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randombtsprincessa · 4 years ago

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Belladonna || 1

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader, Past Lovers! AU

Words: 3k

Genre: Heavy Angst, Smut

Rating: This chapter is General up to NC-17, rating might go up as story progresses.

Summary: Your life has finally settled into a routine; keeping you far away from your home, friends, family and the man who broke your heart. Coming back home means facing him again and maybe you’re not as over him as you’d like to believe.

Warnings: (in-chap) Heavy Angst, mentions of a toxic relationship.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The idol used as the Muse for the lead is not in anyway affiliated with the work. The characterisation is a work of mine. Any asks or accusations against the work on the grounds of inability to keep fact and fiction seperate on the part of the reader, will not be entertained.

A/N: Its’s rather sad that the disclaimer has to be added but eh, it’s a bad time for tumblr writing fandom and people are being very mean. Brush past that if you’re sane. Anyway, a very very huge hug to my best friends for screaming at me about this fic. A bunch of thanks to @softyoongiionly for hyping up the chapter! And a round of applause for @kithtaehyung for beta-ing the chappie!!

Happy Birthday Yoonfie baby!!

It was cold inside the cabin, the air conditioner turned extreme while the outer windows fogged with condensation. Your head leaned against the pane, the thudding and rolling of the train wheels under you jarring your brain in your skull as you watched the world outside flash speedily by.

Trees, small gravelly roads, sign boards, sparse traffic here and there…and then rolling grasslands before the pattern repeated itself…redundant, normal, and soothing.

You sighed, a puff of white exhale clouding around your mouth while your eyes drifted back to the interior of the cabin. This sight was a lot more different, with different people having different lives, problems, worries…

A woman tended to her sniffling child, holding a handkerchief up to the girl’s running nose…a man spoke into his phone; harried and rushed as he more likely than not slurred a few words together…

It was when your eyes caught a girl laying her head on the boy next to hers’ shoulder, smiling serenely when the boy ran a hand through her locks that you turned around again, eyes back to watching the redundant.

There was nothing soothing about people watching.

Or maybe there was and it required some form of inner peace to find the charm in it.

You didn’t have that sort of inner peace; neither did you have the patience for it.

People watching for people like you was anxiety inducing…and you really didn’t want that burden on your shoulders right now. There would be enough anxiety waiting for you when you set your foot home.

“____?”

You turned coffee worn, blue light sunken eyes towards your boss, standing over you with his files clutched to his chest nervously. The sight was enough to make you chuckle. For all his genius, Kim Namjoon was just a giant fumbling through life. It made him a stellar boss and manager, but it also made him a wonderful friend.

“Yes?”

“I just got your email for the leave application.”

You blinked up at your boss expectantly, face calm and relaxed. Of course, your brain had shot straight to overdrive, praying, wishing, and begging for a miracle that would allow your boss to refute the application.

A large red denied would do nothing to hamper your mood; at least it would stamp down the very intrusive tendril of panic that was already gripping around you.

You waited until Namjoon was done rustling inside of the folder in the crook of his arm. The white print out was placed in front of you, green letterings spelling ACCEPTED AND FORWARDED, scrawled on the top screaming obscenities at you.

You looked back at Namjoon.

“We don’t have a lot of work load right now plus you look dead on your feet. Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?”

You very nearly grimaced at his words.

He was sincere, of course he was. Namjoon didn’t have a conniving bone in his body, but right now, you couldn’t help but resent his kindness, his mushy brain that railed against exploiting his workers. You hated the fact that he looked into your eyes and saw past the stubborn energy and caught onto the exhausted person underneath.

So you offered him a tiny smile, just in case the flicker of your crushing despair was made clear onto your traitor face.

“Thank you, Namjoon.”

He placed a heavy, tight hand on your shoulder as he passed by.

“Have a nice vacation, ____.”

Usually, someone who was away from home, working their ass off, making something of themselves away from their family should ideally jump at the chance to take a vacation, to go home and see the family and friends they had.

Ideally…one should be happy at the prospect of going home.

So many times, however, situations were rarely ideal. Sometimes there were complications, convolutions, obstacles…

Sometimes people had no love in their hearts; sometimes there was nothing at all.

Sometimes, there was dread.

Right then, in the rattling carriage that carried you to the small town which had spawned your existence, you could sense the dread carving a pit into your stomach, roiling and curling like a wretched cat kept too long from sunshine.

There was no relief for the upcoming long sleepy times, no joy at the prospect of home food…of warm embraces…

There was just that god awful dread.

You hoped you wouldn’t throw up; though there was nothing in your stomach to hurl but for the coffee you’d pumped in you from the station café. You couldn’t keep anything else down.

You had upped and left your home right after the end of your college life. Many things had come to an end with that particular period in your life. You had scampered and scrapped together enough courage to exit the hole that still robbed you of breath sometimes when you twisted and turned in your bed – sleepless.

You had left shattered pieces of your heart in your whirling escape of the town, the space that you had now the only light that shone at the end of the tunnel back then. Your family and friends, as supportive as they were, had never truly understood why you had nearly clawed away from that world.

To them, it had been the job opportunity.

And it was understandable…

The town, as well-knit and seemingly lovable as it was, was used to being self sufficient. The people there didn’t ever need to leave, they knew everything, helped everyone, and any problem one of them had was a problem for them all.

You couldn’t fit yourself in that mold anymore.

You had left – knowingly cut yourself away from that community.

Your friends had remained; some spreading out of course but they were still as much a part of that bunch as they had been when born.

You didn’t expect anything from them.

Not when he was also still a part of that community.

Your mind jerked away moments before conjuring his likeness behind your eyes, the ticket collector bearing down to save you from the torture of it.

Your fingers fumbled with the pockets of your bag, slipping the stub into his patient hands as he clipped and handed it back to you.

You accepted it meekly, folding into yourself again, eyes drifting back out the window and firmly tugging your thoughts away from your past. You had to prepare for what was going to come now.

Nobody expected you to come, you knew. It was a surprise to you yourself that you had found enough guts in you to pull this off.

Namjoon’s words came back to you.

Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?

You weren’t going to hold out much hope for that.

You found a cab almost immediately out of the station, the many cruisers that stood to one side eager to free you of your luggage and take you off to your destination. You gave your address shakily, hoping this particular driver wasn’t one of the townspeople. Luckily, the man didn’t bat an eye, instead nodding and quietly switching on the radio for the drive over.

You leaned back into the seats, arms grasping the strap of your handbag tight as the moment to face your family and close ones drew closer.

Objectively, your little hometown was very pretty.

Trees lined the major roads, small clusters of buildings interjecting the greenery to spread business to the good people. And as tense as you were, your mind couldn’t help but pick out the differences.

Boutiques were newer and flashier, the diners you remembered now expanded to add cafes or banquets. The town hall was an imposing as ever, only a new marble fountain added to the square in front of it now.

By the time your cab entered the section of the suburbs where you had grown up; your back was straight, neatly aligned with the window. If you had been dreading the homecoming before, it was all gone; replaced with an odd form of resignation.

You lugged your bags out and paid the taxi driver with cold hands, winding bloodless fingers around the handles to pull them up the drive way towards your open door.

The house was full, open and bustling – a normal day for when your mother threw one of her success parties. She was one of the famous people in the town, her career as a landscaper and home decorator for big names making her in turn the man source of revenue and attraction for the town.

It had been both a source of pride and embarrassment to you in your teens. Mainly because your mother insisted on these parties each and every time one of her projects turned out well. But then, as you grew you realized that this is why your mother was important to the town.

She was more than half the money earned and the social events of the calendar.

Inside the house, small clusters of people gathered here and there, in the living room, the kitchen, the dining space. You stood at the door; feeling more exposed than you ever had here but moved in quickly, lest one of them notice you in the doorway and start blabbering about it.

Of course, the three big bags that you carried more than made up for it.

One of the groups of women nearest you turned their heads in synchrony, taking double looks as you passed by before the murmurs began.

How could you tell?

Well because, gossip usually lowers ones’ volume. And each group you passed stopped conversing before muttering arose in its place.

You cut across the living room to your father’s den. Here, there were all men, hands cupping your dad’s cut glasses of scotch but thankfully no one mentioned you dumping your bags right by the door and walking back out.

Your hands fiddled with your scarf, wondering where your family was in their own party but you were loathing asking one of the guests.

Even as you convinced yourself to walk over to one of the ladies by the window sofa, a figure walked past opposite you, a handful of trays of cocktail bites and glasses on them. You jumped, watching as the woman placed the trays on the coffee table, smiling at the people before she turned…and spotted you.

Your sister’s eyes widened, eyelashes fluttering before quick steps led her closer to you.

“____?” She asked, almost checking if it really was you.

You smiled wryly, hand still tangled with your scarf. “Hi Sana, yes it’s me.”

“Oh my god!” She threw herself at you, arms wrapping around your neck to draw you into a warm and nearly forgotten embrace. You stood in her hold for a few seconds, managing to pat her back before she was pulling away, eyes glistening at you.

“Oh god, don’t cry,” you whispered immediately.

“Shut up, these are happy tears; my little sister is home! Hang on; I’ll go get Mom and Dad.” She turned on her heel before you got another word out, mouth parted as she disappeared into the house.

You stood rooted to the spot, hoping against hope she brought your dad first. You just knew your mom would start bawling and then all the neighbors and her social circle would start hovering like the pack of vultures you had the low opinion of them as.

It was unfair and very rude of you, yes, but you couldn’t help but remember half the rumors and gossip that had come from none other than these same people when you had first left. Sympathy or well wishes from them now, would only make you more disgusted.

It had made you keep your own mother at a distance, seeing as she was probably the source of their information.

Thankfully, you knew you could always depend on your dad.

A no-nonsense and rational person, he was only guilty of being extremely in love with your mother. You knew he only bore these parties for her sake and of course your sister, Sana’s.

So when you saw Sana come back, with both your parents you still heaved a relived sigh.

“____, my god, you’re really here.” Your mother was the second to hug you, your father following.

“We didn’t think you would make it this year too.” Your dad said.

“Yeah, it’s been hectic…a lot…for the last couple years.” You repeated the same lies you’d been spouting for two years now. You had spoken the same lines into your phone, in your emails over months and it came much easier while speaking them to their faces.

“Very hectic for a well-established firm, ____, you could’ve asked for a leave, I’m sure office policy allows that.” Your dad said in that logical baritone that rendered most arguments moot.

“That is actually how I got away, Namjoon insisted.” You said; not completely untrue.

“Well, I for one am very happy my little girl is back to me. You’ll stay for a bit, won’t you?” Your mother stroked your hair back from your face.

You smiled tightly at her, thinking of the weeks Namjoon had generously piled on you out of respect for your relentless working for two years under him.

“Yes.”

You caught Sana try and push in, her eyes seeking yours even as your mother squealed in jubilation. “Perfect, we are going to have to throw you a coming home party.”

“Y/M/N,” Your father said lightly. “We are at a party now.”

“Yes, but ____ deserves her own night.” Sana put in before grabbing your hand. “Come on,” she dragged you away from your debating parents.

“Not a lot has changed I guess.” You spoke drily.

“Yeah, maybe, listen I think we need to –”

Sana was cut off by a gasp of your name, your head swiveling to see Park Jimin, one of your old friends gaping at you.

It was a whirlwind of reunions and emotions as people gathered around you, astonished that you’d come back without any mention of it.

“Yeah, I – I guess, it’s a surprise.” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, going over the faces of your childhood to college friends.

Many things had changed while you were gone, true – to the town, to the people and even to your friends but one thing you were glad to see…they hadn’t cut you away completely. Yes, your interaction with them had been reduced to the odd Facebook and Twitter chats and the occasional emails and texts here and there but they still looked…happy to see you.

Park Jimin and his twin, Jihyo had been the first ones to come to you, Jihyo hugging you tightly enough to make you wince. She had been your roommate in college; she probably knew you as well as Sana did – maybe even better. She had introduced you to Jimin and the three of you had been inseparable throughout your college life.

Jimin had apparently been friends with one of your childhood friends, Kim Taehyung.

You were not so shocked to know he was now married, living next door to you with his wife, Nayeon. Sweet and charming, she hugged you like her husband.

“It’s almost like I already know you,” she explained to your unsure smile, “they talk about you so much.”

“Ugh, I’m already worried.” You cringed.

“They were all nice things don’t worry. We had to put down a couple old gossips down here and there, though.” Jimin came to defend his friend.

You glanced at them curiously.

“Oh yeah, it was just old gossipy hags around the town, don’t worry about it. People moved on from you pretty soon to a Miss Mina. She’s a spinster, which apparently is a sin.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “She lives a few houses from us.”

“Also, I think your mom told that friend of hers, Dahyun to stop people gossiping about you. They were task-forcing the town. It was fun to watch.” Jimin added.

A sudden wave of affection for your mother rose up in you, before being quelled by the reminder that she must have done it to protect her own image.

You shrugged then, picking up a glass from one of the trays to take a sip of your mother’s homemade cocktail – fruity and simple on your tongue.

“Enough about me, what about you all?” you pointed at Tae and Nayeon, “Married with a house,” your finger moved to Jimin, “Sports coach,” then Jihyo, “Choreographer,” you stopped.

“What about the others, any news?”

“Not really, we are the ones who still live here you know. Plus, no offense to your mom, but I doubt folks would leave their city jobs to come to her parties.” Jihyo muttered; exchanging a glance of solidarity with you before her eyes widened suddenly.

“What?” you asked.

Her eyes quickly went to her brother, Jimin’s eyes a little more slow on the uptake but they widened too…before repeating the process – albeit comically – with Taehyung.

“What is wrong with you all?” You asked again.

“Um, ____, did Sana tell you -?”

Jimin paused nervously, refusing to look at you as he fiddled with the rim of his glass.

“Tell me what?”

He looked helplessly at his sister. Jihyo hesitated before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Listen, ____, while you were gone” -

She broke off, her eyes darting over your shoulder and stuttering to a stop.

In that moment of her silence, the conversation behind you was clearer.

Or rather, one particular voice was…

Low and deep – soft morning grumbles came back to you – muffled conversations from behind you made you turn around.

It was a voice you would know anywhere. It was one that haunted your dreams, one that crested the ache in your heart on particularly bad days…

It was one you would know beyond a void.

Min Yoongi stood directly across from you, in your home, undoing his coat and removing his scarf, conversing lowly with your sister.

Something she quickly muttered to him had him freezing, long nimble fingers stopping in the unknotting of his scarf.

And then as if he could feel your gaze, could feel your presence, the reason why you left everything behind looked straight up at you, eyes locking across a room…just like the day you had first seen him.

#ficswithluv #bangtansorciere #thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #yoongi #bts #bts suga #suga #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #bangtan

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mvrkgeoli · 4 years ago

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GHOSTING

pairing: ghost!yuta x reader genre: kinda 50s - 60s au for yuta, ghost au, angst, some fluff, kinda mature..? word count: 5.3k warnings: a handful of satanic themes, mentions of death / killing, bittersweet ending i’m sorry author’s note: lowercase intended. this is my first kinda lengthy fic and um yea i hope u like c:

settling into a new place where you weren't familiar with sure was draining, especially when you barely knew anyone around along with a long drive that separated you from your already long time friends. you had to move to alleviate the time it took to travel to the university you recently got into. renting a flat for yourself to live alone was the first "adult achievement" you had overcome, as how your mother would word it out. what definitely stunned you was how cheap the place was, for a whole flat you thought it would have cost you a few more hundreds at least.

from what you heard from the small old building's landlord, not entirely in detail, the flat was apparently owned by multiple in the past. you didn't mind it at all, you couldn't let such a price go for a student like yourself already struggling, happy with the fact that it was somewhat already furnished, furniture sitting dusted probably by the time that had passed from the last owner. some things stayed from all the years the building went through, mainly only the furniture and appliances being changed through the years. mentally reminding yourself to thank your bestfriend doyoung for helping you find places with affordable prices after you finish settling in the last of your belongings.

a few weeks had passed, finding yourself in a comfortable position in your bed along with stress clouding your mind from all the requirements already building up in the first semester. not to mention all the weird happenings that had been going on, you didn't know if you were just tired or already gone crazy.

the first time something happened was the day after you settled in the flat. the blinds in your room shut by itself just when you were going to bed, it had reminded you to close them before you drifted off into your deep slumber to shut off any peeping toms, you paid no mind to it thinking it was meant to be and nudged you as your first blunder.

the most recent one was by far the creepiest. the feeling of breathing against your ear sent shivers down your spine, sitting up from your bed abruptly, breaking you off from your little nap. the past ones had always been short hasty movements from the furniture or your belongings, sure they alarmed and spooked you but in contrast to the breathing occurrence, it was slow and calm, it felt so close. it continued for as long as it could until your wake that night, the feeling savored in your head for the rest of the day.

which leads you to today, texting doyoung if he knew anything about the unit before he suggested it to you. watching the small bubbles bobbing in your screen as you waited for his response, a short message making its way into your sight after a few moments.

dodoie | today at 6:23 not that i know of?? all i know is someone living there before but you already knew that :0

you sent him a brief thank you before shifting to your laptop to look for answers yourself, only thinking about it now after the breathing incident. first looking up the address, only the map and pictures of the neighboring buildings coming up.

after some time, you sighed to yourself, searching the last thing you wanted to if any incidents had happened in the building. woefully, an old article from a newspaper front decades ago popped up. the title reading, “nakamoto yuta, found dead in apartment…” a picture of the boy was attached, he had black slightly grown out hair, his smile was so pure you found yourself with a growing frown on your face.

what came next however, was a wave of shock running through your body at the discovery, quickly opening a new tab to search for the said name.

“local student uncovered to be a satanist—“ you trailed off, rubbing the palms of your hands against your face in stress.

clicking on another link to a 4chan discussion about the recent discovery, you saw a bulletin about the boy and some photos of the very unit you were in. he was apparently a sweet boy from what the neighboring people said. a boy who had a bright fresh smile that could lighten up any mood, it was unexpected for him to be revealed as such a person.

there was a picture of a girl next to yuta named kaiju, said to be the boy’s lovely girlfriend. the two lived together and were seen as the perfect couple.

after hours of scrolling through the page, you found a small recording of an old interview of the girl crying. “i-it was tragic… he was the perfect man— i thought he was the perfect man..” she sobbed. you frowned at your screen, eyes widening when a clip of the apartment rolled. it showed the floorboards under their refrigerator being opened to reveal different notes and certain objects that were said to be used for satanism.

you sat up to run to the kitchen, bringing your laptop with you. you compared the clip to the room in front of you. a cabinet sat where the fridge you saw was in the clip, you sighed to yourself before setting down your laptop to pull the cabinet aside.

nose scrunching in distaste as below you unveiled dust and dead bugs, taking the first utensil you could reach, in this case; a fork. you pried on the wood beneath you, pulling your shirt up to cover your nose from the dust that spread from your tampering. the wood popped open with a loud thump, you peeked inside to face dark emptiness. there sat cobwebs and dust for who knows how long, your eyebrows furrowed as the thought of the government probably collecting everything that had concerned the incident.

just when you were going to put back the floorboards, a noise rattled into your ears. you flinched back at the sound before taking into consideration to shine your phone’s flashlight at the darkness it held. there you saw the emptiness clearer. before you gave up, you saw one of the sides with little scratches and indents in the corner.

taking the fork again, you attempted to pry another piece of wood open, unfortunately failing when the prongs of the fork bent along with the burn of your fingers from using all your strength trying to open the side.

“almost...”

the voice seemed so close to you, letting out a yelp as you snapped your head towards the voice’s direction to face the empty kitchen. your breaths were heavy, heart beating at a pace you think it hasn’t been in before, your figure trembling as you hurry to unlock your phone to send all the articles you had found about this “yuta” to doyoung.

you slept by the unit’s entrance door that night in case you had to escape in a hurry.

you woke up to knocking on your door, groggily getting up from the floor to stretching briefly.

“hold on..!” you stood up and checked the little peep hole to reveal your bestfriend along with another boy.

opening the door immediately to face the pair staring back at you with questioning faces.

“jesus, did you sleep under a couch or something?” the unannounced boy spoke up. doyoung nudging him with his elbow in response, turning back to you with a small smile.

“sorry about him, this is donghy—“ “haechan.” doyoung rolled his eyes as he was cut off before continuing, “‘haechan’ right- this is one of my distant cousins haechan, i don’t think we have the money to hire a professional to check the place out but haechan here used to be in a ‘paranormal investigations club.’ and offered to help because he found you cute— ow!” an eyebrow raised at doyoung’s words as you watched the exchange between the boys. “anyways i called you and sent you messages hours ago, i thought something happened.”

you picked up your phone from the floor, the screen lighting up with multiple notifications. “oh.. sorry, i guess i was a heavy sleeper last night- wait you went all the way here!?” your eyes widened at the sudden realization, embracing the taller boy in your arms before inviting the pair inside straight away.

“holy shit the guy was into satanism?” haechan read in shock, his thumb scrolling through one of the articles you had sent doyoung. “you’re only reading it now?” doyoung scoffed at the boy as he shook his head, sitting himself right next to you on the couch.

“w..well yeah, i thought it wouldn’t be too big of a problem…” the boy rubbed on the nape of his neck in humiliation, to which your bestfriend responded with a low sigh. “i didn’t drive us an hour for you to end up useless, hyuck.” “—haechan!” doyoung only rolled his eyes at the other.

“and i’m not completely useless! one of the club members, chenle, used to say that ghosts usually only have unfinished business if they stay behind in this world. maybe we can confront this ‘yuta’ politely or make a deal with him-“ you raised a brow towards haechan rubbing the space between your brows in distress. “are you seriously telling me to make a deal? with a satanist? you’re basically making me make a deal with the devil, literally!”

haechan put his hands up in defense, eyes widening at your small burst. “okay, okay! what i’m saying is, if chenle was right about ghosts having unfinished business, maybe you can help ‘yuta’ to finish! if he was wrong, you can try getting a deal or something to leave you alone i guess.”

you sighed in defeat, this chenle guy could be right, but you would still take risk on having a deal with this guy. “so… how ‘bout it?” haechan shrugged as his eyebrows arched in proposition, to which you rolled your eyes. “okay kid, but how am i gonna summon him?”

“take this just in case.” haechan handed you a small bag, ‘iodized salt’ it read. you only nodded and casted him a quick thank you before he proceeded to enter the elder’s car first, giving doyoung another longing hug as he nagged on if you needed any more help. “sorry about donghyuck again, call me if anything serious happens. i’m also at fault here kinda ‘cause i suggested this place to you with no research.”

“what’s with ‘haechan’ anyway? and it’s fine, it was my fault i only looked at the price before deciding.” doyoung laughed and glanced over to the boy sitting in the passenger seat before turning back to face you. “he said it was a cool ‘code name’, he didn’t want any ghosts to know his name. anyway, seriously if worst comes to worst, it may cost more money but i’ll try helping with looking for another place.” you snickered softly before thanking him again.

and so, you were left alone again, waving goodbye to the car drifting off your sight. sighing to yourself as you went back into the building, sitting on the couch to research more about summoning dead people safely if that was even possible.

several hours had passed from reading about ghosts and looking for the right supplies, you just got back from a close bookstore to buy three new tall candles for summoning the little friend that had been haunting you, planning on doing it at midnight just like the “easy tutorial” donghyuck made doyoung send you.

later, moving to your bathroom hastily wanting to just get it over with, bringing the candles, a marker, along with the bag of salt donghyuck had given you. hunching over the bathtub to draw a decent sized summoning circle. placing the lengthened candles to three points of the summoning circle, you filled up the tub with at least an inch of water before lighting them.

you switched off the lights, closing the door before kneeling down behind the bathtub. taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes in advance of doing a cheesy chant along with saying the perpetrator’s name three times just like what donghyuck’s tutorial said.

“... nakamoto yuta,” the first holler of his name was said, already feeling stupid for using such a cliché way of summoning. “nakamoto yuta,” in an instant, your lips quivered when you felt your surroundings turn darker. “nakamoto..” the room felt colder, your ears ringing from how quiet the ambience had shifted. your breathing trembled as you finished the chant. “.. yuta.”

“so you did have the guts.”

your eyes crack open at the voice, only to face total darkness. the candles, from what you assume, blew over which meant something must have definitely happened. jumping back in a hurry as you rushed to turn on the lights, your breaths turned shorter as your eyes met with a dark haired man standing in the bathtub, right on top of the summoning circle you drew. your immediate reaction was ripping open the bag donghyuck gave and shoving it at the man as you recoiled your arms to cover your head in a corner.

a distant grunt echoed around the bathroom, followed by water sloshing around and dripping footsteps nearing your shaking figure. tears pricked your eyes as you felt the clear presence of the man get closer.

“this is table salt.”

thanks a lot, donghyuck.

your eyes creak open slightly, eyes meeting once again with the dark haired man. head still in your arms as you refused to lift your head for him, you spoke with a shaky voice. “yu.. yuta…?” your eyes were glued to the tiles of the floor, a peek of the man’s wet shoes making its way to your vision.

“that’s me— oh god, i don’t look like what i looked like when i died right??” your ears perked at the tone of his voice, eyebrows furrowing at the question. ‘oh god’? wasn’t he on the devil’s side? why was that his first question? why did he sound so soft? hearing the soft clacking of the soles of his shoes walking away, you lift your head to see the rear side of the man attempting to inspect himself and shake off the salt you threw at him.

“y-you’re a lot uh.. a lot less intimidating than i thought…” you spoke up, yuta turned to look at you with his big eyes before walking back to crouch down your eye level. “am i really?” you cowered back, his voice cutting you off before you could open your mouth. “i’m kidding, sorry..”

your fingertips reached out to feel his forearm in curiosity, lips pursing when it made contact to yuta’s arm. it felt real, the way your fingers would bounce back when pushed on the boy’s flesh. “you seem.. so normal- almost too normal…” his eyes trailed down to follow your finger’s movements, blinking to himself before speaking up. “i am normal- or i guess was… i won’t hurt you, don't worry.”

your eyebrows arched, skeptical of the man in front of you. eyes traveling down to let yourself think; in retrospect, for all of the things that have been happening, you will admit that none of them had hurt you in any way. your head tilted back up, still hesitant about everything and anything at that moment.

“okay, let’s- let’s have a small nice and calm talk—“

you sat across the ghost in the dining area in silence, your face buried in your clammy hands as you still couldn’t process everything. he sat stiff in front of you, blinking to himself as you both seemed like waiting for something to happen.

“it’s not true, y’know.” he broke the ice and attempted to make the first move to talk, he watched as your head tipped up at his voice, finally drinking in your features when you fixed your posture and pushed back the hair that got in the way of your face. “— the articles you read- i mean..”

you stared at the man in front of you dubiously. if he knew about the articles you’ve seen, how much of you did he see, you thought to yourself suddenly. blinking several times before thinking of a response. “the what?”

“the things you saw about me. they weren’t true.” his eyes trailed down to stare blankly at the center of the table as his fingers fiddled with the table’s ridges. you only raised a brow at the man, eyes following his movements.

“uh huh, okay..” you found yourself just nodding and humming to his words trying to talk you into him being good, you couldn’t trust someone that easily, even more so when it was a ghost who was known to be supporting the devil itself. “how am i supposed to believe a satanis—“ he looked at you with his wide eyes at this, palms laying flat against the table. “i’m not, i swear.. i haven’t done anything bad right?” listening to the man before you speaking softly shifting tone as he continued, almost as if he was scolding himself rather. “i didn’t hurt you? i didn’t hurt anyone who’s lived here before you! i didn’t hurt kaiju either!”

your eyes widened at the name, his past lover. staring closely at the man’s face, you almost see tears welling up in his eyes. choosing to silence yourself after the outburst not wanting to madden the boy in front of you more, you thought of anything calm to respond with.

you avert your gaze to the side as you saw the man stand up to walk away, listening to the soft footsteps he left behind him. lips pursing as you tried to think of anything to calm the mood.

“here.” you heard his voice ring from the kitchen area. looking up from your spaced out gaze to find yuta standing with his arms crossed by the cabinet you had previously moved. you stood up from your seat to walk to the kitchen in silence, making few steps to get beside the boy.

“open it again.” you only nodded, still feeling the awkwardness lingering in the air. you moved the cabinet aside once more, grabbing another fork from the kitchen drawer to pry open the floorboards. sitting on your knees as you face the empty compartment, eyes trained on the blemished side of the hollow cavity. you stared up at yuta only to face a blank look on his face insinuating for you to continue.

“i already tried…” you put the fork down to slouch. “i know, now try again.” he persisted, you only took a breath in before attempting to open another hidden compartment within the one already opened.

after several forks bent, a few dulled knives, the annoying thumping of a hammer ringing in your ears and your hands stinging with burns from the pressure forced onto them, you successfully pried open what seemed like the most superglued pieces of wood together to reveal an old looking shoebox. pulling it out before sitting comfortably to uncrate the box.

yuta crouched down beside you as you uncovered the shoebox. revealing a tattered pouch, something wrapped with worn down linen and some papers with characters you couldn’t read, opening the pouch with interest and dumping the contents onto the shoebox’s lid to exhibit different kinds of pendants and even some small lockets.

moving onto the linen wrapped item, you handled it with frail fingers, it weighed down your hands slightly making you more curious. it unraveled a small dagger.

you wince at the sight and dropped the dagger abruptly, the loud clang of the blade as it ground rang for what seemed like forever. it was covered with maroon. forcing yourself to think that it was just rust and not what you thought it was, you turned to yuta with your shaky eyes.

“she took one thing from people she had targeted after she was finished.” he said mindlessly, reaching forward to fiddle with the trinkets spilled from the pouch. you however, sat back to process the new discovery.

‘she’? you thought to yourself. kaiju? was it her? you blinked to yourself and tried to piece things together. the clip of kaiju sobbing appeared in your head. not once did she talk about the insights of their relationship when it was about ‘yuta’s satanism’. she even knew where the compartment was located after yuta’s death claiming he had left it open. burying your head into your dusted hands. yuta was haunting the unit not because he was bad.

he just wanted to be found.

you knew something felt off when you saw her smile whenever the public pitied her for the loss of her ‘lover’.

the thought of yuta staying for years being painted and seen as a bad person by the public made a frown quickly grow on your face, you fixated your eyes on the man beside you as he absentmindedly toyed with the small belongings of other people. the other people. did they stay behind and want to be found too? you thought.

“i’m so sorry…” you finally spoke words, yuta nodded and stood from the ground. “you summoned me to get rid of me right? sorry to break it to you but i was left here as a spirit beca—“ you took a sharp inhale at his words, standing up to face the taller.

“i wanna help you. this guy said people like you were left here as a ghost because they have—“ yuta looked at you with uninterested eyes. “unfinished business. i know, i was there when that haechan guy came.” he sighed and looked off to the side in contempt before continuing. “y’know, i’d be happy to accept but it’s hard when even i don’t know what my ‘unfinished business’ is. it made me think after what he said sunk in… what if we don’t move on after death. we don’t even know if that’s true.. who knows, maybe i’ll stay here as a ghost forever.”

you clenched your jaw as yuta spoke, he made fair points and what ifs. it made you even more mad that kaiju got away with it, yuta was portrayed as the bad guy and they left the case at that. “i’ll tell the police about this— i.. i can change what they think about you…!” yuta only shrugged, your eyes followed after his steps as he sat back down by the table. you trailed after him, sitting next to him this time. “it’s been years. i doubt all the people who were alive back then would care or would even remember.”

a sigh spilled from your mouth as you fell into a slump next to his careless state, you went from wanting to move out of the flat to feeling like you wanted to protect yuta and the apartment he had died in. “thanks though. for putting in effort i mean- all the people before you moved out in weeks or just ran away.”

he stared at your tired figure, eyes wandering to your distended fingers. he appreciated the pain your body had went through to see him, the thought of you wanting to even help him made him realize how much he missed how nice it felt to be given a care for. yuta watched as you straighten your posture back up to face him, he felt how dissatisfied you were by the droop of your eyes.

“then let’s still try.. we don’t know if what haechan’s friend said was true, just like you said but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. we just don’t know yet, it could be true! so let’s try..!” yuta blinked at your determination, letting out a chuckle for the first time since you met him. “you seriously don’t have to put this much into helping—“

“i don’t care! i don’t think i can live on with the thought of this man rotting here when i’m living my life like it’s back to normal. just let me help you… even if it fails i’ll be glad to know that i tried my best.” you thumped a fist to the table’s surface, seeing yuta flinch at the corner of your eye.

yuta had been rotting in this hell hole for years, he had long forgotten what it felt like to be important, even being thought about made him feel like he still had purpose. he was sure that if he still had a functioning heart, it’d be beating with how warm he felt.

“okay.. let’s try.”

a few weeks had passed, both of you agreeing to act like normal as if you were roommates, though the only difference was yuta not needing to eat nor bathe or anything, in an attempt to make your new ghostly friend feel happiness. he shared that he lived a pretty decent life, although short he was happy. he had no one who seemed like they would put up a fight with him, bad things that would come across nor anything physical that was unfinished from what he could remember of his life when he was alive- other than being killed and sacrificed to satan of course.

you contacted doyoung to tell and explain what really happened, he however didn’t know how to feel about the situation. a friendly ghost being by his bestfriend’s side almost 24/7, he was happy that you didn’t get killed or possessed or anything but he was skeptical that he hasn’t seen the man himself whenever you facetimed or called. yuta on the other hand refused to show himself even if he couldn’t be seen anyway especially if haechan was with doyoung, if you were in a call, he’d simply just hang around in a different room not wanting to lift some book just to prove he was actually the one moving it.

in yuta’s perspective, he thinks that this was probably the happiest and lively he’s been in years. he had someone to talk to, hang out with after he spent all this time trying to get attention from people and being lonely. you were there to listen to all the stories he had from all the exciting things he experienced and went through, and he was there when you needed someone to rant to even about the most random and little things. even teaching him about modern technology and watching series he hadn’t watched.

yuta felt like his presence was valued. sometimes he’d forget that he was even dead when he was having fun with you. you believe that everything was working out well, you almost felt like stopping because if you were to be honest, you probably had shared some of the happiest moments as well and didn’t want anything to end.

as more days, weeks, months passed by like nothing, yuta was at his peak of happiness spending time with you and learning about how things had changed through the years.

you made an anonymous 4chan thread about the truth, you wanted justice for yuta to be seen as someone he truly was. you named yourself as someone who lives in the flat currently and acted as someone who was curious about the old building. soon a small group who theorized yuta being innocent was formed, it made you glad that even a handful of people believed that he was actually good.

yuta shortly requested if he could lay with you in bed after you got comfortable with his company, claiming that ghosts could feel sore too. you only laughed and agreed, you learned that he had his ways to charm you into his silliness.

“so what was with the breathing?” you suddenly remembered the whole reason why you summoned yuta in the first place. he shifted his head to the side to look at you, bottom lip pushing out slightly as he tried to think. “the what breathing?”

“i remember feeling someone breathing against me, it was kinda the last straw with me back then before i did research about the place and found out about you.” yuta hummed to himself as he thinks all the way back to when you were kind of new to the place, he swore he could feel his face warm up when he realized what you were talking about.

“... i was uh.. you know how i get lonely right— i mean-! i swear i was just laying in bed! i didn’t realize i was so close to you and affected you!” you smirked at the response, giggling at how he babbled on and tried to explain himself. “hmm okay, perv.”

“i— what?” yuta sat up slightly, using his elbows to support his body on the soft mattress. “i mean, you probably have already seen me naked.”

“hey! i know being a ghost is creepy but i’m not that kind of creepy… i suppose i have seen— but i swear i didn’t think anything filthy of it-!” you laughed at the man’s embarrassed face, brushing off the topic to save the man from sinking further into shyness.

“y’know, i don’t think i’d get to see ghosts the same way as i did before i met you.” you started off, yuta only stared at you with interest as you continued. “i didn’t even believe in them before this, and everyone in the world thinks ghosts are always out to kill or haunt you or something.” your eyes trailed forward to look at your ceiling, thinking of the right words to say.

“but now i know.. a lot of you probably just want closure from death, it makes me sad that most of you just rot away not doing anything, moving stuff to get our attention and stuff, no wonder some tired and lonely ones end up haunting places with bad intentions.” yuta blinked at your sudden burst of feelings in words, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of finally being understood.

“it’s too bad that you guys are usually interpreted as bad people, when you’re just finding your way to peace.” you didn’t realize a tear slipped down the side of your face until yuta wiped it off with his cold fingers. he fully sat up to face you, following suit to the man beside you.

yuta hesitated before leaning in slowly, you closed your eyes in content. lips pressing against his cold slightly chapped ones, you felt one of his hands travel up to cup your cheek gently. yuta felt himself flood his own tears after so long. the kiss lasted a good moment, it was sweet and genuine. pulling away with slightly hooded eyes, you cupped his cheeks with both hands, leaning in once more to kiss away the man’s tears.

“it’s okay, let it all out…” you whispered tenderly, he might be decades older than you but he was still the bright young hopeful boy he once was.

the happy moment quickly converted into confusion when you saw his figure slowly turn translucent, seeing the light sourced by the room peek through him slightly. he turned back to you with a happy smile this time, his voice rung in your ears with a slightly thrilled voice. “i think i understand what my ‘unfinished business’ was.”

your eyes widened further as you thread your fingers through his soft tufts of hair. “w-what do you mean…?” you weren’t ready to let go of him yet, your eyes swelled with tears as he spoke once more.

“yuta! no.. what—!?” you watched as your hands sunk into his figure. you couldn’t feel him anymore.

“thank you for loving me back.” you stared at the man in dejection, your breaths turning shallow as your time with yuta came to an end. he was finally at peace. eyes pouring rivers at the realization that he was actually gone, if past you knew that he was gone now, you would probably be happy.

weren’t you supposed to be happy? this was your goal from the beginning, why did it feel like a part of you died along with yuta’s disappearance. you slumped in devastation. yuta didn’t want to live perfect and happy.

he just wanted to be loved genuinely.

you didn’t even get to say the words to him, it was too late when you were certain you felt these strong feelings for the man.

“i love you too.”

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all-might-can-smash-me · 4 years ago

Text

Deceiver

Toshinori Yagi / All Might x Reader

Summary: You were guilted into serving an important role set forth by All For One, but the plan had quickly been forgotten as you find yourself in love and living a happy, married life with Toshinori for years until All For One reappears as a cruel reminder of what your original intentions were

Warnings: All For One is a gaslighting, manipulative bitch as usual

Sorry for typos and this took so long, low key upset with my sister because she complained of fics always being ‘all might x another teacher or hero’ or whatever and that she wanted some spice

Masterlist

Click...click...your heels echoed out against the cement upon the ground. The only thing that accompanied you was your shadow that danced upon one of the alleyway’s walls. The sound of cars and the busy life of a city played like a lullaby in the distance as you tugged your coat tighter around your body, finally taking a sharp turn into an abandoned construction site that was left to sit for the past few years. You crossed your arms with a huff as you looked around the darkness that engulfed you.

“What do you want?” You called out, though a chuckle echoed back to you...it seemed to surround you from every direction. “Show yourself, I’m not in the mood for games!” You continued on as you perched yourself onto a huge cracked slap of concrete, crossing your legs as you awaited a response or excuse.

“I apologize, but this is safer for the both of us...but I came to ask you for a request....” you shivered as it felt that those words were being whispered down your neck, your hand moving to touch where you felt the sensation and glance over your shoulder to only see nothing. “I need you to infiltrate that head of All Might until the time is right...” came out those deep whispers, though you only scoffed as you stepped up from your makeshift seat.

“Sorry, but I’m not playing as your pawn anymore, I’m actually doing quite well with just building back up my life.” You spat out as your purse was adjusted on your shoulder, though the feeling of a hand running through your curled hair halted you, that menacing chuckle making your stomach drop.

“I beg to differ...besides, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be saying that or standing right here.” He spoke out amusingly, you only staring to your feet, arms crossed with a huff. “If it weren’t for me, you would be still rotting away in that garbage bin, remember? The one that those so called ‘friends’ of yours dumped you in after beating you senseless?” You only stared as the memory played through your head. You could remember...getting caught up in the wrong kind of people, the usual cliche of any young adult who has finally been given the freedom to befriend whoever they wanted. Though your cliche story ended in horror and your screams went unheard by the so called heroes that patrolled the streets, until All For One pulled you from the slowly approaching death that taunted you within those rusted walls of that garbage bin.

“I would say you owe me...but I’m not one to force anything, so if you truly don’t have the desire, I am very understanding...” he continued on, that voice rumbling and rattling with your head, you biting your lip as you let your eyes close shut for a second. The guilt was eating away at your insides, how could you go against the man who saved you, the hero who heard...

“Fine...just tell me what I got to do, alright?” You groaned out as your hand went to run through your hair, eyes now opened and staring into the speckled night sky above.

“Good...I knew you would help me, here’s what I have in mind....” he chuckled out, his figure now emerging out of the shadows, a hand gently and comfortable holding onto yours. “Become a trusted individual in Toshinori Yagi’s life or better known as All Might. Whether that be a friend, a lover, just anything....” he spoke out, a hand moving to gently tuck back a strand of your hair as if you were a toddler, a child. “I’ll come to you when the time is right, it might be months from now...years...but don’t worry, after the quirk I passed onto you it will be hard for the horrors of life to lash out onto you again....” he spoke out, you nodding softly at his words, his hands now softly squeezing your shoulders. “That’s my girl....I am so proud, but be careful, for you are like my child, my own daughter, I would hate to see you fail, but failure is a part of life...and from life we learn...”

Those words echoed within your head as you were now rushing back down the alleyway, heart pounding as you now tried to get as far away as quickly as possible from the remnants of that encounter. You wanted to ditch it all behind you, but that whole moment haunted your mind. Once back in the safety of your rundown studio apartment, you let yourself collapse onto your bed, tears running down your face as you roughly and harshly removed your jacket, throwing it angrily across the room and at the wall you faced. You knew you could say no....but the fear of saying no ran deeper within you, the sweet beckoning of having a choice was swallowed by the darkness of your mind when it came to All For One...the one who saved you. That’s why you were now already thinking of the first steps of this plan as you scrubbed away at the makeup upon your face at the cracked mirror above your sink.

“I’m sorry Miss...but do you have an invitation?” A voice called, a hand gently brushing onto your arm. You looked sweetly to the young bouncer, already seeing the soft blush upon his cheeks as you looked to him.

“Oh...silly me...” you giggled out as you shifted the faux feathered, fluffy boa on your arms to shift you purse over to begin digging through it. You finally plucked out a card, handing it over to the young man, but he only shook his head.

“Oh no, I’m sorry to bother you, I see that you in fact do have one. Please, enjoy your night!” He spoke out, fluster as you leaned to press a gentle kiss to their cheek, lipstick stain left behind as you stepped back.

“Oh thank you! Goodbye, dear!” You said with a giggle as you began your strut once more, smirk upon your face as you placed the card back into your purse. If only the poor fool had checked, they would have realized it was simply a coupon for a hot pot joint across the street. Though you used the crowds of fancifully dressed people to travel through, listening in on the conversations you heard of celebrities, influential people, heroes, side kicks, anyone with a worthy enough title that could have been invited to the elegant gala. “Thank you..” you spoke out softly as your fingers plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, taking a sip as you continued to walk about, eyes scanning the crowds. Though finally...your target was acquired, your first attempt was set in motion as you continued forward, eyes looking about until finally your body bumped into that heavily muscled physique.

“Oh!” You gasped as a bit of your champagne sloshed out and onto the front of his suit. “I’m so stuck in my head that I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You exclaimed, handing off your glass to a waiter who was already rushing forward, napkins in hand. You plucked those napkins right from their hands, already dabbing away at the wet areas of the other’s suit.

“No worries! Things do happen!” Came out that voice that made the crowd swoon and fan out over. The voice that sent cheers across all of Japan. “I should be honored to have champagne sloshed onto me by such a beautiful woman.” All Might spoke with that iconic grin upon his face.

“Oh you’re too kind...” you spoke out with a giggle as you handed off the napkins to the flustered waiter. “Mind accompanying me around for the night? To make up for my clumsiness?” You spoke out with a soft smile, hand grabbing onto the other’s arm once he offered it over in acceptance to your offer. That was the start you needed....you now had him within your trap, though time would tell whether or not he would try to claw away from your snares or peacefully rest there for his fate.

Later that night, you found yourself giggling across from him at that very hot pot joint across the street. Thankfully the business was small, not many patrons to frequent it and all the other attendees of the gala had scurried off for more higher end places to be seen at. Though it was perfect, not prying eyes, no media, no nothing. You couldn’t help but feel bad as you laughed to a joke All Might had made from across from you. He was actually quite cute, charming, and an extreme dork. You were actually enjoying his company.

“Uh! My mouth hearts from smiling so much and laughing!” You exclaimed as you grinned to the other across from you, empty dishes scattered about as you and him now absentmindedly thumb wrestled with each other while you or him would ask a question about the other or say something. Just...a nice conversation really that you kind of didn’t want to end as you jolted your thumb out from his attempts to get you. Though that giant thumb of his trapped your much smaller one, him exclaiming in victory, you only giving a little pout, though your hands only entangled into each other, his thumb gently rubbing over your knuckles.

“I have to agree! Even though that’s hard to believe...but it’s different with you. It’s not often I can just enjoy something so intimate. No cameras, media...” he admitted, you giving a bashful smile as you couldn’t help the pinkish flush to paint your cheeks. Though his hands left yours to pay for the food as the waiter came to collect, leaving you and him to gather your things from the booth. “Maybe...I can bring you back to your place?” He offered as he let a hand rest on the small of your back as the two of you pushed past the doors and back to the outside world.

“No!” You quickly spoke out, though let a giggle out as you moved to look up to him, hands now resting upon his arms as you leaned in close to him. “My place is so far and I’m quite tired...maybe your place?” You asked quietly, a hand reaching up to let your fingers brush along his jaw, or what you could reach, as you spoke out. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you awaited his answer, but was calmed as his hands rested upon your hips.

“Alright....my place it is...” he confirmed, you giving a little giggle as you clutched onto his arm, following along side him and to his vehicle.

That morning you awoke with a jolt, the morning sun just barely peeking up from it’s rest beneath the horizon. The snores from the symbol of peace made you sigh as you let your body gently fall back to the pillows, listening to those snores ring in your head for a moment before you finally got up, clothes placed back on and a note with your number left behind for him, little hearts littered about the sticky note.

Months went by, you arriving at the pro hero’s home to spend the day with him that would turn into weeks of sharing a bed, cheesy movie marathons, board games, just...things that you found yourself looking forward to as you laughed and joked along with him. Then your relationship became official between the two of you and you moved in....then you knew you had him when he placed that ring upon your finger. Though you cursed yourself when you actually felt tears of happiness fall from your eyes as he asked you upon one knee. Though that plan that you were a role within had grown so far away and was hidden away in the depths of your brain as the years went on as his wife and him your husband. It was a nice life you found yourself loving. Working from home for his agency was enjoyable, fixing his lunch and kissing him goodbye was a highlight, and cuddling upon the couch to watch a movie when he got home was the perfect cherry on top to your domestic life with him. He brought you happiness, brought you tears with the arguments and fights, and brought you reassurance and acceptance. He provided for every need you had emtotionally. But most importantly...

He provided you with choices that you weren’t afraid to make.

Though something happened...he was injured...

He was heavily injured before and you sat beside him through his whole recovery from the villain, but this time was different. You pretended to be asleep one night as you sat upon the chair next to your husband’s hospital bed to listen to the whispers beside you.

“Toshinori...you need to tread lightly.” Came out the voice of an older man, your husband only responding with a curt ‘yes sir’. “All For One has done some serious damage, though I’m sure he is aware of that and is probably planning his next move...start looking for a successor...just in-“

“I know..” came out the pained voice of your husband, the other man sighing before now treading away with his footsteps, door opening and closing behind him, though you now slowly lifted your head, eyes looking to him. He gave you one look before sighing “It all started too long ago..” he began, now beginning to cram your head with every last detail that he thought was fit to feed to you, you only nodding your head as you listened, hand holding onto his. From that moment on you watched the symbol of peace deteriorate before your eyes, watching him become...well...Toshinori Yagi. A simple gawky and gaunt man that you had come to love and adore instantly.

“I...passed on One For All....” came out his voice one night, slicing through the ambiance of clinks of chopsticks and plates. You froze, looking up from your bowl and to him, though you slammed your chopsticks down to the table.

“Oh? What happened to discussing things with me?” You spat out, glaring to him across the table. “Toshi....you’re always making these rash decisions!” You accused, now lifting yourself up with a grunt, pregnant belly pressing up against the dress you wore.

“What is that suppose to mean?” He asked as he now watched you pick up the dishes from the table. “Hey! I’m not done!” He exclaimed, though you only gave a huff as you placed the dishes in the sink, water already running.

“Toshinori! You are really wondering why?” You asked as you scrubbed away at the dishes, brows scrunched together. “You are compulsive! ‘I’m the Symbol of Peace! I am here’ “ you mocked as you placed the dishes upon the rack to dry that you have scrubbed away. “You are also my husband! You have a family! Yet you are so willing to throw yourself into situations without even consulting the people you should be consulting!” You shouted as you soon took to staring out to the window above the sink, watching the night bugs swarm the patio light outside. “I’m your wife! We are the glue to this household, yet you can’t even come to me first before making a life changing decision?” You grumbled out. You ignored his hands that grabbed the dishes to begin silently drying them beside you.

“He’s...a great boy...” he finally spoke out, you sassily scoffing at his words as you finished cleaning the dishes, now on to hobbling and grunting as you grabbed containers from cupboards and pantries, beginning to save away the left overs, Toshinori now leaning onto the kitchen sink, staring to your wedding band that glistened under the light above the sink, it resting away in its holder for when you did the dishes or cooked dinner. “I mean it...this quirkless boy shoved himself without hesitation to try and save his friend from a villain.” He spoke out softly as he now looked to the bugs that dumbly hit the light outside, though soon his eyes focused to the faint reflection of himself on the window and then to you in the background. “All I did was stand there in the back, having already met my limit for the day...a quirkless boy was living up to my life philosophies while I hid...so I pushed through, thanks to him.” He explained as he finally turned around to look at you, still leaned against the counter. Though you only responded to his words with the loud clang of the dirty kitchenware hitting the bottom of the sink, water running once more, hands roughly scrubbing away and placing away the rinsed off clean dish to the side in the normal routine. He only merely watched you, a hand reaching out to wipe the tears that finally pushed past your stubbornness and to their freedom down your cheeks.

“So your first instinct was to just take this boy in as your new successor?” You managed out, face moving away from his touch, which he sighed and went back to drying the pots and pans you cleaned and put them away, now having to face you as you stood before him. You leant a hand onto the kitchen countertop, other hand placed atop your bump out of habit as you looked up to him. “You should have listened to Mirai! You pushed him-“

“Don’t!” His voice began to rise, though he let out a swift exhale before continuing, catching himself before he could even continue to yell. “Don’t mention his name...” he muttered out as he shook his head, hands now gripping onto the edges of the counter, head hung low as he stared to the different colors that speckled out though the slab of marble that made the counter top.

“Why is that? From what I remember, he was a good friend of ours!” You spoke out as you marched up to a forgotten drawer in the kitchen, yanking it open. “I remember our game nights with him, our fun nights in those corny, 80s themed bowling alleys, our dinners together...holidays.” You spoke out with a dry laugh, tugging out framed photos of the man in question. “I also remember having these up too! Look, this is us celebrating Gran Torino’s birthday!” You spoke out, looking to another one “Awe....I remember this! The signing party we held here when he first joined as your side kick” you continued in your sassy manner, already looking to the next photo to point out to him.

“Stop!” He finally shouted out, hands shoving the pictures back into its drawer to be swallowed up and become forgotten again in Toshinori’s mind. “You know...why...” he whispered out as he looked down to you.

“Yes...I do...” You spoke back quietly, hands on your hips. “Mirai suggested you retire, though you went right ahead with your facade without even coming to me...,” You spoke out “not even caring to think things through, he also wanted to help with finding a successor, as Gran Torino suggested, but no...you went ahead and did your own thing again without even talking to me first, informing me, asking for my opinion, as we should which is why me and you are here now....” you quietly spoke up, though your hands went to your stomach, eyes staring down to the bump. “These rash decisions can lead to something dark if not calculated correctly....and I don’t want to lose you, not now, I’m selfish over wanting to continue living the life we’ve created together...” you whispered out.

“I’m sorry...” was all he could say as he reached a hand forward to rest it upon the bump where he could feel the bumps and kicks.

“I’m going to bed..” you muttered out, Toshinori beginning to follow you, but you shook your head as you held a hand up as a warning to him.

That night your mind raced with your fears and thoughts as you buried yourself away under the blankets. Toshinori could only listen to the words that you yelled at him earlier taunt his brain from his place on the couch.

The months had passed and you had come to forgive him and give birth to the child you were pregnant with. He had also broken the news to you that he would also be teaching at UA, which you were shocked about and a little peeved that it was also one of the many things he went behind your back on AGAIN, but you weren’t opposed to it either. It was less risky, or so you thought. USJ incident had occurred and you now made haste to the nurses office, baby carrier hooked onto your arm as you held your baby to your chest. Finally you pushed past those doors, a sigh of relief being released as you looked to your husband resting upon the bed, his feet propped up to the metal frame of the bed.

“Ah! Mrs.All Might! I see that cutie is growing fast!” Recovery Girl chimed up as she stepped up to you, cane making their soft clunks to the floor as she stepped up to you, you smiling as you sat the carrier down carefully, your child held up by one of your arms. “She’s 11 months now.” You spoke out as you gave your child a little bounce to get a litttle giggle from her, Recovery Girl expressing her fondness with a noise of endurement “Well I’ll leave you to talk to All Might, I’ll be around if you need anything.” And with that, the room was silent again, you giving a look to Toshinori, he avoided your gaze.

“This is Izuku Midoriya.” He finally spoke up, nodding his head to the boy in the bed adjacent to his, the boy’s hand coming up in a small wave, an awestruck look upon his face as he looked to you. You offered a smile back as you dragged a chair between the two beds, casting that look that let Toshinori know he was in for it later. That made him glad Izuku was there with him.

“Well Izuku...All Might...” you said, bouncing your child upon your knee as you looked between the two. “This better not become a regular occurrence because honestly....I heard multiple heart attacks aren’t good for the heart.” You spoke out, Izuku letting out a little nervous laugh, soon responding to your words. Toshinori couldn’t help but smile as he watched you easily interact with the young successor. He thinks you actually adore Midoriya because upon the arrival to home, you didn’t bring anything up as you made dinner and cleaned the kitchen with his help and you didn’t banish him to the couch...but upon you placing you and Toshinori’s child to sleep and now the both of you laying on your shared bed, you said a simple statement that he vigoursly agreed to.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again....”

Later that night, the soft cries of your baby awoke you from the monitor, which you automatically crawled out of bed, the snores of your husband now softly calling out in the background as you prepared a bottle for you child, now humming away as you fed them, seated upon a rocking chair in the nursery. Though a shadow caught your eye....you now frozen as you looked to the other rocking chair across the room.

“What a beautiful child...” came out that voice that brought shivers and goosebumps to your arms. “What quirk you think she will develop? Maybe your original quirk before you sat on the very threshold of death? Or maybe the quirk that I passed to you to help yourself live from your traumatic experience, the one that makes you immortal...to an extent.” He listed off as he rocked in the chair, you only frozen in fear as those supressed memories and plans resurfaced into your mind. “Or maybe...she will have One For All? No, that’s wishful thinking on my part...” he spoke quietly with a chuckle, though silenced himself to listen to the snores that sounded faintly in the background. He lifted himself from the chair silently, now stepping up to you to lift your child gently from your arms, now cooing softly to them as he bounced them gently in his arms. “You’ve done a wonderful job...” he praised you, though you only stared at him, hands clutching onto the empty bottle in your hands. “Don’t become distracted by the simple pleasures of this life, there is still things that must be done.” All For One quietly spoke out, now seated back onto the chair, child now upon his lap, dozing off in his hold.

“What are you going to do?” You whispered out as you stared to him, your hands moving to place away the empty bottle. You sat rigidly in your chair, hands clutching onto the ends of the large shirt you wore that was your husbands.

“Oh, I musn’t say, the time still isn’t quite there yet, but it’s close, it’s just barely kissing the tips of my fingers.” He said as his hand moved to caress the top of your child’s head. “I couldn’t help my curiosity, I needed to know how you were doing, so look to this as just a wellness check up.” Finally he was up again, now gently placing away your sleeping child into her crib. “Though while you have done fabulous work here...I’ve attained another...child...” he spoke out after finding the right word to describe it. “He is learning, as we all do, but Shigaraki has much more to learn.” He said with a click of his tongue as he now stood next to you, a hand resting upon your stiff shoulder. “Until we meet again...” he spoke out, you now being left with the snores of your husband in the background and the horrible feeling of All For One’s hand still upon your shoulder.

Your mind once again tried to shamefully surpress it away, but that guilt ate away at your being. This anxiousness was permanently planted within your stomach. You put on a front for your husband and also for his young successor, but you couldn’t help but feel that anxiousness there. It burned a cruel, slow burn within you. That cruel burn would forever be there until the moment it would be pinched out. By what? You had no idea as the days and weeks flew by.

One day you woke up...and knew that your time was out. That day a numb feeling settled into your body as your husband informed you of a raid. You only listened, the fear rattling your insides. It didn’t help that when the sun had set, All For One was back again, you were prepared this time as you sat in the nursery, child in your arms.

“Good...you know...” he said as he looked to you, though held a hand to halt you. “I called a sitter, leave the child behind...” he ordered, you only nodding your head as the fear siezed your body, placing your child down in the crib. Then the world went dark. You could hear voices, but the most around you was so dense you couldn’t see anything until finally you were pushed out and onto a cement ground, the last thing in your sight with the fist from your husband being hurled at All For One, the backlash sending you flying back and crushing into the rubble, leaving you immobilized, but the broken bones and cuts had healed and cracked back into place slowly, your lung taking in a deep breath of air after your body had reshapened itself painfully, you stumbling up from your place among the rubble, looking to the fight before you.

“I have to thank your adoring wife.” All For One announced as he looked to your husband, the shock upon his face as he stood there, hero costume now baggy upon his scrawny body, puffed form no longer an option to hide behind. “I saved her years back, so she helped in return for that selfless act from me.” He spoke out, you trying to shout your rebukes, but only managed to sob, your husbands eyes glaring to you.

“What is he talking about!” He yelled, his question directed toward you who only now sunk to the ground with your wails and tears and the emotions that had cruelly burned within you became too much to handle.

“She was going to place herself strategically in your life to feed me information when the time was right. Silly girl, it appears she had actually become quite attached.” He spoke out, edging toward where you sobbed at, his hands now back upon your shoulder with that grasp that falsely tried to show you comfort, but you saw passed it now. “But I already had all I needed to know, so I’ve settled on just enjoying your happy life crumble before you as I destroy you.” And with that, you were tossed aside once more like a rag doll, throat raw from your sobs as your body was knocked down over and over again from the backlashes of each punch thrown, finally your exhausted body could no longer stand it as your eyes closed shut, people now at your side to grab you as your husband stood before the people, the crowd cheering and going wild.

“Toshi!” You called out as you shot up, hand automatically feeling for the space beside you but was only met with nothing. You finally allowed yourself to look around, heavy panting finally calming as you realized you were in a hospital room, your hand moving to rub your face.

“You’re awake.” Came out a familiar voice, you sighing in relief to see Recovery Girl step into the room. “I recommend you walk around...maybe to your husband’s room, he’s next door.” She spoke out quietly as she helped you up, making sure you wheeled your IV with you. “I’m sure there’s some things to discuss.” She said with a reassuring pat on your arm as you had began forward slowly, your hands now shaking as you reached for the doorknob of the room next to yours as she instructed, opening it slowly.

“Hey look, its mama, can you say that?” Gran Torino pointed to you as he bounced your daughter on his knee, though she only laughed, the elderly man shaking his head “Come on, did Toshinori give you too much of his dumb brain?” He teased the little girl “What about...Grandpa?” He said, holding onto her little hands “Worth a shot...” he said with a roll of his eyes. You silentl stepped forward to grab ahold of your child, Gran Torino waved you off though as he stood up, balancing your child upon his hip “I think I’m going to hang out with a little more, see if I can squeeze a word or two out here while you guys talk.” He spoke out with a little smile, motioning the other to follow him out.

“Remember the night I told you about Izuku?” Soon come out your husband voice as he took to looking out the window. “I think you were a thousand times scarier and angrier because of your pregnancy, but the point is, you were upset that I wouldn’t go to you to tell you things and to be careful and slow when it comes to decisions and to trust you with those things...” he muttered out, a small smile upon his lips at the memory of you angrily scrubbing at the dishes and saving away the leftovers with your heavily pregnant belly. Though it fell as he finally looked to you.

“Though I don’t get why you were so upset when all you’ve ever done was lie and go behind my back.” He spoke out, voice quivering as fought back the tears that he didn’t want to fall yet, but when did tears ever really listen and wait for their permission to flow? “The last, well shit, it’s almost been a decade at this point, of my life has honestly just been a lie.” He said, looking up to the ceiling, a shaky sigh released in an attempt to calm himself down. “All these years gone, I was just being buttered up for my doom” though you sniffled and shook your head vigorously, your hands shorting forward to grab ahold of his lightly bandaged one.

“Can I explain...from the beginning?” You asked weakly, though the silence that followed the cold stare of Toshinori made you continue. “I was friends with this group of guys...they were those ‘rough’ crowd.” You whispered out as you let the memory replay through your head. “One day...they thought it would make them cooler to just...play the part of a villain...they attacked me, beat me and left me for dead in some garbage bin, All For One found me and passed a quirk that would allow my body to heal and reconstruct itself, quite painfully though, to survive.” You said, cringing at the memories. “He was a hero in my eyes and he gave me the chance to rebuild my life and start anew, but he came forward with the proposal of the plan and I felt I had no other choice but to say yes to him. He’s the man that even if he says you have a choice in the matter...you don’t, it’s all a facade to lure his victims in.” You now avoided Toshinori’s gaze as you wiped away your tears. “So I agreed, but Toshi...those years were never a lie....I got caught by your dorky self.” You said with a weak giggle as you smiled at the old memories of your first date. “My mind surpressed that plan to the back of my mind for all those years, Toshinori. You made it hibernate away within the depths of my brain.” You said as you now looked to him, his eyes softening it’s gaze on you. “He came though, into our home and it all came back, but I was so afraid to do anything. He knew where you were and where our daughter was.” You words stopped at your flowing tears, his hand now grabbing ahold of yours. “I love you so much, you provided me things I had never had, like choices, that kind of love, and a lack of fear.” You whispered as you smiled to his thumb that brushed over your knuckles.

“I sure did fear you sometimes...” he voice softly teased, getting a little laugh from you. “Fear of a pregnant you sure beats the fear I felt last night.” He said with a little laugh as he looked to you, letting a sigh out as he look to you softly. “But...thank you, for telling me...” he said with a little nod of his head, finger brushing over the wedding band upon your finger. “We got this...ok?” Toshinori spoke out gently, you nodding your head, relief flooding your insides at his little statement.

“Thank you...”

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cap-winter-barnes · 4 years ago

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No Matter What - Dean Winchester x Reader

2K WRITER & READER CHALLENGE

Here it is, my fic for ‘Amanda’s 2K Write & Reader Challenge’ using the prompt “I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking”. This is the first piece of writing I have ever done for a challenge and I absolutely loved doing it.

If you enjoy it, please feel free to check out my other work. My requests are always open. And whilst you’re at it, go and give @amanda-teaches a follow and check out her work too, she writes awesome stuff!

Warnings: angst, teeth-rotting fluff

A/N: Based lightly upon the episode ‘Regarding Dean’ (12x11). This episode utterly broke my heart so obviously had to use it for a sad(ish) fic.

Four hours. That is how long it has been since Dean left for food. The motel room lays in silence as I anxiously await his return. Sam retired to bed not too long ago, desperate for some rest, with the sweet promise of Dean’s safe homecoming as his departing words. Sitting in our bed, fully dressed and boots tied securely to my feet, I think of all the possible worst case scenarios. My mind running amok with fear at the absence of the man I love. Without Dean the room we have been sharing is cold, evident by the way the hairs on my arms stand on edge, goosebumps rising on my skin. Rolling the sleeves of his plaid shirt down over my hands, I try and compose myself.

Dean is a hunter, the best there is, and he can handle himself in a fight. If anything were to have happened to him, he’d be alright, he always was. With that sliver of hope in my mind and the knowledge that Dean knows his way around the supernatural, I start to relax slightly. Glancing at the alarm clock on the worn chest of drawers that shows the time as a few minutes past midnight, an involuntary yawn leaves my body. I try and fight the fatigue that has been weighing me down, but I know that the attempt will be futile. With the added stress and worry of Dean not coming back as expected, my body has become overridden with exhaustion. Leaning back into the softness of the pillows behind my back and the prospect of Dean returning safely back to us, I fall into a light slumber.

The repetitive sound of my name being called is what drags me from my sleep, a sleep plagued with terrible nightmares. Slowly opening my eyes to the silhouette of Sam in the doorway makes my body spring upwards from its resting position. A pain shoots through my neck, the realisation that I had in fact slept awkwardly, with my back propped against the wall, and a pillow haphazardly strewn sideways across the headboard. Rubbing at the sore area, I make eye contact with the younger Winchester before taking in his positive demeanour. In his hand, he clutches his phone, shaking it for emphasis when I direct my attention to it. Immediately I forget about the aches which radiate through me and sit upright.

“Sammy-“ Before I can get another word in, he interrupts me, easing my nerves, replacing them with relief.

“He’s alive.” His statement is accompanied by a chuckle of disbelief and a shake of his head. “He’s at Waldo’s. Leave in ten?”

“Make it five, Samuel.”

His laugh, so rarely heard, echoes as he leaves the room, walking across the balcony back to his own room. “Okay, five. And I’m driving.” Hearing his receding voice, I remove myself from the bed and make myself more presentable in preparation for Dean’s excuses.

Upon entering Waldo’s Waffles, both Sam and I, are met with the sight of Dean stuffing his face full of a combination of waffle, banana, blueberry and whipped cream. A lightness filled by heart at seeing him in one piece, no blood to be seen. But there was a shadow of doubt looming over everything, something was wrong. Dean’s blue jacket is caked in mud and dirt, his right sleeve completely covered in the stuff. His face is filthy, dirt embedded into the lines around his eyes and nose, scratches scattered across his cheeks. What had happened last night? I watch on as Sam approaches his brother, rattling a bottle of pills before throwing them into his awaiting hands. Surely this couldn’t be a hangover? It isn’t uncommon for Dean to drink, yet venturing out alone for a night of drinking and returning the next morning with a hangover? That is something he hasn’t done in years.

Eventually snapping out of my moment of thought, I walk over to where they both sit, Dean once again shoving food into his mouth. Noticing my presence, Dean perks up, a typical cheeky grin spreading across his face. He enthusiastically pulls out the vacant stool next to him, gesturing for me to take a seat. I can’t help but smile as he does so, especially when he places a kiss to my cheek. Sam has an expression of utter confusion on his face, glancing repetitively between the both of us. Shrugging my shoulders once Dean’s attention is once again directed at his waffles, supposing he did have a hangover, he wouldn’t normally be so cheerful.

Without looking in my general direction, Dean nudges a full plate of waffles topped with strawberries and an abundance of whipped cream towards me. A fork hangs between his middle and ring fingers, the platinum band that is placed on the latter of the two, shines under the fluorescent lighting. It is still an amazement that it hasn’t gotten scratched or required cutting off from his finger. Before we were married, the discussion of the ring was paramount, but Dean was set on wearing one. His reasoning being that without one it wouldn’t feel true. At his words my heart had fluttered in my chest and continues to do so every time I catch a glimpse of the precious metal on his hand. I take the fork, twirling between my own fingers, watching the rings on my own finger as I do so.

Both brothers delve into conversation about the current case we have been working as I tuck into the waffles that sit before me. Considering I haven’t eaten since before Dean’s disappearance last night, I suddenly find myself starving. Each bite an overwhelming sensation of sweetness and sugar. Every now and again, Dean switches his gaze to me, a soft smile on his lips as he observes me enjoying the food. I listen intently to the boys and the more I do, the more my appetite decreases, worry and concern settles in, sending a shiver through my body. The more Dean says about not remembering his night and his assumption of blacking out, the more I feel nauseous. Dropping the fork onto the plate, I push it as far away from me as I can.

As a distraction, I involve myself within the ongoing discussion.

“Dean, you seriously don’t remember anything about what happened to you last night?” He momentarily thinks over this before responding.

“Nope.” He runs his hands over his face, and it is then, that I truly see how tired he really is.

“Baby, why don’t we get you back to the motel so you can get some rest?” Like a child, Dean just nods his head in agreement, standing from the counter and making his way towards the exit.

“Did you pay?” Sam chimes in with the question as Dean passes him, the younger sibling now standing from his own stool.

“Oops, no. Right.” Myself and Sam make eye contact in that moment, both filled with concern for Dean. But for his sake, we say nothing, choosing to keep this between ourselves for the time being.

Once in the impala, it becomes clear that something is most definitely wrong with Dean. Starting with not putting the car into reverse, to forgetting the details of the current case. After a heated argument between the two brothers, it was settled upon that Sam would contact Rowena in the hopes of discovering the cause of Dean’s possible amnesia.

Back at the motel, Sam stays in the impala to call Rowena, away from the listening ears of his brother. The way that Dean wanders aimlessly from the parking lot to the building itself has me feeling uneasy. Even more so as I observe him approach the wrong room. Jogging over to him, I take him by the arm and swiftly guide him over to the correct door.

“All these dumps look the same.” Dean’s disgruntled demeanour would usually cause me to laugh, however, in this situation it’s not even close to cracking a smile.

“I know, baby. I know.” Tears are now threatening to spill as I open the motel room door. Clearing my throat, I advise Dean to go and take a shower to freshen up, then after get some well deserved sleep.

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind him, my façade breaks and the tears begin to fall. Putting on a brave face whilst watching the man I love slowly forgetting things that have occurred over the last few days, has taken a great toll on me. Like at Waldo’s, a wave of nausea hits me and it only forces me to bawl harder, sitting down on the unmade bed. Through the bathroom door, I can hear Dean undressing, his clothes hitting the cold linoleum floor. A moment of silence is followed by the wooden door opening a fraction.

“Hey, Y/N?” I hurriedly wipe the fallen tears from my face.

“Hmm?” There he stands in the open doorway of the rundown bathroom, torso bare, a nervous expression on his face.

“When,” he frowns before speaking again, “when did I get a tattoo?” Towards the end of his question he perks up, amusement clear in his tone. With his hands, he gestures to the anti-possession mark on his upper chest. At this, I can’t help the small smile that appears on my face, yet at the same time, it fills me with dread.

Standing from my place on the bed, I cross the room to stand in front of him, taking his face in my hands.

“It’s your anti-possession mark, Dean. That,” I take my right hand, placing my fingertips to the black ink marking his skin, “protects you from being possessed by a demon.” I refrain from bringing up the period in which Dean was a demon for a time. Glancing back to his face, I realise that he looks shocked.

“D-demons are real?” At his words, I can no longer stop the tears from tumbling down my cheeks. Again, I break down as I pull his body closer, holding him against me tightly.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

“No matter what happens, I will always love you. I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking. That look of worry, concern, all of that. You’ve got nothing to worry about, everything’s going to work out fine.”

Dean’s hands are on my cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears. Placing a chaste kiss to my forehead, he again holds me tighter, whispering forever promises of his love.

It has only been a day and a half since Dean’s ‘amnesia’ began taking full force. Yet, I will trade anything to go back to yesterday. With the arrival of Rowena and the discovery that Dean was under a witch’s spell, things soon began to take a turn for the worst.

Awaking this morning to the sight of Dean twisting his wedding band around his finger takes the air out of my lungs. He sits on the opposite side of the motel room, the room that is scattered with sticky notes labelling a majority of the items within it. Long hours of research and tracking to find the witch responsible for this spell, had me falling asleep uncomfortably in the armchair by the door. Dean had occupied the bed, falling into a deep slumber by ten o’clock.

“Why do I have this?” My worst fears have finally come true and as Dean raises his head, my heart breaks completely in two. As usual, I cannot bring myself to lie to him or cause him to feel guilty.

“It’s, erm, it’s a wedding ring.” A scoff leaves his mouth as I swallow down the lump in my throat.

“Am I married?” Snapping my head up to look at him, he realises what he has said. “Am I married to you?”

Half-heartedly, I raise my left hand, indicating the two rings that situate themselves on my ring finger, trying with all my might to not cry again.

“Well, I’m glad it’s you. You’re beautiful.”

A smile is all I can bring to give him in return, instead I excuse myself and retreat to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. In the safety of the small tiled room, I cry until there is nothing left to cry.

Exiting the bathroom, I am met with the sight of Dean, Sam and Rowena, crowded at the door. Before I can ask what is happening, I am interrupted by Dean’s rough voice.

“Who’s this?”

And there it is.

Deciding that it would be best for Rowena to take care of Dean, with no close emotional attachment to him, I accompany Sam to deal with the witches. The agreement was that if Sam did not return within half an hour, I was to enter as back up. Hence me now sneaking my way through an open window on the ground floor of the house.

But with the thought of Dean’s safety and wellbeing on my mind, I am greatly distracted.

Although I have many years of experience with hunting witches, this coven is one of the strongest I have encountered yet, and I am unprepared. Proving true, when I come face to face with the female of the group. Before I can aim my gun, she has me spiralling across the room, into a wooden bookcase. My vision is blurry and my head feels heavy as I try and raise my gun in her direction. But it is becoming increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open. A final unsuccessful attempt of moving has me drained and I succumb to the darkness that is trying to overtake my vision and mind.

“Hey, Y/N?” Everything sounds far away as I come around. The feeling of someone’s hand on my cheek grounding me. “Y/N! Hey, can you hear me?”

“De?” That was definitely Dean’s voice.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Opening my eyes fully, I am met with the sight of a smiling Dean, although his eyes are filled with worry.

“You remember me?”

“Of course I remember you, how could I forget my beautiful wife?” A laugh escapes me alongside some tears, although this time happy tears.

“Don’t I always promise you, that no matter what, everything is going to be alright?” I nod in agreement. “And don’t I always promise you that I will always love you?”

“Yeah, Dean, you do.”

He pulls me into a hug, although the most uncomfortable hug in the current position in which we are situated.

“And I’m glad I’m married to you. You’re beautiful.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x reader #winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean imagine #supernatural imagine #requests are open #fanfic #supernatural #amandas 2k writer and reader challenge #challenge #2k writer + reader challenge #writer challenge #supernatural writing challenge

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pandemilkbread · 4 years ago

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12.192 meters (prologue)

Todoroki Shouto x Reader

prologue. chapter 1.

Summary: It only took two seconds for your world to start over. You plunged towards the dark, fingers crossed, and hoped for the best.

At that moment, you had two problems and they both had to do with the dead man in their kitchen. He, on the other hand, found himself breathing— and was honestly very surprised by that fact.

Unbeknownst to you, the pretty-looking stranger with the heterochromatic eyes would make the four storey plunge into the Earth worthwhile.

[simply, a reincarnation fic where you the reader learn to live within the silhouette of someone else, in the world of someone else, and loving another in the place of someone else.]

Trigger warnings: mentions of suicide.

☆ ☆ ☆

7:45 A.M.

You were having one of those days where you sort of wished you didn’t wake up.

Sad as it might be, it was a normal occurrence for you to wake up exhausted. Who wouldn’t feel tired cramming one week’s worth of homework into one night. You only have yourself to blame for delaying your work, time after time, on the basis of “I can finish it tomorrow.”

A blaring alarm roused you from your thoughts, and you turned right to pick up your phone— immediately switching off the annoying sound. Your eyes hovered over the time.

7:47 A.M.

Of course, you were late. Regular time usually started at 7:30 in the morning, or around 7:40 if you took account for your homeroom teacher’s tardy record.

You sighed. It was time to get ready for the intense nagging session.

10:21 A.M.

It was quite ironic getting scolded by a teacher who was known to be unpunctual. Even more so, when you were berated for passing work late.

When you arrived at your high school it was a bit past nine. You headed towards your homeroom and came face to face with the terror English teacher herself. With an irritated smile, she ushered you towards the staff room and began the so-called conference.

After listening to her scolding, you left with haste. Your nose scrunched up hearing her voice remain in your thoughts “What am I going to do with you?”

You didn't know what you were doing either.

3:51 P.M.

To say you were tired, was an extreme understatement. You were drained— more likely from the sixth cup of coffee you drank rather than the lack of sleep.

You were unfocused the whole day, drifting off from each class every minute or so. You heard the quiet screech of chalk on to the board and your eyes roamed back to the topic on hand.

Ah, yes. Mathematics. You weren’t bad at the subject, but you weren’t good at it either. If you had the will to study the subject more, you could have been great at it.

You just didn’t have the passion for it at all.

Your eyes strayed back to the window to your left. A class of older students were outside playing volleyball. You saw one boy slump face down to the ground, after he was smacked head first by the ball.

A small laugh escaped your lips. It must have hurt seeing the one who threw the ball had a strength increasing quirk, or something along those lines. Other than the pain, it must be fun.

It must have been fun to have a quirk at all.

5:30 P.M.

“You look tired.”

Your eyes drifted towards the sound. It was Rin, a close friend from childhood who went to the same high school as you. Albeit she was in a different class, she never failed to be there when you needed it.

“Blame the English essays. She had to make minimum pages ten.” You rolled your eyes in utter annoyance.

“I told you to start them early!” Rin strolled to the chair that sat in front of you. “You already know how much you procrastinate.”

“My brain only works when forced to by a deadline.”

“Hah, you’re just overloading yourself.”

You nodded in agreement. Suddenly your eyes focused on a small box placed on the chair nearest to Rin. It was a pink rectangular container that smelled heavenly. Something from the back of your mind clicked and you realized it was—

“Happy birthday,” the black haired girl cheered. “I know you’re probably tired and prefer to sleep the rest of the day. But… at least you could eat some cake for dinner.”

It touched your heart so much to have someone who cared about you to this extent. Seemingly, buying a cake for someone’s special day is considered as a small thing. However to a person who neither had close familial relationships nor a multitude of friends, it meant so much more.

Hot tears slipped from your eyes and you were engulfed in bittersweet feelings. You thought it was Rin’s quirk radiating out that gave you so much warmth; when she reached out to grapple you into a hug.

“Thank you.”

It was your birthday, and you completely forgot. But she was there, and she remembered.

11:49 P.M.

You were stuffed. The chocolate cake was the best dessert you’ve eaten in a while, and you were so thankful to have someone like Rin. Currently you laid on top of the roof of your apartment building, plainly gazing into the dark sky above.

It was always a routine of yours to stargaze on your birthday. It made you less lonely than you were. You did have Rin, you had other classmates at school, you had friends, you even had the little old lady next to your room. She did bake the best banana cakes…

All of a sudden, you heard a creak followed by a slam. Another person seemingly joined the exclusive party. By the sound of her voice you could tell it was a girl, you could hardly see anything on the rooftop devoid of light. You inched yourself closer to the stranger in curiosity.

“I’m done! I can’t take it anymore, everyone’s so unfair! I’m useless! I hate it so much!”

She was bawling her eyes off. Her sniffles becoming louder as you approached her.

Ah, she was having one of those days. You could relate.

“Stupid useless quirk! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Her sobs echoed, and you could feel your heart rattling.

You were about to reach her when you heard the words goodbye come from her lips. Wait, goodbye!? This girl!

Your hands grasped her shoulders tightly before she made one more step over the railing. She, in turn, panicked like a wild animal trying to shake your grip.

“I’m trying to help! Stop struggling!”

“No! Don’t touch me you don’t understand!” She started to kick your legs in the hopes of leaving your clutches.

“Yes I do! Let me help you!”

“No you don’t! Shut up! My quirk can’t save anyone! I’m useless!”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. “I have no quirk, you shit! Of course I fucking understand!”

The both of you battle for minutes constantly shoving each other back and forth. Unbeknownst to you, your body was situated directly behind the ledge. Sweat dropped from your chin and you could feel the stress piling up.

“Fine.” You heard the other woman say. She finally stopped shuffling out of your grasp and stood still in your arms.

With a sigh, you let go of your hold. “Finally you took some fucking sense to—” were the only words you could sputter out before seeing her run back towards the railing.

This little shit! You rushed to the stranger, barely grabbing on to the back of her uniform, before you tumbled off the rooftop.

The scrapes of wind that passed your skin were proof that you were falling, and falling fast you were. You couldn’t even cry a scream out, still not over the initial shock. You were falling, falling, falling, and you were going to crash, crash, crash.

You were having one of those days where you sort of wished you did wake up.

Alright. That was the prologue it kind of serves as a background to reader chan and her background. As you could tell, reader is quirkless and has no passion for anything — well, for now hehe.

The actual reincarnation happens in the next chapter :> The prologue is a bit boring, but it’s needed for the events that happen in the next chapter.

I’ll post it later tonight... thank you!

#12.192 meters #prologue #todoroki shouto #bnha x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #shouto x reader #boku no hero scenarios #boku no hero imagines

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rookie-ramsey · 4 years ago

Text

Baby Blues, Chapter 12 (Bryce X MC)

Description: Bryce and MC can handle just about anything. Hopefully, pregnancy and parenting fall into the “just about anything” category.

Preview: “I have no embarrassment.” Bryce shook his head. “It’s not possible to shame me.”

“We’ll see about that when Emily sees your kindergarten pictures.” Keiki left the room and returned a minute later with a photo album. She handed it to Emily and grinned. “It’s the dorkiest thing you’ll ever see.”

Previous Chapter

“What’s wrong?” Emily lunged to her feet when Bryce stood up and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“There was a break-in. Keiki said two guys kicked in the door and started ransacking the place.”

“What?” Emily’s eyes widened. Her heart pounded. “Are Keiki and Ava okay? What-“

“They’re not hurt, but the guys who broke in are on the loose.” Bryce grabbed her hand as they all but ran out of the park. “Keiki already called the cops. They’re on their way, but that’s no guarantee the burglars won’t come back.”

“Oh god…” Feeling nauseous, Emily threw open the car door and sat in the passenger seat. Bryce drove as quickly as possible to the apartment building. By the time he arrived a few minutes later, a cop car was parked outside.

As they rushed inside and to their floor, Emily inhaled sharply at the shoe marks on the slightly open door. They stepped inside to see two cops examining their living room, where Keiki sat on the couch and Ava rested nearby in her portable crib.

Emily scooped Ava up while Keiki threw her arms around Bryce. “I don’t know what they took. They kicked in the door and I just grabbed Ava and went in the nursery and locked the door…”

“It doesn’t matter what they took. What matters is that you and Ava didn’t get hurt.” Bryce hugged his sister and reached his free arm out to Emily and Ava. He hugged the three of them close for several moments.

“We’ve never seen these guys before. It looks like they broke in thinking nobody would be here to witness, then left.” One of the officers handed them a card. “Once you’ve identified what’s missing, call us. We’ll try to get back whatever’s missing, but we can’t make any promises.”

Emily took the card and set it on the coffee table. “How can we be sure they won’t come back tonight?”

“Chances are, they won’t. They usually break in when the occupants aren’t home. They probably broke in here, realized there was someone home, and darted. But we’re putting a bolt lock on your door as a precaution.”

Bryce didn’t look convinced. “Was our apartment the only one?”

“As of now, yes.” The officer nodded. “They may have seen the two of you leave and thought you were the only ones living here. Unless you can think of a reason why they would single you out, it was probably random.”

Once the police officers left, Bryce strapped Ava into her sling carrier so she would be nearby as they straightened up the apartment. Their laptops and a few pieces of jewelry were missing, but the stolen items paled in comparison to the mere fact that strangers had broken into their home.

Emily wrote down everything they determined missing, trying to keep her hand from shaking. Her grip tightened on the pen. Bryce reached out and touched her hand, gently steadying it.

She finished the list and set it on the table with the police officer’s contact information. With a sigh, she leaned into Bryce and hugged him. “And to think we were gone less than an hour…”

“Hey.” Bryce wrapped an arm around her waist. “I know what you mean, but we had no way of knowing this would happen.”

“I know.” Emily touched Ava’s cheek. The infant nuzzled her head into the fabric of the sling and yawned. “At least they only took a few things and left. It’s no big deal replacing stuff. It could have been a lot worse.”

Bryce smoothed a hand over his daughter’s fuzzy head. “I know. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to Keiki and Ava.”

Emily nodded against his shoulder. “Is Keiki okay?”

“I’m gonna go check on her.” Bryce freed Ava from her sling and handed her to Emily.

“Okay. I’ll get some pizza delivered for dinner. I don’t really feel like going out again.”

Nodding, Bryce kissed her forehead and left the living room to check on his sister. Soon, they all gathered in the kitchen to eat the pizza Emily ordered. After dinner, Bryce and Emily sat on the couch with Ava.

Emily settled Ava in her arms and held her bottle to her lips. When the infant latched on, Emily leaned into Bryce. “What an evening.”

“Yep.” He slipped an arm around her. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know.” Emily nodded. “But I don’t know if I’ll be ready to go to sleep just yet.”

Keiki shook her head. “Me neither.”

Bryce grinned. “Sounds like we need a Lahela family fun night to distract ourselves from our tragic evening.”

“I think so,” Emily agreed.

“I’ll get Bryce’s embarrassing pictures,” Keiki suggested.

“I have no embarrassment.” Bryce shook his head. “It’s not possible to shame me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Emily handed Ava to Bryce. She opened the album and laughed at a baby picture. “Aw.”

Bryce chuckled. “I was cute, huh?”

“You were. Ava looks a lot like you as a baby.”

“She does.” Bryce gave Ava a gentle bounce. She let out a squeal and broke into a toothless smile. “See? She agrees.”

Emily flipped through the pages. There weren’t many pictures compared to her own childhood albums, but there were enough for her to giggle at her fiancé’s childhood snapshots. “Is this you in kindergarten?”

“Yeah. I was the first kid to lose their front teeth because I thought I’d try showing off for everyone. I wiped out on the swing set and knocked my two front teeth out.”

“Poor little you. But it made for a cute picture.” Emily turned the pages until she landed on one of him in high school. “There’s the leather jacket you told me about!

Bryce feigned hurt. “You act surprised. You didn’t believe me?”

“Not completely,” she admitted, unable to stop grinning. “Your hair, though. What were you thinking?”

Keiki shook her head. “He wasn’t.”

Bryce chuckled. “I don’t know why my 17 year old self ever thought I looked intimidating in leather and long hair.”

“You look precious. Not intimidating at all.” Emily grabbed her phone and took a picture of it. She turned to the next page to reveal a picture of Bryce in the same leather jacket, but with a tiara perched on his head. “Keiki, something tells me you were involved in this.”

“You bet.” The teen smirked. “He needs to retake that picture when Ava’s old enough to talk him into doing stuff like that.”

“I will,” Bryce confirmed.

Once Emily reached the end of the book, she closed it and set it aside. “I feel like I know you on a new level now.”

“Good.” Bryce grinned. “My goal is to never stop surprising you.”

By the time they crawled into their bed, it was nearly two in the morning. Emily yawned and snuggled into Bryce’s chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes. “I know they probably won’t be back, but… honestly, I can’t get over the fact that someone broke into our home. Our home is supposed to be safe.”

Bryce tightened his arms around her. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. His fingers smoothed over her hair. “It’ll be okay.”

She nodded tiredly. “Let’s try to get some rest.”

“Good night.”

XXXXXX

In the days that passed, the shock of the break-in slowly subsided, but never fully went away. The police kept them updated for two days before seemingly forgetting their case. Emily and Bryce installed a security alarm and a lock designed to lessen the chance of the door being kicked in again.

On their first day off after the incident, Bryce held Ava as she swatted at the rattle in his hand. Her fingers grazed it, making it rattle. She huffed and swatted again, this time curling her fingers around its handle.

“There you go.” Bryce released the rattle. Ava wiggled her hand and furrowed her face when it made its sound. A knock on the door startled her, making her drop it. “Let’s see who’s here.” He carried her to the door and peered through the peephole.

Immediately, he frowned when he saw the people on the other side. He swung open the door and scowled at their uninvited visitors.

“Mom? Dad?”

Next Chapter

Note: When I started this fic, I expected it to be 6 to 8, MAYBE 10 chapters of pure fluff. But then I decided it needed to be more intense, so... enjoy.

Tags: @elephant9998 / @mvalentine / @fortunatelywaywardsandwich / @whatchique / @achalantspitfire / @lahellacute / @virtuallytakenby / @oofchoices / @dang-lahela / @misswhit12 / @drakeismyweakness / @sitsoncornflake / @a-tragical-tale / @bitchloveskcbaseball / @laceandlula / @paulfwesley / @bloomingsivan / @anotherbeingsworld / @vamped99 / @malvolari-take-my-soul / @doctorsurferbro / @loveellamae / @drethanfreakingramsey / @trappedinfandoms / @elladines / @macy-ray85 / @mrsdrlahela / @lucy-268 / @swimmingauthordreamerbonk / @drakewalker04 / @crystalchrysalis19

#open heart #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #bryce lahela x mc #choices #choices: open heart #keiki lahela

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spiderman-homecomeme · 5 years ago

Text

day five - the baby-sitters club

ROOMMATES AU

A/N: DAY FIVE WOO!!! get ready for some softness!! This fic was very strongly inspired by the fact that for quarantine, I’ve been watching my sister’s two kids for her while she works from home. But instead of giving MJ a two year old and a nine month old, I thought I’d give her a baby and Peter. So two babies.

Thanks @spideychelleweek again!!

Enjoy 5.1k of FLUFF, BABIES, and oh my GOD they were roommates

Read here or on AO3

come home

baby

The text messages stare back up at him, taunting; the three words laughing maniacally as he tries to figure out what it all means, what his roommate of nearly two-and-a-half years MJ means when she sends him something so straightforward, yet still so cryptic.

There’s no chance in the world that she means what he’s thinking she means… that the gutter his mind immediately swan-dives into is in any way the right place to be. MJ, blunt and honest as she is, isn’t someone who just puts herself out there so forwardly.

He’s seen her flirt, and frankly, she’s almost as bad at it as he is.

Granted, she’s been successful a few more times than he has, but still.

In the area of romance and relationships, MJ might as well have that same Parker-Luck.

He realizes mid-swing that he still hasn’t sent any reply. He responds with an appropriate amount of question marks—three to be exact—before his body seems to move on its own accord, cutting off his early Saturday-afternoon patrol short by about half-an-hour and swinging him home at an almost embarrassing speed.

When, his phone pings again.

please I need you

At that, he clumsily misses a shot, forgetting who and where he is, stomach flipping as he hits free-fall for a fraction of a second before catching himself.

His next thought is that this all has to be some accident. Perhaps it’s for someone else; perhaps she knows another Peter, another person she has under “Loser” in her phone. And, weirdly enough, the thought of someone else being so lovingly given that title brings with it a strange feeling in his chest.

Or maybe he’s just completely misunderstanding the statement, which wouldn’t be all that unusual for him. After all, it’s damn near impossible to get someone’s true meaning in a text message. Sarcasm can fall flat when read. The difference between a period and an exclamation point can be monumental. The list goes on.

Though, Peter likes to think in his years of being MJ’s friend, plus the two-and-a-half of being her roommate, that he’s come to know her pretty well, that he’s got all of her phrases and mannerisms tucked away in the “MJ” file in his brain.

Still, after years of friendship, he’d be dumb to think she’d have run out of ways to surprise him.

But what would he even do if a) MJ meant everything literally and b) it wasn’t some accident and she actually, honestly, truly meant it for him?

Really. What would he even do? He has no idea.

He starts to wonder if maybe it’s code for something else when he nearly splats face-first into his fifth-story window, almost losing himself completely in his thoughts. Sliding the window open as quickly as possible, he practically falls into his room, not caring about whether he’s being silent or not. (MJ found out his secret years ago, even before they were really even friends.) He nearly trips over his suit as it flies off, and he stumbles as he yanks on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the night before.

Without another thought, he bursts out of his room, following the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.

What he finds, however, isn’t something he’d ever considered in a million years.

MJ’s there alright, standing in front of the open fridge, searching through the various fruits and vegetables. A perfectly normal occurrence. Nothing to be concerned about.

Only there’s a slight difference.

There’s a baby resting comfortably on her hip, one of its tiny hands reaching out to grab at the stray locks of hair falling from MJ’s ponytail as she ducks her head.

“Uh…” Peter starts, the confusion just coming right out of him. “Hi?”

MJ barely even registers that Peter’s even there. “Oh hey, man.” She’s the very essence of nonchalance as she places some deli-sliced turkey and pepper jack cheese on the counter, her other hand instinctively coming up to stop the baby from grabbing any of it.

At his bewildered silence, she finally meets his gaze, ignoring the infant in her grasp desperately trying to get its chubby hands on the jar of mayo. “What’s up?”

come home

baby

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but finds that nothing comes out at first. He blows out a puff of air through his lips. “I was—I was gonna ask about… your... text…?” He pauses again, his brow furrowed as he glances between her and the tiny human on her hip. “...But I think I understand now.” He huffs out a laugh.

“Oh,” MJ nods, adjusting her grip as she closes the refrigerator door with her foot. “Yeah. That.”

Peter eyes her expectantly. A beat passes.

“What?” She asks innocently, as if she wasn’t just holding a random baby in their kitchen.

“You wanna…” Peter gestures to her, his finger going back and forth between her and the infant. “Explain… The baby?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, my bad.” She goes to the pantry to grab the loaf of bread before turning to look at him again. “This is my son,” she deadpans. “I didn’t tell you?”

“MJ—”

“—you’re the father.”

Peter only returns with an unblinking, unimpressed stare.

“I adopted him this morning.”

Peter blinks.

MJ waits a moment before apparently giving up the joke. “Okay, fine.” She rolls her eyes. “This is my nephew, Oliver. He’s eight months old, and my sister asked me to watch him for the day. I thought the text I sent was pretty clear, though.” There’s a faint smirk on her lips as she says that last bit, an expression that never fails to make Peter’s face warm.

“I mean, it wasn’t,” Peter responds, returning her joking expression, his mind flashing back to the panic he was in not five minutes ago. “But it’s whatever.” He looks down at the baby in her arms, his smirk melting into a wide, easy smile. “Hi, Oliver!”

Little Oliver stares blankly for a moment before turning to bury his face in MJ’s shoulder.

And it’s the fact that Peter doesn’t immediately get a smile in return that makes him feel like literal human garbage.

MJ seems to notice his disappointment. “It’s okay,” She says, bouncing the little one slightly. “Oliver’s kinda iffy with strangers at first. He’ll warm up to you.”

Hmm, sounds familiar, Peter thinks.

A stretch of silence falls over the room, Oliver breaking it with a string of babbles consisting of only “guy” and the occasional “buh,” as he smacks at MJ’s shoulder, his other hand reaching for her hair once again.

“Need any help?” Peter asks, remembering her last text to him, and also seeing the pained expression on her face as Oliver successfully gets a fistful of her curls and tugs it toward his slobbery mouth.

“Um, yeah, actually,” MJ puts her sandwich makings down before walking over and holding her nephew out to him, simultaneously trying to free her hair from his tiny, vice grip. “Can you take him while I make my lunch?”

Peter pauses a moment, eyeing the two of them before carefully holding his hands out. “Uh, sure...”

MJ doesn’t miss the trepidation in his tone, but she also doesn’t seem to address it. Instead, she just hands him the baby, not waiting to see if he’s ready or anything.

Luckily, Peter’s reflexes are fast, and he’s able to hang on to little Oliver, even if it is slightly awkward. Both of his arms are wrapped around the small torso, the eight month old pushing back against his chest, letting out a frustrated whine. The pleading expression on Peter’s face as he turns to face MJ again causes her to huff out a sudden laugh.

Peter moves one of his hands to support the head, though he feels more and more that he’s losing control of the baby in his arms that desperately wants to look around the room.

Again, MJ puts her ingredients down, making her way back over. “Just… hold him under his butt.” Gently, she guides Peter’s hands with her own to a more comfortable position, a touch under any normal circumstances would make him question his sanity. “He’s old enough to hold himself up, so you don’t need to like, support the back of his head or anything.”

Having never had much experience with babies—no little siblings, cousins, or his own nieces and nephews—this is entirely uncharted territory for Peter. His only interactions with littles have been through his work as Spider-Man. While it’s true that he’s saved one or two from burning buildings, this is something entirely different.

And it becomes abundantly clear that Oliver can still sense the insecurity, even as Peter’s hold improves, when he starts letting out quiet, fussy whimpers. “Ahhh,” Peter panics for a moment, eyes wide as he looks to MJ for help, before adjusting his grip again, allowing the baby into a more natural position.

“See? Super easy,” MJ says as she cuts her sandwich in half.

Neither boy seems completely at ease with the other.

“I guess,” Peter replies, lightly bouncing on his feet. “Need any more help besides this?”

“Sure.” MJ looks up from her lunch before taking a bite. “But don’t think this means you’re getting any of my paycheck,” she jokes through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “This isn’t some Baby-Sitters Club shit, alright?”

Peter gives a firm nod. "Understood."

“Okay, well. Here’s the rundown,” She says as she finishes her lunch and begins to make her way into the living room. “My sister will be back tonight at 6:30. Before then, he needs to eat and sleep about every three hours. Last bottle was… thirty minutes ago? So he’ll need another one at about… two-ish, and then a nap right after.”

While she’s talking, rattling off the to-do list, the softest smile forms on Peter’s face as he listens and follows her.

“And then, of course, we’ll have to change his diaper a lot, give him a new one before and after his nap and…” She notices her roommate staring, his eyes tinted with humor. “What?”

Peter coughs, clearing his throat, the tips of his ears turning an embarrassing shade of pink, though his smile never leaves. “Oh, uh, nothing. You just… you seem to have this down to a science. Like you care. A lot.”

She jerks her head back in mild surprise. “Well, yeah. He’s my nephew. And I told my sister he’d be back in one piece.”

“That’s fair,” Peter concedes.

“Plus, I’m not you,” she teases. “I don’t half-ass jobs.”

“Hey!” Peter’s eyes narrow at her, and he brings a hand to his chest, wounded, but he can’t seem to drop the dopey little grin her teasing brings.

“In the meantime—” MJ sits down on the ground, motioning for Peter to follow suit. “—we can just play with him.”

Peter nods, though he struggles to find a way down that’s comfortable for both him and Oliver. He wonders if he should put the baby down first? Or if it’s completely safe to just sit. And again, his hesitation is clear, both to Oliver and to MJ.

“Dude, just put him down.” She says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Yeah—Yeah, I—” Peter shifts on his feet. “I got that part.”

Oliver lets out the beginning of an anxious cry.

With another awkward side-step, Peter seems to figure it out, either from actually piecing it together or from not wanting the tiny human in his arms to start screaming, he’s not sure. He gently—and perhaps with an overwhelming amount of caution—places the eight month old on the ground. Oliver, still crying, glances around frantically. His wails stop almost immediately, his face lighting up, positively beaming when his eyes meet MJ’s.

Michelle only gives him half-a-smirk and there’s a big, happy grin on his chubby face.

Oliver’s eyes move from hers after a beat, darting around the room curiously before landing on Peter.

Peter puts on a silly smile. “Hey, buddy!” He greets in his best impression of a baby-talk voice.

Though Oliver seems to be mildly fascinated by this new stranger, his expression shows that he’s less than impressed at the attempt.

And looking up, Peter sees the same look on MJ’s face.

Michelle, however, seems to take pity on her poor roommate, swooping in to rescue him from further embarrassment in front of a literal eight month old child. “He really likes when you blow raspberries at him,” MJ offers. “He’ll either laugh or do one back. It’s cute.”

Peter nods, though he doesn’t try.

MJ sits forward, getting her nephews attention, sticking her tongue out and letting out a harsh puff of air. As if on cue, Oliver lets out one of quite possibly the cutest sounds Peter’s ever heard. The baby’s eyes widen first, mouth forming a tiny little circle before he breaks into giggles, eyes barely open, his smile wide and gummy. When she does it a second time, his hands fly to his face, curled into tiny little fists.

Peter has to physically hold back the audible awwww that threatens to just come right out of him at the sight.

It takes a third time for Oliver to blow a raspberry back at MJ. It’s clumsy, and a bit of his drool flies out everywhere, but even then, Michelle’s unable to keep the small grin from tugging at the corner of her mouth.

It’s when Peter tries, tongue stuck out with some forced air, that little Oliver’s smile slowly fades, his tiny features now fixed into a calculating expression.

Almost instantly, Peter deflates.

MJ starts to stand, putting a toy in front of the baby before giving Peter a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay, tiger. You’ll get ‘em next time.” She stretches her hands high above her head, the action earning another squeal of delight from Oliver.

Oh, come on! Bare minimum, Peter thinks.

In fact, almost everything Michelle seems to do gets the same reaction. She’s not a particularly sunny, bubbly person—far from it—but even her blank, impassive stares seem to incite rounds and rounds of uncontrollable giggles from her nephew.

“Hey, can you watch him while I run to the bathroom?” MJ asks, already walking in that direction.

“Yeah—yeah,” Peter nods, pressing his lips together. “Totally.”

Oliver doesn’t immediately notice when she’s gone, and he sits there, happily chewing on the soft toy that Michelle had placed in front of him. Though, when he realizes that he’s been left alone with the stranger, he grows restless.

Peter sees his opportunity. “Hey! Hey Buddy! Hey Oliver!” He says with an overdramatic excitement. Again, he blows a quiet raspberry at the little one, feeling just slightest bit of success when one of the corners of Oliver’s mouth quirks upward for the briefest of moments.

But the feeling quickly dissipates when Oliver’s attention goes back to the clearly more interesting toy.

It does rattle, after all.

Peter sits back on his hands, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he tries to come up with another way to get this dang baby to smile. If he could get him to laugh, bonus points. But now, all he needs is the teeniest, tiniest smile, and maybe he’ll feel like he can actually succeed in life.

He doesn’t take a second to think about how he’s banking all of his future self-worth on whether or not a baby thinks he’s funny enough. Much less likes him.

But something catches Oliver’s curious eyes, and he turns to look at Peter—or rather, Peter’s hands. Turning his gaze downward, Peter sees that the simple bands of his webshooters—though the ‘shooty’ part of them is put away—are still on his wrists, and the dark silver metal is shining in the pocket of sunlight on the living room floor.

Oliver lets out an excited, intrigued coo. He leans forward, tiny little noises of exertion coming from his as he starts army crawling to Peter’s place on the floor.

And really, Peter can’t help himself. He picks Oliver up again, placing him back in a sitting position before taking one of the bands off his wrist. “You wanna see this, buddy?” Peter asks in a gentle tone, holding out the webshooter to the infant. “It looks cool, huh?”

Oliver takes the metal band into his tiny, chubby hands, his mouth set into a little circle, his eyes wide as he shakes the new toy furiously.

“You like ‘em, little dude?”

Oliver answers with a loud, excited “Ah!” In the same breath, he brings the webshooter to his mouth.

And although Peter’s reflexes are fast, he can’t stop the eight month old from chomping on the cold metal between his gums.

“Oliver!” Peter says, surprised that there’s a laugh underneath his tone. “You’re not supposed to chew on it!”

“What is he chewing on?” MJ’s voice is behind him again as she walks back into the room.

Peter barely turns around to look at her as he responds. “My webshooter.”

“Oh, my God! Peter, I leave for one second—” Michelle instantly moves to her nephew, taking the metal band from his tiny grasp, setting it on the coffee table before joining them on the floor. “You let him put that in his mouth?”

“He seemed interested in it!” Peter defends.

“He’s a baby, dude.” MJ stares at him. “He’s interesting in literally everything.”

“Not me…” Peter mutters under his breath before speaking at a normal volume again. “All I did was hand it to him!”

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. “You let him—a baby, who you saw earlier trying to eat my hair—hold your webshooter, not thinking he was going to want to chew on it?”

Peter tilts his head, bottom lip poking out as he shrugs. She has a fair point. He did not think that through. Upon this moment of realization, he flinches, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”

And at that, at his evident regret, she seems to soften. A sigh escapes her. “It’s fine, dude.” She laughs. “I’ve definitely let him chew on things that were just as bad before I learned. It was one time, but… I’ve been there.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, holding his head back as he looks at her from the corner of his eye.

Her gaze shifts around the room, avoiding his for some reason. “No prob.”

The moment, tiny and seemingly insignificant as it is, is ending with another excited, incoherent, attention-demanding yell from the baby in front of them.

They play with Oliver for the rest of the early-afternoon, Peter still never getting anything more than a half-smile, if even that. Michelle always getting them effortlessly, without even trying, her nephew clearly smitten with her.

And it’s not like Peter’s stopped trying. In fact, he might even say—or rather, he might be influenced by MJ saying—that he’s trying a little too hard maybe. He has tried everything though, it seems. Once he’s more comfortable holding the baby, he tries swinging him up into the air, but that only gets a few, ever so faint, single laughs. Nothing like the giggles that MJ gets out of him.

Oliver’s even grown to be more comfortable around Peter, no longer glancing around frantically, looking to be rescued when placed in his arms. The baby even holds onto him, something MJ says is one of his little signs that he does indeed “like you.”

So, in theory, Peter should be able to make this baby smile. Make him laugh.

But, it’s much easier said than done. At least for him.

When one-thirty rolls around, MJ gets a call from her boss. Nothing to worry about, she says, but one she needs to take outside.

Peter being much more confident, thinks nothing of it. In fact, he finds it to be the perfect opportunity to really master this whole baby thing. Even with no experience, he’s finding this easier than he’d ever thought. It just comes more naturally to him the more time he spends with Oliver.

It’s weird in the coolest way.

There are various, multi-colored blocks on the floor in front of Oliver, one of them between his drooly, chubby hands and in his mouth. He spares a few glances at Peter, once again, only a corner of his mouth quirking upward, though this one does seem to reach his eyes.

Peter will take that as one of the many steps of an actual win.

But nothing else seems to come out of it, Oliver just chewing on his block while Peter sits there in silent contemplation. Not wanting to try anything new, Peter goes back to the initial method. The classic, farty raspberries.

Peter blows one at him, Oliver taking the block out of his mouth to flail his arms the slightest bit.

Now, that’s something, Peter thinks.

Peter does it again, earning the same, cute reaction; arms waving a little harder this time. At the third time, he doesn’t get the giggle he’s looking for, but an energetic squeal before Oliver sticks his little tongue out and blows a raspberry right back at him.

In Oliver’s excitement at the fourth time, he flails a little too hard, losing his balance and tumbling over to the right and onto the soft carpet. His head just barely bumps the bright green block, and at first, his expression is blank and slightly confused.

And then, there’s a second; one where Peter hears the sharp, deep intake of breath.

Oliver lets out a scared, long wail. It trails off, hiccuping as he lets out another scream. Peter instantly moves to him, taking the baby into his arms and holding him to his chest. His hand rests at the back of his small head, and he softly shh’s him, murmuring gentle, if not a little bit panicked, words of reassurance.

“It’s okay, buddy! You’re okay!” Peter’s attempt at comforting the crying baby is valiant, but it doesn’t pay off. His voice comes out too shaky, no matter how quiet it is.

When the door opens, MJ shutting it behind her, Peter looks up as if to thank whatever higher being that graciously decided to take pity on him.

MJ’s brow is pinched together, her expression concerned. “What happened?”

Peter’s heart seems to have fallen into his stomach, and his stomach into his butt. “Uh…” He takes a breath. “He—he fell and... hit his head on—on one of the blocks.”

MJ holds her hands out to take the baby that’s too distracted by its own crying to even notice. “It’s okay,” she says to Oliver (and to Peter). “It happens sometimes. That’s how he learns to keep his balance.” She rocks back and forth, speaking softly to little Oliver as he clings desperately to her shirt, crying into her collarbone. “Auntie MJ, I fell over,” She speaks for him in a gentle tone, quiet enough that Peter probably wouldn’t be able to hear without his super senses. “It was so scary!”

The crying soon turns to quiet whimpers that line up perfectly with her rocks from side-to-side; it’s almost as if he’s telling her all about what happened.

Peter watches, a smile forming on his lips at the gentleness coming from his friend before him in spite of the near-crippling fear he’d just experienced moments before. He’s never really seen MJ this soft before, speaking with such tenderness. A few times, maybe, when she’s seen an animal; a dog, a cat, a bumblebee, a dragonfly, even the wayward spider, but nothing like this before.

The crying eventually stops, and little Oliver looks up at MJ. She smiles down at him, lightly squeezing his sides under his armpits, and a tiny grin breaks across his features as he reaches his chubby hands out to her cheeks.

MJ can feel Peter’s eyes and smile burning into her.

“What?” She asks, perhaps a little defensive.

“Nothing!” Peter says immediately, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Just… Interesting—Nice, I mean, seeing you… with him.”

She raises a curious, almost judging brow, still rocking on her feet.

“I mean—” Peter huffs out a laugh. “You don’t really like people all that much.”

“I mean… I don’t know. When you think about it, babies aren’t really people yet?” MJ reasons, scrunching her face playfully at the baby in her arms. “Like, of course they’re physically people, but… They aren’t terrible, yet. And I think they should be rewarded for that.”

Peter laughs again, not able to stop the fond shake of his head as MJ blows another raspberry at her nephew.

Not long after, two o’clock comes. MJ once again leaves Peter to watch Oliver while she goes and heats up a bottle. Thankfully, nothing happens this time around. In fact, it’s pretty uneventful. Peter sits across from the baby, showing him how to stack a set of colorful rings on a wooden stick.

Of course, he still doesn’t get a smile, but… it’s fine.

MJ returns just minutes later, Oliver’s eyes going wide, cooing in excitement, when he sees what’s in her hand. He seems to dance in place, his limbs flailing about when she goes to pick him up. “Alright, my dude, let’s get you some milk and then a nap.”

“He doesn’t seem super tired, though?” Peter asks rather than states.

Again, as if on cue, even amidst his sheer excitement, Oliver lets out a yawn, bringing his tiny fists up to rub at his eyes.

MJ raises a brow that speaks volumes.

Peter shuts up.

Peter gets a much need break as MJ feeds her nephew, both of them scrolling on their phones as the little one practically inhales his meal. But soon, as he gets to where there’s about a fourth of the bottle left, his small eyelids seem to grow heavier and heavier, and he struggles to keep them both open. And even sooner after that, as he finishes the last drop, little snoozes can be heard as he falls fast asleep on his aunt.

Peter looks up then, just a few moments later, having not been paying attention, seeing that MJ’s shifting to laying down on the couch, her nephew cuddled up beside her. Her own eyes are closed, her arms above her head as she starts to drift off.

And at that, he takes a chance, moving as quietly as he can to go stand above the slumbering duo. He pulls his phone out, swiping to the camera, taking a single picture, when MJ cracks an eye open, feeling his presence.

“What are you doing?” She asks sleepily.

Peter barely looks up from his phone, lips pulled back into a mischievous grin. “Getting blackmail. In case I need it.”

“Oh?” MJ questions, unable to keep from closing her eyes again.

“Yeah.” Peter puts his phone away. “Imagine what everyone would think seeing big, tough, mean Michelle Jones cuddling with a baby.”

MJ rolls her eyes. “Come on. You’ve done way more embarrassing things. This is nothing.”

Peter nods. “Fair.”

“Plus,” MJ continues, though she can’t stop the playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I can just murder you if you ever show that to anyone. No biggie.”

Peter covers his mouth as he lets out a surprised snort.

“Thank you so much for watching him!”

Peter hears a new voice from the living room. He steps over the threshold, seeing Michelle’s sister standing in the front doorway, empty baby carrier next to her feet, Oliver happily on her hip.

MJ shrugs. “No problem.” Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Peter. “Oh, Lara, this is my roommate, Peter. He helped out.”

Lara’s smile widens as she reaches her free hand out to shake his. “Hi Peter. Thanks for helping my dear sister take care of this little monster.” She punctuates that statement with a tickle in her son’s side, earning a hiccuping giggle.

Peter can’t help but grin. “Anytime.”

“But just because he helped doesn’t mean you should pay him,” MJ cuts in before throwing a teasing wink to her friend.

Lara ignores her sister’s comment. “Peter, just find me on facebook, send me your venmo, we’ll figure it out. Simple.”

“No, no.” Peter waves her off. “That’s really—that’s okay,” he chuckles nervously, gaze flitting between the older sister and his roommate.

Lara shrugs. “We’ll figure it out,” she repeats. She takes one of Oliver’s hands in hers. “Alright, Oliver. Wave bye-bye to your Aunt MJ and… Peter.” She shrugs again, this time more apologetic.

MJ waves back at her nephew, moving forward to give him a little boop on his chubby cheeks. “See ya later, bud. Till the next time.”

The baby grins, wide and happy.

Peter waves, too, putting on his best, biggest, most genuine smile yet. “Bye bye, Oliver!”

And finally.

FINALLY.

The wonderful, adorable, gummy little grin of validation that Peter wanted so badly stretches across the little one’s features. Oliver turns his head, bashfully burying his face into his mother’s hair. She smiles, putting her son into the carrier.

“Thanks, guys,” Lara offers with a final wave, closing the door behind her.

The apartment is quiet, the click of the shutting door echoing between the two roommates as they stand there. Peter’s the first to look over; he doesn’t turn his head, sneaking little glances from the corner of his eye.

And he sees MJ do the same once.

“Well, that was fun,” he offers lamely, rocking back on his heels. “We made a good team!”

“Yup,” MJ agrees, pressing her lips together.

He turns to her. “For real, though. I had a blast,” he says earnestly.

She turns to him. “Me, too,” she replies, and he swears he can detect a hint of shyness to her tone.

And for a moment, they just stare at each other, neither one of them saying anything. The words unsaid hanging between them like a thick blanket.

Peter clears his throat. “MJ… Today… Kinda got me thinking—”

“—Oh my, God. Yes. We should have a baby together.”

Her words nearly knock him right out of his head and into the astral plane. If he were a cartoon, he’s sure he’d have those damn stars and cuckoo circling his head like a giant anvil had just landed on top of him.

“What?!”

She breaks, her laughter filling the apartment. “Dude, I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Geez.”

Peter breathes out a laugh, nodding slowly.

He really had been right, he thinks as she playfully ruffles his hair and walks past him into the kitchen, asking what he wants to do for dinner; he’s right that even after all the years he’s spent with MJ, she never fails to run out of ways to mess with him.

“Yeah…” His mouth twists as he tries to hide his smile, glancing briefly at the door, then at the toys that had been left at their apartment just in case there was another day of babysitting. He laughs, mostly to himself. “We’d be horrible parents anyway.”

#spideychelle #spideychelleweek2k20 #petermj #peter parker #michelle jones #mcu #spider-man #fic

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winchester-fantasies · 5 years ago

Text

Day 182 - Part 1

Day 182 Masterlist

Series Summary: You and Dean are on a routine hunt when strange things begin to happen around you. When you start searching for answers, you soon find yourselves stuck, under quarantine, and no way to communicate with the outside world.

Word Count: 4057

Warnings: angst, bit of violence, swearing

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

A/N: Part 1 of my quarantine fic! I am loving writing this one, and it’s completely taken on a life of its own! I will try to post a new part once a week, but there is no set schedule. If you would like a tag let me know! Now sit back and enjoy Part 1 of Day 182....

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

Day 1

“So get this,” Sam said from across the table.

You looked up from the open book in front of you and Dean from his cup of steaming coffee to look at the youngest Winchester.

“‘Man in downtown Austin was attacked Friday afternoon by a man that some witnesses are saying acted like a wild or rabid animal,’” Sam read, brow furrowed. “Says here that the guy went straight for the jugular and didn’t let go until...until, uh, a local police officer...shot him…. In the head.”

“What the fuck?” you breathed. “Croatoan?”

“Doubt it,” Sam said, shaking his head. “It’s similar, but none of it really sounds like Croatoan. It’s like a weird, Croatoan hybrid.”

“Whoa,” Sam breathed a split second later, a look of shock crossing his face.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison, darting a quick glance at one another before turning your attention back to Sam.

“Another news story of the exact same thing happening was reported in Denver,” Sam said. “On the same day.”

“That can’t be a coincidence,” you said.

“Sounds like our kinda deal,” Dean said. “Okay, me and (Y/N) will check it out.” You nodded, pushing back from the table.

“Sammy, you stay here and keep digging. See if you can find anything else on this thing,” Dean directed.

“Yeah, will do,” Sam said with a quick nod. “I’ll call up a few other hunters, dig through Dad’s journal…. Maybe even see if there’s anything in the Men of Letters’ books.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said. “Start packing,” he continued, addressing you.

You nodded quickly before heading for your room, taking out your duffle and throwing the usual clothes and necessities you packed for a routine hunt. You were half-way through packing when you realized just how nervous you were. You weren’t really sure just what it was, but something was gnawing at your insides, begging for your attention.

You stopped packing, leaning forward on the mattress and closed your eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. “This is just another hunt...just another hunt,” you repeated, but no matter how much you told yourself that, nothing seemed to alleviate the uneasiness.

You finished packing, throwing your hair into a ponytail before slinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way back to the library. “You ready?” Dean asked from where he was sitting at the library table, duffle bag at his feet.

You nodded silently, and Dean got up from his perch with a groan, bending over and picking up his bag. “See ya, Sammy,” he said, slapping the tabletop lightly.

Sam tipped his head and smiled at both you and his brother. “Stay safe.”

“We will,” Dean reassured. “We’ll check in once we’ve reached Austin.”

With that Dean turned and headed for the stairs that led to the bunker’s heavy, iron door. You followed closely behind, each stomp of your feet against the metal stairs like another nail in the coffin.

**********

You reached Austin by sundown. It was a beautiful and sprawling city with tall buildings and lovely views. If it hadn’t been for the fact that you and Dean were working a case, you would have actually enjoyed strolling around the city and seeing some of the sights.

Dean drove a ways out of the city, finding a secluded motel. He parked the Impala before you both alighted, taking your duffles out of the trunk and making your way to the lobby. A woman in her forties sat behind the counter, swivel fan on and turned towards her, her humidity-frizzed hair moving softly around her worn face.

“What can I do you for?” she asked, getting up from her perch, the stool creaking under her weight. She came to the desk, flipping open a ledger. Before either one of you could answer her question she spoke again. “I have a queen. One night. Cash only.”

Your cheeks flamed red at her implication, and Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Uh, no thanks,” he said, giving her her tight-lipped smile. “Two queens will do.”

The woman seemed unfazed as she jotted something down in the ledger. “Thirty-five bucks.”

Dean took out his wallet, flipping it open and taking out a small wad of cash. He thumbed through it, the woman’s eyes zoned in on the money before he tossed down a few bills.

The woman grabbed the money and tipped her head before reaching behind her and taking a key from the set of hooks on the wall. “Room 5. Check out is at 11:00.”

“Thanks,” Dean said before turning and motioning for you to follow him. You made your way outside, crossing the parking lot to a set of rooms. Room 5 was right on the street, vehicles passing every few minutes.

Dean unlocked the door, a wave of hot, musty air hitting your face as he swung it open. You both stepped inside, Dean finding the light switch, the room bathed in muted light. It was small, two beds hugging either side of the room, a worn nightstand the only thing separating them.

“We’ll find a better place tomorrow,” Dean promised as he made his way to one of the beds, tossing his duffle at the foot before throwing himself down on the mattress, springs squeaking. “You can have the first shower.”

“Thanks,” you said, depositing your own duffle on top of the bed. You unzipped it, taking out a pair of sweats and a tank top before making your way to the bathroom.

All but one of the lights over the dirty mirror was out, and the sink underneath was chipped. You closed the lid to the toilet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months, setting your clothes on the back before undressing and flipping on the fan in the ceiling, the motor rattling.

You pulled back the shower curtain, pleasantly surprised; the shower and tub was fairly clean, and you turned on the water, letting it run for a bit before stepping inside. The water was lukewarm and the pressure shitty, but it felt good nonetheless.

After getting out, throwing on your change of clothes, and tossing the used towel and washcloth in the corner of the bathroom, you exited the room. Dean was still sprawled out on the bed, arms behind his head and eyes closed. The room was cooler than when you had first entered, and you realized Dean must have turned on the A/C unit.

“Your turn,” you said, falling onto your own mattress. It was hard and lumpy, a few springs digging into your back and it smelled old; looked it, too, with a few threadbare patches and unknown but questionable stains.

Dean groaned as he sat up, his eyes slightly puffy, indicating he’d drifted off for a few minutes while you were cleaning up. “Save me any hot water?” he asked, his jade eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Shut up,” you chuckled, smiling and closing your eyes, throwing an arm over your face.

You heard Dean moving around the room, the bathroom door closing a few moments later before the water in the shower turned on. Voices could be heard through the thin walls, a woman moaning her lover’s name. The air conditioning started up again a few seconds later, the sputtering air drowning out the sounds of ecstasy next door.

Your body relaxed and before you knew it, you’d drifted off to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open a few hours later, the sounds of a movie filling the air, making you glance over to the other bed. Dean was leaning back against the headboard, laptop open and resting on his lap, a slice of pizza hanging from his hand. He was chewing, his eyes lit up as he watched the screen. He threw his head back, a deep and hearty laugh bubbling up. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him. Times like these were rare; moments when Dean would just let go - be carefree.

As if sensing your eyes on him, Dean glanced over at you, and he grinned. “Hungry?” he asked, a hint of laughter still in his voice as he held up the slice of pizza in his hand.

“Yeah,” you admitted, sitting up.

“C’mon over,” Dean said, patting the space beside him.

You grinned and climbed off the bed, stretching your back before making your way over to Dean. You crawled onto the mattress and settled down beside him before you leaned forward and grabbed a slice from the pizza box at the end of the bed.

You leaned back against the headboard with Dean, and he shifted the laptop so you could see, too. It was an old black and white Red Skelton comedy, and you found it hard to hold in your laughter as you ate.

You and Dean spent the rest of the evening pigging out on candy and beer, binge watching Netflix, and only going to bed when your eyes couldn’t stay open on their own accord. It had been a long time since you’d laughed like that - first time in a very long time since you had really felt content - and you found yourself smiling as you once again fell asleep.

**********

Day 2

A low rumble sounded in the distance, breaking through the thick haze of sleep. You groaned and smacked your lips lightly, rolling to your side as you chased after the sleep you were already losing. But the rumble continued, growing louder and closer.

You opened your eyes, trying to place exactly what it was. It wasn’t a plane, you knew that much, and you hadn’t seen any train tracks near the motel yesterday. You failed to pinpoint exactly what it was so you finally threw off the covers and went to the window.

You parted the dusty and yellowed shades with your hands and peeked outside. It was a few moments before you saw the cause of the rumble, but your breath caught in your throat when you finally caught sight of it. An entourage of military vehicles passed by the motel on the road, a tank following close behind.

“What the hell?” you said under your breath as you watched several men in military uniform marching alongside and trailing behind the procession.

“Dean!” you hissed as you turned away from the window. The room was still dim, but you could just make out Dean, sprawled out on his stomach, one arm dangling off the side of the bed, covers having been shoved to the end of the bed sometime during the night. He was snoring softly, and you hated having to wake him, especially given the fact he was such a hard sleeper and more often than not woke up moody when his sleep was abruptly interrupted. But what you had seen was unusual and unnerving and Dean needed to know.

So you made your way to the bed, stopping at the edge where his arm hung off the side. “Dean,” you whispered again. He smacked his lips and moved slightly as if he was aware of you, but he made no move to wake up. So you finally sucked it up and leaned over his body. “Dean!” you snapped, shaking him.

He shot up in bed, his eyes wild and searching, gun from under his pillow now in hand. A look of irritation replaced his shock as he realized it was you and not an enemy, and he lowered his gun, a hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, (Y/N),” he growled. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

“You need to see this,” you said, motioning him for him to follow you as you made your way back to the window.

Dean grumbled, but he climbed out of bed nevertheless and joined you at the window. The entourage had thinned out a little, but it was still going. It took a moment for Dean to respond, but then his eyes widened. “What the…?” he murmured.

“Exactly,” you said, uneasiness once again filling your stomach.

Dean stepped away as the last of the convoy disappeared down the road. He turned to face you, his shocked and confused expression matching what you felt inside. “Do you think this could have something to do with that attack?” you asked.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know…. It could, but I mean, it was only one attack.”

“Or at least that’s what Sam read,” you said, your tone betraying your uncertainty.

Dean bit his lower lip thoughtfully before he headed for the bed. “Let me call Sam,” he stated, picking his phone up from the nightstand. “See if he’s found or heard anything new.”

You nodded, going to join him. You sat down on your own bed, facing him. You leaned forward to flip on the single lamp on the table as Dean dialed his brother’s number.

Dean’s eyes met your own as it rang, his expression one you weren’t sure you knew how to read. His gaze dropped to the floor as Sam finally answered. “Hey, man,” Dean said. “Listen...somethin’ weird’s going on here and….”

Dean’s brow furrowed when his brother interrupted him. “Sammy?” he asked.

You could hear Sam’s voice on the other end, broken and questioning through the staticky connection. You made out, “Dean?”, “Can you hear me?”, “Are you there?”

Dean grunted in frustration, finally hanging up and throwing his phone down beside him. “Connection’s all wonky,” he growled.

The room fell silent, and you watched Dean carefully as you waited for him to say something else, anything to tell you what needed to happen. “Okay,” Dean finally said, meeting your gaze. “We need answers. I’ll go talk to someone in charge. You stay here.”

“No!” you stated defiantly. “I’m going with you. We don’t know what's going on out there,” you hurried to add when Dean started to protest. “We shouldn’t be split up. Especially not now.”

Dean eyed you as if contemplating your argument. Finally he nodded. “Okay, fine,” he said, voice gruff and sharp. “But we stay together.”

“Of course,” you said with a quick nod.

“Okay, let’s get dressed,” Dean directed. “Then let’s get outta here.”

You nodded and jumped up, rifling through your duffle bag and pulling out a comfortable change of clothes. You went to the bathroom to change before quickly brushing your teeth and throwing your hair into a ponytail. Emerging from the bathroom, you found Dean perched on the end of his bed, phone in hand. His thumb was slowly swiping over the screen as he read something.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, glancing up at you. He turned off the screen and stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. He grabbed his pistol from where he’d placed it on the nightstand, and you found your Bowie knife, slipping it into the waistband of your jeans.

Dean took up Baby’s keys before heading for the door. You stopped on the concrete stoop outside the room while Dean locked up, surveying the area around the motel. Everything was quiet…. Almost too quiet and that familiar prick of discomfort reared its head.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Dean abruptly turned around, the jingle of keys loud as he tossed them in the air before catching them and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. “Easy…” he said, regarding your with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You’ve been jumpy since we left the bunker. You good?”

“Yeah,” you said without ceremony. “Let’s just go.” You turned and stepped off the stoop. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you headed for the Impala, but you didn’t dare turn around. You didn’t know just where this uneasiness was coming from, and you had no way of coherently explaining it to him. You knew what his answer would be anyway. He’d just tell you you were worrying needlessly and to just relax. But you knew you’d never be able to do that. Not when everything around you was telling you to run.

Dean finally decided to join you, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting up the Impala. The streets were empty as Dean drove down the highway; no morning commuters, people walking their dogs, early morning joggers, or school buses making their rounds. It was entirely deserted, leaving you feeling as if you were the only two people left in the city.

Neither of you spoke a word as you headed towards the heart of the city. There was a certain hush in the air that neither of you really felt like disturbing so you sat still and peeled your eyes ahead, waiting and searching for anything out of the ordinary - well, anything that was more out of the ordinary than everything already was.

Road blocks had been set up on the outskirts of the city limits. Dean stopped the Impala and sat still for a moment, looking around. He finally cut the engine, pocketed the keys, and stepped out onto the asphalt. You took his lead, joining him outside.

You watched him carefully for a moment before shutting your door and walking around the Impala, going to stand by his side. “This doesn’t feel right,” Dean said as if just now realizing the strangeness.

There was a muffled shout, and you both turned to look. A man in full military uniform could be seen directing a company of soldiers as they set up another blockade a short distance away.

“Let me go talk to them,” Dean said. He jumped over the large cement blocks and started across the road and large expanse of grass leading to the group of men. You hurried after him, determined to stay together.

“Mornin’!” Dean hollered when he got close enough for them to hear. They stopped what they were doing, jerking around to face both you and Dean, guns raised. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean said, stopping abruptly and causing you to collide into his back. You stepped out from behind him when you realized he had his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture, you being quick to do the same.

“What are you doing here?” the man in charge snapped.

“We just wanna know what’s going on,” Dean explained.

“Nothing that concerns civilians,” the man said dismissively.

“Really? Because I happen to think it does,” Dean retorted. “Especially given the fact that you’re blocking off the city.”

The soldier’s face hardened, but he didn’t respond. “McDowell!” he suddenly called over his shoulder. One of the younger men immediately left the rest of the company and made his way over to where you were all standing.

“Yes, sir?” he asked, his voice sounding barely old enough to be out of high school.

“Please escort these folks to the camp,” he instructed.

“Hold up,” Dean said, taking a step back when McDowell started your way. “We’re not going anywhere with anyone until we get some answers!”

“Not happening,” the man in charge said authoritatively.

“Wait, wait!” Dean snapped. “All our stuff - it’s back at a motel a little ways from here. We’ll go quietly; we’ll leave town just….”

“Son,” the man said, a hint of an unamused chuckle in his voice. “You just crossed the blockade into a quarantined city. Nobody’s leaving.”

“Sir, if you’ll just….”

“McDowell!” the man shouted, and before either you or Dean could register what was happening, McDowell had lashed out, pistol-whipping Dean across the head with the butt of his rifle.

Dean crumpled to the ground, a grunt of pain on his lips. “Dean!” you cried out. You lunged down towards him as he struggled to his knees, but you suddenly found yourself down beside him, cowering as McDowell held the butt over you threateningly.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dean snapped.

“Enough!” the older man behind McDowell yelled. “Take ‘em to Camp.”

Dean didn’t argue this time as McDowell jerked him to his feet, another soldier coming over and pulling you off the ground next. They marched you down the road, the buildings growing closer and looming over you.

Several tents could be seen pitched across another patch of ground on the edge of the city, soldiers and military vehicles encamped about. Clamoring voices filled the air as you got closer to the camp, and you noticed a long line of civilians leading up to one tent in particular, people stepping through every few seconds.

“Wait here,” McDowell said, shoving Dean behind a woman and little girl before doing the same to you. You stumbled forward, but Dean caught you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held you close as he stared after the retreating soldiers.

“You okay?” Dean asked, finally taking his eyes off their backs and looking down at you.

“I should be asking you that!” you scoffed incredulously. “Dean,” you said remorsefully as you raised your hand to his forehead. A gash ran along his hairline from where McDowell had landed the butt of his rifle and a small trail of blood led down to his temple. You touched his brow gently, but he hissed and jerked away from your touch. “I’m sorry, Dean,” you said.

“Had worse,” Dean mumbled gruffly under his breath as he let you go and turned to face ahead.

“Only family members allowed to stay together!” a voice boomed out over the crowd as you shuffled closer to the tent. “All others will be taken to separate quarantine sights!” He repeated the words again and an icy chill settled deep within your stomach. You were going to be separated from Dean....

You were suddenly brought back to the present as Dean took your hand, weaving your fingers tightly together. “Follow my lead,” he said quietly, giving your hand a quick squeeze. You swallowed hard and your stomach clenched with anxiety as the woman and child stepped up next.

A scream from the little girl echoed through the air a second later as she was abruptly ripped from the woman’s arms. “No!” the woman cried, reaching out for the child. “No, please! I have to get her to her parents! I have to get her home!” The screams of the child and the cries of the woman faded away as they were taken away in opposite directions.

“Relation?” the soldier sitting at a small table asked as you and Dean stepped up next.

“Siblings,” Dean said, the lie falling effortlessly from his tongue, and if you hadn’t known better, you would have believed it.

The soldier jerked his head behind him and another one directed you and Dean through the tent. “Next!” the soldier’s voice called out.

You and Dean were escorted through the tent to the other side before being loaded into the bed of a truck. Several others joined you before the truck started towards the city. It felt as if hours had passed before the truck finally stopped.

“Everyone off!” a soldier called out, the bed coming down as people began to unload. “Every family has their own apartment! You’ll be given numbers! Stay inside and wait for further instructions!”

Dean jumped down before turning and grabbing your waist to help you down before you made your way to a tall set of apartments that reached nearly as high as some of the smaller skyscrapers.

“22,” another soldier stated, handing you and Dean a slip of paper. Dean took it and you headed inside. Apartment 22 was the last one at the end of the hallway. Dean turned the knob, the door opening without resistance. You both stepped inside and Dean quickly closed and bolted the door before flipping on the light.

You looked around at the space. It was completely furnished with quaint decor, and if it hadn't been for the fear and confusion clouding your mind, you actually would have called it homey.

Dean trooped to the recliner in the corner and sat down heavily, shoulders slumped and a bewildered look in his normally confident green eyes.

You made your way to the love seat under the window and slumped down into the plush cushions. You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, and cradled your head in your hands.

You ran your fingers through your hair roughly before looking up towards Dean across from you, meeting his gaze. “What the fuck just happened?”

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

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤️❤️

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

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Day 182:

@wingedcatninja @hazel-eyed-hunter

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #day 182

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adventuresloane · 4 years ago

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The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) - Chapter 9

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

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In a winding fashion, they'd made their way to Rockport, avoiding the main roads and the smaller satellite towns most of the way there. It wasn't the first time in the past couple of months they'd stopped in a place that could be called civilization. By now, they'd gotten far enough away from Goldcliff that the smaller settlements they came across would be unlikely to have heard about what Hurley had done. Anyway, they had to stock up on provisions and refill their flasks somehow, and spending a night or two in a real bed wasn't too bad either.

Rockport, though, was not a small settlement. It was big and hellbent on getting bigger. Even in the few days they'd spent here, Hurley observed how this place close to the desert's western edge had all the greed of a green bean vine, spreading into new territory overnight, seeming to stretch a little more every time you had your back turned. Former dirt roads were being hastily paved with stone, and a fine five-story hotel had been built to house the people who came here to board the eastbound train--along with some ramshackle inns to hold the rest.

Even in the tavern, they could feel the low rattle of the engines, making ripples in the sun-colored ale on the table in front of Hurley. "I can't believe I'm saying this," they began, "but how much longer do you want to stay at the inn? I think I prefer sleeping on the ground with the occasional scorpion to checking the bed for roaches every night."

"Uh-huh," Sloane said.

"Unless of course you wanna stay in that nicer hotel on the main street, but I doubt we have the money for that." They tapped their fingernail on the edge of their glass. "Anyway, aren't you a little worried being here? You saw the, um, wanted posters they've got up here."

"Not really. They've got my face all wrong," she answered quickly. It occurred to Hurley that, for the whole time they'd been here, she'd had her face turned toward the grimy windowpane. There was a new kind of energy to her that they hadn't seen before. She was restless, like she had the rumble of the railroad tracks running up her spine. Her hands fidgeted with some coins in front of her as she kept looking outside with a grin playing on her lips.

They followed her gaze and found, at the end, the building across the street, the only one nearby made of brick rather than wood. The sign above the door labeled it as the First Bank of Rockport.

Slowly, they turned back to her. "Are you going to--?"

"What if I am, bounty hunter?" She looked them in the eye this time while she gave them a smirk. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"It's not funny," they mumbled. In fact, even now, it seemed like the kind of thing they should have been trying to stop. But they weren't about to try dissuading her. They couldn't exactly moralize at her, given how long they'd been benefiting from the horse she'd stolen, and given how they'd been eating food almost certainly purchased with stolen funds.

She chuckled, then tipped her head back and downed the rest of her drink like it was her job. "Listen," she said, a little breathless, "let's go and get our stuff out of the inn so we can check out. If we time it right, it'll seem like we're leaving with everyone else who's getting on the train."

"And then what?" they said in a hushed voice. "You're just going to go ahead and do it in broad daylight?"

"Wouldn't be the first time. Give me your gun."

"What do you want my gun for?!"

"Shh! Will you relax? You know I don't actually shoot."

"I don't care! Besides, you've got your own, even if it's a piece of junk."

She sat back in her seat and huffed. "Fine. Come on, let's go." As she began to get up, Hurley put a few of their last loose coins on the table and waved vaguely to the bartender.

Once they were both out, she went on whispering, "I usually don't even have to flash a gun these days anyway. The mask and coat's enough to scare them as soon as they see me."

"And yet you can just sit around the bar in there like it's nothing?"

"I told you, they don't know what my face looks around here, just how the Raven looks. Anyway, I haven't been back in awhile. They're off their guard." She glanced at them. "I know what I'm doing, you know. You want money or not?"

"I know you do," they sighed. "Be careful anyway."

"Believe me, I am."

-----

They did as she wanted, helping to pack up their small collection of things and load them onto the horse's back. It was only when the two of them heard the train whistle fade that Hurley asked, "What about me?"

"What about you?"

"What do you want me to do?"

With a shrug, she replied, "Not much. Just wait with the horse and be ready to leave quick. I'll meet you right outside town by that metal trough."

They took a moment before responding. "So you want me to go outside town and wait?"

"Yup. Don't worry, shouldn't take long." She gave them a grin, which was maybe supposed to be reassuring, and then hurried down a side street.

They watched her disappear. Very patiently, they counted out 120 seconds in their head. Then, with no one except the horse around to hear, they muttered, "Who does she think she's kidding?" and headed for the bank.

There was a reason Sloane had chosen to stake out the bank from the bar. It was the best vantage point around. But they knew better than to head back inside the tavern or even hang too much around the outside--that could raise suspicion--so they did their best to ride around the area looking busy while keeping the bank in view.

In spite of their efforts, they couldn't get a sense of what was happening past the brick exterior. From what little they could see through the tiny front windows, there was no movement on the inside. They couldn't see anyone, let alone Sloane, but if she was in there, she was certainly taking her sweet time. Or maybe they just felt that way, waiting with a nervous gut under the hot sun. They kept their leg from bobbing so they wouldn't accidentally kick the horse in the side.

It wasn't until they'd passed by for the sixth time that they saw something new. From across the street, they saw a dark shape move in the shadows around the back of the building. Sloane stopped every few steps to look up and down the quieter side streets, find her way out.

Hurley smiled seeing her and felt the tightness in their chest fade away as they breathed. Her steps were slow and smooth and purposeful, like those of a wading bird in a flooded field.

They were watching to see where she'd go, so that they could head that way too. They could still easily meet her outside of town, where she'd be expecting them. They would have done that, had they not felt the twinge on the back of their neck, the something inside them that told them to look to the left. When they did, they found themself outside looking in through the wide window of the tavern. Immediately, they made eye contact with the bartender.

They barely had time to process the fact that he must have been watching them for awhile, that he must have recognized them from earlier. He turned away from them quickly and squinted in the direction of the bank. He seemed to be looking through the wide, swinging doors.

There was no time. They rode into the street, and the shout burst from their mouth before they could think to stop it. "Sloane!”

Her gaze was on them in an instant. Everything but her eyes was hidden by the bandana over her face, but the way she threw her hands up at them communicated “what the fuck” well enough.

A moment later came the sound of other voices, indistinct but shouting. Sloane froze for a moment and turned at the noise. Then she brought her fist down to her side before hurrying over to Hurley, brow deeply furrowed. As she was jumping up onto the horse’s back, they started, "Are you okay? Good thing I was here, huh? Do you want to--"

"Keep your fucking head down!" For good measure, she shoved their head down with her palm before giving the mare a light slap on the flank. The gunshots started off seconds after they had begun to move. So did the screams. People who had ducked out their windows to look for the source of the commotion felt the gust in their hair as the pair of them blew by. Everyone who could was looking their way.

Hurley tightened their grip on the reins so that they would not slip from the sweat of their palms. “Where do we go now?”

“East!” Sloane called. She was looking behind them. “We'll figure it out from there!” That, they could work with.

She had a point about keeping their head down. The whole point of traveling around with her had been to avoid detection until the memory of their wrongdoing had died down. Lying low was most definitely not what they were doing at the moment, face fully exposed to the noon sun as the pistols clicked into the cocked position behind them.

The ram’s skull that they had collected was strapped to the side of the saddle where they had left it. They reached down for it and, after missing it a few times as it bounced against the horse’s belly, grabbed it by the horn and pulled it up.

It wasn’t good, as a mask. It was heavy, and they had to hold it up with one hand to their face while steering with the other, and they ended up peering through just one of the eye sockets as if through a gap in a doorway. But they saw enough. They saw the way people, unthinking, cleared a path for this glaringly white and glaring visage, high astride a horse, charging their way. It shocked all of them, awed some.

A few people tried to get in their way. A gathering burst from the general store with guns held up in the air. Hurley reacted like they'd been waiting for it all along. They pulled back on the reins, and the horse, from a full-on gallop, dug her back hooves into the ground and skidded to a stop, as they'd trained her to do. Then they whipped the horse to the side and down a street that would, they hoped, lead them straight back out of town.

"Shit," Sloane said, sounding a little awestruck herself. "Nice." It was.

They did their best to weave and dodge, to be a more difficult target. Eventually, as they left, the guns stopped firing, or else the noise of the bullets couldn’t compete with the wind and the pound of hooves in their ears.

They went the rest of the day, taking the horse down to a canter when they had shrunken and disappeared the silhouettes of the folks trying to pull up behind them. In the hottest hours of the day, they were down to a fast trot. It hardly seemed to matter. No one ever appeared on the horizon. It seemed that the town would leave their capture to bounty hunters.

It wasn’t until the approach of evening that they stopped altogether. Sloane dismounted first, dragging the pouch of money down with her. When she pulled the bandana down from her face, they could see her broad grin, the sweat shining above her lips. “That’ll show them.”

Hurley just kept staring down the burning red eye of the sinking sun. Their chest was so full that they couldn’t seem to catch their breath. “Is it always like that?” they asked in a hush.

“Well, not always,” she answered. “Lots of times, it’s hours before they notice I’ve been there, but sometimes it’s more exciting.” They had never seen her looking so light. Her teeth showed with her smile. Her head was up and her chest was out, moving as she breathed, and while it wasn’t the first time they’d noticed, the realized now more than ever how often she kept her eyes tilted down beneath the shadow of her hat and how she mostly walked around with her arms crossed over her core. Now she was shining, black and bright.

After several moments of staring at them, though, her smile dropped. “Oh, no,” she muttered. "Why do you look like that?"

They knew they were smiling. They could feel the ache of it. They hadn’t stopped the whole time.

Once in their life, they had seen a twister in the distance. It had been while they were a child that they had watched the gray-green clouds take shape. They solidified into something with purpose, intent, as they wound down and down to the earth. The sky’s gray finger gouged the earth and scraped away the land, left it clean and treeless. They saw it pick up the roof of a faraway house.

For only a few minutes before they were pulled inside, they had stood out and stared it down. They had felt the winds, even from such a distance, toy with their hair and try to push them back, and instead held onto the railing of their porch with both hands. Stood there in front of something that could destroy them just to feel the wildness of it.

That was how it had felt back there, only for hours on end.

They laughed to themself. No way that was the last time they would feel that again.

“Shit,” Sloane said. “Please don’t tell me you had fun.”

#yeah baby we are back!#hurloane #taz #the adventure zone #taz balance #the zone cast #taz fanfic #sloane #hurley #the wanted

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capnjay21 · 4 years ago

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A House is Never Still 5/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: this week really got away from me - but here is chapter five! some answers are finally upon us, as we rattle towards the story's conclusion. thank you so so so much for everyone’s support, and as ever I send many large buckets and spades of thanks to @hollyethecurious for this glorious aesthetic - which, really, made the fic write itself. enjoy!

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

Continuing the tiny taglist I started last time - but if you want off this list, just let me know and I promise I will not be offended! <3 <3 and if anyone happens to want on the list for the last part, just give me a buzz!

@snowbellewells @carpedzem @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl

AO3 | one | two | three | four

-/-

5 - ghosts were created

October 25th 2014 – 5 Years Ago

She managed to catch David, Regina and Mary Margaret before they headed home after school, and drew them around the back of the building in order to afford some privacy. First, Emma had shown them the dagger, and then she had told them about the visit she and Killian had paid to Belle Gold. Then finally, and she had hoped Killian would forgive her for doing so, she had filled in some of the gaps in their knowledge surrounding the circumstances of Liam Jones’ suicide – the house, the papers, stuff they might have been too young to fully realise when it happened. And the fact that, some weeks before he died, he had been exploring the possibility of something more… supernatural making itself known within Brooke House. Something that the existence of the dagger might now lend far greater credence to.

Her fingertips tingled with the strange truth of it all.

Magic existed, and Emma did not know how much that changed the world.

They had been silent for a long time, exchanging doubtful looks that Emma understood but did not care for, but when it became clear she wasn’t going to jump up and shout ‘just kidding!’, David was the first to speak up.

“This is crazy, you know that, don’t you? You know this is crazy.”

“I know how it sounds,” she said, willing herself to look as sincere as possible. “And without the dagger I’d have written it all off as completely mad.” She gestured to the aforementioned implement, sitting on the ground between the four of them. None of them seemed to want to touch it.

“How did you find the dagger?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma felt her cheeks warm, and thought about how she had found herself back at Brooke House last night. None of it was clear in her memory, just vague flashes of feeling, and it was a struggle to try and muddle through the fog. When she had awoken in her room she had been tired and groggy, and it certainly felt like she had been up half the night – but the truth was she just couldn’t know for sure if that strange, breathless walk by midnight was something she had imagined. Whatever had happened, stumbling about the woods at night in her pyjamas made her an idiot, so she had already decided she would be leaving that detail out.

“I left something at the house yesterday,” she said, avoiding a lie. “I went back for it after we’d all left, and I found it there.”

David had been for dinner at Mary Margaret’s house – there was nothing to suggest anything otherwise had happened.

Regina stalked forward and reached down for the dagger, whipping it off the ground with speed; to her surprise, Emma felt herself almost lunging forward to stop her before she stayed the movement. The callous handling of the dagger was suddenly so distressing to her. She forced herself to stay put, and let Regina carry on her examination. She traced the tip of a perfectly manicured finger over the grooves where Liam’s name had been carved into it.

“Alright, say it’s true,” she declared imperiously, eyes snapping onto Emma. David made to protest and Regina silenced him by raising a hand. “Say all of it is true. That there’s something going on with that house, and that it has something to do with how Liam died. If so, then why on earth are we messing around with the same stuff? If it’s all connected, surely following directly in his footsteps is a way to get us all dead at the bottom of that ravine.”

She flinched at the harshness of her words, but could understand the sentiment. Emma had been turning the same thought over in her mind the entire day – these were clearly forces beyond their understanding, maybe even beyond their control. So she decided to reveal one final detail.

“The truth is…” Emma began reluctantly. God, she hoped Killian would forgive her for saying this. “They never found a body. Liam’s body, I mean. There was enough evidence to suggest he had definitely been in the car, enough to rule out any reasonable doubt. And the river down there is aggressive, so the consensus was that it was probably swept out to sea. But they never actually found anything.”

Killian had told her this once, quietly. Had whispered it into the air when they were thirteen, as if he had just wanted to see how it would sound to admit out loud that, sometimes, he imagined it meant Liam was still alive.

Regina’s eyes dropped warily to the dagger in her hands. Liam Jones, it still said. As if worried she might meet a similar fate, she carefully laid it back on the ground and stepped away.

“What if this means that not only was Liam not crazy, but it could mean… well, I don’t have to spell it out.”

She didn’t want to say it, because to give it a voice would make it sound ludicrous and outrageous and would probably make them all give up on the idea, herself included. The others felt the same, she could sense it, but they were also all thinking the same thing.

What if it meant that something else had happened to Liam Jones? That maybe, and there was the slimmest chance for it, but it was there all the same – that Killian’s most fervent, irrational hope might be true. That he was still alive.

“Then we have to try.”

Emma was surprised to see it was Mary Margaret who had spoken, but felt immensely relieved to hear it. She had been sure the other girl would be the hardest to persuade.

David almost looked alarmed. “You believe all this?”

“I don’t know what I believe,” she said, and Emma could see doubt still marred her expression. “But I know what I hope, for Killian. If there’s any chance… we owe it to him to do this.”

Emma agreed wholeheartedly. “Exactly.”

Trying to summon some kind of evil spirit, or demon, or whatever she had felt inside that house may not be exactly what they wanted to do, but whether it succeeded or not, whether it was real or not, helping Killian was more important than any of that. Best case scenario, they discovered something important, something that changed theirs and Killian’s lives forever. Worst case scenario, it might stop Killian wondering. It might bring him some form of closure.

Emma picked up the dagger, and the metal felt warm to the touch. Welcoming. As if it were telling her to believe this would work, in the best way that they all wanted. It strengthened her resolve.

David and Regina exchanged looks, but they also agreed.

Which was what brought them later to the end of the gravel driveway of the group home, after Emma had asked Archie if Killian was around to come outside and join them. It still felt somewhat odd, even after a year had passed, to be knocking on the front door to the group home and behaving like a guest. In a lot of ways it still was her home, Archie’s kindly smile still her welcome, the redbrick walls the backdrop to her life. It was here she had experienced most of the formative moments of her life.

Although she cared very deeply for both David and Ruth, and was grateful for everything they had done for her, the quietly realised truth in her heart was that they had come a little too late.

Killian looked bewildered as they all recounted what they had decided eagerly, talking over each other in their enthusiasm to let him know they were here, they wanted to help, they’d do whatever he needed them to. He took the dagger from Emma as if in a daze, tracing the letters of his brother’s name faintly, but tenderly.

“You’d do this?” he said finally, still uncertain. “For me?”

“Of course,” Regina replied smoothly, as if just an hour earlier she hadn’t been voicing her own, significant doubts. “We’re your friends.”

“We’re in this together,” David agreed. “But you definitely have Emma to thank.”

Emma felt her face flush when he turned his gaze on her, and memories of their time spent at Granny’s on her birthday swam to the surface. He was looking at her like she’d hung the stars.

That wasn’t it at all – she’d just found the dagger, nothing more. Killian had done all the legwork. She was just stitching the fragments together.

His lips parted, and she had a sudden urge to stop him as she felt he might say something horrendously heartfelt and embarrassing in front of the others, so she spoke over him quickly.

“You can thank me later,” she said briskly, flashing him a smile. “But we’ve got to catch ourselves a demon first.”

They agreed on the following night, Thursday, as they didn’t have school on Friday thanks to a local holiday. After they parted ways, Killian keeping a tight hold of the dagger, Emma felt a certain buoy in her step but she couldn’t really work out why – it was that powerful sense of doing, of really getting ready to achieve something for a friend that had her so motivated.

David teased her about it, but she let him. Her mind was already on tomorrow evening, and the secrets they might uncover in the walls of Brooke House.

-/-

Present Day

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

Killian jerked himself back to the present.

When David had asked to meet him he couldn’t help the surge of relief within him; it hadn’t done much for his already troubled mind to remain at odds with the other man, especially not when he was one of the few people in Storybrooke who didn’t actively shoot poison at him through their eyes whenever they passed him on the street. He knew his continued association with Regina couldn’t have gone unnoticed, nor their frequent trips out into the forest while they visited Brooke House. They had spent a few days with their full, combined efforts on the house, but had turned up nothing.

Unless he was alone, Emma refused to make her presence known. With every passing day, Regina’s scepticism that there was anything to be found in Brooke House continued to grow, and he knew he was running out of time.

He had promised the dark, moonlit vision of Emma that he would help her escape Brooke House; she had begun instructing him immediately. She suggested herbs to burn and in which order, phrases to be spoken aloud and the intention with which they should be uttered, and Killian had begun slipping some of these practices into he and Regina’s attempts, passing them off as something he had learnt while he was away. What the spectre of the house did not realise was that he fully intended to release Emma – his Emma, and her alone. He was sure she was in there, she just had to be. The only thing left to figure out was how to get her out, and weakening some of the enchantments around the house had to play a part in that. So for now, their goals somewhat aligned.

David had asked to meet by the lake in Memorial Park, and Killian had arrived a good ten minutes early. It was only because his plan for the morning had been for naught – on a whim, and because it was nearby, he had decided to visit the group home. He wasn’t exactly sure why. Mostly, he felt like the person he wanted to speak to most was Archie Hopper, and although he had been hoping he might run into him around town by an act of providence, it was yet to occur.

Archie’s counsel hadn’t always been something welcome to Killian. He had been a stable enough figure in his teenage years, when stability had been the thing he lacked most in the world, but after Emma’s disappearance Killian had forced a gulf between them as wide as he could muster. He hadn’t wanted to look at Archie’s kind, sad face any longer, and he had vehemently rejected any attempts of comfort, or wisdom, when all he had wanted was to be angry that the world was not done taking people from him.

They had spent much of the year on bad terms, but had departed on worse. Their final argument after Killian announced his plans to leave town the evening following graduation had been full of vitriol and spite – all stemming from himself. Archie had wanted him to stay, to grow, to move past his personal tragedies and face those who condemned him. Killian had wanted to disappear. With reluctance, the older man had let him go – but the worst of it was that this had only made more concrete his younger self’s belief that nobody would fight for him anymore, not even Archie.

With age he could see the affection Archie had borne for him for what it was – genuine, and without conditions. He had been able to feel his heart pounding as he raised a knuckle to the old wooden door of the group home, anxious at the idea of meeting him again, of giving the apology he knew to be long overdue.

He needn’t have fretted. The social worker at the door informed him, rather tersely, that Archie had moved on some years ago and no longer worked there. Perhaps his disappointment had shown rather more clearly than he intended, as the young woman took pity on him and told him that the last she had heard he had moved to Portland, but even that information might now be outdated. She offered to see if a forwarding address had been left for him, but Killian assured her it was fine, and thanked her for her trouble.

His heart felt like a lead weight. There was so much he had wanted to say, and he was sure he might never get the chance to now. To clear his head he had taken a few turns around the park, but like everywhere else in Storybrooke it was drenched in memories of Emma, sweet and sad, of water fights on the grass or climbing trees as tall as their younger bodies could manage.

Before long, he found himself at the edge of the lake, awaiting David’s arrival. The afternoon was brisk, and he was regretting his decision not to wear gloves as his fingers felt brittle and slow, now curled up in the pockets of his jacket. The sky had turned a bruised grey, and the surrounding forest left the surface of the water the murky colour of moss, disturbed only by the occasional ripple of wildlife or the breeze brushing across it.

“Hey.”

Killian turned and found David striding towards him, a look of trepidation clear on his face. David had always worn all of his emotions on his sleeve. They exchanged a few awkward pleasantries, but it didn’t take long for David to jump to the heart of the matter.

“I’m sorry I blew up at you,” he said quickly. “It was unfair.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Killian assured him. “You were right – I haven’t been here. I should have been more sensitive to how much things had changed.”

For a moment he thought about the first few months of their senior year, before it all happened. The five of them had been thick as thieves. Killian and Regina had always been friendly due to a shared acerbic sense of humour, but it wasn’t until Emma had brought David and Mary Margaret into their lives that he had really, truly begun to think of anyone else other than Emma as a close friend.

Killian could almost see them now, clustered in a circle at the end of the driveway of the group home, telling him in no uncertain terms that they’d like to give summoning a demon a go, just because friendship didn’t need any other excuses.

“I know you don’t care for Regina much anymore, but she’s been really helpful.” He let out a long breath. “Still has the emotional capacity of a lawnmower, but in her own way I think she’s been looking for Emma all this time.”

Looking for magic, looking for purpose, perhaps. To Killian it was all the same thing.

“We tried to be there for her, after her dad died,” David shrugged, but he clearly carried some remorse over it. “She didn’t want to know.”

That didn’t surprise him. She had only been nineteen, and she had become distant enough after Emma disappeared, even to him. With a twinge of regret he considered that perhaps his sudden up and leaving after graduation didn’t do much for her ability to rely on others, not that she would ever admit it. Just one more thing he’d done wrong that year.

They started walking, catching up properly in a way they hadn’t had a chance to since Killian came back to town. David talked about his job at the animal shelter, where old schoolmates had ended up, how Ruth was faring. Killian coasted over the harsher details, but tried to give David a similar recount of what he had been doing with himself over the past five years. It mostly consisted of travel stories, of the odder jobs he had picked up on the road in order to keep himself afloat. He didn’t want to talk about living hand to mouth, of the multitude of nights he had spent freezing and sleeping fitfully in his car, or the reasons he had chosen certain places to visit, and their penchant towards the supernatural. It was easier to pick the funnier things to talk about, and he sensed David knew he wasn’t telling the whole story, but probably preferred it that way.

After a little while, when they had almost exhausted every other curiosity, Killian finally decided to bring it up.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, gently. “To Brooke House?”

David’s steps faltered, and Killian could see his eyebrows had knitted together in concern.

He swallowed. “Is – is she –?”

“She’s there,” Killian admitted, even if he hadn’t done the same for Regina. David had seen her, after all. A troubled mix of joy and trepidation overcame David’s expression, a smile threatening to pull at the corners of his mouth, and although Killian hated to pull the rug from under him, he didn’t think it would be fair to give him false hope. “She’s… not herself. But I think you know that.”

David deflated instantly.

“So it’s – it’s what I thought, then. It’s not really her. Emma. It’s just… that house.”

Killian had found himself wondering the same thing. “I’m not sure. I’m investigating, Regina is helping me.” He hesitated, but decided to offer again. “Do you want to come?”

Emma had been special to David in ways far different to Killian. Killian may have shared a roof with Emma for many more years than David had, but he was under no illusion as to what his true feelings for Emma had been – David’s had been much more fraternal. The idea of not being able to protect her had hit him particularly hard, even if Emma had only ever indulged his strong sense of brotherly vigilance with an arched eyebrow.

It would be difficult for him to see her as she was now; fragile, unhinged. Twisted. It was why Killian had initially wanted him as far from it all as possible.

To his surprise, David actually agreed with him.

“No, I – I don’t, really,” he said, wincing as if he were afraid Killian might be cross. How could he be, when he understood better than anyone? “I want to remember her the way she was. I don’t want this to…”

He trailed off. Killian tried to look as understanding as possible, to assure him it was all perfectly fine. From the miserable look David was giving him, he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“I should never have called you,” he muttered with dismay, “and put you through all this again. I brought you right back into it.”

Killian smiled ruefully. “The truth is, David, I never really left it.”

For a long while they were silent, only the rustling of trees surrounding them, and Killian felt that even the chirping of birds sounded morose and downcast.

It was difficult to find reasons to stay cheerful.

“Let me take you somewhere,” David said finally. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you.”

Seeing no reason not to, he allowed David to take the lead. He led them farther into Memorial Park, and Killian realised with reluctance that he was taking them in the direction of the old chapel behind the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa. He wasn’t too thrilled about it, not just because of the unhappy association with Belle Gold that the convent reminded him of, but also because he had a strong inkling of why he was being brought here, and he didn’t much care for it.

Following David past the chapel, his sense of foreboding only grew as they began to walk cautiously among the headstones of the graveyard, many weathered with age and moss as if they had sprouted from the ground themselves. After they had passed a tall statue of a woman cradling her face in her hands, David slowed to a stop and turned.

Killian froze. From where he stood, he could see only the back of the headstone. The stone was light, an unremarkable, opalescent grey, unmarked by time. It was impossible to see whose name had been engraved across it without closing the distance between he and David and turning around, but it was also impossible to imagine it being for anyone else.

Killian stood, stranded between it being her and not being her, and felt a weary agitation begin to rise in his gut.

“I – can’t.”

David seemed to understand, for he didn’t beckon him any closer.

It was odd, Killian felt, that David could not bear to see Emma alive, but at Brooke House – and yet Killian could not bear to think of her dead, at peace, in the earth.

“We had a service, just a little while after graduation,” he said, quietly, crouching down in front of the stone. “When they officially closed the investigation. I didn’t want to, it felt like… but I agreed for Mom, you know?”

Ruth had taken Emma’s disappearance almost as hard as Killian had. Certainly as hard as Archie had, and Killian had done nothing but punish him for it.

“I wanted to invite you. I would have invited you.” The hurt in his tone was unmistakable. “I had no idea where you were or how to contact you.”

A full year had passed by the time Killian tried to touch base with his friends from Storybrooke – he had bought a phone, and texted David the number. By then he had missed the death of Regina’s father, and whatever event had finally made the gulf between her, Mary Margaret and David unbridgeable. Truly, he was relieved. Killian didn’t have the heart to tell him just how vehemently an invitation to a funeral service for Emma would have been rejected.

He said nothing.

“It might help,” David suggested. “To see it.” He reached out the tip of his fingers to gently trace the words, gaze flickering up to where Killian stood a few feet away. Killian shook his head tightly. “Maybe it would be better if we all just let go.”

Killian struggled with his reply, forcing down the wave of indignation that came with the suggestion. “I appreciate what you’re trying to say, Dave. But I can’t. If roles were reversed, Emma would never have let go of me.”

She didn’t, in fact, when Killian had been nothing more than a ghost himself. Twelve-years-old and she had clung on tight.

David acquiesced, but he did not look like he agreed.

They waited for a little while, breathing between the whistle of birdsong, remembering. Then David stood, and wordlessly they began the slow walk back into the park. Killian left the headstone unread.

In his fractured heart, there was nothing else but her. There was no other choice.

-/-

October 29th – 10 Years Ago

Killian’s new room was cold.

The group home was much airier than the little flat he had shared with Liam, which had been only a small bedroom attached to a sitting room. They had just one window, and in the summer it had been unbearably hot; he had spent many an hour sat miserably in front of the cheap fan Liam had picked up from a convenience store, begging for fall. When they moved in Liam had insisted Killian take the only bedroom while he slept in the sitting room, which Killian did not envy in the balmier evenings.

By contrast, the group home was all flat edges and cold surfaces. The corridors were so wide you could fit three people standing abreast, and footfalls against the landing echoed noisily against the walls of the building. This room he also had to himself, but it felt too big. Another empty bed rested against the opposite wall, a reminder that at some point, this space would be shared – it wasn’t really his. Not the way his room in Liam’s flat had been. He didn’t want to unpack his suitcase. It would be like admitting that all his worldly possessions belonged here now, where someone else could pick them up and touch them whenever they liked.

He missed Liam.

He missed Liam so much, he could feel hot, angry tears begin to well in his eyes every time he thought about it.

Curling his knees up to his chest, Killian took a steady breath and tried not to cry. They wanted him to go back to school on Monday, and he didn’t think he could make it through seventh grade if everyone thought he was the kind of kid that cried.

There was a sharp, abrupt knock at the door. The impatient rapping of knuckles against old wood. Killian hurriedly wiped his eyes, but the visitor didn’t wait for him to invite them in. He supposed he might have to get used to that.

In tumbled a girl with blonde hair and bright green eyes, who he knew took one look at his red-rimmed eyes and decided immediately to pretend she didn’t realise he was crying, by marching over to his window and looking out. Even this act of compassion made him burn with humiliation, piss off, he wanted to scream, he didn’t need their pitying looks. He didn’t want their kindness.

He just wanted Liam back.

The girl whirled around, and to his consternation she was smiling like she was in on the joke.

“Another banner year, right?”

Killian blinked. “What?”

“We’ve all got ghosts here.”

At the mention of ghosts Killian bristled, his mind flashing back to the headline on the newspaper in Archie’s office. The man had tried to hide it once he realised Killian was staring, but he had seen it. The social workers had told him Liam wasn’t well, and that was why he had done it. Killian knew he had been perfectly well, and that the rest of the town thought he was completely mad and believed in ghosts and thought that was why he had decided to do it. Killian didn’t know either way. He just wished he hadn’t done it.

Killian directed the cold fury that headline had ignited in him at the intruder. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” she said shortly, and she looked offended at the idea. She looked familiar to Killian, and he had a feeling she was in his grade at school – he thought he might’ve seen Regina speaking to her a few times. Regina was the only sort-of friend he had made so far in Storybrooke. Sort-of, because he felt like they weren’t really friends, so much as aware of the fact that no one else really wanted to be their friend, so they may as well stick together.

Killian didn’t care about Regina right now. He just wanted this girl to bugger off, and for him to get Liam back.

“I’m just saying, we’ve all got tragic backstories in here. No one will be all that bothered by yours by Tuesday.”

This was not all that reassuring. The idea of Liam fading into memory made him feel even more wretched.

“What’s yours then?” he said, rather nastily. Mostly because he wanted her to go.

His tone didn’t phase her in the slightest. Instead she dropped on the opposite bed and ticked them off on her fingers one-by-one, as if they were a grocery list.

“Parents abandoned me by the side of the freeway when I was a baby, got carried to the nearest diner but the boy who brought me in vanished three months later, got adopted by a family until I was three but then they had kids of their own so they took me back.” She grinned wryly. “Thank God they still had the receipt, right?”

Killian eyed her warily; she spoke with the sort of nonchalance that suggested she would allow him to make fun of her the same way she was making fun of herself, but it was also completely transparent. It was obvious these experiences were painful for her, even to talk about as a joke. And from the sounds of it she’d been living in a group home all of her life. Her whole life in big, cold rooms like this. The thought of it made Killian balk.

Despite himself, he felt a twinge of sympathy for her. For both her determined eyes and her bravado, too. He knew what that was like.

“What are you doing?”

“Talking,” the girl replied, giving him an odd look. “With you, I thought.”

“Why?” he demanded.

She shrugged. Killian didn’t remember if he’d seen her with any friends at school, all he could really remember were those few nebulous occasions she had spoken to Regina around him. He didn’t know her name, which definitely meant she wasn’t friends with the bigger, more boisterous groups in his class. That was okay, though. He didn’t particularly care for them either.

There was only one thing Liam had wanted out of him at school. It didn’t matter what grades he got, or whether he was good at sports or got involved in clubs. All Liam had ever made him commit to was being kind.

And the last thing he had said to Liam had venom enough to last for the rest of his life.

I’m not finished, his brother had barked, don’t you walk away from me.

If he had known it would be the last time – which, Killian had learnt, was what made last times so devastating, you never really knew when they would be – he might not have slammed his bedroom door and refused to come out.

But who could say, now?

Thinking about Liam had the same affect it had for the last few weeks – it was like a punch to the gut. He could feel the frustration that had started building since they put him in that room begin to ebb away, feeling much calmer in a matter of moments.

Kindness, that was all Liam had asked for. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The change in tack cheered her up immensely and she grinned. “Emma.”

Emma, right. Yeah, he remembered now. Emma sat right at the back of class, near Leroy. Definitely one of the least desirable seats in the room.

“I’m Killian.”

Something easier settled between them, but it didn’t completely assuage the awkwardness. Killian felt tired. He stared at his suitcase, still zipped tightly shut, and he still wasn’t really ready to make it otherwise. He could sense Emma following his gaze.

“So,” she said brightly, to draw his attention away. “Do you wanna know where Archie hides the good snacks?”

After a moment’s hesitation Killian relented, and when she bounded over to the door he followed suit.

Somehow, the prospect of going back to school on Monday seemed just a little less daunting. Maybe, he thought privately, he could ask if Emma wanted to sit by him instead.

That would be nice.

-/-

Present Day

“That’s it,” Regina declared glumly. “That’s the last spell I have in here. We have officially tried everything that might be relevant.”

The air was scented distinctly by a combination of cedar and sweetgrass, thick enough that Killian could feel it catching in the back of his throat. He flapped a hand in front of his face, suppressing a cough, and reached for the bottle of water he had brought with him. The haze had started to rise into the high ceiling, and Killian could spot it escaping through a gap in the brickwork where a roof slate had come loose near the top corner of the room. In his opinion, Regina had somewhat overdone it on the herbs; she had a tendency to rely on the more physical ingredients required, and actually ignored the fact that she did appear to have a natural instinct for the craft.

It was normal, he supposed, for somebody trying to dip their feet into something as intangible as the mystique, to try and ground themselves in more physical expressions of it – but she didn’t need to. Not that she would welcome his advice.

Besides, he was somewhat put out by her announcement. “Everything?”

“Short of getting down on my knees and begging, yes, everything.”

Killian snorted. “Now that would be real magic.”

It had been a week already, and nothing had changed. Whenever Regina was inside it, Brooke House remained vacant, a gaping wound they kept determinedly placing themselves inside, suggesting nothing at all beyond brick and rotted wood and revealing even less. To every suggestion or provocation they made, the answer was only silence, and Killian could already see Regina losing hope. Either in her own abilities or in the idea that there was anything to find, he couldn’t be sure, but neither boded well for continuing their efforts.

Privately, Emma goaded him into bringing the dagger to the house. Every night she coaxed and cajoled, only to rage and curse once she realised he had not brought it – he daren’t, not yet. Unknowingly, Regina had helped him loosen the chokehold the spirit claimed the house held on it, and the final step was bringing her the dagger.

The way Killian saw it, the looser the hold, the nearer to the surface Emma must be.

But nothing they tried looked like it had made any impact. Every night, Emma was the same. Beguiling and capricious, aggressive and cold. And he was running out of time.

“There has to be something else,” he insisted, stepping across the room to where Regina had left her book of shadows and began flipping through the pages.

Irked, Regina stepped over to join him. “You’re right, why would I know all the options in my own book?” she scowled, peering over his shoulder at whichever page happened to be open. “Why don’t we try that fertility spell and see what happens? I’ll get the pinecones, shall I?”

“Very funny.”

“I mean it, Killian. That’s it. There’s nothing else in here worth trying.” When Killian still looked chagrined, Regina’s expression softened. She laid a hand on his arm. “Do you really think I’d hold anything back if it were for Emma?”

Resigning, Killian shook his head. He let out a long breath. “I just don’t like dead ends.”

“Neither do I. But have you considered we are not the problem?”

The air felt too thick. The herbs had mixed with the musty smell of the old furniture and left a stench in the air like something unpleasant had congealed, or gone rotten. Deciding he needed to get something a little fresher in his lungs, and feeling oddly like he didn’t want this conversation to be observed by the walls of the house, Killian gestured for her to follow him out of the front door.

The afternoon was beginning to shift from a light coolness to something much colder, the forest a palette of dappled light through a deep, copper canvas. From the outside, Brooke House looked like it always did. Silent. Daring. Even without their history together, it begged to be explored.

“I’ve always wondered,” he said lowly, watching the house with a critical eye, “why Liam got involved in all of this in the first place.”

Without Liam, they would never have started down this path. The house, Belle Gold, the rotted pieces of orange string tied around the peeling skin of old birch trees. Killian reached for one nearby, picking absently at the knot, hardened through time and years of ill treatment by the elements.

“He was restoring the house,” Regina offered cautiously. “That’s what everyone says.”

He had certainly begun that way – you could tell that much just by looking at the work he had started on the far wall of the sitting room.

“But then why the rest of it? Why did he go to see Belle?”

“Maybe he found the same picture you did – he could’ve just wanted to know more about the house.”

The same questions and the same answers he had cycled through hundreds, thousands of times before, once again began the lap around his consciousness. Brooke House had taken so much already and he still understood so little about it. There was the dagger, for one. Emma’s name was on the dagger now, and that twisted, dark vision of her in the house was what remained, with his Emma buried deep inside.

Liam’s name had been on the dagger once, back before Emma had disappeared. Could that mean –?

No. Liam had been in the car. He’d been over this a hundred times; they said the evidence was incontrovertible. He’d been in the car that crashed into the river even if they never found his body.

Even if once, quietly, he had admitted to Emma that sometimes he imagined that meant he was still alive – somehow.

And say they were all wrong; if Liam wasn’t in the car and had ever been like Emma was now, why didn’t he appear before?

But Liam’s name had been on that dagger. And he was only just scratching the surface on what that might mean.

Killian scrubbed a hand over his chin thoughtfully.

“Gold – Belle’s husband – she said he went to Brooke House because he knew there was a power inside it, and he wanted it. To… possess it, I suppose. And that’s ultimately why he disappeared.” There was power inside it, certainly. And Killian didn’t doubt its ability to lure someone out of their homes, their lives, and seduce them with the promise of something more. “But Liam wasn’t like that.”

But Liam, but Liam, but Liam.

Killian had never been able to reconcile the two motives in his mind. Gold wanted to control the spirit, but what had Liam wanted? He had done all the work for them with regard to summoning the demon; he had doodled the key elements to the ritual on an old piece of paper and had stuffed it in his toolbox. Killian could see the scribbled note as clearly as if it were still in his hand. Salt circle. Curvy dagger. Five points. Where had he gotten all this from? And what did he want from it?

And after all of that, the same question hammered against his skull with ever pressing urgency. It had been ten years since Liam Jones had driven his car over the edge of the ravine, but Killian could still barely restrain himself from hurling his head back and screaming until the heavens gave him an answer.

Why?

Why did he do it?

The gaunt face of Emma Swan from that first night swam before him, promising to give him every answer he had ever asked for, in exchange for her freedom. Maybe the only thing left was to give it to her, and damn the consequences. It might, for one sparing second, finally quiet all the tumult that had lived within him for far too long. Put the ghosts to rest.

Get Emma back.

“The darkness is seductive,” Regina said, but Killian had already forgotten what he had said before it. “Even for the kindest of souls.”

So good of you to come and see me.

“Come on,” he said, after a long moment, “let’s just go get our stuff.”

It was with great reluctance that they gathered their things back in the sitting room. Killian packed away each piece of his equipment with greater care than necessary, slowing down the process enormously. Regina seemed to mirror his sentiment as she started to needlessly take inventory of every herb or crystal she had brought with her, and which of them she was expecting to take back. She even decided to pack away the old scarlet scarf that had been there since the house had returned, and lifted the Ouija board from the ground. Killian knew why.

She was not planning to come back.

It felt right, somehow, to remove all evidence of their ever having been there, even as Killian’s heart began to feel heavy at the prospect. He already knew he would be returning tonight, and he would bring the dagger, finally. Only sights unseen could decide what happened now.

“Killian.”

It was quiet, but sharp. For a moment Killian didn’t register that Regina had spoken, until he looked over his shoulder and saw her staring, frozen, at the darkest wall, the one opposite the front window. The one Liam had abandoned his work on all that time ago, where he had pulled part of the wallpaper away and begun scrubbing at the dirt underneath.

It was not the curling, rotted sheet of wallpaper that Regina was looking at now, but the bared wood panelling that had rested underneath it. Killian knew this because there was something there now that had not been there before.

Written in bold, spiky letters on the wall in some kind of permanent marker, was the word COME.

Killian’s heart began to pound. As he rose hesitantly to his feet, he could feel more than hear the floorboards groan with protest underneath him.

“Don’t,” Regina got out, when he started towards the wall. “We – don’t know where that came from.”

Killian thought he had an idea.

As he approached, he could hear his own blood rushing in his ears, thumping, beating, alive, he had never felt so alive, so sure, so ready for whatever came next. COME, it beckoned, he came, and lifted a trembling finger to the wall to touch the letters. The end of the black pen lines faded into a patchy grey, as if they had been scribbled in a hurry. Killian traced the edge of the E, and realised the end of it extended beneath the wallpaper.

Digging his fingertips underneath it, Killian grimaced as the paper was moist to the touch, and then ripped at it as harshly as he could. A strip of it came clean away, and his eyes widened once he saw what was underneath it.

Another word. LISTEN.

In a frenzy he dug again, harder this time, but pried with a little less force, hoping to bring more of the paper away in one go. The entire sheet pulled away, tearing in his fingers and baring the entire panel down to the ground.

Regina audibly sucked in a breath.

COME, it had said, LISTEN.

But that had only been half of the message.

In a daze, Killian suddenly remembered a detail of the night Emma had stolen his kiss that had slipped from his mind, something hastily stuffed into a bookcase upstairs and promptly forgotten about.

COME LISTEN TO YOUR RECORDER.

-/-

October 26th – 5 Years Ago

They were far quieter this time around.

Their plans had to be put off until long after dark had fallen, for convenience’s sake and in order to avoid arousing suspicions from unaware parents – and because they all knew (but would not own up to) they probably had a greater chance of success by attempting the ritual at night. The moon was bright and full, and Brooke House was lit only by the constant flicker of torchlight and the clear, silver shadow it cast through the sitting room window.

Killian had cradled the dagger close to him while Emma had shouldered a bag full of his black marker, the candles and the salt he had stolen from under Archie’s nose again. Regina had brought her Ouija board, for no other reason than because it felt appropriate, and David had brought an Apollo chocolate bar.

“What?” he had said defensively, his mouth barely forming around the word as the wrapper crinkled in his grasp. “I’m hungry.” He had brought one for Mary Margaret too.

Emma had quickly decided that they all looked ridiculous. They were each dressed in as many layers as possible while still retaining motor function in order to combat the chill night air, highlights including Mary Margaret’s wide eyes being the only visible portion of her face as she had practically wrapped her entire upper body in a bright red scarf, while Emma struggled to keep her beanie from catching on errant low-hanging tree branches as they made their way there. She had always assumed looking cool was something that came naturally when you were as burdened with solemn purpose as they were, but all that really meant was nobody said much and everyone was nervous.

It was perplexing how much spookier Brooke House looked at night.

Where before Emma had seen vivid green ivy climbing the walls from its foundations, now she saw black, curling fingers creeping upwards with unfaltering progress. The cracked windows and shattered roof slates now looked threatening instead of symbol of fatigue, as if something from inside the house and pushed and screamed until the glass exploded and the roof flew open. She thought about the attic, about the thumping of the wardrobe door that had led her to the dagger, now clutched carefully in Killian’s grip like a prayer. Maybe they had already let the danger out. Or maybe there was more to find.

Without much preamble Killian had leapt up the steps to the front door, but the rest of them followed more slowly behind. Emma felt she could understand the source of their reluctance, as even her heart hammered with trepidation while her fingers trembled with excitement.

Magic was real and the world was different now.

Emma had thought that while she and Killian set up the pentagram and the salt circle, that the other three might play again with the Ouija board as they had the first time they had been there. They did not, instead sitting in almost silence while David munched on chocolate and Mary Margaret and Regina stared anywhere but at she and Killian making preparations. The board sat on the ground, untouched, the planchette a few feet away. Mary Margaret took off her scarf.

She had just finished setting up the last candle when Killian called them over, softly, and wordlessly they took their places at each point of the pentagram. The air felt damp like the forest outside, and tingled with something unsaid between them. Emma felt charged and ready to snap.

Killian cleared his throat. “Listen, whatever happens, whatever we find… I’m so grateful, to all of you.”

“We’re with you,” David said, and they all murmured their agreement. Emma took his hand.

Killian squeezed it once, tightly, and in the tremor of his fingers she could feel how nervous he was. Then he released her and reached for the matches, making his way around the circle and lighting each of the five candles, and they all switched off their torches as they did so. Soon, the only light came from the moon, and the flicker of candlelight in front of him.

Then, finally, he placed the dagger in its centre.

Emma heard something hiss, like the sudden suction of air after opening a can of soda. It was so brief that she almost thought she hadn’t heard it, but she knew she must have. Nobody else seemed to, though, so she pressed her lips together and chose not to mention it. The blade glittered in the warm orange glow of candlelight. Killian took his place by her, folding his legs beneath him. The candle left half of his face bathed in shadow, but Emma thought she could see his mouth moving, his eyes flickering closed for a moment. For a moment she imagined he might be praying, and resisted the urge to dismiss that notion as soon as it came to her. He hadn’t believed in any sort of deity for as long as she had known him, but nobody laughed at God when they were staring at the evidence that the world was already stranger than they had dreamt it.

Like before, they reached for the hands of those either side of them, completing the circle they had made on the first night. Except this time it wasn’t about them; it wasn’t about David and Mary Margaret, shyly but enthusiastically clutching at each other, it wasn’t about Regina’s desire to be heard or the impossible sounds that had come to Emma from the wardrobe upstairs. They knew what it was about, and they knew who. It seemed only natural that Killian would speak.

“Show yourself,” he said.

He announced this with confidence, as if he had already decided who it was they were speaking to. As if he knew them already. As if he had just been waiting for them to know him.

It began in much the same way it had before, except this time Emma knew what to expect.

She shut her eyes tightly, and felt the noises from outside the circle begin to dissipate; the rustle of the trees, the old creeks and groans they had come to expect from the ancient framework of Brooke House. The air had gone still, as if it, too, was holding its breath and waiting, and although she knew the others weren’t far from her, she could no longer sense their being close in the same way – it were as if they had all been thrust underwater, and the only true sensation was Killian’s hand in her right, and David’s hand in her left.

The temperature had begun to drop, as if by welcoming some spectral presence it had to absorb everything that made the room conducive to life, but a different kind of warmth had begun to vibrate from somewhere near her collarbone. It tugged at her, touched her, wanted her to lean forward.

Yes, it purred, come.

A low buzzing began to circle around them, and with it Emma began to feel the air moving again, picking up into a mild gust brushing past them and Mary Margaret let out a squeak of alarm.

“Don’t let go,” someone said. She thought it might have been Regina.

The breeze began to grow into a flurry, and Emma felt her beanie being whipped off her head and carried into some other dark part of the room. Orange light swam behind her eyelids as the flames from the candles darted about violently, but they did not go out as she would have expected them to. On they burned, and the buzz rose into a roar until it drowned out every other sound, and the buzz was now a whisper except it had always been a whisper, and she had no idea how she could have ever thought of it as otherwise. A thousand voices whirled about them in chorus, speaking too quickly or too loudly for Emily to distinguish any of the words, but when she heard the others gasp in fright her eyes flew open, and she couldn’t stop the noise of alarm she made once she saw what the others had been looking at.

The dagger was now floating above them, suspended in mid-air.

Even though she knew she was seeing it, and she knew exactly what she was seeing, Emma found it difficult to reconcile it with everything she knew to be real and true.

The world was different now.

“Why – why is it doing that?” David had to yell to be heard over the roar around them.

“Don’t break the circle!” Killian hollered back.

The air began to crackle, and Emma was again caught by the sensation that a storm was about to break out, and half expected to feel the patter or rain on the back of her neck. The wind was whipping her coat and her hair in all directions, but she tried to keep her focus on the dagger – which was the moment she realised it was vibrating, moving in such infinitesimal increments and with such speed that it was impossible to focus on its outline, and it had become a muddled blur of bruised grey and black.

Killian’s hand tightened on hers.

And that was when lightning struck.

Mary Margaret screamed. David let go of Emma’s hand to shield his face from the sudden blast, but it was unlike any kind of lightning Emma had ever seen before. It was aggressively black, and once it struck the dagger it stayed attached, like a sharp, pulsing vein, whirling violently in the squall. Then another struck. And again. And again. With more clashes so loud that her ears began to burn with heat, with pain, darkness latched itself onto the dagger hovering above them. She felt Killian’s touch like an anchor, keeping her tethered to the ground, and David’s loss was like a gaping hole in her side, a vacuum where something strong and indomitable should have been.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She thought her face might already be wet, where tears had rolled down and struck her dumb and more than anything she wanted Killian to look at her, but his awestruck expression remained focus on the obsidian zephyr that had engulfed the dagger, swirling dangerously like a storm they were only just out of reach of.

It was too late, now, to put it back in the box.

They should never have done this.

Emma knew it like she knew the shape of her own heart, like she knew the jagged edges of Killian’s soul, like the sharp blade of her fishing knife, like David’s warm, warm embrace.

In Brooke House they had touched something evil, and flung its cage wide open.

Emma gasped, which was how she knew she was struggling for air.

She heard someone call her name, but she had no way of knowing who it might be. She couldn’t see through the vortex to Mary Margaret and Regina, David was cowering away and Killian, and Killian, and Killian.

Killian watched, his mouth open in a silent cry.

Liam, he said – his heart shouted it – Liam, Liam, Liam.

Emma tore her gaze back into darkness.

Which was when she realised someone was inside it.

The realisation struck her with the force of an icy wave. Struggling inside the hurricane there was a man, his arms held up to shield his face, his scream noiseless amongst the thousands of other voices the storm had brought with it, and it was clear he was trapped. Emma couldn’t see his expression but knew immediately that he must be in pain from his posture.

She jerked forwards – and suddenly she was in herself, in fact, she felt so aware of her arms and her hands and the shape of her own eyes that she hadn’t realised she had been away from them until that very moment. It felt like the way she had stumbled in front of Brooke House the night she found the dagger. She was dazed and released and confused but she could breathe, and with a jolt she remembered the man imprisoned inside the vortex.

Her head darted from side to side, but David didn’t look like he had seen him, he was reaching for Mary Margaret – Killian couldn’t have either, or he would not be so frozen and still, she was sure, she was the only one – she was the only one –

She was the only one who could –

“There’s – there’s someone in there!”

Killian had heard her, and immediately jerked his head to look at her. His mouth formed around Liam’s name, but Emma couldn’t hear it over the roaring in her ears. Killian’s eyes darted back to the dagger, unseeing, and he looked at Emma again, helpless. He couldn’t see the man.

Emma could see him.

She was the only one who could –

Emma let go of Killian’s hand.

His cry of alarm was the only thing she heard before she stood, stumbling against the force of the wind all around her.

“EMMA!”

The man saw her. His mouth opened in a silent scream.

She had to help him.

Emma hurled herself into the storm.

She was nothing but air. She was stirring, shattering, waiting, hoping, spinning, crying out, she was screaming, oh God she was screaming, thrusting, grasping, wanting, hurting, oh it hurt, it hurt, it burned like the day she had first been born, like the day she had made herself all over again. She pushed and she pushed and her arms were aching and there was blood, there was so much blood, but she felt something solid in front of her and her fist closed around it.

The dagger.

It was white hot to touch but she couldn’t let go, her hand was locked. It was all over her arms. Her wrists erupted in angry, crimson welts and she screamed, and she could see Regina, wide-eyed and fearful. She turned, she turned, she turned. She could see Mary Margaret. She turned, she turned, she turned. There was David, standing now, shouting, she couldn’t hear what he was shouting, his legs were braced, he was readying himself for a fight.

Where was the man?

Was he okay?

Unseen hands grasped at her skull, tugged and everything was a blur of colour except everything was white, and she gasped, and it hurt, and she couldn’t release the dagger, and the voice was telling her to let go, to let go, to let go.

Come, it hissed, listen –

She was being unmade.

And then she saw Killian.

She saw Killian and her heart hurt. She wanted and she wanted and she wanted and then she wanted more, she wanted everything from him, she wanted everything for him, he was yelling but she couldn’t hear him, and she wanted nothing more than to hear his voice and beckon him inside, yes, yes, every voice was screaming yes, bring him in, bring him in, bring him in –

No.

No one else.

Not one more person.

She wrenched her focus back onto Killian, she could see him ready to pounce, to throw himself into the hurricane and follow her, always to follow her, to the end of the world or time and –

And she loved him.

The darkness would not claim one more person. Not a single person, for as long as she was alive.

And she was alive.

She opened her mouth.

“Killian – Killian, don’t –!”

Her cry made him hesitate – and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

It was enough, he was safe, and she let go.

-/-

As suddenly as the storm had struck, it was gone.

Gone was the wind, the noise, the charged black lightning, and the stench of something rotted, something old, something wanting. The dagger clattered down onto the ground.

David was the first to recover, breathing heavily, eyes wild.

“Where’s Emma? Where – where did she go?”

Over and over, Emma’s final cry rang like crystal in Killian’s ears.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

It had all happened so fast.

He could still feel her hand slipping free from his grasp.

He’d been ready to jump in after her, if he’d been just a second quicker, if he hadn’t hesitated – why? Why did he hesitate?

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

Because he’d seen her eyes, black as charcoal, her wrists stained crimson. He didn’t think he would ever forget it; especially since it had made him falter. Since it had possibly cost them everything.

Killian tumbled forwards, reaching blindly for the dagger. He didn’t want to look at it, but he was sure he knew what he would find. The others were slowly coming back to their senses, recovering from the suddenness of something that had been very much there, suddenly not being there, and realising along with David that Emma had vanished. That Emma had let go of his hand. That Emma had screamed at him not to follow and he had obeyed.

In the second where everything had mattered most, he had been afraid, and he had obeyed.

“Bring her back.” It was David again, but Killian could scarcely even hear him. He felt like he was speaking to him through fog. “You bring her back right now, Jones, or I swear –!”

Killian never found out what he would swear to. His attention was fixed on the dagger, and he heard the breath escape the others once they realised what it was he was looking at.

The name engraved across the blade had changed. Liam Jones had gone.

He could still feel her hand slipping free from his grasp.

The dagger, glittering in the dark, now read Emma Swan.

In his bones, he already knew the devastating truth, even as his soul railed against it.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

Emma was gone.

#jay writes #a house is never still #cs role reversal #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #i hope you guys enjoy this!

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verai-marcel · 5 years ago

Text

The Pure Taste of You (RDR2 Fanfic, Incubus!Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: After the greatest night of your life, you wake up to a promise. As time goes on, do you still believe in that promise? How far will you go to find out?

Author’s Notes: The Sweet Taste of You won the poll for getting a sequel fic; this starts right after you wake up.

Tags: spoilers for chapter 4 onwards, incubus Arthur, high honor Arthur, emotions or some shit, angst, smut, HEA

AO3 link is here, sweetheart.

Word Count: 4466

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

You awoke to someone stroking your head, a soft song wafting through the air. There were no words, but it sounded like a sweet melody, one that felt like love and devotion. Blinking your eyes as you got accustomed to the morning sun, you turned your head towards the voice.

Arthur was sitting on the edge of your bed, fully clothed, as if he were waiting for you to wake up.

“G’mornin’, darlin’.”

“Morning, Arthur,” you said, your voice cracking a little. “Are you leaving?”

He nodded, looking solemn. This got your attention, so you sat up in bed and gave him your full attention.

“I want you to know that I have e’rey intention of making you mine. I’ll be doin’ some jobs that take me farther away, but I will come back to you.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead, cupping your cheek in his big, warm hand. “But if two months pass and I ain’t back, well…”

You grabbed his hand. “I don’t want to think about that. I’ll wait for you.”

He smiled. “Thank you,” he said reverently as he brought your hand to his lips, your promise to wait meaning the world to him.

***

It had been two months. At first, you got a letter every other day, with him telling you how he was doing, and usually the letter was accompanied by a sketch from him of a building or an animal, something to remind you of him. Then a few days would pass before you got another letter. Then a week.

Then nothing. A whole month passed with no contact. You hoped that he was too busy to get to a post office. But deep down, you had a sinking feeling, a dread so heavy it weighed down your heart.

The dreams didn’t help. Jungles and gunfire, running, always running, and a cough that racked you through to your very soul. Then a mountain cave, and a lot of anger and helplessness. But within all those swirling emotions was a strong feeling of purpose, like you were trying to reach for something, and you couldn’t give up that hope because it was the only thing keeping you going.

You weren’t one for believing in the supernatural, but your dreams were so vivid and yet very much not yours that you wondered if you were seeing things from Arthur’s side.

That only made you worry more.

***

His chest had never felt heavier. It hurt to move, to breathe, to even exist.

Yet despite his best efforts, he continued to do so, driven by just one thing.

He spoke a name in barely a whisper, so faint that even he thought he imagined it. The name carried on the wind, and he hoped and prayed like a fool that he would be forgiven.

***

You woke up in a cold sweat. You swear you heard Arthur whisper your name, and bolted upright in your bed, looking around, hoping it was him. Instead, your room was silent, as if to mock you for thinking he’d come back.

Five days ago, your head started to hurt. You thought maybe it was all the crying that had caused the pain. But you started to notice that whenever you walked in a certain direction, the pain ebbed, and whenever you walked in any other direction, the pain returned. The exact direction changed every day, but always, always, when you were going northwards, you felt better, as if you were being drawn somewhere.

Today, the pain was particularly bad. As the sun began to set, you looked out the window, and your head cleared for just a moment, long enough to hear something.

You heard your name.

“I’m going crazy,” you muttered to yourself, turning back to your work. Then the ache in your head spiked. You maneuvered yourself around quickly to face north, and you breathed slowly as the pounding lessened.

This was insane.

A thought came into your head and it evolved into an idea, then a fully-fledged plan. You were about to do something out of the ordinary, but you were sick of this headache, sick of worrying about Arthur, and sick of not doing anything about it.

You wanted to know.

After you finished the last of the linens, you ran home, pulled all of your saved cash out from under your mattress, and put together a day bag: some dried meat, a bread roll, a canteen of water, a scarf, and a small pistol that Arthur had left you for your protection. Leaving your place and practically running to the livery stable, you hoped that they would still be open this late.

You arrived just before they closed and breathed a sigh of relief.

***

After renting a horse, using your savings as collateral, you made your way north, following the road until your headache increased. Then you just went whichever way you needed to go, turning this way and that, off the paths, across streams, up and down the rocky hillsides. You were grateful that you grew up on a farm and knew how to handle a horse. Part of you missed that life, but if you hadn’t run away when you had, you’d be dead and you would have never met Arthur.

You shudder at what could have been.

The night passed by as you spent hours traveling in a strange direction that led you to a tall mountain in Ambarino just as the sun was rising. Your headache was almost gone, but your heart was racing. Why were you being led here? You looked around; halfway up the hillside, you could see people leaving on a path below, some carrying out dead men, as if some kind of battle had been waged here. You urged your horse away, not wanting to be stopped. You were so close to where you needed to be. You could feel it deep in your heart.

Making your way up the steep hillside, the soft light of dawn illuminating your path, you saw that the path was becoming too narrow for a horse, and hitched her on a tree nearby before starting the climb. Over rocks and boulders, you clambered and scrambled until you reached a flat area where your headache disappeared.

And your heart stopped.

“Arthur!”

***

His eyes could not open. He wanted to see, even if he knew he’d be disappointed. He knew she wasn’t here; there was no way for her to have found him, way up here in the mountains. He imagined her voice was tinged with worry as she yelled his name. Were her cries getting louder? Maybe he was in hell, to be forever tortured by the voice of his beloved, unable to see her, touch her, taste her.

He would deserve it, for all that he had done.

Arthur’s chest rattled, desperately trying to breathe. He had gone for too long without feeding. The doctor had told him he had tuberculosis, but he knew what this was. Wasting away from the inside without the love he needed to survive, but he had no time to go to her.

No time.

There was no time.

He felt a hand on his. Felt a drop of water on his dry lips, salty and sad. Still, he could not open his eyes.

Then a kiss.

As if pure sunlight was being poured into his mouth, he gasped.

And he drank.

And drank.

***

At first his lips were cold as you kissed him, finding your darling Arthur on this cold mountainside, his face pale, his features sunken. You poured all of your love into this one final kiss, wanting him to know how much you cared, even if you had only known him for a short time.

So when his lips moved against yours and became warm under your touch, you gave him everything. You hoped for a miracle as you kissed him more and more.

You grew tired. Your arms wrapped around his body, as if to protect him from the world while you kept kissing him.

You became cold, so you snuggled closer to him as his body grew warmer.

You opened your eyes at the same time he opened his.

He rasped your name and smiled.

You smiled back.

And then you saw no more.

***

You awoke in a bed. Looking around, you figured you were in some kind of cabin. The birds chirping outside, the sound of the wind through the trees, and the trickle of water nearby was so idyllic that you almost forgot how you got here.

In fact, you had no recollection of how you got here.

Stumbling out of bed, you noted you were wearing a sheer sleeping gown, soft and comfortable. You felt like a sleeping princess as you carefully made your way towards the front door, the wood floor cold against your bare feet. You felt weak, every breath you took seemed to rattle in your rib cage, and your stomach growled with hunger. Seeing an apple on the table next to the small kitchen, you grabbed it and devoured it as you finally stepped outside.

The view that greeted you was like out of a dream. A peaceful lake, the mountains, the forest, all framed by a sky so blue that it looked like a painting.

And on the shore of that lake stood Arthur, fishing peacefully, a look of concentration on his face. You watched as he caught a fish, pulling it out of the water and considering it for a few moments before mumbling, “Sorry, little guy. I’ll let you grow a bit more.”

He unhooked the little fish and tossed it back into the lake. Watching it swim away, he put new bait on his fishing hook and cast his line out, wedging the rod between some rocks before turning around.

He stopped short when he saw you.

Arthur called your name, almost in disbelief.

Then he ran to you.

“You shouldn’t be out here, you’ll catch a cold,” he fussed, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders to ward off the chilly mountain air.

“Arthur, what happened?”

He stepped away from you, one hand gripping his other arm, shame radiating from his posture.

You stepped closer. “Arthur. Tell me.”

He sighed and let go of his arm. “I… I was dyin’.”

You gasped but stayed quiet to let him continue.

“You saved me, darlin’. Fer that, you have gratitude. Forever.” He took your hands in his. “But I have to tell you somethin’. It’ll sound insane. But I tell you, it’s true.”

He took a deep breath.

“I’m a demon.”

You cocked your head at him. “Arthur, you’re not-”

“Let me explain.” He walked over to a large log, one that spanned at least twenty feet. He squatted down and lifted it up with ease.

Even you had to admit that no regular human could lift a log of that size with that little effort.

Putting the log back down, he walked back to you. “To be clear, I’m only half.”

“Half?”

“My mother. She was a succubus. Fell in love with my father, a human. Though he was more a demon than she was. She was sweet, kind, gentle. He… weren’t.”

You were a little familiar with the term. From what you could recall, a succubus was a sex demon. Which meant he was half a sex demon.

“How did I save you?”

“You kissed me. Filled me with yer love.” He held your hands again, bringing them to his lips and closing his eyes. “But I took too much, drained you. I couldn’t control myself, I was so weak.”

He opened his eyes and looked so sad, so guilty. “I shouldn’t keep you to myself. If I lose control again, I…” Looking away from you, he trailed off, taking a shuddering breath, unable to even consider the consequences. Then he suddenly turned back to you, his eyes hardened with determination. “You can’t stay with me. I’m just a danger to you.”

You were shocked. But you could tell from the guilt he wore on his shoulder that he was blaming himself for extraordinary circumstances. “I wasn’t in danger the first time you were with me, was I?”

“No, no, I was in control then.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I need to feed off yer, uh, attraction to me. That, uh, energy, is what keeps me alive.” He gestured with his hands. “If I’m too hungry, I might feed too much, and that’s what happened to ya.”

You pondered his words for a few moments before asking him one simple question.

"If I leave you, will you die?"

He was silent.

"Arthur."

He would not speak; he only looked away from your piercing glare. That was enough of an answer on its own.

"I won't leave you," you said firmly.

"But—"

"No buts," you interrupted, walking towards him. "I can't get you out of my system, and clearly neither can you."

He retreated away, stepping backwards into the lake, his boots crunching in the river gravel with every step.

Still you followed him, into the ice cold water.

"Darlin', don't come in here, you'll get cold," he said in a panic, immediately rushing towards you, taking you by your arms and pushing you out of the water.

You dug your feet in and grabbed his arms, pushing back at him. "I'll go where I want." Looking up at him determinedly, you lowered your voice. "I want to be with you, Arthur."

A moment passed, and then another and another as Arthur stared at you, emotions flying through his eyes like lightning across the sky. He finally leaned in, wrapped his arms around you, picked you up, and carried you back to the shoreline. He refused to put you down when you began to wriggle out of his grip. "You absolutely sure, sweetheart?"

"As sure as the sun is in the sky, my dear."

He smiled at you, his eyes shimmering with emotion.

***

A week passed in rustic bliss as you recuperated. Arthur hunted and sold pelts in town to make money while you rested or cleaned around the house or fished while he was away. He was never too far, but whenever he was gone, he always asked that you stay inside in case of predators. You usually did as he asked, but as you regained your energy and got tired of being cooped up in the cabin, you would sit outside on the dock and fish during the early mornings.

Arthur knew you had not listened to his request when you had grilled fish for dinner, but he didn’t say anything. He only gave you a disapproving look, while you always just smiled innocently at him.

As the second week in the cabin began, you noticed that Arthur was starting to look a bit pale. After he returned from a day hunting, you walked up to him and put his face between your hands.

"Arthur, do you need… Me?"

He looked at you and then looked away, conflicted. "I'll be fine."

You shook your head at him and hugged him tight. After a few moments, he wrapped his arms around you. Looking up at him, you cupped his cheek.

"Kiss me," you whispered.

He swallowed, leaned down, and gave you the most chaste kiss.

"More, Arthur!" you whined.

"Darlin'—"

"Don't treat me like I'm made of glass, Mr. Morgan. I've been resting for an entire week. I feel great.” You poked his chest with a finger. “You need to trust me.”

“Alright, alright,” he relented. “I just… I can’t get that image out of my mind, you lying on the ground, pale as death.”

“Then let’s get a different image in your head, shall we?”

You pushed him onto the bed and straddled him.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Hush. Just enjoy.” You removed your clothes slowly, gyrating your hips in a slow circle as he watched you, his eyes darkening with every bit of flesh revealed. He couldn’t stop his body from reacting to your almost nude form, gripping the edge of the bed and breathing heavily.

You got up just long enough to shimmy out of your pants and drawers before you lay on top of him and kissed his nose. “Will you make love to me, Arthur?”

“Of course, my heart,” he said, his voice straining under the weight of his emotions. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close, pressing his lips against your skin and simply breathing in your scent.

You winked at him as you pushed yourself up and began to unbutton his shirt. He watched with a lazy smile as you reached the last button and tugged it off his shoulders, revealing his toned biceps. He sat up and removed the rest of his shirt as you started working on the buttons of his jeans.

Arthur lay back down and lifted his hips as you pulled off his pants and his short drawers, wanting to see him gloriously naked. He was beautiful with his scars marking his skin, telling a story of a rough life, smoothed over with time. The trail of hair from his chest went down his stomach and lower, leading you to his thick shaft.

You gently brushed your fingers along the length of him, looking up to see his reaction. Watching the heat in his eyes ignite as you stroked him, you gave him a cheeky grin before you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock.

"Oh lord, darlin'," Arthur moaned, his head lolling back as he tried to keep his hips from jerking upwards into the warmth of your mouth. “Where'd you learn that?"

You just winked. You'd tell him later. Right now, you just licked him slowly from base to tip before engulfing him in your mouth.

Arthur's strangled cry of pleasure made you hum happily as you languidly lapped at his sensitive skin. His hands rested on your head, petting you lovingly as you explored him, wrapping your lips around him and sucking hard.

A litany of creative curses escaped him as he grabbed your head and thrust up into your mouth, mindlessly giving into his lust. When you pushed down on his thighs and made a surprised squeal, he quickly let you go and breathed heavily.

"Git up here," he growled, sitting up and pulling you into his lap. "I need to be inside of you."

Straddling his thighs, you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock, nearly crying with relief as you felt that carnal connection, rejoicing in that feeling of being filled up by him.

You moaned his name as he grabbed your hips and started to move you up and down, urging you faster and faster. You rode him hard as he wantonly chased down his pleasure. Feeling yourself flying towards the brink of an ecstatic high, you held Arthur’s face and pulled him towards you.

“Dar—”

You didn’t let him finish; you kissed him almost violently, pouring your love into him, forcing him to take all of your pent-up lust. He swallowed and moaned, kissing you back, and you felt a returning energy that pushed you over the edge and made you fly. The kiss broke as the two of you went over the edge of ecstasy together, arms holding each other tight as your hips spasmed, wringing out every last drop of his essence as he pumped upwards into you, gasping your name and pressing his forehead against yours.

After his last thrust, Arthur held you tightly against him, catching his breath while you caught yours.

“That… that was amazin’,” he finally said to you.

“Will it always be like that?” you asked.

“I hope so,” he said, a wry smile on his face.

You pulled back to look at his face. The color had returned to his cheeks and his eyes seemed much less sunken. You stroked his cheek gently. “You look better.”

“How’re you feeling’?” he said, his brows furrowing in concern.

“Never better.” You rolled your hips and smiled when he moaned, his cock hardening inside of you once more. “I could go for a round two.”

“You cheeky girl,” Arthur said while laughing, rolling over to make love to you until the two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

“So where’d you learn that trick?”

“What trick?” you asked around a mouthful of biscuit.

“You know. The one where you put yer lips around my…” He gestured towards his lower region.

You laughed. “You’re not going to like the answer.”

“Jus’ tell me.”

You got up from the kitchen table, taking your plate back to the sink so you wouldn’t have to face him. “I, um, read your mother’s journal.”

You heard a fork drop onto a plate. Turning around, you saw Arthur looking at you, aghast.

“I’m sorry!”

“No, that ain’t… you don’t hafta apologize,” he quickly corrected. “I’ve read her journal. I never saw nothin’ like that.”

Your eyebrow raised. As you watched, Arthur went to grab the journal and returned to stand next to you, flipping through the pages.

“There, there it is,” you said, pointing at one of the pages towards the end of the journal.

“Huh? These’re blank, darlin’,” Arthur said.

You blinked. You looked up at him, confused. Then you looked down at the page he had flipped to, and sure as day, you saw a flowing script with detailed descriptions of sexual acts that drove men wild. It even had illustrations.

“Arthur… where do the blank pages start for you?”

He flipped to a page about ten sheets away from the end. “Right here.”

Taking the journal in your hands, you started to read the text. You admit, you had started at the end and stopped when you saw the lewd artwork and never read before that part.

“It says, ‘To the one who captures the heart of an incubus.’” You looked up at Arthur, who looked bewildered, his jaw hanging slightly open. You continued. “‘Only you can read these last pages, because it holds things that I’m sure a son does not want to hear from his mother. But I want you to know my boy is special; even though he is half a creature of the night, his soul is all human. Please cherish him, care for him, and know that if he gives you his heart, he will give it all to you, and not an ounce less.’”

You looked up to the ceiling, trying not to cry, but glancing at Arthur, whose eyes were glistening with unshed tears, you let a few drops fall.

“That all it says?” he asked quietly.

“Um, well… the rest says, ‘On the following pages, I’ve shared my knowledge of carnal acts that are sure to enrich your life. But please don’t tell my son, as I am sure he will burst from shame if he knew his dear mother has intimate knowledge of such things.’” You glanced back at Arthur. “Whoops. I guess I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

Arthur choked back a laugh. “Ma, you never cease to amaze me,” he rasped as he looked up at the ceiling.

You looked at Arthur, who was halfway in tears, halfway laughing. “So… should I not use her techniques?”

He shuddered. “Please don’t call them ‘her’ techniques,” he grumbled

You laughed wholeheartedly. “Of course. They’re my techniques now, after all.”

He smiled at you; you smiled back. As he pulled you into his arms, you quietly thanked his mother for bringing Arthur into the world.

***

The spring months had passed in a blink of an eye as you and Arthur lived together in this small cabin, unbothered by anyone for the most part. The occasional traveler or merchant would go by on the road in the distance, but most days, the only person you saw was Arthur.

You didn’t mind one bit.

You still had the horse you rented; at this point, you figured the horse was a purchase and your savings long gone. Arthur had taken to him quite well, and he would take Ol’Trigger out to go hunting. He wasn’t looking too healthy when you rented him, but somehow, with all this clean mountain air and fresh grass, he was growing strong.

The sun was beginning to set on this first day of summer when you heard Arthur and Ol'Trigger coming back from a day of selling furs to various traders.

"There you are, my sweet," Arthur said with a big grin on his face as you approached. He held out his arms.

"You're probably smelly from being out all day," you groused, but you still stepped into the circle of his arms and held him tightly.

He leaned down and gave you a chaste peck on the lips. "Would you take a walk with me, darlin'?"

"Sure," you answered easily. The two of you would often walk up the nearby mountain trail to an overlook where you could see a fantastic view of the whole lake. You knew you would always love this sight; it was so tranquil and beautiful, and every day the sun hit the water just a little bit differently.

The two of you walked in silence, hand in hand, as the trees rustled and the birds chirped their goodbyes to the daylight. As you reached the overlook, you gasped. The solstice sunset dyed the world a rich red and gold, reflected on the lake like a mirror to the sky.

"I could never get tired of this view," you said in awe.

"Me either," Arthur said in a hushed tone.

You turned to find him gazing at you, a small smile on his face. You smiled shyly back at him. "Oh, you're too nice to me."

Without saying a word, he let go of your hand for a moment and got down on one knee.

"Ar-Arthur?"

Pulling out a ring that sparkled in the light, he looked up at you, his eyes showing a bit of vulnerability. He said your name so seriously that you stood up just a little straighter.

"I love you. More than anythin’. It would mean the world to me if you did me the greatest honor." He took a deep breath. "Will ya marry me?"

Tears had already started flowing the moment he pulled out the ring. But his earnest speech just filled your heart with joy.

"Of course I'll marry you!" you exclaimed.

He grinned and stood up, took your hand, and slipped the gorgeous ring onto your finger. Then he leaned down and kissed you, sweet and unafraid, full of love.

As the sun set over the horizon, you thought that today, of all days, was the most perfect one of all.

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

End Notes: I was deep in my feels, fam. So a bit of lore: Arthur is the only one who can't read the text in the back of the book; it was written with enchanted ink made with a drop of Arthur's blood when he was a child. Also the bonding that Arthur & Reader have is because Arthur claimed her last time they fucked. I know this sequel was more plot than porn, but I still hope you enjoyed it!

#rdr2 fanfic #arthur x reader #arthur morgan #arthur x fem!reader #incubus arthur #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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thefledglingdm · 4 years ago

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Can i ask a ficlet or fic with ben and bea? Anything 😭 i just miss those two

YES HELLO I AM HERE!!!! i have it posted here!!!! please see below the cut, and I’ll add it to the there’s a skirmish of wit between them post on ao3 as well!!

note: this is a goofy sort of meet-cute au inspired by my own life and relationship with my pet. this will make more sense. i hope this is okay!!

hang me in a bottle like a cat

Ben did not give two thoughts about it when his neighbors moved out of the apartment complex. He was never particularly close to the couple, or any of his neighbors, really. Who even talked to their neighbors anymore? No one went over to say welcome to the building or ask to borrow a cup of sugar anymore. And since this building featured in-unit laundry, Ben never needed to interact with people beyond a brisk nod passing on the stairs or at the mailboxes. And that was exactly the life he preferred. He kept to himself and his one-bedroom apartment and his engineering job in downtown San Francisco, and that was exactly what he wanted.

In fact, Ben had not even noticed the inhabitants in the two-bedroom next door changed until he checked his mail one Tuesday afternoon and saw that the battered mail tag for apartment 310 had changed. The new tag simply read, Stratford, H/ Stratford, B.

Huh, Ben thought. Neat.

That was the most thought he put into his new neighbors until Friday. Ben was sitting on his couch, phone in one hand and beer in the other, Netflix on in the background. He was not paying real attention to anything at all, really, which was why he jumped where there was a sudden crashing sound through the wall.

And dimly, Ben heard a woman’s voice lamenting, “Oh, you stupid little bastard.”

Ben furrowed his brow at the sound, listening to hear if there would be any more. There wasn’t. Shaking his lip with a bemused little smile on his face, Ben returned to his phone.

Ben assumed that the odd outburst through the walls would be a one-time thing. But clearly he overestimated the thickness of the walls in his building, or he underestimated the temper of his new neighbors.

Every now and then, Ben heard the noise through the wall: loud, uninhibited laughter; the shifting of different furniture being assembled or rearranged; the odd fire alarm dinging off, always accompanied by some kind of loud swear.

And every now and then, Ben would hear that voice again.

“Out of my way, you tiny bastard man, if I trip over you I am going to push you out the window.”

“Dinner time, dinner time, dinner time! Will you eat this? I don’t care if you like it or not! You’ll eat it and like it!”

“Get a job, you fucking freeloader. Pay your rent. Pull your own weight around here for once.”

“No. No. No. This is mine. I’m not sharing. Fuck off. I hate you. Fine, one kiss.”

“Back, back, back – no! Move! You know you’re not allowed outside!”

It was like living with a strange, cranky ghost that swore like a sailor. And had a mean streak.

Most nights, it was actually rather funny. But as time went on, he started to grow a bit concerned. Whoever his new neighbors were, they sounded like they had a… contentious relationship. One full of arguing and insults and exasperated affection.

Ben knew that his neighbors’ lives weren’t any of his business. But he had to admit he was deeply curious. And with the occasional crash and shout, he wondered if he ought to pop by. Check in. Greet the new neighbors, after all. His mother would probably give him her standard amused, slightly disappointed look if he revealed that he had still not said hello or welcome to his new neighbors since they moved in over two months ago.

The tipping point finally came, as Ben knew it must. He had just arrived home from work, a few hours later than usual on a Friday night. He’d had a project to finish up, and the rest of the office was barely helping. So it was almost eight o’clock in the evening as Ben made his way up the stairs, keys in one hand and loosening his tie with the other. He was just about to open his front door when a sudden clattering of dishes made him jump.

“No – dammit, you little shit – you know you’re not allowed in the kitchen! Get out! I will feed you! Move, you stupid asshole!”

Ben looked longingly at his door. Then he sighed, taking the five steps to the neighboring door. He lifted a fist, rapping his knuckles against the door.

Immediately, that same voice called: “One second! Shit, no, move - c’mere -”

The door chain rattled, the deadbolt turned. The door opened. And Ben came face-to-face with his neighbor. He opened his mouth. Forgot how words worked.

Because – oh, wow. The woman had a heart-shaped face, strong features, long, dark auburn hair, hazel eyes. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks like stars. She was a bit shorter than him, curvy, wearing a soft, faded Star Wars t-shirt with the collar cut so that the oversized shirt drooped down one shoulder. In her arms was a very large, very fluffy orange cat with perhaps the largest and most vacant eyes Ben had ever seen.

Oh. A cat. A cat.

A lot of things made sense now.

“Um, hi, did you need something?” The Most Beautiful Woman Ben Had Ever Seen asked, cutting off Ben’s train of thought.

“Oh, no,” Ben said. The woman raised an eyebrow, looking distinctly unimpressed. He quickly amended, “Well, I live next door, in three-oh-eight, and I, uh, I’ve heard you? Yelling? And I wanted to check in, see if you were okay, but.” He flapped a hand in the girl’s general direction, his limbs feeling oddly boneless. “The cat. You have a cat. Makes sense.”

“You heard – oh, my God,” the woman said, her expression going from borderline suspicious to confused to mortified. She had absolutely no poker face, and Ben found that observation indescribably charming. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, I had no idea the walls were so thin, I’m so sorry I’ve been bothering you –”

“You didn’t bother me,” Ben interrupted, which he knew was rude, but he felt even worse watching this adorable woman blush in embarrassment. “I mean, it was. Funny? But I just. I wanted to check in? And, uh, say hi. Since we’re neighbors.”

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but then there was another voice in the apartment. “Bea? Who’s at the door?”

The woman – Bea – stepped aside as a smaller, more petite woman stepped into the doorway. Her blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail at the top of her head. She eyed Ben with a blue-eyed stare. Then she peeked up at Bea. “A gentleman caller, Bea? Scandalous.”

Well, that was their relationship explained in two sentences. Ben watched the two sisters as Bea glared down at the younger woman. “Of course not, Hero. This is our neighbor…” She frowned at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh, no,” Ben agreed. It took him a second to realize, oh, she was asking the strange man at her door to introduce himself. An extremely reasonable request. Yes, Ben would love to drop through the floor right about now. “Uh. Ben. Ben Montounto. And I have intruded on your night long enough. So I am going to…” Face-plant into my couch, throw a blanket over my head, and hide for the rest of my life.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” The blonde woman, Hero, suddenly asked. Her sister tried to open her mouth, but she plowed on over anything she might have said. “Since we’ve apparently been bothering you for the past few weeks without even knowing it. An apology. Bea’s a… cook.”

Bea cut her sister with a glare. Ben tried to bite back a laugh, and he mostly succeeded until Bea turned her affronted hazel-eyed gaze on him. Oh, she was adorable.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Ben said honestly. He stepped back. Bea held his gaze.

“It’s not intruding if we invited you,” she pointed out bluntly.

“Oh, so now it’s ‘we?’” Ben asked. Bea lifted her chin slightly, refusing to back down even as her cheeks pinked slightly.

“Well, I didn’t stutter,” Bea replied archly, and she stepped aside to invite Ben into her apartment. It had the same layout as his own, just flipped and mirrored, with an extra bedroom attached. He carefully sat on the couch, sitting awkwardly straight up.

“D’you want anything to drink?” Hero asked, poking her head into the fridge as Bea returned to the stove. “We have water, seltzer, beer –”

“– Terrible wine, move, you little monster,” Bea said to the orange cat winding around her ankles. Now that he was here to see it in person, Ben could see the smile on Bea’s face as she cooed down at the cat. He could also hear the pet mrowl back up at her, green eyes wide and guileless. Ben dimly wondered if he would even hear the Wii homepage music echoing in the cat’s head, or if the poor little thing lacked even that.

“Seltzer is fine, thanks,” Ben said. He already felt awkward enough sitting in a strangers’ living room; drinking their alcohol was just several steps too far. Just as he was getting set to leap to his feet and sprint to his apartment, a loud mewl made him look down.

“Hello, lad,” Ben greeted the orange cat, holding out a hand for the pet to sniff. “What’s your name?”

“Tony.” Bea set a can on a coaster in front of him and sat on the other side of the couch, leaving a careful full cushion of space between them.

“Tony, hmm?” Ben replied, still speaking to the cat. “Talented wee thing, aren’t you? You can talk and everything.”

He heard Bea stifle a laugh. “He’s a rescue from a local shelter, so he’s still getting used to people. He takes a bit to warm up –”

Bea’s sentence trailed off when Tony suddenly leapt up to land on his lap. He circled around for a few moments, orange cur catching on the material of Ben’s slacks, before plopping himself into a furry puddle. Ben automatically ran his knuckles under the cat’s chin, and the cat closed his eyes and tilted his head back happily. He started purring, long, loud, and low, like a running engine or a motorboat.

Ben looked at Bea. Her mouth was hanging open, insulted. He felt himself grinning. “You were saying?”

“Shut up,” Bea snapped back automatically, though there was no anger behind the phrase. Ben laughed aloud.

“This is such bullshit,” Bea said, pointing at the cat. “He’s been with us for like, two months, and he still never sits on my lap? Hero’s, occasionally, but never mine. You’re an asshole, you know that?”

The latter sentence was addressed to the cat. Ben lightly scratched his nails behind the cat’s ears, and Tony shoved his head into the pressure. The purring only grew louder. Ben watched Bea scowl playfully at the cat, dark brows furrowing and cheeks going pink when she blew a raspberry at the cat.

Adorable. Utterly adorable. Ben could not believe he had shared a wall with this woman for two months. He knew nothing about her, about her job or her life or where she was from or her history or how she took her coffee or her favorite shows or movies or colors. All he knew was she was beautiful, and sassy, and she lived with her sister, and she loved her cat, and she swore like a sailor, and she had freckles dotting over her shoulders as well as her cheeks.

He did not want to lose any more time.

“You know,” Ben started, keeping his gaze on the cat. Don’t be weird. Don’t come on too strong. “Cats are supposed to good judges of character.”

He met Bea’s gaze. To his relief, she did not look like she was about to toss him out of her apartment. No, Bea Stratford met his gaze with a smirk and a challenging glint in her eyes.

“I’ve heard that, but I still prefer to conduct my own research. So, Ben Montounto.” She angled herself toward him, supporting her chin with the arm she propped over the back of the couch, and raised her chin.

“Tell me about yourself.”

#bea and ben #jj answers

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