaking calmly to some reporter, a grief-stricken expression plastered on his face, with tears--actual tears--pooling at his eyes.

“i blame myself,” lex’s voice booms from the old tinny speakers, distorted and haunted, rattling the glass from the windows as much as lena’s bones, echoing in lena’s brain like a well-crafted taunt.

“i should have seen it. i should have done something to stop her--i should have saved supergirl.”

lena wants to scream, but she can’t even breathe, she can’t do anything but tremble and she hates, hates the sound of his voice in her ears, hates, hates and hates herself for falling for his tricks over and over and over again.

“hey! turn it down, lena, are you crazy??”

kara materializes out of nowhere--lena didn’t even notice her stepping through the door. the blonde yanks the remote and shuts the tv off , and lena doesn’t register her worried gaze, doesn’t feel the arms rubbing at her shoulders. she can’t hear the concern in kara’s voice as she repeatedly asks her what’s wrong.

“i can’t do this,” lena finally chokes, words caught in a sob--her shoulders are trembling, her throat is tight, and her eyes are burning with tears, and she can’t, can’t, can’t do this. “i can’t do it, kara, i just can’t.”

“what are you talking about?” kara asks, brow crinkled in that way that is so, so familiar, from a whole lifetime, a whole world ago and it only serves to untheter lena further, disconnects her from this reality, makes her want to wake up from this nightmare.

“i can’t do this with you. i’m” she’s gasping now, words stuck and hurt in her throat, hurting and breaking her from the inside out, but lena has to say it, has to speak it into truth. “kara, i’m crazy.”

kara shakes her head vigorously, but lena doesn’t let her speak.

“i’m-- i’m insane; i’m the luthor who tried--oh my god, i’m, i’m the luthor who did kill a super!”

“stop it,” kara hisses, and lena finally registers the force of the grip on her shoulders as the blonde practically shakes her. “stop that nonsense right now, lena -- you’re not crazy, i’m not dead, i’m right here--”

“but you were!” lena practically shrieks, because can’t kara see? “you were dead, kara, i killed you.”

kara’s hands tighten--lena will definitely have bruises on her arms later--but what stops her is the intensity of that blue gaze.

“lena,” kara says, biting out the words like they hurt. “this was all lex’s fault. don’t let him get in your head, not again.”

“he’s always in my head,” lena cries, because isn’t that the truth? ever since they were children? “he’s always--he’s always there, and he’s, he’s taunting me, kara! i didn’t see his madness before, and now in this world, i’m the crazy luthor who’s killed a super!”

“and yet, here I am,” kara points out, gently, but with a fear in her eyes she simply can’t conceal. “right here, in front of you, in a motel in Kansas, because we are running from your brother. because he is the crazy one. not you. we’re gonna take him down, you hear me?”

lena’s madness has gone into hysteria, that’s the only explanation for the incredulous laughter that bubbles out of her, choking out her sobs momentarily. “take him down? maybe you’re the crazy one. how the fuck are we going to take him down, kara? he’s the good luthor in this earth.”

kara’s brows furrow, but it’s a crinkle of determination, this time. lena is shocked to recognize it, shocked she understands the sheer force of will behind kara’s voice.

“together. we take him down together.”

<< Previous || Next >>

#nara's word vomit #supergirl #supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #fanfiction #femslash #a lil bit of angst mehbeh #have a lil morsel on this fine monday #BUCKLE UP KIDS #LBitR

166 notes · View notes

cursed-or-not · 4 years ago

Text

I couldn’t get one of the vignettes to work, so naturally this sat in my drafts for way too long, but this is based on a post by @thiscastielhasflown about Cas blushing around Dean :)))

Cas doesn’t think he’s ever felt so human and so holy at the same time.

He is not who he thought he was, and neither is Dean Winchester.

When Cas accepted his orders, when he agreed to go to Hell, it was under the pretense of rescuing a righteous man. Cas expected a soul so pure it hurts to look at it straight-on, one so bright it burns.

What he did not expect were the ragged shards in front of him, thrumming like a heartbeat.

It’s not the concept of a soul, not the made-to-order design, but instead the lived-in, broken essence of a human.

It is still bright, but just enough that Cas can’t look away.

Here is a human soul: righteous and recalcitrant and real.

Cas doesn’t know how he’s supposed to move on. This is an order unlike any other, a mission he’s not sure he can complete; he doesn’t know how he can pull this soul from the fire with the clinical precision that’s expected of him. He isn’t sure he can leave the scene without leaving fingerprints, a sprawling scar that proves his guilt.

Yes, this is ordered, but it’s also intimate.

Cas knows what souls look like in theory, but this is messy and charred, and there is light shining through the tatters.

Cas is captivated by the man behind it.

Here, Cas can see the toll a lifetime takes on a human; he can see this soul’s--Dean’s-- greatest joys and miseries, can feel his pain and pleasure and imperfection.

It’s achingly, hauntingly personal, and Cas’ face burns at the intimacy of it all.

Cas doesn’t know what this feeling is, but he thinks it’s distinctly human.

Cas is already marked.

. . .

It happens more and more often now that he’s human.

Cas’s cheeks burn every time a customer yells at him at the Gas n Sip, every time Nora looks at him a little too long, every time he makes a new mistake at being human.

It never feels the same as when it’s Dean making him blush, but Cas has started to forget what that feels like.

When Dean visits, he can’t fathom how he ever couldn’t remember.

They’re in Dean’s motel room together, and Cas is trying with everything in him not to break down.

This man, this kind, beautiful, caring man is the same one who sent Cas away.

He doesn’t know how to reconcile that, and Cas feels ready to burst with everything he’s not saying.

Part of him wants to ask. Part of him wants to make Dean tell him why Cas had to leave, why he wasn’t good enough anymore, and part of him wants to tell Dean that look, this is what’s become of me since then; I don’t have a bed or a home or a family, and I don’t know what I did wrong, but I know you sent me away.

Another part of him wants to cup Dean’s jaw in his hands and kiss him until everything feels okay.

“You know, Cas, it’s real good to see you,” Dean says, and Cas almost yells at the sincerity.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair because Cas wants to hear it and Dean means it and they’re still so far apart.

“You too, Dean,” Cas tells him, because this part of him always wins out.

Dean offers a small smile, but something in his face is crumpled and wavering beneath it.

Dean lets out a quick exhale, and Cas can’t read his expression.

“Cas…” Dean begins, and Cas doesn’t want to hear it anymore.

“It’s okay,” Cas says quickly, and he can’t tell if he means it or not.

Dean closes his eyes.

“It’s not,” he shakes his head bitterly. “I’ll explain it to you, one day, but for now it’s shitty and selfish and not okay.”

Cas doesn’t know what to say. He’s still hurt and angry, but this is Dean, and today is one of the days Cas wishes that he had powers that could heal more than just physical wounds. He wishes he could lay a hand on Dean and make him better, make him smile, but even when he was an angel, the best he could do was heal battle wounds before they bled out. Today, he doesn’t even have powers.

“I believe that you had a good reason,” Cas says honestly.

He doesn’t know what else he believes, but that much has to be true.

“It doesn’t matter if I did,” Dean tells him, but he doesn’t look quite as exhausted as he did before. “I’m sorry.”

Cas smiles gratefully.

“Thank you for coming,” Cas says. “And for letting me stay with you.”

“Well, mi casa es tu casa,” Dean jokes, gesturing around the motel room. “Weird stains and all.”

Cas almost slips up, then. He almost says that a cheap motel room with Dean is better than a sleeping bag in a lonely store, but he catches himself.

“I don’t mind,” Cas says instead. “I’m grateful.” Dean huffs a laugh.

“Come on, man, it’s not like I’m doing a huge favor. It’s a shitty motel room.” Dean grins. “Not even the honeymoon suite.”

For some reason, the idea of sharing a honeymoon suite sets Cas’s cheeks ablaze.

Dean doesn’t notice under the dingy motel lighting.

Later, when Dean wakes up to Cas watching him for the first time in years, Cas doesn’t notice the blush coloring Dean’s cheeks, either.

. . .

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air like the Sword of Damocles, but Cas thinks that the only one threatened is himself.

Dean won’t say it back, Cas knows.

He isn’t sure what he expected, but Dean won’t look him in the eyes and Cas needs to say something else before this stretches on any longer and his cheeks are burning again.

Cas wishes he could write off the blush as an effect of the poison, but he thinks that whatever this is won’t break as easily as a fever.

Cas looks away.

“I love all of you.”

He leaves it at that.

. . .

Cas has been back for three days when the house of cards finally crashes.

It’s been delicate, since he got back.

He understands; you can’t just drop a love confession on someone and expect it not to get awkward. Cas may not understand everything about being human, but this, he does.

At first the lack of confrontation surprised him. Looking back, though, Cas thinks that it’s the most in character reaction possible.

Cas had come back, Dean had pulled him into a fierce hug, and then they’ve been carefully avoiding any alone time since.

Cas thinks this might be the kindest reaction, might just be Dean trying not to break his best friend’s heart, but the silence is worse.

Cas has accepted his role in all of this, and he knows not to expect more than he can have. Still, if nothing else he wants his best friend back.

Cas has never really been one to take the first step, but considering the leap of faith he took before the Empty came, he figures he can manage a conversation.

He waits until Dean’s the only one left in the kitchen.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says carefully, and Dean doesn’t look as trapped as he expected. Mostly, he just looks tired.

“I think…” Cas struggles to find a way to begin. “We should talk.”

Dean nods around his beer, taking care not to look at Cas.

Cas stays on the other side of the counter.

“I know that we’re acting like nothing has changed,” Cas begins, “And if that’s what you want, then I understand. But if you have any… concerns, then--”

“Really, Cas? Concerns?”

Cas blinks. “Maybe that’s not exactly the right word, but--”

“Cas, that’s not even the right sentiment,” Dean responds, finally looking at him.

“Then what are you looking for?” Cas asks, and he hates that even now, he doesn’t know.

“What am I looking for?”

If Dean objected to “concerns,” his offense is even greater now. Cas’s brow furrows.

Dean continues, “Cas, you told me you love me!”

Cas almost flinches.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I did.”

Cas can’t meet Dean’s eyes, but he’s not sure he wants to know what they’re saying, anyway.

“There’s-- kind of a lot to unpack there, man,” Dean says, and his voice is marginally calmer.

Cas looks up.

“I’m sorry.”

Cas knows immediately that wasn’t what Dean was looking for, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what he is.

“You’re sorry, huh?” Dean’s voice is low, and Cas thinks there might be something ragged in it.

Cas blinks. “Yes.”

Dean huffs a bitter laugh.

“Okay, then. Think we’re done talking.”

“What-- Dean,” Cas protests, utterly confused as to how this went so wrong.

Cas steels himself to continue. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable, but Dean, I don’t want-- I can’t lose you.”

Something in Dean’s expression softens, but his shoulders stay tensed.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he offers. “Listen, I get it. You said something on impulse and I misinterpreted it and now you’re sorry, apparently. Yeah, it sucks, but you’re not gonna lose me.”

Cas feels confusion etch onto his face.

“You think that my apology means I regret it?”

Dean looks at him like it’s obvious.

“I mean, it’s understandable,” Dean replies, gesturing widely.

Cas can’t believe how wrong this conversation is going.

“Dean, of course I don’t regret it,” Cas admits, still at a loss for how Dean could have reached that conclusion. “When someone confesses something in their dying moments that they’ve been carrying with them for more than a decade, they’re not generally lying.”

Dean looks at him half in doubt and half in wonder.

“I never said you were lying,” Dean grumbles in protest. Cas thinks the sullenness is more for show than anything else.

He has moved to Cas’s side of the counter.

“Well, I wasn’t,” Cas responds, and he knows it’s not witty or clever or important, but maybe if he keeps reaffirming it, Dean will start to believe it.

“I’m glad,” Dean says, and he puzzles Cas by offering him his beer. Now, they’re shoulder to shoulder.

Cas isn’t sure why, but he takes the beer. Dean’s eyes track the motion as he raises it to his lips, and Cas’s cheeks burn when Dean watches him swallow.

This time, Dean notices.

“You blushing?” Dean asks through a cocky grin, and damn it that just made it worse.

“No,” Cas grumbles.

“Now you’re lying through your teeth,” Dean accuses, taking his beer back and taking a sip.

“Well, I wasn’t lying about the other thing,” Cas responds, trying to regain his composure.

Dean’s joking disposition crumbles, and he glances at Cas’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dean nods, looking like he’s milling something over.

He seems to decide to take another sip of beer instead, but as he raises it to his lips, he says, “I love you, too, you know.”

Of all the responses Cas was expecting, this never made the list.

His face is hot again, though, and his heartrate is a little too sporadic, and if Dean keeps drinking beer like it’s a normal friday night, Cas is going to go insane.

His brain finally catches up to the situation.

“You what?” Cas asks incredulously.

Dean’s casual dimeanor finally falls away, and this time it’s his turn to blush as he looks at Cas over his beer.

“Love you,” Dean mutters, and it’s barely audible, but it’s more than enough.

Cas gives himself five more seconds of shocked staring before he huffs a laugh.

“I never thought…” Cas doesn’t know where it’s going, just knows that he’s never felt awe like this before.

“Yeah, me either,” Dean admits. “But it’s true.”

Dean sets his bottle on the counter, and Cas watches the movement, heart still beating a little too fast.

There’s still too much to say and also nothing. When Cas turns to face Dean, Dean takes his face in his hands.

Cas looks at him in wonder, eyes tracing the freckles and smile lines on his face.

Dean bites his lip quickly, still considering something, and then Cas doesn’t know who leans in first, but they’re kissing.

It’s honey-sweet and molasses-slow, and Cas thinks that this has to be why freedom exists.

#idk definitively what this is #bc it's part 15x18 coda #and part destiel through the years #but it was nice to write something #spn fanfic #destiel #15x18 coda #first kiss #spn spoilers #mine

317 notes · View notes

miss-authorcita · 4 years ago

Text

A/N: So, I'm obsessed (once again) with Taylor's Fearless album and I've decided to write one shots of each of the songs. They probably won't be that good cause I'm literally just writing them down and posting them. (No spellcheck, no beta reader, no nothing) I just wanna get back to writing and this came to mind.

SUMMARY: It's been almost 2 years since Civil War. You and Steve have grown closer while on the run, but you can't help missing the roller coaster love you and Tony shared. (Inspired by: That's The Way I Loved You)

I was sitting by the window of my ratty Motel room, simply staring at the wet cobblestones of the empty street barely lit up by two lamp lights. My thoughts kept drowning me, it was a new thing with me when I was alone. I made so many mistakes in my life and now the solitude seemed to bring them all to the forefront of my mind.

A knock brought me out of my stupor and I was instantly in alert, gun out of its holster and aiming towards the door.

"Y/N, it's me and Nat." Steve's voice was heard muffled by the wood.

I relaxed, letting my shoulders fall. I reholstered my gun and unlocked the door, letting both of them step into my room. As soon as I locked the door behind them Steve pulled me by the waist and kissed me. Just a quick peck. I blushed and stepped away.

"I got you something." He smiled and pulled out a packet of skittles from his pocket.

I couldn't help, but smile. "I haven't had these in years not since..." I trailed off not wanting to mention his name.

Steve nodded and kissed my forehead.

"I have to stop by Wanda's and Sam's just to check in. I'll be back later tonight, alright?"

I nodded still staring at the bag of skittles in my hand. Steve opened the door and waited for Nat to walk by first. She stopped beside me and squeezed my forearm making me look up. She gave me her signature side smirk. She always voiced her support. She was mine and Steve's biggest shipper.

After the two of them left, I waited till I couldn't hear their footsteps anymore before collapse on the bed. Once again, while in solitude, I let the memories of my mistakes flood my mind.

It was a few hours later when Steve knocked on my door again. I opened and stepped to the side to let him in. He locked up and once again pulled me towards him by my waist. This time he just holds me.

"I know this life is hard. I know how hard...how difficult leaving was..." He's hesitant with his words, always sensible and caring of my feelings.

I just nod, unable to use words, afraid I'll just start sobbing.

"You know I'm doing everything I can to make this as easy for you as possible, right?"

I pull back and stare up at him. I let my hand caress his bearded jaw as I look deep into his blue eyes. "I know, Steve and I appreciate it so much" I whisper and stand on my tip toes to kiss him.

I fall asleep in his arms that night like many before and again like many times before we have to leave suddenly. Sam is the one to wake us, urgently banging on the door. We'd been tracked and we needed to move out quickly. All of us are out of the building in less that 15 minutes. We head to our cars and Steve opens up my door, helping me step in like a true gentleman.

"You look beautiful tonight." He says with a grin and I roll my eyes with a chuckle and close the door. He jogs to the driver side, and we're all off to find our next hideout.

The ride is long and before I know it I've fallen asleep.

"Tony!" I yell as soon as the elevator doors open. "Tony Stark!" I shout once again.

"What!? What!? Why are you shouting?" He asks, coming out of the kitchen. His hair is wet , he's wearing a black tank top and sweats and holding a bag of chips.

"Why am I shouting!? Have you seen the news!?" I yell again. His confused face only makes me madder. The rage is building like the rain and thunder outside like it's mimicking my mood.

"I was showering...so no?" He smiles and that is the last straw. I explode, my voice basically shrill.

"All the news channels are showing the explosion! The one of the building you and the Avengers were in! They don't show you guys coming out of it! I called Tony!"

"Sweetheart, I'm fine. I'm alive." He says like my tone isn't a very obvious clue to my state of mind.

"You didn't answer when I called! You what? Came home, showered and were gonna eat fucking chips! Did you even think to let me know you were okay!?" I couldn't seem to lower my voice even if I wanted to. I was so upset.

"I was gonna call you as soon as I sat on the couch." He excuses.

"Fuck you, Tony Stark!" I hissed and started walking to the elevator to leave.

"Friday close access to the elevators." Tony said as he made his way towards me. I dodged him and made my way to the doors that led to the hall.

"Friday if you could, please." At his command the padlock turned red, obviously meaning they would not open, at least not for me.

We stood a few feet apart, me glaring and him smirking. I must've lost my mind that night because I looked out towards his Ironman platform and made a run for it. He followed me out, both of us instantly soaked by the rain. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to face him.

"Are you insane!? What was your plan!? To jump off of the building!?" He yelled over the roar of the rain.

"You're the one who locked all other exits."

"I was bloodied, bruised and covered in soot and cement and dust, okay!?" His change of tactic threw me.

"What?" My eyes were wide. This whole conversation was an unpredictable rollercoaster.

"That's why I didn't call you. I...didn't want to scare you. I don't want you to worry eveytime I go save the world...So I came here, hid the suit, cleaned up and then I was going to call you."

"I always worry about you, Tony."

He sighed and looked away from me. I'd always known his fear. He lost Pepper because she couldn't handle his Ironman life, so he tried to keep me out of the loop thinking he was helping, but it wasn't.

I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around him. "Call me. It helps me to know how you are. Even if you're bleeding out." I said locking eyes with him

He chuckled. "I'll be sure to do that. I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, you insufferable man."

And with a laugh he kissed me in the rain at 2am we were so in love back then.

"We're here." Steve's voice roused me up from my dream, or more like memory.

"Where is he? I mean 'here.' Where is here?" I ask still groggy.

"One of Nat's safe houses." Steve fills in and starts unloading the car.

I'm not sure if it was the dream, but the memory of Tony crushed my mood. Steve must've noticed my shift because he asked if I wanted to sleep alone tonight and I agreed. They're so different that sometimes it's shocking to me. Steve respects my space, Tony was always there even when I didn't want him to, but always needed. Steve has never made me wait, Tony was known for being late. I started telling him the wrong time to try and trick him into arriving on time. They're opposites. Steve gets along so well with Nat who is basically my sister, while her and Tony were never the best of friends. Steve is just charming and endearing and even while being on the run for almost 2 years he's managed to make me feel comfortable. But I can't help it, I miss Tony.

It's while sitting on my bed alone, opening my bag of skittles that the tears come as I remember him. I fall asleep, sobbing that night.

I had been sitting in the couch for an hour. Dressed amazing if I may add. Heels and everything which I hated and he wasn't here. He was always so late and I was more than frustrated. I heard the elevator doors open and I didn't even glance. I was gonna strangle the man.

"I know I'm late. I'm sorry, I was--"

I interrupted his apology "Let me guess, you got tied up in the lab? Again."

"Actually no."

His answer suprised me and I turned to glare at him, but my eyes widened when I saw him holding a huge jar full of red skittles.

"W-what is that?"

He smiled and walked closer to me, setting the jar on the table next to the couch.

"I know you only like eating the red ones so ta-da."

I laughed. "Are these the reason you were late or are these a gift to make up for being late?"

"A little bit of both? I forgot to pick the order up earlier today...cause I got tied up at the lab...so I went to pick them up after and that's why I'm late."

I sighed and kissed him. "You drive me insane."

"But that's the way you love me." He teased.

I nodded and kissed him. That's the way I loved him.

As I sit outside with Steve, leaning on his chest, I can't help but wonder if he knows. My smiles aren't real, and I've gone numb over the months. I barely feel anything anymore. The numbness worsened after we started whatever this is. Steve has always been looking for someone to fill the emptiness since Peggy and conveniently I needed a balm for the pain of losing Tony. We weren't in love, or at least I hoped he didn't love me...because my heart doesn't feel anything anymore.

"You're...you're siding with him?" The crack in his voice made me wince.

"Tony, I can't sign the Accords."

"Why not!?"

"You know what being under the governments control has done to me!" He knew of my past, of the millions of tests I was subjected to, the betrayal, the rules that were only there to hurt me. I'd confided in him every dark moment.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We need to be held accountable." He repeated to me what he'd said at the conference room.

"I know, but not like this. Tony--" I went to touch him and he flinched away. That simple move broke my heart.

"If you side with him, it'll break us."

"Tony..."

He locked eyes with me, begging me to stay, but I didn't. I couldn't and I lost him.

I had decided that morning that I needed to talk to Steve. He was my friend before we became anything more and even if it meant making our runaways situation awkward, I needed to be honest with him. I couldn't keep sleeping wrapped in his arms. He needed to know that my heart belonged to Tony. He needed to know that I spent my days dreaming up plans of how I could see him without getting arrested. He needed to know that I looked for him in every person we passed by. He needed to know...or at least I needed to tell someone. I took a deep breath and started walking towards him when a ring broke the peaceful morning silence.

He looked at the number on his burner phone before locking eyes with me. "It's Tony."

#tony stark x reader #tony x reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #tony stark imagine #ironman x reader #ironman imagine #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #post civil war

78 notes · View notes

grumpyhedgehogs · 3 years ago

Text

Liftoff

Summary: An alternate Infinite Darkness in which Shen Mei chooses a different person to partner with, Claire takes a more active role, and Leon turns to the dark side (only for a little while).Or: What if Jason had gotten to Leon with his 'fear into terror' speech, and Shen Mei had teamed up with Claire to put a stop to them both?

Notes: Canon typical violence, guns, explosions, threats. Spoilers for Infinite Darkness. (Help I’ve only loved Cleon for a day and I’m already writing angst fic for them!)

AO3

T-minus 30 Seconds

The first time Leon pointed a gun at her, fear flooded Claire. She’d barely heard his command until it was too late; her nervous system was going haywire, lighting up like a Christmas tree. He had shouted for her to duck and Claire had and Leon had pulled the trigger and saved her life. It’s been the same way the whole time they’ve known each other since; she gets into trouble and Leon tells her to get to safety and she listens or sometimes she doesn’t and sometimes it’s the other way around and she saves Leon instead, but in the end they both survive. That’s how they work. That’s how Claire thought they would always work.

This time, staring down the barrel of a gun with Leon S. Kennedy at the other end of it, Claire isn’t so sure they’ll both get out of this.

T-Minus 72 Hours

Witnessing a dead body is something Claire hates she’s gotten used to. Chris always gets that pinched, wan look on his face when she talks about what sights Raccoon City had to offer her, but she can’t help what happened any more than he can. The dead walked and Claire witnessed and then the whole thing went to hell in a handbasket all thanks to the U.S. government. If they had it their way, Penamstan is going to go the same way.

Claire resists the urge to tear down the papers swimming before her eyes. Instead she groans and rips her glasses off her nose, pinching her forehead. Her eyes throb but she knows she won’t find any sleep soon. The answers are here, have been staring her in the face for days or weeks, and she still can’t see them. “There has to be something I’m missing…”

A thump on the stairway outside has her spine snapping straight, ice flowing in her veins. Hurriedly, she snatches a lamp from the bedside table and yanks the cord out of the wall. She just has enough time to slip behind the door and ready herself before it opens with a quiet creak. The person on the other side is light-footed and sure, moves with the grace of years of training. They’re smaller than Claire thought they would be, just a slip of a shadow in the dark of her motel room. They are alone.

Claire lets out a grunt as she knocks the door closed with her elbow and brings the lamp down as hard as she can. The ceramic cracks and splinters from the force of her blow, but even though the body goes down with Claire on top of it, whoever it is still struggles. A fist catches against her shoulder and even though Claire manages to catch the other fist in her own hand before it connects, she wishes she had any of her firepower from Raccoon City with her now. The person beneath her bucks and twists, wiry muscle instead of the bulk Claire is used to fighting against. They slip their wrist from her hold before she can let out more than a cry of frustration, and a punch to the solar plexus doesn’t seem to slow them down for but a moment.

The darkness whirls in front of her eyes as Claire is flipped onto her back. Her head knocks harshly against the bureau in the room, stars erupting in her vision. Claire gasps, gags on the sudden nausea, and kicks out. Her foot connects with something boney, but it’s a glancing blow at best. Claire has survived too much to die in some shitty Washington motel room.

Long hair brushes Claire’s cheek as the person leans down; dark eyes glitter in the low light above her. “I don't want to hurt you,” the stranger says, and Claire laughs in her face.

“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that before,” she spits.

“You are Claire Redfield.”

“Yeah, no shit!”

“You are investigating the Mad Dogs and their involvement in Penamstan. You know there was an outbreak there.”

That brings Claire up short. Her lungs burn and her breath is coming too fast, but the knock to her head doesn’t smart enough to make her believe she’s got a concussion. Hell, her ears aren’t even ringing. “So what? You gonna kill me for what I know? What I’m getting close to?”

“Claire Redfield, you know nothing.” The stranger raises her head and suddenly her weight lifts off of Claire. Claire struggles not to gasp in a huge breath of air, feeling like a beetle stuck on it’s back. The woman holds her hand out in offering. “Not yet. But I would like to tell you what really happened in Penamstan. I would like to tell the whole world.”

This could easily be a trick--but then, she could easily have killed Claire here in the lonely darkness without leading her on a wild goose chase first. Claire accepts her help and hauls herself to her feet. She straightens her jacket, brushes her fingers over her forehead, and is pleased when she finds no blood there. “I can help you with that, then.”

The other woman is not much smaller than she is, long black hair pulled into a sensible ponytail and leather jacket zipped all the way to the base of her throat. “My name is Shen Mei. My brother was in Penamstan when the outbreak happened; he was--”

“Turned,” Claire supplies, ash in her mouth.

Shen Mei nods, solemn and stony. “I thought one of the Mad Dogs--Jason--was helping me, but he is not. He wants to expose the use of bioweapons but he will get people killed to do it. And he has recruited an agent onto his side that I am afraid of. If we do not move quickly they will harm others so the truth can get out.”

“And cause mass hysteria as a result,” Clare finishes. “Then you can tell me the rest of what’s happened as we move. Let’s go.”

T-minus 68 Hours

Shen Mei is quiet, practical, and deadly with a knife. Just as she predicts, agents come after them. Shen Mei needs no help in fighting them off.

“You can’t--!”

The blood spills from the soldier’s throat as he twists, gasping, in Shen Mei’s hands. Claire lunges, trying to get her hands on his neck, trying to staunch the blood, but Shen Mei uses her shoulder to shove Claire back, shielding the dying man from her sight. “They will kill us before we can get to the chip in my grandfather’s safe.” Shen Mei hisses. “They will kill us for even suspecting what was done to those people, to my brother. They know now that I am a rogue agent, and they will come after me. You need to keep your hair and prints away from the crime scene so they do not come after you, too.”

Claire stares at the man’s eyes, glassy and empty, and breathes shallowly. She thanks whatever is out there that it isn’t Leon’s body cooling on the pavement at Shen Mei’s feet. Could she have stopped her if Leon were the one under the knife?

But Leon wouldn’t have tried to kill her in the first place. Claire breathes in, breathes out. Shen Mei sheathes her knife and beckons. “Our plane is on the tarmac. We don’t have much time.”

Claire leaves three dead agents behind her. She tries not to look back.

T-Minus 41 Hours

Shen Mei pockets the chip her grandfather passes her. Behind the sheer curtains, a heart monitor beeps steadily. Shen Mei’s grandfather motions Claire forward. The curtain pulls back and Claire tries not to gasp as she recognizes the grey flesh, the growths, the slow blood leaking through the sheets.

“My grandson.” he tells her quietly. “I used up my savings to help him. I failed--”

Even as Claire raises a hand to place on the old man’s shoulder, Shen Mei and the other man in the room stiffen. The doors slam open, rattling on their hinges as Claire whips around, eyes wide and hand going to the gun Shen Mei lent her. But she’d know those blue eyes anywhere, and they have always been safe for her. Claire doesn’t draw on Leon.

She doesn’t, but Shen Mei does. Leon’s gun is trained on her, dead center between her eyes, and Claire’s brain stalls. Why would Leon shoot Shen Mei? She’s good, she’s one of them. She needs protection just like Leon and Claire did during Raccoon City.

The other man tries to rush forward, but Leon growls at him and he subsides, eyes flicking between Shen Mei and her grandfather, looking for instructions that won’t come. Claire almost wants to shoo him out. This is no place for young blood.

“Leon!” She doesn’t wait until his eyes light on her, but pushes forward, placing herself squarely in front of Shen Mei. She might not be the one with army training, but she knows this man. She’s the one who can get him to see sense, not Shen Mei. She sees his face go a little slack in surprise as she raises her hand and curls it around the gun barrel, not bothering to push it away since he’d do it himself in a second. “Don’t shoot!”

“Claire.” Leon sounds like he’s grinding his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping, like always.” She rolls her eyes, tries to lighten her tone. It doesn’t work. His feet shift a little, but he plants himself again. He hasn’t lowered the gun. Something quivers in alarm at the back of Claire’s mind, but she ignores it. “Shen Mei is going to expose the outbreak in Penamstan I told you about, but we’ve got to move fast, because this Mad Dog agent, Jason, he’s--”

“Coming after Shen Mei for the chip. He’s going to expose the bioweapons for good,” Leon finishes. “I know.”

Her mouth feels cottony, her head stuffed with too much input to make sense of it. Leon is still and steady as a stone in the middle of a rushing river. His gun presses against her collarbone, the metal cool and frightening against her skin. His hair is lank and damp with sweat like he hasn’t had time to stop and rest for days and his eyes look wild in his face. Claire doesn’t--can’t--understand. Faintly, she tries, “Leon?”

Leon lets a gust of air out of his mouth, an explosive sigh, and he jerks his gun out of Claire’s face. Before she can even breathe out her relief (how could she have thought he’d do it? She chastised herself. It’s Leon.), he moves. His fingers curl, unforgiving, into the lapel of her jacket and jerk her forward. Surprised and off-kilter, Claire stumbles to Leon’s side. Anger and no small amount of worry at his aggression and strangeness course through her; Claire slaps at his hand but Leon refuses to let her go. It doesn’t take a genius to tell he’s moving her out of the way, moving her behind him, putting himself between her and Shen Mei--

“I told you she’s not the issue--”

“Yes,” Leon snaps, near snarling, his face so animalistic Claire doesn’t recognize him, “she is. I told you not to do anything stupid.”

Claire opens her mouth, about to retort hotly, and shuts it when the ground rolls beneath their feet. Shen Mei lets out a cry and her grandfather throws himself bodily onto what used to be his grandson. Beside her, close enough that Claire can feel his breath (when had he dragged her so close?), Leon curses.

“Damn it Jason, I said I needed more time.”

The house collapses down around their heads.

T-Minus 37 Hours

Shen Mei finds her in the wreckage. “You are lucky,” she says as she pulls Claire to her feet.

Claire knows she isn’t. She knows that because Leon had thrown them both behind one of the tables in the bedroom as the fires started. She knows that Leon had hauled her as far as he could from the blast, even as Claire ripped her throat to shreds screaming for Shen Mei and her family. His grip had been bruising. He hadn’t responded to her at all. He’d covered her as much as he could with his own body when the tremors took their legs out from under them. She thinks perhaps she remembers the feeling of weightlessness that comes with being carried in someone’s arms.

“Where’s Leon?”

“Gone,” Shen Mei tells her, grim. “We have to act quickly; he’s got the chip. He’ll bring it to Jason and set the world on fire if we don’t stop them.”

Every cell in Claire’s body screams at the wrongness of her statement; she wants to spit and rage and cry that Leon wouldn’t do this, that he’d never hurt people just to expose bioweapons, that he wouldn’t do this to her--but she just woke up alone after her world caved in. Leon left her here.

Leon left. If Claire wants answers from him, she’s going to have to follow after him--it’s almost just like old times.

T-Minus 5 Minutes

“The control room,” Shen Mei shouts as they run. Jason stands on one of the catwalks, Wilson struggling fruitlessly in his hold. A dark corner of Claire thinks about waiting until he’s dead before stopping Jason.

“I’m on it!” She answers instead, hopping one of the railings and hauling ass to the small booth Shen Mei had pointed out.

But when she bursts through the doors, Claire realizes she’s too late. Leon stands in front of the control panel, his back to her; Claire knows his eyes are on the dying man above him, on the bioweapon threatening to end the lives of innocent people for the sake of the greater good just like in Raccoon City. In his left hand, there’s a glint of light as the chip catches on the low fluorescents in the room. He flips the chip almost carelessly between his fingers.

“Leon.”

“Claire.”

Even now, with her heart in her mouth, Claire can’t stand to believe it. She moves forward, until she’s standing across from him, so close she can smell the dust and smoke on his jacket. He smells like the rubble of Shen Mei’s home.

“Listen, I don’t know what your game plan is, but we don’t have much time.” She says quickly, trying to outrun the alarm bells ringing in her ears. “I couldn’t tell Shen Mei what you were doing because you didn’t tell me, but she’ll understand once we stop Jason together. We can talk to her and she’ll forgive you--”

“I don’t want to be forgiven,” Leon says, calm as the moment before the storm hits, “and I don’t want to stop Jason.”

He turns then, and the gun’s metal is warm now when it presses into her skin. “And you won’t either,” Leon finishes. His eyes are still too wide, the white showing all around the iris and his pupils tight and small. He looks like a cornered animal, like a dog about to snap its jaws at her. Claire forgets how to breathe.

“What are you doing?”

“We have to finish this, Claire. We have to put a stop to it all.”

“By killing innocent people?” She spots it the moment he balks; it’s so small no one else would see it. A tremble in his fingers, a stiffening of his mouth where it settles in his face. Claire’s world is spinning, the fundamentals are changing, the foundations are rending, but some things stay the same. Even as Leon rips apart all she knew of him, he’s still the same. “Leon, this isn’t you. I don’t know what happened, but I know you wouldn’t want to hurt people even if it meant stopping bioweapon productions for good. We fought for more than this.”

“When will it end?" He snaps. Claire tries not to flinch. He’s never been sharper with her, never been so manic and wild. “When do we stop fighting, Claire?”

“When we finish it,” She answers. Behind him, acid begins to flood the production floor. How long do they have until it reaches the level she can see Shen Mei scaling up? How long until Wilson’s skull gives under the pressure? How long until Jason grows tired of toying with them?

Leon shakes his head and the barrel of his gun shakes with him. He wavers, and Claire's confidence in Leon wavers with him. “Don’t you see? This will finish it.”

“If you think that, you really have gone insane.” Claire shakes her head, and, slow as she can, reaches up, a mirror of just yesterday. This time, she cups his hand in hers, fingers overlapping on the butt of the pistol. “Leon, if you let Jason do this, it will only be the beginning.”

“Everyone will know, just like you wanted.”

“Everyone will be dead,” Claire replies, letting her tone get as harsh and abrasive as it wants to be. “God, Leon, what the fuck happened to you? This isn't the person I know. This isn’t my friend.”

His lip curls and the barrel grows steady again. Claire doesn’t recognize the man threatening her anymore. “Maybe this is who I’ve always been and you’ve just been too blind to see it.”

“If that’s the case, you might as well shoot me now,” Claire argues, feeling her own lips pull back from her teeth. “Because I’d rather be dead than know I love someone who could do this.”

The world stops spinning on its axis. Claire fights the urge to run, to hide, to bite her lip and drop Leon’s gaze because she hadn’t exactly known what would come out of her mouth when she opened it. Too late now, though. Go big or go home, that’s what Chris always told her.

Leon moves before she can register it.

T-Minus 30 Seconds

The gun clatters against the metal as it lands on the floor, bouncing once, twice, three times. It slides away from their feet and rests by the door, harmless.

Kissing Leon is not at all like Claire would have imagined it. She’d learned to shut that idea out of her mind quickly; she’s not blind and she’s not stupid and she has better things to do than pine after a man who will never give her the time of day. Still, in the glimpses of fantasy she’d allowed herself, she’d seen candlelight and romantic music. She’d seen herself brushing his hair out of his eyes and him smiling that goofy, wide grin of his. She’d seen softness.

Kissing Leon is like pressing on a bruise to test its tenderness. It makes something sweet and painful twist in her chest when he presses close as he can. Her hand does slide into his hair but she twits it into knots around her fingers instead of smoothing it out like she wants to. His hand does dip into the small of her back like they’re about to dance together, but he’s balled it into a fist in the leather of her jacket. His mouth is hot and devouring, but he takes and takes and takes and gives nothing in return, leaving Claire gasping for air and feeling something closer to despair than she’d like.

His breath is warm and wet when he pants against her mouth. “Everyone could know without you releasing the chip,” Leon says, quiet in the middle of destroying her world. She’s in the eye of the storm and it is so very lonely. “You’d be safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe,” Claire tells him, achingly slow, feeling as if her heart is being ripped out of her piece by piece.

He doesn't fight when she laces their fingers together, just pulls her closer. His heart beats a tattoo against her ribs. “I can’t protect you if you’re the one who breaks the story.” Leon's voice strains, cracks, breaks. Perhaps she’s not the only one feeling desperate.

Claire shakes her head. “I only ever wanted to help. If you won’t let me, then I’ll do it myself.” Slipping from his grasp, she palms the chip she took from the nerveless fingers of his left hand. With her other hand, she brings Shen Mei’s gun up and clocks Leon across the jaw as hard as she can with the butt of it. Surprised, he stumbles, slumping across the control panel. She hurries to shove him away and, praying her glances at the platform names over Leon’s shoulder during their conversation were enough, begins pressing buttons rapidly.

Shen Mei screams as the platform under her feet falls away. Jason’s center of gravity is lower than hers, and he’s heavier; even his claws and strength and agility and determination cannot save him. As Claire swings another platform around to catch Shen Mei, a faint groan rips through the air behind her.

It’s time to go. (If she stays for when he wakes, Claire isn’t sure she’ll survive. Her heart’s too weak for that.)

Shen Mei slumps on the platform Claire slid under her to stop her fall. She has to collect the agent and flee before anyone finds them down here. Claire hits one last sequence which will give her a path to Shen Mei and the exit, holsters her gun, and doesn't look down as she steps over Leon.

“Claire…”

It feels like her bones are all broken, or have been replaced with shards of glass. It feels like her muscles are being rent from her flesh one at a time. It feels like she’s being dragged beneath the waves of the ocean and the light of her only salvation is retreating, retreating, retreating, so far away. Claire turns her head, just enough to catch the glint of his eye in the corner of hers. She can’t look at him, not now. She might stay if she does.

“When you’re ready to make it right,” Claire says, ignoring how her voice quivers and her mouth twists. “Then we’ll talk.”

After Launch

Leon brings one last drink to his lips. He ignores the looming and the badgering. He ignores the yelling and insults. He ignores the way his companion slams his fists into the wooden tabletop and rattles the bottles in front of him. Instead, he thinks about the pounding of Claire’s heart against his own. He thinks about pointing a gun at her. He thinks about her sharp eyes and the way her mouth had twisted in disgust. He thinks about how there wasn’t fear in her face but anger, hot and terrible and poisonous. He drinks until the drink is gone.

“Are you ready to make it right?” Chris demands.

Leon thinks of Claire--of the way she turned from him there at the very end of it all. At the end of the world she left. But that isn't fair: he’d left her first. Leon stands.

“Let’s get started.”

34 notes · View notes

thegeminisage · 3 years ago

Note

top 5 moments in broken road?

i literally waited until now to answer these ask meme questions so i could do this w/o spoilers. anyway time to do an ask meme i got questions for THREE ENTIRE WEEKS ago

#5 - "my girl" john/mary reunion

Mary rushes forward into John's waiting arms. He gathers her up and holds her close, pressing kiss after kiss into her hair, tears running down his face. "My girl," he says, in aching disbelief, drawing back to cup her face in his hands. "My girl." She laughs through her own tears, and when he smooths one gun-calloused thumb under her eye she turns her face into his hand, and then he draws her close and kisses her, like they're the only two people left in the whole wide world.

look. am i valid? no. but they compel me. to them their story is just as real and longlasting as dean/cas is to us. so i added a little gutpunch to that reunion because it’s my fic and i get to do what i want >:) actually, even though i made a point of calling john “dad” and mary “mom” in dean’s pov, in this moment, i deliberately used their names - it’s more than just mom and dad, it’s theee john and mary winchester back together after all these years. no, they don’t stay that way, but after a 22-year quest in her name, it still deserves to be like a Reunion.

(other four are below the cut to spare ur dashes. there are major spoilers for the whole fic, just warning u)

#4 - john getting punched by [SPOILER]

Dean's shoves his father with all his might, yelling, "Let go of me!" Partially because even though just moments ago the dungeon was exactly where he wanted to be, he absolutely doesn't want Dad to be the one to put him there, partially because he's afraid that Michael is about to break free from that cage in his head and vaporize everybody in firing range, and partially because he's afraid that if Dad doesn't let go, Cas will kill him.

But Dean's only got one hand free, and Dad's grip is too strong. Michael and sleep deprivation have made Dean weak; he can't get away from Dad on his own.

Then, when Cas is still just out of arm's reach, Sam lays into Dad with the fiercest right hook Dean's ever seen.

Dean knows that right hook well. That's one of the first moves Dad taught him, one Dad forced him to practice a thousand miserable times—how to stand, when to turn, where to throw his weight—until he honed it to absolute unthinking perfection. And it is perfect: Sam nails Dad right on the jaw with all six feet and change of muscle, sending him staggering back, his grip on Dean slipping free.

Dad slumps against the wall for a moment like he's literally seeing stars, like it's all he can do not to pass out. His nose looks like it might be broken. Dean rounds on his brother; if he was expecting Dean to thank him for that, he's going to be disappointed. "What the hell, Sam?"

But Sam's looking at Dad, not at Dean. "He said," Sam pants, "to let go of him."

i’m normally very anti-punching john, but i feel like if anybody has the right to do it, it’s sam. he’s spent his whole life being protected from john by dean and he finally gets to return the favor! all his problems are solved because he’s literally the bigger man now in every way! i doubt sam would ever punch john on his own behalf, but it is UTTERLY in character for him to do it in defense of someone else, but i bet it was pretty fucking cathartic too. picking sam moments in this fic is like picking children but this...you know, it wasn’t even in my outline. it happened organically as i wrote. and it just. feels right.

#3 - sam telling john to clean up his mess

"Seriously, Dad—we've had enough of your lip service. You're sorry? You want to help? Clean up your mess."

What? John frowns. Does he mean Dean?

But, no—Sam twists and picks up an actual mop and bucket from the corner behind him. The bucket is full of red-tinted water. "Go in the kitchen," he says, "and if Dean says you can use the sink, run some clean water with bleach. We gotta get the blood off the floor, because the longer it stays there, the worse it'll stain—especially on the hardwood."

"Uh," says John.

Then Sam gives him a severe, no-nonsense look that nearly punches the breath from John's lungs—because for the very first time, he sees his Mary in that stubbornly unimpressed face. "Do you understand? This isn't a motel. You can't expect someone else to do it for you. Don't go in the kitchen," Sam says slowly, enunciating every word, "unless you're going. To clean up. Your mess. You want room service—there's the fucking door."

THERE’S THE FUCKING DOOR. i love this bc firstly i believe in man of the house sam and secondly it falls into the same thing of like...sam is finally big and strong enough to protect dean and by god he will make himself an impassable 6′4 between this man and his brother. i think especially since finding out about flagstaff, DOUBLY since becoming a parent, sam is like...so less than impressed with john’s bullshit, and even more impatient than he already was of john’s stupid excuses.

there’s also this motif of cleaning throughout the fic - in john and sam’s very first scene alone together, they are washing dishes. at first this was a nod to sam and dean doing it in lebanon - dean washing, sam drying - but washing is the “hard” part of doing the dishes; when my mom taught me how to do them i began learning by drying first. so of course dean has been washing and letting sam dry all their lives - almost literally, because john talks pretty early on about dean being a neat freak too, because john simply wouldn’t pick up after himself but still hated the mess. there’s a few mentions of it in the fic, how john liked being able to leave a mess behind in their motel rooms, how he’d prop his feet on the table - but in season 10, it’s sam on his knees scrubbing the bloodstained floors after dean’s murder spree, and in broken road sam makes john wash the dishes, and at the end, sam makes him mop. @maulthots put it best:

like that’s it. that's literally it. and then, finally, john offers to clean up on his own without being asked. that’s Growth™, at least in whatever way he’s capable of it. at any rate, he’s too afraid of getting hit again to NOT clean up after himself lol

#2 - dean/cas car scene [content warning for nsfw and discussion of past sexual violence - scroll down to #1 if you’d like to skip it!]

Cas lets go of Dean, but it's to reposition his hands on Dean's knees, slide those huge palms up Dean's thighs. Dean feels the heat of them bleeding through his jeans. Then, holy shit, Cas rests his thumbs on Dean's belt buckle, and makes eye contact.

Dean wets his lips, a little uncertain. He has no idea what Cas is going to do. "Yeah, okay," he croaks.

Cas leans in and kisses him again while he undoes Dean's belt. Like—fuck, like he knew Dean wouldn't want to watch. Dean hears the zipper on his fly, and all at once it clocks that, yeah, okay, this is really happening. Heart thudding in his ears, Dean reflexively lifts his hips so Cas can pull his jeans off. But Cas only slides them down a little. Then he reaches into Dean's boxers and gets a hand around his dick.

Oh. A small, quiet noise drops out of Dean into Cas's mouth, and he turns out of the kiss, panting as Cas pulls him out of his clothes. He's not sure what he was expecting, but this is okay. Just a handjob—he can handle that. It's good, actually. A little dry, but Cas has a light touch, and Dean has decided that he likes Cas's hands. He knows the shape of them very well.

i really enjoyed writing this whole scene, but this was my favorite part. cas technically does get dean’s consent, which was important to cas and a little bit of a big deal for dean too, but dean didn’t ask what cas was going to do before giving that consent, because he almost...doesn’t care? like, dean’s previous experiences with men were all lousy at best, and violent and traumatizing at worst, and arguably none of them were 100% consensual. so part of him is figuring that whatever happens will be within that spectrum, and he’ll just deal with it being awful no matter what it is because he almost literally can’t picture it not being awful. he's not doing it because he likes fucking men or expects he’ll like fucking cas, he’s doing because he wants to be close to cas, he wants to be away from michael and his dad, and because if he and cas are together now that’s part of the package and he’s just done the full “for keeps” commitment bit, so he’s not gonna pussy out now, right? he trusts cas not to actually harm him, and be closer to “lousy” than “violent,” but he is, in his mind, basically giving cas consent to hurt him, because to him that’s what sex with men IS. and he’s understandably pretty nervous because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen - all he’s sure of is that he won’t like it.

but then he does like it! he likes it a lot! trusting cas turns out to be the correct choice! because if cas had turned him down in that moment, trying to baby him or second guess him, i think dean would have felt really hurt and angry and embarrassed, he would have felt like he was broken or untouchable. which is why cas took him at his word, but ALSO did pretty much the most tame thing you can do and still count it as having sex. so cas managed to thread the needle perfectly because he knows dean so well and he’s literally been inside his mind and witnessed that trauma and knew everything to avoid doing. so for dean it wound up being TRULY consensual instead of the sort of fake consent he’s used to handing out to johns. if that makes any sense. idk i just really enjoyed doing it. i think a valid reading is that dean has this physical fear of men that is just...not explored very much in fic. and it was nice to write something where cas was sort of able to undo or heal a little of that damage.

#1 - michael

No, no, no—we can't die—we can't die, we are eternal, we are our Father's most beloved, His favorite son—

No no no no no no no no no—I can't die—I can't die—

Light fills the room, reflecting in Dean's eyes making them look as though they glow. And for the very first time, John sees him. John sees him, John sees him, John sees him—

Where is my Father? Is He watching? Can He see me?

Father, help me, I beg You—please, I don't want to die—

I don't want to die—

i could honestly paste the entire michael scene here, there’s not a thing about it i don’t love, but this was probably my favorite part. and look, i waited NINE YEARS to see michael!dean, i deserved to go apeshit!!! i think the fun thing about michael is that he’s a great foil to both john and dean, the literal connecting tissue, especially when he’s hopping bodies like that. he’s dean’s aggressor but he’s also dean’s twisted reflection, nearly broken by his father’s absence. it was impossible for john to see dean as he really is until michael let him see it through dean’s own eyes.

and then “i” at the end - i knew going in that i wanted a “we” pronoun (though i almost chickened out of it), because michael’s in charge but he’s also making his vessel do things with him, like laugh or scream or hurt people. but when michael dies, he’s alone figuratively and literally, because john’s not dying with him, and his own father has forsaken him too - and that’s the way dean so often felt, and FEELING that was probably the only thing that could possibly give john the motivation to be even slightly less self-centered and shitty.

michael was my whole reason for writing this fic - because i was livid they didn’t use him to tie dean and john together in canon, because the burden of being his vessel is just one more thing dean had to take...this whole chapter, this whole fic, hinged entirety on the batshit insane dynamic between michael and dean and john. and like there are parts of this fic i was insecure about and wished i could have done better, but this? i think i nailed it. definitely the part i had the most fun writing.

but like, honorable mention?

"Dude," Dean says, flipping on his blinker so he can pull up beside the local grocery, "can we not do any touchy-feely shit, please? That's—"

"Gay?" Sam suggests.

"Get out of my car."

>:)

#liz answers asks #deanwinchestergender #broken road #br meta #supernatural #spn for ts #ASK MEMES #technically

44 notes · View notes

papirlife · 4 years ago

Text

Chipin’ In

Okay so I’ve had minimal exposure to this game from the start, and I only just finished the main quest line enough to get to Chipin In and I am SPEECHLESS. So please find my interpretation of chipin in from my V’s perspective. But feel free to comment because honestly I think it could really apply to any V’s out there and I like analyzing stuff. Fair warning this is LONG, you have been warned.

So in my canon game, by this point V and Johnny have worked together enough to build up a strong sense of camaraderie. While V never truly hated Johnny, even if they were wary of him at the start, what with their rough introduction, by this point, V’s started to tentatively trust him, and even rely on him in some situations. They’ve started to feel comfortable in his presence, and been more open with their thoughts, ideas, emotions because despite sharing a brain, they’ve still kept their guard up as best they can.

My V ( Vendetta) is a very distant person, they like keeping to themselves, they don’t like to drink because they hate being out of their senses, the only time they willingly touched alcohol was at Jackie’s funeral, as a way to honour him and pay their respects. Other than indulging in the occasional smoke, to settle their nerves and get Johnny to stop gripping so much they’re very reserved, solitary and not at all interested in such things.

So to have enough trust in Johnny after they realized he kept them safe when they blacked out and when he gave them his tags to allow him to take this step and settle his past once and for all, only for him to go and completely throw in their face sent them reeling.

They were scared outta their mind when they woke up in the motel room. V didn’t know where they were, the relic was acting up, they were half dressed, and their brain felt like it was gonna vibrate out of their skull. The only familiar thing they saw was Rogue, and that wasn’t really helpful because at this point they weren’t terribly fond of her. They respected her, and admired her skills but they ABSOLUTELY DID NOT wanna wake up in a shitty room with her looming over them.

When the pieces start falling together and the events of last night start coming back to them, V is just numb, and their not sure if it’s because of their emotions or if it’s because of the remains of whatever the hell Johnny swallowed the night prior. Either way when he makes an appearance V just wants him GONE, he’s the last person they wanna see. During their conversation in the motel, he’s shocked that they didn’t trust him still, and V is just...not having it because their trust in him before this wasn’t solid, giving him control had been as much of test for him as it was for them, and he blew it by violating their faith in him, lying to them not once but again and again and then violating their body despite knowing their reservations. And the fact, that he was being a prick when they woke, making it out to seem that THEY were the one’s overreacting, was just icing on the cake.

After the brief conversational the motel, V just gives him the silent treatment, they ignore him, they don’t acknowledge him, don’t turn in his direction if he shows up, they’re just on autopilot and the only thing they want is to go home.

V was FURIOUS; they were hurt, upset, frustrated, but they were also angry at themselves for trusting him. They get home, and just break down because they’re overwhelmed, the last few weeks have been rough and this was just the straw that broke the camel’s back and they feel like an idiot for it all. To top it off, they also have to acknowledge that they we’re starting to feel something FOR Johnny; not love, at least not yet, but that’s likely where it was headed and it just makes everything so much worse because V had tried to ignore those emotions up until now, and they had a suspicion that Johnny has as well but this episode brought everything to the surface and made them face it head on.

The best part is Johnny has a front row seat to all of this, and when V breaks, down he really starts to feel like shit too because it’s the first time in his life that he gets to the experience the emotion behind all the pain he caused not just to V but to everyone who dared to care about him, who tried to get through to him. And he hates it.

Eventually V, starts to become a little more clear headed, and then they start thinking and that’s when the doubts set in. They start doubting everything between them and Johnny, each interaction and conversation, every word he spoke to them at Pistis Sophia, the dog tags he gave them as a show his trust, his potential sacrifice, his regard for them and their safety, the friendship and sense of camaraderie they had built up together; all of it gets thrown out the window because now the the only thing V can think is “how much of it was a lie? How much has he manipulated me into helping him, liking him, agreeing with him? How much, if any of it was true?”

Because, in their mind, had he really cared about them, he would have been honest, upfront or he wouldn’t have done something like this in the first place regardless of wether it was intentional or not.

Meanwhile, Johnny’s freaking out, V’s not holding anything back, they’re letting him read their thoughts loud and clear because right now they could care less about anything he has to say to them and Johnny is freaking the fuck out because damn it, this isn’t what he wanted, this isn’t how it was supposed to go, that promise, the tags it was all true, and it’s all he can give them because he’s got nothing else to show them that he does care.

It’s when V gets up off the floor, and locks the tags away in a safe in their armory, that the panic sets in and Johnny is just going like fuckfuckfuckfuck.

When Rogue calls, after a whole day of not speaking to him or really anyone for that matter, Johnny fully expects V to call off the hunt on Smasher, and he knows that Rogue won’t go after him alone. But to his shock, V agrees and heads down to the Afterlife, to work out the details because they made him a promise and unlike him they inteended to keep it. And Johnny hopes to god that maybe yesterday was just a fluke, maybe they can just forget the whole thing, never talk about it again and just be normal.

But he knows in the back of his mind that that’s not gonna happen because while V is still keeping their end of the bargain, he can still feel how hurt they are because of him and this is just further confirmed because when Rogue’s presents them with the jacket, V thanks her, but asks if they can just leave it in the trunk for now. They continue to ignore him, and just try and get through the night as quickly as possible.

They’re trying to numb their emotions, numb the hurt. But it comes to a head during the confrontation with Grayson because V can’t ignore how they feel, they can’t pretend that they don’t care about Johnny, that they don’t care about his life, his mistakes, his past. That they don’t care and about what happened to him, or what will happen to him depending on how all this pans out. Which is why V gets defensive when Grayson starts talking crap, starts stalling or making a mockery of Johnny’s legacy.

And this is what kinda prompts Johnny to make an attempt to fix his mess, because up until now he fpthought that V likely hated him for what he’d done. But seeing them getting protective, defending him, gives him a little hope that maybe, just maybe he can salvage this.

When V gets into the Porsche and heads to the Oil Fields, when they hear the shear amount of pain and disappointment and remorse in Johnny’s, they mark his place in the field, and decide that while yes they’re hurt, they don’t hate him, they doubt they could ever hate him.

Some part of Johnny still hopes that he didn’t colossally fuck up, which is why he tentatively says that their friendship is the one thing he hasn’t managed to ruin but he knows he’s put a permanent dent in their relationship, which is why I think that if you choose not to confront him he thinks you’re being insincere, because throughout the whole quest, from every interaction they have together, you can tell that V is upset because of what happened, and he knows because they share an intimacy that could never hide this fact from him so if you suggest otherwise it feels like you’re just avoiding the elephant in the room.

But he recognizes his mistake after V points it out, he understands that he did them wrong, that he had no right to use them, use their body the way he did, and the dealbreaker here is that he recognizes it and he apologizes and asks them for a second chance. And V truly forgives him, because the apology in and of itself is a miracle, because the old Johnny would never even think to apologize, just let the wound sit and fester and ignore the emotional trauma that came with it. But this Johnny, the one here and now, has grown and he wants to set things right, with Rogue, with Kerry and especially with V. And V sees this, sees the remorse, hears his apology, and decides that yes, this Johnny deserves a second chance. And in my canon, this is a turning point in their relationship, and it’s where they start to develop something like love for each other, even if they don’t t realize it just yet.

81 notes · View notes

amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Pea//i wish it wasn't so damn hard to leave

Request: Hi! Big fan of your work! Would you be able to write a Serpent fic based off of the Senorita video? I’m obsessed with it

hey! I hope you like this!!! and i’m sorry its so late. but hey, its hopefully a nice surprise! have a great day!!

The hot summer air hits you as soon as you walk through the out the front doors of Pop’s. You sigh and rearrange the bag on your shoulder, silently dreading the long walk home.

You moved to Riverdale three weeks ago, and they’ve been the weirdest three weeks of your life. They’ve also been the hardest three weeks of you life. Moving to a small town is like trying to infiltrate Area 51, and not in the fun way.

Everybody knows each other, everybody talks and everybody gossips. Plus to make matters worse, you’re still not entirely sure where everything is.

Street names change, certain houses end up being some place other than you thought they were, and old buildings make weird noises in the night...old buildings that you have to walk past after your shift. Based on the stories you’ve heard though, you wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

A few good things have come out of moving here though. You’re finally able to live alone, the rent here is surprisingly cheap (being the murder town and all), although the more you think of it the more you think it might not be a good idea to live by yourself. You’ve made a ton of new friends, one of which gave you a job in her diner (go veronica!). And lastly and most recently, you met him.

Sweet Pea

Even the thought of him makes you smile.

You’d met him last night at Veronica’s club (it’s crazy how many business’ under 20 year olds can own here) last night. She had invited you to come out and celebrate making it to three weeks, and you’d very happily accepted, needing an excuse to get dressed up and get out. It felt like you’d done nothing but live in either your waitressing uniform or your pajama’s for three weeks straight and so it was nice to feel normal.

Once you’d got there, Veronica introduced you to a few people you had yet to meet, before you all started drinking. Betty had gone to the bar to get drinks for everyone, when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You’d turned around, expecting her to be stood with a tray full of drinks balanced in her hands, but instead you were met with a chest, taking you very much by surprise.

Your eyes travelled upwards, fighting against the darkness of the club until you met his gaze. He was already look at you, his lips parted and eyes hooded and a small gasp left your lips.

All night, the two of you had been stealing small glances at each other. He was sat with who you assumed were his friends, a couple of them playing guitar despite the loud music playing through the speakers while the rest talked.

As soon as you saw him you felt your pulse quicken and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

And so when he was stood in front of you, you felt all of those things and more. A small shiver ran up your spine as he held his hand out towards you. No words were exchanged, he just stood and waited. You quickly glanced at your friends, all of which were smiling knowingly at you, before you carefully placed your hand in his.

He pulled you into him, your back against his chest and the motion made you breathless. Your faces inches apart, the faintest hint of alcohol on his breath that made you feel dizzy. You swayed together, completely caught up in the moment before he twirled you back out. The bass from the song playing and the heavy beating of your heart swirled together until you could feel both of them pounding in your chest.

Pulling you back towards him, your hands lay flat against his chest while he held you close, the two of you getting lost in your own world. The rest of the club fell away behind you, it was just you and him and the slow beat of the music.

But then you started to panic.

Not because of who he was.

You knew he was a serpent, heard the stories from your friends about the war between the Northside and Southside. But maybe it should have been. The leather jacket with the gang sign proudly stitched onto the back, the fading bruise framing his eye and the spilt lip should have all been warning signs.

But the thing that made you panic was yourself. You don’t even know why you felt it.

You’d been waiting all night for him to talk to you, but now that it what happening you felt the anxiety rise in your chest, and before you knew it you were running out of the front doors of Pop’s and into the warm summer night.

You’d been quietly hating yourself ever since that night.

You didn’t even know his name until Veronica had teased you about the interaction the next day at work. However when she saw how upset you were about it, she’d told you not to worry and that she was sure he’d come back and you’d get another chance.

You didn’t believe her, not at all. Nobody in their right mind would come back for a girl who ran away from them.

But the universe is full of surprises.

And so is he apparently.

“Are you stalking me?” You stop in the middle of the parking lot, your eyebrows raised as you wait for a response.

Your question hangs in the air for a few seconds, and you worry that you were just seeing things. That the person you thought you saw stood outside was just in your imagination, that you were just seeing what you wanted to.

But then you hear the crunch of gravel followed by quick footsteps and you thank the universe for the second chance.

“Wha-no. Why would you think that?” He stutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. You turn around to face him and a shy smile takes over your features as you make eye contact with him.

“Because you’re loitering outside the place I work.” You shrug. “And Veronica told me that she say you hanging around inside for a few hours.”

“Okay, that I am doing. But I’m not stalking you.” He says, a bashful smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“So what are you doing then?”

“I just wanted to know why you ran away yesterday.” He replies and your face falls. You gaze drops to the dusty ground beneath you and you kick a few stones around to try and distract yourself. “Sorry.” He mumbles. “I was just worried if it was something I did.”

“What, no.” You reply and look at him quickly.

He looks sad and a frown takes over your face at the sight.

“Are you sure. Because I’m sorry if I did do something. The last thing I wanted you to do was run away.”

“I didn’t run.” You mumble and he raises an eyebrow at you. “It was more of a quick walk.”

“Okay.” He chuckles. “Why did you quickly walk away from me then?”

“I needed to pee.” You shrug, not even trying to make your lie believable.

“You pee outside?”

“...yes.” You say, deciding to stick by what you said.

“Okayyy.” He replies, not really sure of what to say and you mentally curse yourself. “You’re cute you know, even if you do go to the bathroom in weird places.”

“Thanks.” You giggle, and brush a piece of hair out of your face.

“Would you like to go for a ride?”

“Excuse me?” You blink and his eyes widen.

“Not like that, I meant, I-er. I have a bike.” He says, pointing to the black bike parked right in the corner of the parking lot. “Would you like to go for a ride.”

“Should I really be going off with a stranger thats been stalking me?” You ask.

“I wasn’t stalking you.” He rolls his eyes. “Plus, everybody knows it’s almost impossible to kidnap someone with a motorbike. There’s no boot and it’s very easy to jump off a moving bike. I wouldn’t recommend it though.” He rambles making you laugh.

He looks away embarrassed once he’s finished talking, but it makes your chest feel fuzzy and warm and you desperately want him to continue talking, even if it is about kidnapping.

“Okay.” You agree and he looks at you surprised. “Where are we going?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, the two of you falling into step with each other as you make the short walk to his bike. “Where do you want to do?”

“I honestly don’t know. Where are the best places in Riverdale?”

“Greendale.” He replies making you snort.

The sound makes your cheeks heat up and you quickly look away, but you feel him smiling at you making you relax a little.

“You’re new here right?” He asks and you nod. “Why don’t I give you a tour of the town. Hopefully I can make it seem exciting.”

“I’m sure you will.” You reply and put the helmet he’s given you on. He reaches over and helps you fasten it, tapping your head a few times once he’s finished and the two of you look away awkwardly.

“...sorry.” He mumbles. “Can we forget I did that?”

“Of course.”

“Can we forget that I ran away?”

“I thought you quickly walked.” He replies making you huff.

“Shut up.” You mumble. “Can we?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Now get on. The sun’s gonna come up soon if you keep standing there.”

What started as bike ride around the town, ended in the two of you getting a hotel room together and not leaving until early afternoon.

You lean against the wardrobe doors, memories of the previous nights and the moments leading up to it flicker in your mind.

The wind in your hair as you drove around the sleepy streets, the feeling of your arms around his chest when he sped up. Dancing in small bit of sand by Sweetwater River and promising yourself never to run away from him ever again. To be honest, you don’t even think you could.

He’s staring at you through hooded eyes, his lips swollen and red and you feel your knees buckle. Slowly you make your towards him and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight to him. He flips you around as you fall, your back landing on the soft bedding and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you and kissing him deeply.

You can feel yourself falling for him with each kiss. The feeling of his hands running through your hair, how his fingers graze your skin lightly and the softness of his kisses.

You’re hooked and there’s no turning back.

You didn’t even know Riverdale had motels. But they do, and they’re the definition of Riverdale. They look inviting from the outside but once you step through the doors, they’re dim and dingy. The only plus point are the people inside, and you’re very happy to be locked in with Sweet Pea.

You spend practically the whole day tangled up in bed sheets, and before you know it, it’s time for your late shift at Pop’s.

So with a heavy heart and a promise of spending another night together, you part ways.

“Thanks for dropping me off.” You smile and smooth your hair down.

You didn’t have time to go back home to change, and so suddenly you feel self conscious, your uniform has the same grease stain on it from your last shift and you know for a fact Veronica is going to notice and not let it go.

“No worries.” He laughs. “You look great.” He catches your hands, stopping you from messing with your hair again and presses light kisses to them.

“You’re a terrible liar.” You roll your eyes, letting him tug you forward. “Will you be stalking me again?” You wonder, a soft smile tugging at your lips and he rolls his eyes at you playfully.

“Maybe.” He shrugs and leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that makes your heart race.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I really hope you do.” He whispers, his lips grazing your ear and a shiver travels down your spine.

----

“Maybe, my ass!” You huff, throwing your hands up in frustration.

It’s been a week since you saw him, and he’s definitely been avoiding you.

“It’s only been a week.” Veronica asks.

The two of you are on the late shift tonight, along with a few other servers and Veronica made sure your break was together so you could hang out, although now, you’re pretty sure she’s regretting that because it’s been ten minutes and the only thing you’ve talked about is him.

“But nobodies seen him. Not you, not his friends, not anybody. And the other day I heard Toni and Fangs talking about his skipping town. They were trying to figure out why he’d done it.”

“Oh.”

“You know, there’s a reason we didn’t go back to his place. It’s so I didn’t find out his address so I couldn’t hunt him down. That bastard.” You curse, and flop back in the seat.

“You never know.” She says, placing a comforting hand on your leg. “He might surprise you.”

“I very much doubt it.” You sigh. “Why are all men the same. They get they want and then as soon as they do they go.”

“I dunno.”

“Or maybe he isn’t avoiding me.”

“What?”

“Maybe he’s hurt somewhere. He does go really fast on that bike. Oh, god. I’ve called a dead man a bastard. I’m the worst. Why did you let me do that?”

“Wha- You know what, never mind.” She shakes her head. “He’s not dead Y/n. And I’m sure he’s got a good reason for doing whatever he’s doing.”

“Like?” You sigh and look at her.

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him yourself.” She says and nods behind you.

You frown and follow her gaze, before your eyes meet his.

“I’ll leave you guys to it.” She says and stands up, quickly making her way back into the diner.

“Hi.” He’s the first to talk as he cautiously sits beside you.

“Hey.” You reply, not bothering to look at him.

It’s silent for a while.

There’s quiet chatter from the diner that travels through the air, but apart from that its just an awkward silence.

“Sorry I ran away.” He breaks it, daring a glance at you. “I guess it’s something we’re both quite good at.” He adds, and you send him a look.

“I don’t run. I quickly walk.” You remind him and he lets out a shaky laugh. “I am glad you’re back though.” You add.

“Do you wanna go for a ride? And I’ll explain everything at the hotel.”

“I’m at work.” You laugh and he frowns. “And I’m definitely not that easy.”

“You were the other night.” He mumbles and you let out an offended gasp, slapping his arm lightly.

“Ass.” You huff and cross your arms over your chest.

“Y/n? I hate to be this person, but I kinda need you in here.” Veronica interrupts, sending you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry.” You shrug, smiling sadly at Sweet Pea.

“Don’t worry.” He smiles, shifting against on the wooden seat. “I’ll wait for you.”

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

123 notes · View notes

irrlicht-writes · 4 years ago

Text

the path we choose to walk on Pt.2

Part 2 of my Fix-It! Do note that this is NOT THE END. There will be at least one more part (god hope please) @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @insertdeeplyrics @cass-said-i-love-you ALSO SOMEONE WANNA JOIN MY TAG LIST STILL

READ PART ONE FIRST HERE

Ao3

PART 2: a barn in which we meet

Sam is ecstatic. Eileen just revealed to him that she’s pregnant. Dean has been waiting to see Sam’s reaction and he couldn’t be happier. He’s moved out of their place a month ago and is now living in a rather crappy apartment but he’s always over at their house anyway.

I’m gonna be an uncle, Cas.

It feels weird but Sam is so happy. Sam hugs him and Dean makes sure to tell him that he’s gonna be a great Dad. Of course, Dean is going to be a greater Uncle, no two questions about it. Eileen laughs at them and it feels good to have a family. Miracle barks and Dean laughs to include the dog in the hug.

Cas would be proud of him. Dean has a job. It’s not a great job, but it’s a job outside the life. In time, he’ll make friends, too.

“He kissed you?” Sam asks three months later and Dean nods.

“What was it like?”

Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t know. David had been flirting with him for about two months now and Dean wants to explore this side of him, it’s just – it’s just difficult. He feels as if he’s done a disservice to Cas.

“It wasn’t Cas,” he says and Sam nods.

“I know, Dean, but – Cas is gone. Don’t you think he’d want you to be happy?”

Of course Cas would want that. Cas would want Dean to get a partner. Cas would want someone in Dean’s life that would do everything the angel had never been able to do – but it still feels wrong. It’s not Cas. Maybe that will be the fault with everyone: they will never be Cas.

“Go on a date with him,” Sam says, “just to see what it’s like. If you don’t like it, then stop it, yeah? But give him a chance, at least. He’s not a creeper, right?”

No, David is nice. Under different circumstances, Dean might’ve even liked him.

“We’ll see,” Dean replies and they both know that nothing will come of it.

It’s not Cas.

Eileen was eight months pregnant when Sam found a case. “Something’s killing monsters,” he says.

Normally, Dean wouldn’t be too concerned with this – monsters could kill other monsters for all he cared but this – whatever it was, it killed too many too quickly. It would make whole nests mad and then they’d beseech the town.

Dean doesn’t want Sam to go, not so shortly before the birth of his daughter but he can’t go alone, either. So they’re going to go together. If everything goes well, they don’t have to kill something. After all, whatever monster-killer is out there might not be aware of the impact of what they’re doing.

“Let’s go, then,” Dean says.

Eileen is upset about staying behind but she knows it’s better this way. “You look out for him,” she says to Dean and he laughs.

“With my life,” he promises.

It feels good to take the Impala on a long stretch again. Miracle stayed behind with Eileen and it’s just him and his little brother on the road. It almost feels like the old times. They were rushing in to save the day, heroes once more.

Cas would be proud of them.

“Know anything about that monster-killer?”

“No,” Sam says. “But get this: all the killings happen in the same place, suggesting that it’s not moving around. In fact, it might even be that the other monsters seek it out for whatever reason so maybe it’s acting in self-defense?”

Dean just nods. That might be possible.

A long time ago, he believed that all monsters were evil. But he’d been wrong. They were also just trying to survive. If they were good, they got to live. And if they were bad, they got dead. If one would look at it from this angle, it wouldn’t be that complicated at all.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at the scene. No humans have come to harm as of yet, so there’s no need to identify as the FBI again. They could just get in and get out.

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Sam warns him and Dean nods. He’s not suicidal. He has his gun and he also has his angel blade. He’d be fine. Castiel’s coat is in the trunk. Dean took it with him wherever he went. He would never be too old for a comfort blanket.

It’s a barn. Somehow, Dean was expecting this. He looks around. There are no monsters than he can hear so he hopes that they’ve come at a good time. The trees though – they look odd. They are all bended outwards as if a bomb had dropped.

“Where are the bodies?”

“Maybe whoever is killing them gets rid of them after?”

Sam shrugs, and Dean mimics him. It doesn’t really matter, either.

“Stay behind me,” Dean says and Sam scoffs. He steps up next to Dean and looks at him.

“Together,” he says and Dean smiles.

They don’t get attacked when they enter. Maybe they’re not a threat to that thing. The barn has numerous holes in the ceiling so at least a little light is shining through. They cautiously walk further in. Dean is expecting an attack any second and the longer time goes on, the more anxious he gets. He just doesn’t want the monster to jump out of the dark and attack Sam. What would he tell Eileen? Dean is still crap at Sign Language.

There is a loud, and yet muffled sound and Dean points his gun at it. He looks over to Sam who just nods and Dean takes the lead. There. He can see it, nestled against the wall. It’s a blob that looks vaguely human-shaped. Its hand is outstretched but the arm is shaking and the thing looks like it’s covered in goo.

Dean lowers his gun. Whatever it is, it’s afraid. Sam steps up next to him, also putting his gun away.

“Hey,” Sam starts in a soft tone and the thing flinches, “we’re not here to hurt you.”

The hand stays outstretched for a moment but then the arm gets lowered. The poor thing is shaking.

“My name is Sam,” the thing moves a little, “and I’m here with my brother Dean.”

There is a low keening noise and Dean doesn’t know what to make of it.

“We want to help you, if we can.”

The thing falls forward on all fours and drags itself closer to them. Whatever the goo is, it clings tightly to the body and Dean feels sorry for whatever’s underneath. The thing has to stop every few inches, clearly exhausted. Dean feels for whatever it is. It starts punching its hand into the ground and Dean realises that it’s writing something down.

Where, it says.

“You’re in Kansas,” he replies and the thing turns in his direction. It shakes and Dean thinks it’s just about to collapse. How long has it been here, weighed down by this goo? How long has it waited for someone like Sam and Dean to show up?

“Hey,” he says a little softer. “We’re going to get that stuff off of you and then we can talk, like civilised people, yeah?”

The thing’s head droops a little and Dean finds it very endearing. It looks almost like a head tilt. “Okay, so,” he starts but then there are noises outside. Dean realises instantly that more monsters have come.

“Sammy,” he hisses but Sam is already in position. Dean stays close to Goo who’s heaving a little. Dean doesn’t understand why he wants to protect Goo but he finds he simply has to.

Seven guys trot in and Dean guesses that they might be Vampires. Damn, he’s packed the wrong bullets. Still, shooting them would slow them down for a moment so that he could stab them with the knife. It’s easy to slip back into the Killer Dean Winchester and he hates it. What would Cas have to say about all this?

“Ah, the Winchesters! I had believed you had retired. So sad to see I was wrong. But no worry – me and my friends will gladly help you along!”

Damn he hates vampires. They just fucking suck.

“Oh yeah? So how about you eat... this...”

They just exploded. In front of his eyes, they just exploded in a flash of light and Dean looks down at Goo. His hand his outstretched, just like before and something coils in Dean’s stomach. It couldn’t be. No, that’s just ridiculous.

Sam’s looking over at them too but Dean pays him no mind because – because Goo just slumps to the ground and Dean’s heart sinks. No. No no no no no no. Please don’t. He drops his gun and falls to the floor, grabbing Goo and lifting him up. He doesn’t care that he gets the ugly sticky stuff all over himself.

“Cas,” he whispers but Goo doesn’t reply. “Please, please. Cas, please.”

With Sam’s help, they get Goo into the car. In the back of his head, Dean isn’t looking forward to having to clean Baby from this stuff but he doesn’t really mind. If this is Cas – it has to be, it has to be – he doesn’t care at all. He slides in the backseat and Sam drives towards the nearest motel. Dean shrugs off his jacket and puts it around Goo’s shoulders, hoping to at least fool the majority of people into thinking that this was just another normal person. And if they didn’t – well they are very welcome to lick his boots.

Sam walks into the reception area of this Motel 5 and Dean tries to wake up Goo again but he’s still out like a light.

“Cas,” he says. “Cas, I’ve missed you so much. Please. Please, be real.”

His voice doesn’t sound like his own.

Together, they drag Goo into their room. Without stopping, they immediately continue on into the bathroom. There’s no tub, sadly – Sam had inquired – so the shower would have to do. They shove Goo inside and turn the warm water on. Dean doesn’t want to use cold water. Cas doesn’t deserve cold water.

“It doesn’t come off,” Dean says and Sam clenches his jaw. Why isn’t it coming off? Dean’s breath starts to pick up until Sam puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Breathe,” he reminds his brother and so Dean takes a deep breath. He nods and Sam turns the water off. The get Goo back out of the shower and haul him into the main room. They lay him upon a bed and Dean sits next to him. Sam gets on his phone, presumably to call Eileen and let her know what’s up.

“Cas,” Dean says quietly. “Please. If it’s you, then please – please give me a sign.”

There is nothing and Dean loses hope. But then he sees a small light flicker in the middle of Goo and Dean’s desperate enough to take it.

“Cas,” he says again and puts his hand on Goo’s face. “I’m here, baby. Tell me how to help you. Please. I need you back, Cas. I can’t – I’ve tried. Cas, I’ve tried to do it without you and I’m fine, y’know but it’s not – it’s not enough, y’know?

There’s this guy. David. He’s nice, yeah? He kissed me a few months ago and – I don’t know. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t – it wasn’t you. But I wanted to try. You’d want me to be happy, to find a partner that’ll love me and – I wanted to try. So I asked him out, Cas. He’s a nice guy. He makes jokes and he likes Baby and he likes Pizza and he even indulges me on my cowboy fetish. Remember when I made you wear that hat? Those were good times, Cas. Anyway, I – we, we had, uh... we had sex. It was just one time, but well, it – I don’t know. It wasn’t bad, I think – I don’t really know, I’ve never done it before, but – it was alright. It was just okay and I’ve told him as much and he looked at me and said you’re still in love with someone else and fuck, Cas, he’s right. I tried to use David as this filler, to try and get over you before I was ready and I –

Fuck, Cas. I love you. I can’t get over you; how do I even start? I think about you every day. Did you hear my prayers? I’ve never stopped. I thought, that maybe, if I pray enough, that you’d hear me someday.”

Dean leans forward and presses his forehead against Goo. It feels gross, but this is Cas.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough last time. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to bring you back. You deserve more than me and I’ll never understand why your dumb ass fell in love with me. Jack became God, y’know? You were right about him. I’m just – I’m so sad you’ll never get to experience the world now. You should’ve gotten the chance to say good-bye to him and I... I...

Cas, please. Come back to me.

I – I know I can live without you. It’ll be empty and cold and sad, but I could. The point is, Cas, I don’t want to. I don’t want to live somewhere where you do not. Even if we can’t go back to the way things were, I need to know – I need to know that you’re alive.

What’s Heaven without its best angel?

What’s the Righteous Man without his saviour?

...

Cas, please. I don’t... I don’t have any other words.

I love you.

I want to tell you.

I want to hold your hand and I want to kiss your hair and I want to be gross with you and I...

I just want you.

I just...

Please. Cas. Please...”

His throat hurts, and he cries.

At night, Dean lies next to Goo. He’s holding Goo’s hand as much as he can and he sleeps. He’s never got to sleep in the same bed as Cas before. He wishes that they would’ve had more opportunities before but it was too late now.

I’ll watch over you.

Dean wishes he could’ve watched over Castiel at least one time.

Dean wakes by someone shaking him rapidly. He doesn’t want to wake up. Miracle can walk herself. He’s dreaming about Cas walking in a field. He doesn’t want to leave the dream. But the shaking doesn’t stop. So he rolls on his back and blinks angrily at whoever woke him. Sam.

Of course it’s fucking Sam.

“Dean,” he breathes and he there’s this look in his eyes. He’s looking next to Dean and so Dean turns his head and –

“Cas,” he whispers.

Goo is gone and all that’s left is Cas.

Dean cries.

He can’t stop. He doesn’t even try.

Cas doesn’t really respond to anything when he wakes up. But Dean doesn’t care. Cas is here. Cas is alive. He’s slapped himself several times just to make sure that he was really awake. It’s hard to pry Dean away from Cas even just for a minute.

Sam is worried that Cas is so unresponsive to anything and on some level, Dean is too, but at the moment, he doesn’t care.

“Cas,” is the only thing Dean is really capable of saying and every time he does, he feels like Cas’ eyes snap in his direction at least a little. That’s good, right? That’s some sort of response and that’s good. They’ll figure it out. They always do. Team Free Will was together again and they could tackle everything.

One day after Goo turned into Cas, they made the drive back home. Dean lets Sam drive so that he can stay in the backseat with Cas. It feels so good to have his angel leaning against him. Dean had detested it, but they’ve done a test: they’ve cut Cas with the angel blade and there had been grace shimmering beneath the surface.

On the way home, Dean murmurs to Cas constantly and he wants to believe that the angel can understand him. And even if he can’t – he just wants to talk to Cas. He can’t even count the days since he’s last been so happy.

“I love you,” he whispers again and again and maybe, just maybe, Cas moves his head every time he says it.

They decide that Cas would stay at Dean’s apartment. Sam had been debating if Cas shouldn’t maybe stay with him and Eileen – after all they had a whole house. But they’d be having a baby pretty soon. Dean was able to devote himself to Cas entirely. And most importantly, Dean doesn’t want to stay away from Cas for any amount of time. He’s utterly convinced that Cas reacted to his voice in the car. Yes, maybe it had been just a coincidence but Dean needs to believe that there is more to it. Cas loves him. He loves Cas.

“Just be careful, Dean,” Sam had said while Dean clutched Cas to his chest. “If anything happens, call me.”

Dean had nodded and ascended the stairs.

Castiel is lying on his couch for most of the day. Dean wants to believe that Cas watches him. He enjoys this – being watched by Cas. It had been too long. He couldn’t stop smiling because he’s happy.

Cas is alive. Cas is here.

It’s like a dream come true.

At night, Cas lies in bed next to him and Dean presses soft kisses against his temple. He doesn’t dare do more and he’s content like this. He holds Castiel’s hand the entire night and if he wishes hard enough he can imagine that Castiel squeezes his hand back.

“Dean,” Castiel says and Dean cries.

Castiel doesn’t speak again but Dean can’t stop crying.

“Sam just called,” Dean informs Cas who is lying on the couch. Cas’ eyes flicker to him, half-understanding. “Eileen just went into labour. I wanna go there, Cas, I wanna meet my niece. Do you... do you want to come?”

He’s not expecting a response. He always wants one, but he never expects it.

“I,” Castiel says and his voice is terribly hoarse but Dean drops the phone nonetheless.

“Want,” Castiel keeps on saying before he hacks up an ugly cough. Dean cries and rushes over to him.

Cas looks at him with tired eyes, but he sees him, he looks at him, he’s here –

“Anything you want, baby,” Dean whispers. “Anything you want.”

The nurses tell Dean that Sam and Eileen are inside but that he’s not allowed to go in. They were nice enough to give him a wheelchair for Cas – as much as Dean loves to pretend he’s a strong macho man, Cas is still six feet tall and really fucking heavy.

“They’re just inside there,” Dean says to Cas who’s looking at the floor. “Sam’s gonna be a dad.”

He can scarcely believe it himself. Sammy’s going to be a dad.

“Father,” Castiel says and Dean smiles. This is good. This is so good. Castiel can hear him and he can even respond.

“I’m so proud of you, Cas.”

Castiel looks at him with his big, blue, unblinking eyes. He frowns. Fuck, Dean had missed him so much.

“Jack,” he says and tries to look around.

“He’s God now, Cas. It��s like you always said – he’s destined for great things.”

Cas looks a bit upset.

“Goodbye,” he rasps and his eyes become frantic. “Where,” he says and starts coughing.

Oh god, no no no no. Cas is coughing up the same black goo he had been covered with.

“Cas, Cas, baby, please,” Dean whines.

Cas’ whole body shakes and Dean can tell that he’s trying to reign the coughs in. His good, pure, strong angel. Cas looks up at Dean, heaving heavily with tears in his eyes.

Dean presses kisses on his face – his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin.

“So good. You’re so good. We’ll fix this. I promise. We’ll fix this, together. I’m not letting you go. I’m never letting you go again, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas says quietly and slumps against him. Dean can feel him breathing and he wraps his arms around him.

“I love you,” Dean says and Cas presses his forehead against Dean’s neck.

It takes ten hours, but then Dean officially becomes an uncle. Castiel had been asleep for a good amount of time, but at least he hasn’t coughed again. Of course, Dean is a bit worried about the sleeping but he’ll figure that out. All that matters is that he’s got Cas by his side and that he’s now got a little baby girl to spoil.

Once he gets the clear, he rolls Cas into the room and Sam and Eileen both look tired but also so, so happy. They light up even more when they see Cas.

“Cas,” Sam says and smiles at him. Cas looks up at Sam and blinks slowly.

“Sam,” he replies hoarsely.

Sam looks to Dean in utter disbelief and Dean can just smile. “Show us the baby, yeah?”

Eileen moves the blanket aside a bit so that they can take a look at the little bundle of joy. Her face is all scrunched up and she’s just adorable.

“Sammy, are you sure she’s really your daughter?”

Sam shoves him playfully. “You’re such a dick.”

“Baby,” Cas says and Eileen smiles at him.

“Do you want to hold her?”

It doesn’t seem like Cas understands at first, but then he nods. He raises his arms and Eileen places her daughter in them without a second thought. Both Sam and Dean are ready to interfere in case Cas’ arms would not be steady enough to hold the baby but it turns out they needn’t have worried.

“Hello,” Cas says to the child who wiggles a bit in his arms.

“Her name’s Maria,” Sam supplies and Castiel slowly nods.

“Maria,” he says. He slowly puts a finger on her tiny nose. His finger glows and Dean worries. What’s going on?

Cas looks at Eileen but he doesn’t move to give the baby back. Eileen just looks at him, then she slowly nods and smiles. She signs something and Cas turns his head to Sam.

“Fix,” he says. “Heart.”

“She... she has a heart problem?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Not... not anymore. I. I fix. I. Take. I...,” he closes his eyes in strain. “It’s gone now. They. Would. They would not have. Noticed. It’s small. But I. I took it.” His voice sounds like it pains him greatly. He slumps in his chair a bit but holds Maria tight.

“Dean,” he says and Dean’s by his side in a flash. “I want. I want to see Jack.”

When they are back at home, Dean prays to Jack. Cas fell asleep in the car as soon as they started driving back home and he hasn’t woken up since. But he also hasn’t coughed again which is probably a good sign.

“Hey, Jack,” Dean says, looking out the window. He’s put Cas into bed and is sitting next to him. The soft breathing behind him calms Dean and he wouldn’t move away from it for the world.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we got Cas back. I don’t know how, if you were involved or not and if you can even hear me, but – he’s back, Jack. Cas is back.”

It still sounds like a dream.

“And he – Jack, he wants to see you. He didn’t get to say good-bye, y’know? He really misses you and, Jack, he’s – he’s sick or something. We found him covered in some black goo – you know, it kinda looked the Empty Goo thing, but I don’t – the goo is gone now, but he’s weak and he was coughing that stuff up earlier today and – I just... Jack, please come here. Fix him? He deserves it, yeah? So... just please, when you have a moment off from being God, could you... just pop in?”

Dean isn’t expecting Jack to instantly appear in the room, but – he somehow is. He sighs and turns around to Castiel fully. He’s sleeping peacefully and Dean smiles. He takes Cas’ hand and softly strokes the skin.

Miracle miracles herself into the bedroom and sniffs at Cas extensively. Cas doesn’t react to her but Dean smiles at the dog. He isn’t even sure if Cas knows that there’s a dog here. Miracle clearly doesn’t know what to make of the strange new man yet and Dean can’t blame her.

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, girl,” he says and Miracle huffs. She looks at him expectantly. Dean laughs.

“But this is Cas, yeah? They guy I told you about. The guy that died? I’m sorry, girl. I’ll make it up to you when he’s better. And he’s getting better, he just needs a little more time, yeah? So... how about you help? If we both shower him with love, then he’ll get back on his feet even quicker, yeah? And then all three of us can go on a walk together.”

At the word “walk”, Miracle perked up and started wagging her tail. She then proceeds to climb up on the bed and snuggle up to Cas as if she had actually understood Dean. And he has a pretty good feeling that she actually had. Dean laughed and lays down himself, intertwining his fingers with Cas. His niece had just been born, Cas had been incredibly responsive today and everything would work out.

They just need a little more time.

A little more time, and then all of them could sit a table together, enjoying a family dinner.

#supernatural #Destiel #spn fix it #spn 15x20 #castiel #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #eileen leahy #saileen #hurt #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #writing #irrlicht writes #userpris #more to come #part two

92 notes · View notes

the-coda-project · 3 years ago

Text

The Coda Project | 1.02 - Inherit the Flames

After reuniting Tommy Collins with his family, Dean and Sam stop for the night in a town called Rifle.

They’re about two hours out of Blackwater Ridge, at a dumpy motel on the edge of a town called Rifle, and Dean’s been staring at the tree-print wallpaper for so long that he’s started detecting patterns in the branches.

A cheap plug-in air freshener in the bathroom has the whole place reeking of artificial pine. Between that and the walls, Dean’s starting to feel as though the wilderness they just barely managed to escape from has followed them here. Hell, maybe they didn’t escape. Maybe he’s still strung up in the mine; maybe the wendigo is still tossing him around like a ragdoll, scrambling his brains just enough that he’s dreaming of a motel that doesn’t exist.

Outside, an eighteen-wheeler passes on the I-70, close enough to make the windows rattle. Dean shifts in his bed as if a different position is going to be enough to distract him from how badly his ribs ache. His scratched-up neck feels raw as road rash.

No matter how hard he tries, sleep still feels so far out of the realm of possibility that he starts wondering how long he should lie here before he can cut his losses and call it.

But then Sam pipes up—“Hey, can I ask you something?”—from across the room, not bothering to check first if Dean’s awake, and immediately he wants to just keep feigning sleep until morning. He might have sought out his brother’s company only a couple of weeks ago, but right now, with the memory of Sam’s dismissive attitude toward helping the Collins family fresh in his mind, he doesn’t feel much like talking to him.

“Dean.”

He presses his eyes shut, ignoring the part of himself that’s berating him for being childish. Whether he can get to sleep or not, he’s too goddamn exhausted to talk about anything that isn’t life or death.

If he thought there was even a chance that his brother was angling to talk about Jessica, he’d be sitting up and listening in a heartbeat. But his tone is inquisitive, not hesitant, and Sam’s been so closed-lipped about his grief that Dean only knows how much her death is affecting him because of how loud and frequent his nightmares have been.

“Dean,” Sam says again, slightly louder. “I know you’re awake.”

With a huff, Dean tilts his head to squint at him across the gap between their lumpy mattresses. He grimaces as the motion pulls at the claw marks on his neck. He’ll be lucky if they don’t scar, but maybe it’d be better if they do. Maybe it’d help if he could see something visibly fucked up when he looks in the mirror. Maybe that would make it easier to explain away the revulsion he feels when he meets his own eyes.

“Dude, can it wait until after I get a solid four hours?”

Bullheaded as ever, Sam ignores the question, sitting up and tucking his shaggy hair back behind his ears. He looks twelve years old. Dean figures he always will, in some ways.

“Did something happen with Dad? Before he took off, I mean.”

“Like what?”

He’s not sure why he bothers asking Sam to clarify.

Maybe it’s just to buy himself some time; to give himself a second to come up with some version of the truth that doesn’t amount to Dad’s an overbearing, pigheaded prick, just like you’ve always said, and if I didn’t think he was in trouble right now I’d be glad to be rid of him for at least another month.

Even thinking it makes him guilty. Like he’s a bad son for being so angry with the guy. But he’s gotta believe that his actions are the important part here; proof that no matter how much he hates his dad sometimes, he still loves him enough to want to keep this family as connected as he can.

Still, a part of him is wondering if it’s really worth it anymore to keep up the act. If his clinging to John and clinging to Sam is just making things worse for all of them. Making John think he’ll put up with whatever he throws at him. Making Sam think he doesn’t care enough to take his side against John when he’s being unreasonable.

A part of him wonders—but it’s not a big enough part to win. The thought that something might have happened to him keeps him from letting the bile spill.

Because if they can’t find him—or worse, if they do find him but they’re too late—Dean doesn’t want Sam to have more reasons to be angry with a dead man than he’s already got.

It’s not as though Dean’s not used to keeping this shit locked down, anyway. There’ve been other disagreements, other fights, other circumstances over the years that he knows weren’t even close to being fair on him, but that’s just his life. It sucks, but it’s how it’s always been. No use complaining about it if it’s never gonna change, and after living this way for twenty-two of his twenty-six years, he sees no reason to consider change a possibility.

In the grand scheme of things, this particular incident doesn’t even make the top five list of awful things John’s put him through. The honors there go to that time with the shtriga, abandoning him at Sonny’s and then uprooting him as soon as he let himself get comfortable, the hunt he sent him on as a seventeenth birthday “present”, the night he told Sam not to bother coming back if he left for school, and the simple act of raising his kids into this shit in the first place.

This one might make it into the top ten, though. He hasn’t decided yet.

“Well,” Sam says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You said you hadn’t heard from him in… what, three weeks before you got that message? Seems weird that it was so long, is all. You were on a hunt, he was on a hunt… it’s just weird that you weren’t checking in more often.”

Dean rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. There’s a water stain on the popcorn tile overhead that almost looks like a cactus if he looks at it the right way.

Christ, he could use some tequila right now. Maybe he can find them a case further south while they wait for some sign of John to turn up. Someplace warmer than the mountains in Colorado. Someplace where he can roll into town, waste a ghost, and then knock back a few drinks on a motel patio without having to talk to anyone at all.

“I mean, you usually check in more than that, right?” Sam goes on, and Dean sighs. He lifts one hand to rub at his brow.

“Yeah, usually.”

“So… what happened?”

“Nothing you gotta worry about,” he says, and immediately knows it was a mistake. Sam zeroes in on what Dean didn’t say just as intently as anyone else would focus on what he did.

Maybe he should go to law school after all—he’s already got the artful-conversational-trap shit down.

“You had a fight.”

“Sam—”

“No, c’mon Dean. You asked me to help you find him. If you had a fight before he left, that seems like it might be relevant.”

“It’s not.”

“So why won’t you just tell me?”

“It was nothing,” he insists. “Dad isn’t exactly Mr Congeniality, Sam. We fight all the time.”

“No, me and Dad fight all the time. The two of you are usually on the same page.”

Dean suppresses a snort and rolls onto his side, his back to Sam now as he looks at the narrow strip of moonlight edging past the thin motel curtains.

“You know I’ll just ask Dad when we find him if you don’t—“

“Jesus, Sam. It was nothing. Just a stupid disagreement about the hunt we were on. You know how he can get.”

“What was the hunt?”

“A witch in Louisiana. We had different ideas about what was going on, but it’s done, the witch is dead, and it doesn’t matter anymore. Okay?”

“That’s all?”

It’s not all.

Thanks to a botched salt-and-burn in Kentucky the previous month, things had already been tense well before they checked into a motel in Souffran, Louisiana. It only got worse when they ran into a woman Dean knew on their second day in town.

She’d been a civilian, last he’d seen her. Said she was a hunter now.

John had been ready to leave as soon as he found out she was already looking into it, but Dean wasn’t so eager.

It wasn’t that he thought Marisa was helpless—far from it, in fact. She’d been teaching capoeira when Dean met her in Texas a few months back. Had the thing terrorizing her students been corporeal, he has no doubt that she never would have needed any help in kicking its ass. But she was inexperienced as a hunter. Green as they come.

Dean didn’t love the idea of her taking on whatever was killing kids in Souffran alone.

When he told John as much, his dad just gave him a sly look, as if he thought the only reason Dean cared was because he was looking to get into Marisa’s pants. Dean wasn’t, for the record. As he saw it, it was his fault that she’d decided to try hunting on for size in the first place. He figured he owed it to her to back her up while she was still so new.

At first, all they’d had to go on was two kids who’d gone missing and turned up dead a week later without any visible injuries beyond a circular burn in the center of their chests; a girl named Lucy Parker who’d disappeared without a trace from her grandmother’s backyard yesterday but was yet to be found; and half a dozen wildly inconsistent reports of strange lights being seen in the swamp running along the north edge of town.

John had been convinced that they were dealing with a fi follet—a kind of malevolent will-‘o-the-wisp known to enact vengeance and drain the blood of children. When Dean disagreed with him, explaining to Marisa that the whole thing felt witchy to him, and pointing out that neither of the kids who’d died had shown any signs of blood loss, John got pigheaded and petty.

He called Dean arrogant. Accused him of acting like John was an idiot ever since they left Kentucky. Spat, “You spend one day showing a civvie the ropes and now you’re an expert, huh? Well go ahead, kid. Handle it on your own.”

And then he bailed.

Left Dean and Marisa to track down a missing eight year old on their own, and made Dean feel about three inches tall when he did it.

It took them almost a full two days to track the thing responsible. A witch, like Dean had thought, who’d been draining the kids of their life force in a desperate, last-ditch effort to stave off some sickness that was eating away at him. But the spell he’d been using was unstable and ineffective, and he’d been haggard and jittery when they found him in a rusty little shack out in the middle of nowhere.

Lucy Parker was right there with him in the room, suspended in mid-air by some unknown force as pale, flickering light leached from the center of her chest and down into a copper bowl on the floor beneath her. Her eyes were wide and rolled back to the whites. Her mouth was open as if she were screaming.

Marisa shot the witch point blank, right between the eyes, and Dean had darted forward to catch Lucy before she could hit the ground. He’d spent the entire time terrified that they were going to get to her too late; that she’d turn up dead before they could figure out where she’d been taken or how to deal with the thing that had taken her.

When she landed in his arms, he’d almost been sick when he felt how cold she was. How limp.

But after a second, she gasped, and coughed, and then she was clinging to him. Shaking.

He couldn’t put her down. She wouldn’t let Marisa take her.

He’d been forced leave the shack while Marisa dealt with the witch’s body and destroyed all the evidence before some local could stumble upon it, and when she’d emerged gray-faced and bloody half an hour later, with the crackle of fire just audible over the steady croak of frogs in the nearby water, he’d known that Marisa wasn’t going on any more hunts.

Lucy still refused to let go of him once they got back to the car, so he’d let Marisa drive them back to town, sitting in the back seat with the kid clinging to his side and sobbing snot into his jacket. He hadn’t even minded. If he didn’t think it would scare her more, he might have let himself cry out of sheer relief at finding her.

Late that night--once Lucy was back with her grandmother, and Marisa was on her way back to San Antonio, and Souffran was far enough in the rearview that it was safe to stop for the night--Dean had called John. He didn’t pick up.

Just sent Dean’s call straight to voicemail, then texted him coordinates for a poltergeist case near Mobile, Alabama an hour later. A few days after that, more coordinates directed him to the voodoo hunt in New Orleans.

So yeah, a witch in Louisiana is not all. Not by a long shot. He doesn’t tell Sam that, though. What would be the point?

“Yeah, that’s all,” he lies, still staring at the gap in the curtains. Another truck rumbles past, air brakes hissing as it slows to take the town exit. It’s so loud that he’s not sure that he’d manage to sleep here even if he wasn’t a headcase. “C’mon, I gotta crash, man.”

For a minute, it seems like Sam’s gonna keep at it. Like he’ll needle at Dean until he spills everything out onto the pilled carpet between them. How scared he is. How angry. How resentful. All the ugliest feelings that seem to be pressing up his throat and onto the back of his tongue like bile.

But he doesn’t. Just sighs, sounding as tired as Dean feels, and says, “Yeah, okay. Night, Dean.”

Dean grunts in reply, and Sam starts snoring after a half hour. Another half hour after that, his nightmares begin. Low, helpless murmurs of Jessica’s name and high-pitched whines of terror that stick in Dean’s chest like buckshot.

With dry eyes and an ever-present lump in his throat, Dean pushes out of bed and heads for the bathroom, taking the laptop as he goes.

If he’s lucky, he’ll find them a hunt before Sam wakes up. He can get them back on the road as soon as the sun rises. Keep them focused on something that isn’t the complete lack of leads on John.

If he’s not, maybe staying up will wear him out enough to sleep tomorrow. He’ll take what he can get.

read again on ao3 | subscribe to series | about the series

#Supernatural Fic #cass writes fic #imogenbynight #the coda project #S01E02 #Wendigo #Episode Coda #2.5k words #gen #rated pg

16 notes · View notes

star-spangledstud · 5 years ago

Text

Webcam

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (female!)reader.

Word Count: 2800-ish

Summary: You and Bucky try something you’ve never tried before.

A/N: Based on the song ‘Cyber Sex’ by Doja Cat. (I’M OBSESSED WITH HER RIGHT NOW, OKAY?!” also my first smut so be gentle ;)

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (don’t read if you’re a minor mmkay?); masturbation; cursing

For the fourth time in half an hour, you looked at yourself in the mirror. With one finger, you cleaned up your lip gloss, removing it from the edge of your lower lip before tousling your hair to give it more volume. You straightened out your dress next, blushing to yourself when you thought of what you wore underneath. Bucky had no idea what was coming to him, you were sure of it. After all, you’d never had cybersex before. The guy hardly knew how to work an iPhone 4.

“Can you see me yet?”

You chuckled, adjusting your camera so he would be able to see you better. Staring back at you was a black screen with three dots in the center and a small cutout square in the corner in which you could see yourself waving your hand in front of the webcam. You wiggled in your seat and squeezed your thighs together, anticipation bubbling in your lower belly at the thought of what you were about to do.

“No,” he muttered, “how the hell does this work again? Hang on, baby, the computer hates me.”

He pressed several buttons, thick fingers jamming the keyboard in quick motions. You doubted he had any clue what he was doing. Technology had never been Bucky’s strong suit.

You rolled your eyes and snorted, “James, we went over this. You have to press the camera button and make your own screen smaller with the little arrows so you can see me.”

A picture suddenly replaced the blackness, causing your cheeks to heat up and your heart to skip. There he was, your man, staring at his screen with a deep frown on his forehead and his tongue sticking out of his mouth; his concentration face. He was still dressed in his tactile suit, streaks of dirt evident on his chiseled cheekbones.

“I see you now,” he said, smiling at you, “can you see me?”

You nodded and waved again, smiling wide when he returned the gesture. You’d never get tired of seeing that face, not in a million years. He’d always give you butterflies.

“Where’s Steve?” You asked to be safe, peering into the motel room behind him.

“Got his own room for the night,” he commented, “I wanted to be alone with my best girl.”

He got up, placing the gun that had been lying on the desk in front of his computer on the nightstand of his double bed. The entire room seemed to entirely be clad in 80s decor, from the wallpaper to the sheets and even the TV behind him. You watched as he took another weapon from his waistband and placed it beside the other one. Then a knife, which he collected from his right boot, ended up on the table as well.

“How long have you been in?” You asked.

“We just got back ten minutes ago,” he smiled, “I couldn’t wait to see your face. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you said, “come sit down, big guy.”

He did as told and took a seat after taking his jacket off and hanging it up over the back of the chair. His finger went out to touch the screen but recoiled when he realized it was silly. He really did miss you, it had been too damn long since he was able to touch you.

Bucky and Steve left nearly two months ago. He knew it would be a long mission with endless stakeouts and not a lot of action, which made the time pass by even slower. Every day he’d sit in various hiding spots for hours, underneath bushes, behind trees and sometimes even high up inside them with weapons at the ready but nobody to shoot. HYDRA employees seemed to live in the underground facility he and Steve had been staking out for weeks now because neither of them had seen anyone go in our out so far and it was starting to become frustrating.

“We’re thinking we might call it quits in a few days,” he said, rubbing his arms, “we haven’t seen shit and we both doubt things will change anytime soon. It looks like they’re laying low for now. All the cameras are almost set up anyway, so we can watch ‘em remotely.”

You nodded happily, excited at the prospect of seeing your boyfriend again soon. You missed him terribly, missed having him by your side every day and in your bed every night. You missed pulling at his hair while his hands were on your hips, fingertips pushing into your bare skin as he drew profanities from your lips. Fuck, you missed him terribly.

“Speaking of cameras,” you grinned, “do you like my new dress? Haven’t had a chance to show you yet.” You asked, getting up from your chair.

You pushed it back so your whole body could get in the frame, your hands slowly running down the length of the pastel gingham dress that made your skin tone stand out beautifully. You could see Bucky closing in on his computer screen to see better, lower lip between his teeth when you twirled for him, making the skirt lift to expose more of your skin. He looked down at the white knee socks that clad your legs and the black Mary-Jane pumps on your feet and his lip turned red from the biting.

“I love it,” he said breathlessly, “really makin’ me miss you right now.”

“I’ve so been lonely without you,” you purred.

To say you’d planned how this would go be a lie. You’d never undressed on camera before and weren’t exactly confident in your abilities to sensually strip for a man, but it was Bucky who you were doing it for and just knowing that made you feel more at ease. Nevertheless, your heart thumped in your chest while your fingers went to the hem of the dress, which ended just above your knees. Bucky frowned as you began to lift the piece of fabric slowly over your thighs, his breath hitching when you looked up into the webcam.

“What’re you doing?” He asked breathlessly, “baby...”

He knew damn well what you were doing, he could see what you were doing with his icy blues, but he was afraid, terrified to think they were deceiving him or that it was all a terribly wonderful dream. Either way, he didn’t want to wake up before having the chance to see it all unfold. Being away from you for so long was starting to remind him of going to war. To make matters worse, he couldn’t just easily jerk off with Steve’s supersoldier hearing. Bucky was itching for release.

“Wanna show you how much I miss you, James,” you cooed, “cause I miss you real bad.”

Your hands left the hem for a moment, fabric dropping to just above your knees again. Then, they found the underside of your breasts, your sternum, your stomach, and your hips. You caressed yourself, flicking your own nipples and fiddling with the cotton straps slowly before you finally lifted the dress up again, further this time. He’d soon be able to see your new underwear, pretty, soft, and pink just like your pussy.

As soon as the fabric of the dress exposed the line of your panties, Bucky was gripping the table in front of him like his life depended on it. He’d never in his life thought about using modern communication devices for, well, sexual purposes, but the growing pressure inside his tactile pants had him suppressing a groan he could hardly keep inside his hot mouth and he had to stop himself from bucking his hips forward in an attempt to create deliciously painful friction against his pants.

Your bra, brand new and the same shade of baby pink with red lace around the wire, his favorite color on you, came into view and he was like a puddle at your feet. You tossed the dress on your bed, allowing your hands to slide up and down your body while he watched you in silence, the only sound being soft jazz music that played through your surround-sound system. Just the thought of his eyes on you getting naked in your bedroom made wetness pool between your legs.

You sauntered back towards the camera, using your hands to lean against the desk so your breasts were pushed together. Your mind was consumed with thoughts of him, had been ever since he was roughly whisked away from you two months ago and Jesus Christ you needed him so bad. It was a fucking sin to be away from him for so long. How the hell did you survive before you met him? How did you get off without his dick?

“Is that new too? Did you buy that for me as well?” He asked, voice gruff and dangerously low.

You nodded, showing off the fabric by coming even closer to the camera. Then, you turned around again, slightly shaking your ass when you showed him the back of your panties up close. Your thumbs hooked under the band on your hips and they smacked against your skin when you let it go again.

“I can’t wait to see you in that in-person, baby. All the things I’m gonna do to you while you’re wearing it. Gonna rip it right off you.”

“Yeah?” you taunted, licking your lips while cupping your bra with both hands.

“You doubtin’ me?” he asked darkly.

“Seeing is believing, Sarge.”

“You’ll see it,” he smirked, “feel it too, when I shove my fucking cock down your throat.”

You sat back down in the chair, squeezing your legs together to stop the ache between them as you shivered. How bad you wished he would come barging into the room right then and there to make you his, how much you needed his hand around your throat while he fucked you mercilessly into the desk, the thoughts were driving you up the fucking wall. You inhaled deeply, a deep breath enough to suck in the courage for what you were about to say.

“I’m so wet for you, James.”

You could hear the sharp intake of breath through the microphone of your laptop. He remained silent for a moment, contemplating what to say. He’d never done this before, but he wanted to make you happy in any way he could. He’d do anything for you, even being thousands of miles away from you.

“Are you now?” he huffed, “guess that since I can’t be there to help you, you’re gonna have to listen to what I tell you to do. Can you do that for me, baby? Be so good for me.”

You nodded quickly, taking your index finger in your mouth and biting the skin in anticipation. He had you writhing in your chair without even touching you. You didn’t know what it was about him, but everything about him turned you on, from the way his jawline was covered in dark scruff to his metal arm, which gleamed beautifully in the artificial motel room light. Everything about him oozed masculinity.

“Show me how wet you are,” he told you, “come on angel.”

You did as told by placing both heels on either side of the desk. He could already see the wet patch in the center of your panties begin to form and this time, Bucky couldn’t help but to let out a throaty groan when memories of him fucking you harshly and relentlessly into the mattress behind you clouded his vision.

“I’ve been so lonely without you, Bucky,” you said, rubbing your fingers across your inner thighs teasingly, “It’s just not the same when I do it.”

He palmed his cock through his pants en began to rub it slowly at the sight of you; one hand moving over your clothed pussy and the other disappearing inside the cup of your bra. You adored way his dark, long hair was tied in a messy bun and wished you could reach through the screen to touch it. You wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips trailing down between your breasts, along your stomach and to the place where you needed him most.

“Take it off,” he grumbled as he undid the button and unzipped his pants, “all of it. Take it off right now.”

He didn’t have to tell you again. Your bra was on the floor in seconds, exposing your perked nipples to the cold air of your room and his wanting gaze. You wiggled out of your panties, dropping them on the ground in front of you. Then, your legs resumed their previous position, one on the left side of your laptop and the other on the right, heels clicking against the wood in anticipation.

You swore you could hear him curse underneath his breath when he caught a view of your naked pussy, glistening with slick and pretty pink contrasted by dark tan lines. He pulled his straining cock free from his boxers at last. It’s hard and thick, so fucking thick it made you want to cry out in desperation. There was no way you could’ve waited another day without at least seeing him, it was downright torture.

“So pretty, baby,” he groaned into his microphone, “touch yourself for me.”

You did as told, placing a finger on your most sensitive place, “Like this?”

You began to rub circles over your clit, finally allowing a moan to escape your lips while Bucky slowly rubbed his throbbing cock.

“Jesus, I want you to come sit on my dick,” his eyes screwed shut, “fuck you ‘til you can’t breathe.”

“Come home then,” you tease, licking your finger before placing it back on your nub, “I’ll sit on your dick all day long.”

“All day? You sure you can handle that?” He asked, eyes opening again just in time to see you plunge your middle finger inside yourself.

You were so hot, burning to the touch and your back arched involuntarily when you dipped your finger in and out of your glistening pussy, “I’ll sit on your dick and your face, Bucky. You’re my favorite seat.”

He chuckled, his grip on his cock tightening in an attempt to mimic the way you felt clenching around him. He envisioned it, your pussy over his mouth, nose pushed against your public bone as his tongue dove in and out of you. He’d grip your ass and smack it red with his metal one while groping your tits with his flesh one, drinking you up as you came in his mouth, driven to near madness from the feeling of his scruff against your most sensitive area.

You couldn’t wait for him to be with you again so he could be the one whose fingers were inside you instead of your own, ready to cave under the pressure of his muscular body on top of you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, plunging another digit in so your middle finger wouldn’t cramp up, “wish you could cum in my mouth.”

“Jesus Christ, I will,” the velvet murmur of his voice reminded you to look up at the camera instead of down at yourself, “soon as I get back to you I’ll cum wherever you want.”

You began to pump faster, rubbing your clit in smaller and more intense circles than before. You could see him do the same, increasing the speed with which he jerked himself off. His face was red and gleaming with sweat, running along his temple and down his neck. Your moans echoed through his speakers and through your room, filling his ears with a sound so delicious it nearly drove him insane.

“Cum for me, baby,” he urged, “I wanna see you make yourself cum like my good girl.”

Pleasure overtook you when his words rang in your ears on repeat, eyes screwing shut when you continued to plunge your fingers inside you at a fast pace. Your hips rolled inside the chair, desperate for as much friction as you could possibly get. It creaked under your jerky movements, but you didn’t pay it any attention when Bucky’s voice filled the room through the speakers.

You tossed your head back in bliss, pressure building so fast and deep inside of you that you knew you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Keep going,” he urged, “don’t you dare stop, baby.”

“James, fuck” you moaned loudly, “I’m gonna..”

Before you could finish your sentence, you were cumming so hard you saw stars clouding your vision. Your walls clenched around your fingers while you continued to rub circles over your oversensitized clit in an attempt to ride out your orgasm as long as you could. The coil of pleasure inside your lower belly finally snapped, sending sparks before your eyes and your mind blanked.

You shuddered and opened your eyes, watching Bucky stroke himself from tip to base, hair beginning to fall from the bun atop his head the more he tilted his head back.

With a harsh pant, he came all over his stomach, coating the black tactile vest in glossy white spurts of hot cum. He’d have to clean it before tomorrow because his other one had ripped when trying to climb a tree, but right now, all he could think about was how good it felt.

He fell back inside his chair, hands falling limply to his sides while he watched you remove your fingers from inside you.

“We should’ve done this two months ago,” he panted, “could’ve saved me a lot of lonely nights.”

You smiled blissfully, wiping a strand of sticky hair from your forehead.

Still, you couldn’t wait to have him with you for real.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fic #marvel smut #marvel #winter soldier smut #winter soldier fic #winter soldier imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #jammywrites #steve rogers smut

677 notes · View notes

officialleotolstoy · 3 years ago

Text

Oh Natasha/Andrei brainrot we’re really in it now, aka Natasha/Andrei playlist annotations!

Honestly the age gap is so inherently uncomfortable it’s difficult for me to really ship this but I think in terms of the REALLY low bar of W&P marriages/almost-marriages, it’s one of the better ones because they at least mutually care about each other. It’s also just devastating on principle!

There are several distinct sections of song on here, this is one of the few I’ve actually put in a significant order, so I’m going to break it down into that.

Part 1: Initial Meeting/Falling In Love The First Time/General

Absolutely Smitten - dodie

“She wants to dance around the room, kiss you until her lips turn blue”

This song really reminds me of their first meeting when they’re both like 👀 at each other. I like how it captures the excitement but also nerves of the girl, which I feel like is an important feature of Natasha’s part of the relationship.

Helpless - Philippa Soo

“Tryin' to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom”

Sorry to all the ex-Hamilton stans I jumpscared with this, but it’s about the Philippa Soo Singing About Falling In Love vibe. Also the quoted lyric reminds me of their iconic dance scene, or at least the bits leading up to that.

To Noise Making (Sing) - Hozier

“Honey, the look of it was as sweet as the sound; Your head tilt back, your funny mouth to the clouds”

This reminds me of the scene where she sings for him and he’s like WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH im in love! I paraphrase, but you get the idea.

Golden Years - David Bowie

“Look at that sky, life's begun”

This is objectively the stupidest song on here. It’s here because I think it’s funny to imagine the iconic Natasha/Andrei dance just being the Golden Years dance from A Knight’s Tale, HOWEVER the quoted lyric is in fact Andreicore.

Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You - The Arctic Monkeys

“And I know we got places to go, we got people to see/Think we both oughta put 'em on hold”

‘Wren there are several songs that are on this playlist AND your Andrei/Pierre playlist’ Thank you for noticing it’s because if Tolstoy can recycle the same lines of dialogue for these relationships I can recycle the same songs! This song is just. I Hate Everyone Except You :) which is deeply Andrei @ both of them. But also like wanting life to stop so you can just hang out with Your People.

Strawberry Blond - Mitski

“I love everybody because I love you”

I’m pretty sure someone once pointed out how this lyric fit Andrei/Natasha once in a post and I cannot for the life of me remember who but that made an impression on me. Mystery person, thanks <3 Also I forgot this was a Mitski song??

The Anchor - Bastille

“Bring me some hope by wandering into my mind”

One of Thee things about their relationship that sticks out to me is how Natasha is so lifelike and her very existence gives Andrei hope for the world. It’s so. It’s so much!

Something After All - Starry

“You’ve turned my world around”

Like I said above, falling in love with Natasha really changes Andrei’s entire worldview! I also think “I've spent years building up walls” is very Andrei, and Natasha kind of brought them down, like what happens in the song.

Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine

“A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes”

IT’S ABOUT THE SPACE METAPHORS FOR LOVE. THIS IS NO ONE ELSE FROM GREAT COMET’S FAULT.

Cold Cold Man - Saint Motel

“I know I am a cold cold man: quite slow to pay you compliments or public displayed affections”

It’s about being generally not very emotional or expressive but being devoted to the person anyway...very Andrei-ish.

Ophelia - The Lumineers

“I don't feel nothing at all and you can't feel nothing small”

The quoted lyric just seems like a really good summary of their dynamic, but I also think “Heaven help a fool who falls in love” works well for bitter post-elopement vibes, so this song was difficult to place.

Part 2: Andrei Leaving For Abroad

Misbehavin’ - Pentatonix

For some reason this is on both the Nat/Andrei and Natasha playlists and I’m too lazy to change it. Just go look at those annotations.

No One Else - Great Comet

Duh

To a Poet - First Aid Kit

“I got on a plane and flew far away from you, though unwillingly I left”

This song makes me think of Andrei abroad missing Natasha :( Honey you’ve got a big storm coming

Part 3: Post-Elopement Breakup Songs

I Hope Your Husband Dies - Amigo The Devil

“All the distance that we've spent apart will never have to mean a thing”

This song is VERY much Andrei about Anatole. “Now you're with this asshole, you expect me to believe it's going to last” really works because her relationship with Anatole was never going to last, whether or not she knew that. And “I'm not so much afraid of being alone, just kind of feel I've had enough/And time and time again, time reminds me you'll never be my own/We'll never have a house to decorate, a place that we can call our home” as an Andrei thing makes me very sad!!!

Ruins - First Aid Kit

“Ruins, all the things we built assured that they would last”

I think you can safely say their relationship was in ruins after the elopement attempt. I also think “I lost you, didn't I? First I think I lost myself” is something Natasha would think about the whole scenario

Half of My Heart - John Mayer

“Half of my heart's got the right mind to tell you that I can't keep loving you with half of my heart”

I think this is supposed to be more of an “I don’t love you anymore and that’s on me” song, but I like to mentally frame it in the context of Andrei after the elopement refusing to take back Natasha. I also think all the bits about the singer’s love interest changing the singer’s outlook on life before really fits, like “Lonely was the song I sang 'til the day you came, showing me another way”

Love Like Ghosts - Lord Huron

“You don't want me baby please don't lie/Oh but if you're leaving, I gotta know why”

It’s all about the singer being haunted by a love that doesn’t necessarily reciprocate on the same level, and I think that really fits Andrei’s mindset. It breaks my heart to think about him trying to figure out what he did wrong, why he wasn’t enough for Natasha, and so that quoted lyric really makes me just. :(

Cold Day In Heaven - Delta Rae

“Keep thinking bout when we started, so innocent/Your heart was a mess and I was lost in it”

This whole song is so good for them, it’s essentially just a couple being disappointed that their relationship didn’t work out well. The quoted lyric is so. AAAAHHH. because both of their hearts were messes but for different reasons, Andrei was so hopeless and bleak but Natasha was so naive and not ready for it and it’s so. It’s so Much. Also “We watched, the stars fell, and oh you know we let them/We said it’ll never happen, we said it’ll never happen to us/But it’s a cold day in heaven my love” gets me because 1) star/sky references :( and 2) Natasha especially did say it’d never happen to them, she was adamant that she’d love Andrei forever and that uh. I think we all know how well that worked out!

2 Months. - Zach Adkins

Someone You Loved - Lewis Capaldi

“I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug”

This is kind of a generic betrayal/breakup/I-miss-you song, but I think it works. Especially with “I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain” and the focus on the singer’s lover getting them through difficult times and then abandoning them.

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

“Take me back to the night we met”

I think people are legally obligated to have this song on any playlist for a couple that doesn’t end well. It’s generic but it’s good! The entire Strange Trails album my BELOVED!

Careless Whisper - George Michael

“I should have known better than to cheat a friend and waste a chance that I'd been given, so I'm never gonna dance again the way I danced with you”

UNIRONICALLY THIS SONG. I think it’s the focus on dancing as like a significant marker of the relationship for me, especially given how heavily adaptations focus on their dance at that ball. The quoted lyric reminds me of Natasha’s mindset after all of this. Also “We could have been so good together, we could have lived this dance forever, but now, who's gonna dance with me? Please stay” reminds me of Natasha asking him to forgive her. Not to actually get sad over Careless Whisper but. :,(

With Or Without You - U2

“And you give yourself away”

The quoted lyric is in reference to the elopement in my head, and “I can’t live with or without you” is like. Andrei can’t continue on and let her back into his life, he admits that he can’t forgive her, but he also has no real will to live after she betrays him and goes off to die in war.

Atlantis - Seafret

“We've built this town on shaky ground”

“This town” is in reference to their relationship, and I like the acknowledgment that there was never a great foundation to begin with. And “maybe I’m not built for love” as an Andrei lyric is a little heartbreaking! Other than that it’s just a Breakup Song.

I Don’t Wanna See You Cryin’ Anymore - Adam Melchor

“I don't wanna be the reason you can't trust me like before/My head's in my hands as I'm shaking on the bathroom floor”

This reminds me of Natasha’s deep guilt over her betrayal of Andrei. The implication that Andrei would ever let anyone see him cry is a bit much for me, just ignore that HFJAHDHSH

Part 4: Reconciling While Andrei ✨Dies✨

Fake It - Bastille

“We can never go back, we can only do our best to recreate”

This whole is song is about trying to move forward from bad things in the past with your lover which is the whole vibe! But I also think it shows some reluctance on the part of the singer to forget, and a bit of a desperation to be able to leave the mistakes in the past. “Help me turn a blind eye” really captures that. I like this as the early stages of them reconnecting, because I think it’s realistic to have Andrei especially be wary but wanting it to get better.

Bad Blood - Bastille

“All this bad blood here, won’t you let it dry?”

Letting go of a grudge and trying to move on vibes!

Let It All Go - Birdy, Alvaro Soler

“We’re strong enough to let it go”

All their hurt surrounding the elopement is the Thing they’re letting go of in this case.

Flaws - Bastille

“You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve and I have always buried them deep beneath the ground”

The quoted lyric just feels like their general dynamic to me. Natasha is so open about everything and does indeed wear her heart on her sleeve whereas Andrei represses every emotion he’s ever felt. I think this is a post-elopement song because of “Dig them up; let’s finish what we started”. That feels like them reexamining their relationship and what went wrong and trying again.

Moscow - Autoheart

“All I need’s a fraction of your happy heart”

This song is so 🥺. “We both know what we’ve got to do: head back to where the magic grew” reminds me of them accepting their reconnection and moving on and trying to rekindle whatever was between them. And “Let’s get a dog, an Irish red setter, it’s all we need to get better” feels emblematic of them looking forward to domestic happiness as the solution. And the quoted lyric screams Andrei about Natasha.

The Heart Is A Muscle - Gang of Youths

“I will look at love as more than just an instrument of pain”

Not to be off topic but this whole album is so good every single song makes me feel SHRIMP EMOTIONS god. Also the whole thing is very Andreicore and I had to stop myself from adding every song to his playlist. But I digress. This song is all about having been hurt by love in the past (“I let bad love betray me once”) but deciding to open your heart again which is very them! “I haven't had enough and I wanna love someone” AAAAHHHH. “I am human now and terrified, but want it all the same” Mr. GangOfYouths im going INSANE! “I just ask you to be patient if you’ll have me still” HELLO? Not to quote the whole song but “I wanna be loved, I wanna be whole again, so tuck my hair behind my ears and touch my soul again” as an Andrei/Natasha lyric...I need to sit down. Can you all tell this song makes me go all kinds of crazy. And this isn’t even my favorite song off the album!

Shrike - Hozier

“I couldn’t utter my love when it counted, ah but I’m flying like a bird to you now”

This song feels very “we tried to have a relationship a while ago and it didn’t work out that well but I still love you we could try again” to me which fits this time very well!

Part 5: Andrei Goes Splat :( [And The Aftermath]

Work Song - Hozier

“No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her”

I can’t say what it is exactly, but something about persistent love framed around the death motif works for me here.

Dancing After Death - Matt Maeson

“As the sun waits to eclipse and the taste teases my lips, I'm too tired to wrestle with it”

The quoted lyric reminds me of Andrei giving up and shutting down when he realizes he’s gonna die :( oh ALSO my brain always mentally fills in “and no one else” after the “you and I” that ends the chorus which does NOT help with my depression!

One Last Time - Jaymes Young

“Could I feel your skin on mine before I have to say goodbye?”

SCREAMS SO LOUDLY. The whole song is like. Someone dying and wanting to see their person one last time and AAAAAAAAAAA. I am a little incoherent maybe. “I'm leavin' this cold world of mine, no pleadin' is gonna turn back time” really Gets Me in the context of Andrei accepting his own death and withdrawing and it’s so. Anyway.

Oblivion - Bastille

“When oblivion is calling out your name, you always take it further than I ever can”

I don’t think this is exactly what the song is talking about, but the quoted lyric in the context of Andrei dying and Natasha watching him fade and withdraw...good Lord. I need emotional support.

Haunt - Bastille

“I’ll come back to haunt you/Memories will taunt you”

Natasha being haunted by the memory of Andrei!!! Help me!!!! Also “I will try to love you/It’s not like I’m above you” as a callback to Andrei’s feelings for Natasha when they start to reconnect is so mental illness inducing. OOOH and “Questioning why as you look to the sky that is cloudless up above our heads and thoughts come to mind that our short little lives haven't left the path that they will tread” any lyric ever about looking at the sky is Andrei’s now.

Without You - for KING & COUNTRY

“What do you do when you don't get better/Strong arms get too, get too weak to hold her”

:( :( :( :( :( Also “I’m not ready to live without you” I am so sad.

Good Grief - Bastille

“Every minute and every hour I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more”

Pain! Agony, even!

I made myself SO sad writing the entire last half of these annotations geez

#im so sad im so sad im so sad!#war and peace #great comet #natasha rostova #andrei bolkonksy #uhhh whats their ship name?#w&p playlists #my post #figured out how to do a read more bc this post is so LONG

14 notes · View notes

deansawthetvglow · 4 years ago

Text

Emphasis

2.1k

destiel first meetings, deancentric, potential for more story. cas is like barely in this

“death is promised to the bee whose sting protects the colony”

he’s 24, it should be gone by now, he needs to grow out of it but god dammit, there it is. a constant looming presence. the fact of the matter is, dean winchester has a severe phobia of wasps, bees—anything that buzzes past him that he can’t identify immediately— and he can’t help it. it’s irrational, he knows it’s irrational, in fact he kind of loves bees, he knows how important they are, how his mom used to love them, and dammit he’s an adult and he needs to get over it already. (it’s kinda why he loves hunting, they’re either in the car (dean keeps his windows rolled up) or out at night sneaking into some monster’s lair)

so it’s decided, dean’s gonna suck it up and find a therapist. he goes with the third one in the phone book, she looks kind (hot), and she specializes in anxiety disorders. dean sets an appointment.

he starts attending weekly, thanking the fraudulent card he carries that he’s not spending real money on this endeavor. his therapist, Lisa, is easy on the eyes, so it helps the sessions feel more palatable. he also ignores how, every time she asks him a question, he feels so vulnerable it hurts. he’s always on the verge of tears there, but he’d never admit it. he’s thankful his dad’s out on a string of solo hunts and he can keep grounded here, at least until he can wean off the sessions.

on a tuesday, dean finds a dead wasp on the windowsill of his motel room. he nearly bolts from the room, but something is keeping him grounded. he takes deep breaths like lisa recommended, he closes his eyes for a moment and just repeats “it’s dead, it’s dead, it can’t hurt you, it’s dead.” when he opens his eyes, and the wasp is still there, he feels a bit better. he doesn’t do anything about it, just cohabitates with it until his thursday session. he tells lisa about it and she quirks her lip up in a half smile. she has a glint in her eye that almost scares him, but after all this time, he trusts her, he honestly does. at the end of their time, she stands and tells dean she’s got homework for him. he almost groans, but he keeps it to himself. she pulls out one of her desk drawers and presents dean with a small mason jar. she places it in his hands and gives him a mission: get the wasp into the jar and bring it with him for next time.

he’s nervous already, but he nods, he wants this to work, he needs this to work.

when he gets back to the motel, he opens the door, peeking at the windowsill to make sure it’s still there before he pulls himself into the room. it takes him an hour of pacing, tears brimming, breaths shallow and panicked, before he finally gets the courage to do it. he grabs a pen from the side table and walks to the window. he holds the open mason jar under the sill, lines his pen up behind the wasp and squeezes his eyes shut as he sweeps his pen across the surface.

when he opens them, the wasp is sitting at the bottom of the jar and dean nearly drops it, but he convinces himself to get the jar top and seals it with frantic, shaky hands. when the wasp is secure, he sets the jar on the sill and collapses into bed. it felt terrible, but he did it. he fucking did it.

on his drive to the practice that week, he puts the wasp in the passenger seat so he can keep an eye on the jar. even carrying the thing is torture as he ascends the stairs to lisa’s office. when he gets to her waiting room, she’s already got her door open and he enters, trying to keep cool as he sets the wasp on the table between them.

she grins like she’s so incredibly proud and dean’s heart swells with it for a moment. she asks him to tell her about the experience, which he does, watching her taking a note here or there, or asking a clarifying question. when he finishes, they only have a little time left, but she asks him to lay down on the couch and close his eyes to relax. he feels her presence by his side. she tells him to keep his eyes closed as she explains what’s going to happen next.

“dean, with your consent, i would love to begin exposure therapy with you. all you’ll have to do today is hold the jar above you and observe the wasp.’

dean nods, his heart beat already quickening. he opens his eyes on her say so and she places the jar gently in his hands. he grounds himself, and then brings the jar above him. the underside of the jar is much more clear than the patterned sides. he can see the wasps body, dull with decay, but a wasp nonetheless. lisa asks him to describe it to her. he does.

when he walks out of her office that day, he feels a bit lighter. he leaves the wasp with her because it’s nearly rotted and she’ll dispose of it properly. when he walks the path back to his car, a bee buzzes by, he flinches, but that’s all. no tears, no running, just a flinch. he grins.

saturday comes and dean decides to go to the farmers market. he hasn't been in a long time, maybe not since he was a kid, but he figures he’ll show off his improvement to himself a little bit. when he gets there, the sun is hot and bright, baking down on the colourful tents out before him. his goal is to walk the whole thing, stopping to smell the roses along the way. it goes pretty well until he goes to pick out a peach for lunch and he spots a bee on it, basking in the sweetness of the fruit. he pulls his hand back fast and keeps his eye on it, his mind going blank with fear and silencing the sounds of everyone around him. suddenly there’s a buzz behind him and he’s running. it’s irrational, he knows it’s irrational, and yet he’s doing it, running back to baby. he makes it almost all the way until his adrenaline wears off a bit. he slows to a walk, but he’s on high alert. suddenly he can see everything. he can see the paper wasps floating above the grass, he can see the bee settling into a bunch of sunflowers, he nearly throws up when he sees one trailing behind a woman's leg, so close it’s nearly touching. he covers his ears, hoping that the loss of one sense will help deescalate the situation. it helps a bit, and when he’s finally at baby’s side and quickly getting in, he takes a breath. he lets himself cry then. head against he steering wheel. he was doing so well but suddenly he feels like he’s back at step one. he failed. his tears don’t let up until his energy is drained from the day. from the heat of the sun, from the rush of adrenaline, from the emotions pouring out of him.

until the next thursday, dean stays in during the day. he doesn’t want to fail again.

he tells lisa as much at their next session. she looks at him with sympathetic eyes. he hates it.

lisa says he is getting better, it just doesn't feel like it because its a process. she smiles. he frowns, trying to grasp that concept. it doesn't feel right to him. the validation, the praise, it feels unwarranted. he closes up a little bit and thats when lisa says it.

“i can prove it to you.”

he quirks an eyebrow at her, dejected face softening into interest.

when the day is over, they have a plan. next week they’ll be meeting at heaven’s hives (dean thinks it sounds more like hell).

it’s thursday and dean is driving, white knuckles showing from his grip on his steering wheel. he’s grateful the apiary is just fifteen minutes out of town, it means the anticipation can’t build up (not that it hasn’t been for an entire fucking week). when he turns onto the dusty road with an arch above it baring the apiary’s name and a few carved bees on the poles, he lets himself take in the sounds of the road below him. it’s like white noise, temporarily drowning out his fears.

when he reaches the end of the road, it’s at a small white house surrounded by flowers. he can see some structures out by the side of the home, but he looks resolutely ahead and stalks to the front door. just getting there has his heart racing, there are bees buzzing all around him and he feels himself wanting to crawl out of his skin as he knocks on the door. suddenly, it’s quiet. his thoughts pause as he stares at the man who opened the door in front of him. he’s tall, just a few inches shorter than dean, and broad. his hair is raven black and effortlessly tousled. he has this big gummy smile and his eyes are crinkling up at the sides. his eyes. his eyes are so blue, they look like they could belong in space, planets hanging alone, away from time. he clears his throat finally to say hello. the man, castiel, opens the door further and invites dean in.

lisa is already sitting at the table, drizzling honey into the tea she has in front of her. the first thing dean notices is that the window behind her is open, a soft breeze causing the delicate white cloth to blow into the house. he tries not the let it affect him, but when he takes a seat, he makes sure his back is towards a wall and his eyes can watch the window.

castiel sits next to him and brings him a cup of tea too. he doesn’t drink tea much, but it would feel rude to reject an offer from their host.

castiel reaches across the table to pull the pot of honey from in front of lisa. dean watches her observe the motion, but he’s pulled from her when he hears a low voice beside him.

“dean. lisa has informed me of your situation.” he smiles and keeps dean’s rapt attention. dean is holding his eyes, not looking away. cas breaks it first, and says, “look” with a nod to his hands. dean’s mind would go elsewhere if he weren’t so fucking amped up with anxiety, but he looks. castiel’s left hand is holding the tiny honey pot and his right is stirring the golden sweetness. dean’s mesmerized as castiel’s voice narrates next to him.

“this is honey. it is the product of bee’s hard work. it’s a beautiful thing, dean. pure honey can quite literally last forever. a bee works her entire life to produce this product that will outlast her tenfold, and that’s an understatement.” castiel huffs a small laugh and dean quirks a small smile, still watching the hand stir the honey. “your fear-- dean, look at me,” dean lifts his eyes, “your fear is valid. it is one of the most common phobias across the globe. however, your fear is unfounded. i would sacrifice myself to be stung a thousand times over if it meant we could keep honey. if we could keep the trees and plants that bees pollenate and tend to. even if we could live in a world without bees, i wouldn’t want to, because they are small, and determined, and fuzzy and they are god’s most pure creation.” his eyes sparkle as he’s talking, dean is fighting to hang onto every word instead of drifting into the fantasy that is the man before him. “bees have a stinger to protect their colony. they will die to protect their own. i have a very strong sense that you are much like a bee, dean. i have faith in your abilities to overcome this.”

dean doesn’t realize until it’s too late that he’s crying. tears are falling from his eyes silently, blurring the images of cas and then lisa as he turns his face from them.

not once in all of their sessions did he cry in front of lisa, but now he’s overcome with a tidal wave of emotions and it’s all because castiel (bees)waxed poetic and compared him to his greatest fear. god the analogy hits so close to home it hurts. he finally turns back to the table where castiel and lisa are sitting patiently, waiting.

“i have faith too.”

#destiel ficlet #deancas #destiel #i might continue this on ao3 but this felt like the natural stopping point #if anyone wants to help me continue it i would not be opposed #i wanted it to be more destiel but sigh whatcha gonna do #slowburn if it was a full fic #my fics #king !!#angel !!#deancentric #dean winchester #lisa braeden #but its platonic i promise

93 notes · View notes