#teeth will all be pretty and healthy like they always should’ve been if i’d just. taken proper care of them in the first place LOL

[umemiyan]

which boyfriend should i drag to the dentist to keep me entertained

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter Two

90s!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He got out, hopped one state over, and planned on continuing an anonymous existence of cold beds and numbers scribbled on forearms. One small problem in that plan, or maybe one big problem.

warnings | 18+ angst, pregnancy symptoms, ruth and steve are not very good at using their healthy communication skills.

a/n | thank you to everyone reading this little story, and as always, thank you to @pr0ximamidnight for providing the amazing artwork for this series <3

................................

Maybe she brought this upon herself. Conjured him up, sitting on a bench outside the library when she walks out after her shift. Her fault for checking if he had an account. He does. He used it once, six months ago, rented a Joan Baez CD that he had to pay a late fee on. And now he’s here, up in an instant when he sees her, much to her dismay. Same doc martens now clunking her way, she tries for something like a smile, but is pretty sure it’s more of a grimace than anything else.

“Hey.” She nearly laughs it’s so anticlimactic, both of them doing a stuttered, awkward shuffle on the sidewalk, a close distance that comes with knowing a stranger.

“Uh, hi, Steve, do you, like, need something from me?” Maybe a little rude, but honestly, she hadn’t been expecting to ever hear from the guy again, not a whole two weeks after that brutal phone call. 

“How have you been?” A question for a question, she shrugs.

“Oh, you know.” Oh, you know, she’s only nauseous most hours of the day, can only keep down orange juice and pretzel sticks when it’s bad, and it’s so very often bad. Oh, you know, it’s actually insane how often she has to go pee, not to mention the pure body horror that is already going on otherwise. Oh, you know, there’s something, a small something, a shared something, a mistaken something. Something that she has decided to keep, don’t ask her why. She doesn’t know why. 

“You look good.” He’s clearly nervous, hands tucked in his back pockets, one coming to hastily swipe through his thick flop of hair, eyes darting from his shoes up to meet her gaze, and then back down to his shoes. A little pitiful, she shows some mercy.

“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?” 

“Yeah, I– do you wanna– could we talk over dinner, maybe? I know it’s kinda early, but–”

“Oh, well–”

“Too weird?”

“No, not at all, it’s just– I’m already resisting the urge to puke right now–” His face falls fast at that, nearing beaten puppy territory, and she immediately realizes the foot she just shoved in her mouth.

“Not– you don’t make me want to puke, that’s not– the wanting to puke thing is kinda the norm for me right now.” 

“Oh, oh, that’s normal, right?” 

“I’d say it comes with the territory, yeah.” The thought occurs to her, blatant and dumb, that nothing about this is normal. Going about this all the wrong way, all backwards, both of them awkwardly shuffling on the sidewalk, toward and away from each other. To any passerby, a first date maybe, the nerves and jitters of it. Ha, she thinks, if only.

No to dinner, they somehow manage to settle on a bench outside the library instead, a pointed amount of space left between them, hands in laps and eyes on shoes. Steve clears his throat, his hand reaching up to run through his hair, already a tell, before seeming to think twice on it and instead rest his palm on his knee. Jolting knee, jolting palm.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come talk to you sooner, since you called, I mean.”

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to. Honestly, it probably wasn’t fair of me to tell you that, I should’ve–” 

“No, I’m glad you did.” His brow pinches, deep frown all over when he turns to look at her fully, suddenly so serious. She tries to conjure up what she remembers of that night with him. A lot of hazy smiling, a lot of smug self-certainty. None of that here, none of that now. Now, Steve is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and having an obviously hard time sitting still, and Ruth braces for impact.

“Look, Ruth, I– I needed some time to think about this, but I want to do the right–” She stops him there, some kind of close heat rising in her throat, a little self-righteous. The way it goes in the movies, right? Yeah, she’s not interested in that.

“No one’s asking you to be a hero, Steve. Like I said two weeks ago, I’m not looking for your help.”

“What if I want to help?”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“How is that fair?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, fair. Are you twelve?”

“No, what I mean is, it’s my kid too, okay?” 

“It’s a fetus, Steve. It doesn’t even have fingernails yet.”

“Okay, then it’s my fetus too.”

“Oh, really? Are you the one going through some Jim Henson-type body horror bullshit currently? No? Well, then I have a hard time buying that argument, sorry.”

“Jesus, are you always this mean?” Said with a half-hearted laugh, more like a punched-out exhale, all that hair of his falling in his eyes as he tilts his chin down toward his hands. She winces in the silence. 

“Maybe I overstepped with the fetus thing, but I am the one who got you into this– situation. And–and if you’re really keeping it– them– I want to be in their life, and I want to be there for you too– not in like a weird– not like– support, okay? I want to support– that’s– that’s, yeah.” He lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping with it in the aftermath. Part of her is starting to catch up with the reality that no, not an act. One of the good ones, maybe, despite her own weariness. 

“Is that really what you want?” She hates how small her voice sounds, nearly lost in the din of everyone around them getting off from work, going home, normal human shuffling in their normal human lives. But Steve hears her, looking only at her.

“Yeah, Ruth, it is.” 

…

A plan, or something like it. They sat and talked, stipulations made, agreed-upon addendums Then they sat and talked some more, halfway compromises, none of it written down, none of it legal. But something, he thinks, that could be called a plan. 

The first big spat had come in discussing living arrangements. Ruth’s I’m not living with that muppet-looking dude and Steve’s I want to be around if something happens, and then Ruth’s I’m not a coma patient, Steve. Eventually, something of an agreement, a slow introduction into each other’s lives. 

He’s only been over to her apartment once before now, a sort of tentative exposure. She lives close to the library, but not on the side of the suit-monkey, sky-scrapers, instead on the side of old brick and sidewalks bursting with tree roots. Nice neighborhood, quiet, she lives on the second floor of a house-turned-rental, wobbling flight of stairs up the side of the building to her apartment. He watches mom and dad guide their boy, small body on impossibly small tricycle, down the sidewalk while he waits for Ruth to answer the door.

“Sorry, Toby, I was on the phone but– oh, what’re you doing here?” Pretty dress, black with little white flowers all over, and lacquered buttons down the front. For Toby, he thinks, his heart clenching around the thought, and his mind reminding him not to do that.

“Who the fuck is Toby?” 

“How is that any of your business?” 

“Since I’m– since we’re–” Since what? His own righteousness fizzles out with no real answer to back it. Ruth sighs, door still only half opened, dark blue nail polish tapping along the frame. It’s that time late in the summer when every afternoon smells like rain, darkening and murmuring sky starting to threaten a few drops now.

“Steve, is there a reason you’re here right now?” 

“Uh, yeah, the appointment. And wait, I’m not just gonna drop this Toby thing, what’s that–”

“You’re way early.” Not exactly the welcome he was hoping for, Ruth still making no move to let him in. But he’s trying to be patient, hormones and shit. Those, Eddie’s exact words when he came home with some homeopathic bullshit pamphlet from Leif about prenatal vitamins. Here, it’s about hormones and shit. All Steve knows is that said hormones and shit are doing a lot right now, tsunami-sized changes. So patience, he can do patience. 

“I thought we could get lunch, if you’re feeling okay?” 

“I’m kinda busy.” 

“With Toby?” 

“Miss Cohen?” Small voice, coming from somewhere behind Steve. Ruth’s last name, is it bad he just learned it last week? 

“Hi, Toby, are you ready for your lesson?” No question, this is bad. Bad, because when Steve turns around, he finds Toby, all four feet of him, looking, perplexed, up at the strange man standing in his apparent teacher’s doorway. For his part, Toby simply side-steps Steve entirely, hiking his trapper-keeper up under his arm, Ruth’s hand touching, pulse-point between his tiny, sweatered shoulder blades as he walks into her apartment. 

“I’ll see you in an hour, okay? For the appointment.” A pointed look finishes off her words, and she’s already closing the door before Steve can think to string together an apology. 

He sits down on the bottom step of the flight of stairs, not familiar enough with this part of town to do any fruitful wandering, and his own apartment too many blocks away for it to make sense to go home. The boy on the tricycle is still making slow progress down the sidewalk. Dad does that same thing that Ruth did, hand between shoulder blades, checking in, catch and release, care

Here’s the thing, part of Steve is terrified, and the other part is numb, already making room for all of this, mind configuring a new reality. He rolls through quick gasps of anxiety, his heart floating up into his throat that yes, this is real, before he sinks back down into something mundane, somehow making all this seem normal. He’s having a baby with a woman whose last name he didn’t know until last week. And strangely enough, he hasn’t been this sure of something in a very long time. It’s a mess, and it’s his, and he’s sure of it.

“Bye, Steve.” Except it comes out a little more like bye, Steeb, Toby’s trapper-keeper smacking him in the shoulder as he barrels down the steps and onto the sidewalk. He’s already off down the block by the time Steve stands up.

“Sorry, we’re still working on his V and B sounds, Steeb.” Pretty dress, white flowers swishing around her shins as she meets him at the bottom of the steps, his brow furrows when she holds out a granola bar to him.

“You said you wanted to get lunch, I’m sorry we couldn’t.” More and more moments like these. Because yes, Ruth can be mean. Maybe not exactly mean. But sharp. All angles and edges. And she can also be like this, surprising him like this. He tucks the granola bar in his pocket, a quiet thank you as they walk around the back of her apartment. 

Ruth drives one of those boxy Ford Explorers, dark green and a dent in the passenger-side door that only makes Steve a little nervous. He sold his car when he and Eddie left, a few months of rent and a nicer bike, so he lets Ruth drive, and resists the urge to hold onto the door handle every time she takes a turn a little too sharp for his taste. No use for that granola bar now, he’s been perfectly jostled by the time they pull into the parking lot of the OB-GYN, stomach all swirled up. And walking into the waiting room doesn’t help his case. Women, very round women, all over the place, and sitting next to them are their husbands, right? Boyfriends, right? Some sort of nondescript partner that got them into this state in the first place, right? Arms around shoulders, soft smiles that Steve tries not to stare at for too long. Hands on stomachs and hands over hands. And then there’s him and Ruth, leaving a chair between them while she fills out a packet of paperwork. 

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Huh?” A little distracted by all the shiny, happy families teeming in the waiting room, he blinks twice at Ruth’s question before she points her pen down to her clipboarded packet. 

“Oh, no, it’s just me. Do you?” 

“Yeah, I have an older sister out in New Mexico. What about family history of mental illness?” He can’t help the snort that slips out at that question, Ruth turning half a smile and a raised brow on him.

“Is a blanket yes an option?” He has decided that he likes her laugh. A dry rasp of a thing, pretty bells at the end if she thinks something is especially funny. 

“Mine too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“Add it to the list.” The list, the one they’ve been mentally tallying up with all the things they find in common with each other, some sort of rapid fire get-to-know-the-parent-of-your-child-ice-breaker thing. So far, the list is not very long. They both like Elliott Smith, Yo La Tengo too. Ruth can’t stand the Lemonheads, and Steve can’t either. And yes, they agree, David Berman is an underrated genius. And that is also about where the list ends. Plus one more now. Two fucked up families, how fitting.

…

“That’s a lot of pamphlets.”

“Yep.” 

“Lots of different ways to do this, I guess.”

“Yep.” And that’s all she’s gotten out of Steve since they left the doctor’s office. He won’t even look at her, sitting on her couch, big blinks into the distance and the smallest pinch between his brows, a thick fistful of pamphlets clutched in both his hands like a prayer book. And while she doesn’t blame him, a little shaken herself from hearing the heartbeat of the thing she’s apparently growing inside herself for the first time, at least she hasn’t gone practically nonverbal.

“Steve?”

“Yep.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yep.” She scoffs, tugging a few of the pamphlets out of his hands to look at them for herself. One on circumcision, cross that bridge if they get to it, she sets that one aside. One on water births, hard no, she sets that one aside. 

“How do you feel about elective c-sections?” 

“What?” Finally, he has reentered this plane of consciousness, blinking back into focus as he looks at her. She waves the pamphlet in question in front of him.

“It kinda makes me squirm, I mean, right? That’s weird.” All she gets from him is a mumbled I guess, though she’ll take it, setting the pamphlet aside with the others and clapping her hands together, trying to make it feel like a conclusion.

“Well, we already got a couple decisions out of the way, so that has to count for something.” And she’s lost him again, staring hard into her rug again, and she doesn’t like it one bit. Over the few weeks she’s known him, she’s never seen him like this. Sure, both of them stumbling through this thing. But right now, he looks checked out. Frankly, he looks ready to bolt. 

“You– you have insurance, yeah?” 

“Um, yes?” She can’t help the laugh her reply comes out on, though judging by the rather stony look on Steve’s face that probably wasn’t the best reaction she could have given him. 

“Sorry, I’m just trying to– it’s okay if the kid goes to public school, right?” 

“Are you serious right now?” When Steve doesn’t say anything in response, her frustration flares up into anger fast, a bitter laugh as she gets up from the couch.

“Oh no, I am not playing this game with you, Steve. You want out? Fine, I didn’t ask for your help, but do it now while my expectations are still low.” Steve is up and off the couch at that, doing that thing she’s come to expect. Always the same pattern of movements, a quick drag of his hand through his hair before thumb and forefinger come to pinch the bridge of his nose, squint, shake of his head. She’s seen that particular maneuver enough times now to know exactly what it means. 

“You’re telling me you aren’t worried about how you’re gonna pay for and support a whole other human being? That’s not freaking you out right now?” 

“Of course it’s fucking freaking me out! Christ, I– but people do it all the time, right? At least that’s what I figure. And I shouldn’t, believe me, I know I shouldn’t. But it’s what I want. And it’s fine if it’s not what you want, I’m not asking you to want this. Just do me a favor and tell me that now, okay?” Silence settles between them, Steve opening and closing his mouth, lips pressed in a thin line to hold any reply back. And in its ever perfect timing, her stomach starts to slurry, acid rising up the back of her throat, stinging sick. 

All she manages is a quiet excuse me, stupidly polite, brushing right past Steve on her warpath for the bathroom. The first heave comes just as she curls over the toilet bowl. She had managed to get breakfast down today, a relatively normal meal, now making a mangled reappearance as muscle pulls taut and burning with each roil of her stomach. And somewhere through the fog of it, a warm palm between her shoulder blades, soothing and smoothing circles into her shivering spine. 

“Here.” Quiet, care, he offers out his forearm for her to grip as she slumps away from the toilet, something to brace against at the very least. He surprises her, a cold, dampened cloth pressed to the back of her neck, a sigh of relief that she can’t help at the feeling of him holding it there, holding her still. 

“Sorry, it’s usually not that–”

“It’s okay, Ruth. Do you want some water?” She feels ridiculous, certainly pitiful when she nods, letting him coax her hand to where his had been holding the cloth to her neck before he’s off rummaging around in her kitchen. Usually not that dramatic when this happens, usually not sitting on the bathroom floor after it happens, usually not someone else there to ask if she’s okay after it happens either. And then he’s back, crouched down alongside her, not handing her the glass of water, but holding it to her lips. She hates that she likes that. 

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.” One hand holding her elbow, the other on her waist when she gets up. It’s a conscious choice to lean out of and away from his palms, resisting that warmth and taking a few steadying breaths, focusing instead on the freckle she can see on the joint of his thumb where he has hooked his hand into his pocket. Taking inventory to steady herself, dark pants and a dark t-shirt underneath a denim jacket that she keeps resisting the urge to smooth the collar of, for him. His boots, of course, and the thin, wire glasses she’s come to expect. He squints when he doesn’t wear them. She doesn’t get why he doesn’t wear them sometimes. 

“I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to freeze on you like that. I’m, fuck, I don’t know. It’s terrifying, but it also feels so, like, clear.” 

“Clear?” He sighs, a breath of a laugh, arms crossed over his chest and hips resting back against the bathroom counter. Both of them getting swallowed up in too small of a space. 

“I barely know you, Ruth, I didn’t think I was gonna see you again. And now, now–” Another sigh, and she braces for impact, for him to finally realize that the door is wide open, that no one is keeping score, and that the best thing, the smart thing, is to get out of this mess. No, she can’t blame him, can’t even work up a flurry of anger at him. All she can manage is another sick stir in her stomach, waiting for this to be over already. 

“I just wanna meet this kid.” His chin is tucked down, so she can only just see the curve of his smile, small wonder, and then a laugh. And then yeah? Yeah, yes. Such a small space, all filled up, cheeks rounding and eyes spilling over top of them. 

“He looked like a bean or something on the scan.” 

“You think it’s a he?” Instinct, or maybe just cliche, palm to stomach like she might find the answer to his question there. She shrugs.

“I don’t know, that just slipped.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Hmm?” She wouldn’t mind if this kid came out with his grin, his glasses tilting up with it. 

“I guess we’ll find out eventually.” And that we’ll is answer enough, isn’t it? Sticking around, isn’t he? 

“I guess we will.”

“You think you can eat some dinner?”

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?”

“Maybe just toast for me.”

“Yeah, you got it.” 

He knows where her toaster is, knows that she keeps a few heels of bread in her freezer to make them last longer. He has done this before, in the few weeks that they have decided that whatever this is, it’s together. She watches him shuffle around her small kitchen from over the back of the couch, head in her hand, his quiet movement tilting to the side. He makes four sideways pieces, dry for her and butter for him. And nothing is said, save for a quiet thanks and an equally quiet welcome. The light is starting to slip, thickening into a haze that spills over the warped wood floors of her apartment. It rained for the better part of the afternoon, her windowsill damp, letting that cool scent of late summer in. 

They sit side by side on the couch, making what could be called meaningful work out of two pieces of toast each. Yes, answer enough. Yes, staying. Yes, together. 

[self-shipping-doll13]

And the tendency for tenants is secrecy.

Word Count: 1.8k

Cw: death mentions, swearing, paranoia, implications that an unseen person is really not having a good time™️

Noise wasn’t exactly tolerated where I lived. 

The crashing of pots made me jump first. A mistake washing dishes knocked just about the entirety of my kitchenware onto the ground… Luckily nothing had been damaged. Then it was the angry fist at my door. Mr. Davidson lived on the same floor as me. He was also the landlord. I rushed to accommodate him. 

His reaction was so angry it itched in my skin. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again…” 

“You’re right it won’t!”

I grimaced apologetically, like a dog presenting its belly in an act of submission. A taught behaviour. Quickly, I explained, made promises, and got off on a warning. 

This demand of silence bordered on unreasonable. 

Of course, that was fine. I could be calm and quiet. The noise rule definitely had its upsides: no rowdy parties (the flats were too small anyway), no thumping music, no loud children shrieking and banging on the walls. It was more than perfect for me. Late at night I’d sit at my desk, restless, listening to car horns blaring outside. Mr. Davidson wasn’t too bad. You got used to it. 

My other neighbours were far less unpleasant. 

One I ended up liking in particular was as elderly lady named Ms. Adler. She’d hobble up and down stairs unsuited to arthritic knees, clutching her velvety handbag, her feet wrapped in those soft little slippers with pastel petals embroidered over the toes. Always kind and cheerful, offering you a little sweet or a mint and patting your hand in fond chuckling laughter. As if you were her own long lost grandchild. 

She lived alone. No one visited her but me.  

Ms. Adler came to greet me a few times too. Once when I’d just moved in, and I didn’t know anyone.

It was my first time living alone - in the big city, and my new apartment was a mess of cardboard. When she saw Peaches around my heels, she’d coo and pucker her lips. “Oh, little sweetheart…” Bent down painfully. She actually managed to elicit a curious sniff. 

There was a young man who lived here too. He kept to himself. Well… ‘Reclusive’ actually might’ve been an understatement. I barely saw him. A person like that could be easily overlooked or forgotten, scrubbed over with happier, funnier memories. If only he wasn’t so strange - if only our encounters weren’t so awkward. 

Months ago: It was still very dark outside, I was leaving early for my appointment, going downstairs. He was going up. Going home? Ah, that was a problem. 

Obstructions were pretty common. The stairway was tiny, one-way, ideal for traffic jams, and the lifts were out of order for as long as I’d known them. Lawrence - I only learnt his name later - wore a sweatshirt and had his yellowish hair tied back. The fluorescent bulbs shone his face a sickly cadaverous hue. He gave me a deer-in-the-headlights stare I probably mimicked. No one could have appeared more harmless. I stopped and made an embarrassing noise in my throat. 

“Nice plant.” I must’ve been chipper that day. He was gently cradling one I wouldn’t know the name of. The leaves were glossy and vibrant, stained red, like someone had emptied their veins all over it. I imagined they were healthy. “Uh… I’ll get out of your way.” 

“…Thanks.” He looked away, grinning. Baring his teeth in a cagey wince. I could even tell he was anxious. A bit of shuffling. I hopped back up the narrow steps.    

“Have a good morning.” Not much else for me to say. 

“Uh… You too.” And well, that should’ve been that. 

But Lawrence didn’t enter his apartment. He stood with one hand clamped around the handle. I realised he must’ve been waiting for me to leave first. So I did.

This was the first time I discovered it was possible to feel someone’s eyes fixated on you. The back of my neck was unguarded, (no scarf, like an idiot) and for an odd moment I feared my throat would be ripped out. Instinctual residue from a distant, herbivore past. 

But was I unnerved or simply nervous? 

I was on the bottom floor. I lingered. From above me, the metallic symphony of too many locks. Echoing. 

My routine was mundane. I was an insect pinned in a glass box. Life here was small and compact that way. And when something was amiss, you noticed it. 

Of course you did. 

Shampoo, hairties, pens. I didn’t know how I lost things when there was scarcely anywhere for them to hide. I inspected my fridge. Did I still have milk at least? 

No. It was all gone. I sucked an involuntary breath in. This reminded me of other things I could’ve forgotten, which in hindsight was a good thing. Because just then I remembered too late the last of the dry stuff I fed Peaches tinkled into her bowl - fuck, how did I let things get away from me so often… I checked again and the bag was still empty. Obviously. Nothing left for the morning. I had to leave early for my lecture, too. 

My clock told me it was 1am - I should be asleep now. But I decided on biting the bullet, grabbed my keys and pulled on my jacket, boots and coat. Not my scarf. 

January was miserable at the best of times. But the sharp, frozen air outside was strangely refreshing, like a bucket of cold water. I was high on adrenaline, too. The nearest open shop was about a 5 minute walk. I might’ve dozed, since I blinked and I was there. 

I trudged up the entrance. Automatic doors slid open with an off note chime. I recognised Lawrence. Not honestly a surprise - I only met him this late at night, the occurrences random, but increasingly persistent. He only spared me a passing glance before he quickly refocused back on the snacks he was holding. 

The bright light here was almost nauseating. I found the right aisle, snatched up what I needed and silently joined the queue. Not that it was much of a holdup - but the person at the front was laughing and joking with a cashier who probably deserved a break. Lawrence wasn’t talkative. For now I was glad for it. Something in his quiet lifted the pressure to act fully human. 

I sighed and leant against the sweets rack. The colourful packets were borderline hypnotic to my exhausted brain. A dazzling array of yellows and pinks, swirls, funky lettering, anything to lure in those wonderful impulse buys. My lids were about as heavy as lead. God, this guy was taking forever… 

I let myself drift away for a bit. My neighbour’s voice was so low and soft, it took a moment to register. 

“Excuse me… I need to get past you…” 

Startled, I jumped, and regretted meeting his stare. Two icepick eyes boring into me like a lobotomy. 

“Oh.” I moved to the side. He disappeared.   

Lawrence didn’t come back, so I took his place and bought what I needed. I felt a little embarrassed. Did I really just nod off right in front of him? Jesus. 

Exiting, I took a fresh gulp of oxygen, the world outside appeared to have died. Witching hour was upon the city now, silenced and watchful. I could even hear my own footsteps, my boots scuffing on the pavement. I set one before the other. Step, step, step. Never underestimate the crushing weight of silence. Thoughts were swarming around in the hive of my mind. 

Future thoughts and past thoughts and everything in between. Assignments, dates, meals. Tossing around in a faulty washing machine. Step, step, step. 

The mass of my shopping crinkled. Unease flooded me without reason. Or perhaps I had all the reason; I was alone, so defenceless… Strange tension raked down my upper vertebrae. The fine hairs stood up on the back of my neck, I reflexively whirled to look— 

There was no one there. No one I could see. 

Skittish, a lone doe in a big metal forest, I felt the urge to hide. I clutched the plastic bag to myself. It would make a lousy weapon, I thought. My heart raced in my chest like it was trying to escape. I made an effort to force it down. Ridiculous. Just the adrenaline… 

I walked on, passing under dim yellow streetlights. The city council had updated most of the area with better, more radiant lamps, but this particular block was a bit overlooked. So between the flickering rays lay patches of complete and utter darkness. I sped up, and jumped again when my road was blocked by a motorcycle. 

The big scarred biker revved his engine at me. I waved at him nervously and he let me pass. I didn’t care to decipher his wolfish grin. I just wanted to get home. 

At the sound of my apartment door opening, Peaches let out a quiet chirp and leapt down from my bed. 

The click of the lock told me I was fine and safe now. I stroked her flexible spine, ignoring how my own still tingled. Her tail wiggled in that happy way. 

“Yes, this is for you… No, you can’t have it now.” 

In my pyjamas, I debated if it was worth it to even attempt sleeping. Not if I crashed too hard too early. My blood was still pumping hard, anyway. So I ended up making this late night one that I never wanted to stop, pushing it and pushing it, until it was 4am and I realised with sinking dread that I only had a few more dwindling, choked out hours until my life resumed. 

Everything was more beautiful when you had little time to savour it. Music painted in colours so evergreen. All of the books I’d never open. How thunder rumbled, loud and massive. I realised a heavy downpour was pattering against my windows. I envisioned the rain gathering and dribbling into soil, trickling down bark. The universe was so alive, birthing, living, rotting. Sleep numbed that, at once instant and endless. Just like dying. That might’ve been the adrenaline, too. 

That’s when I heard the noise. An ear-piercing shriek, more animal than human. My response this time was to go rigid. It came from my floor. I stared down at it. 

Mr. Davidson wasn’t happy. “Shut the fuck up!” I heard enraged stomping. Must’ve disturbed his rest. 

I tried to remember who lived just below me… And I hoped they didn’t get it too rough in the morning. Maybe they’d just blasted a horror film by accident or something. The incident left me giggly. Or it might’ve been jitters. I padded over to my fridge and got a coke - a little treat. It bubbled like lava down my throat as I sat back down on my rickety bed, folding my legs. 

Returning to my laptop, I imagined my neighbour was staying awake too. The thought was oddly comforting. This dark and secret gap in time was just for us. 

Then, a quiet fluttering. A perishing. I looked up. A moth was beating its fragile wings against a bulb. So tiny, this insect boxed into 4 walls. It and I both. 

Add flowers - this place might be my tomb.

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

[nastybuckybarnes]

In a Heartbeat  -  Four

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Almost Smut

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: hello I hope you all enjoy this!! I’m loving this series and I hope to keep updating it and Of Kings and Beasts regularly. Idk though. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

~*~

“You’re sure I look good?”

Nat groans and climbs off your couch reluctantly, grabbing you by the shoulders and stopping you from pacing anymore.

“You look gorgeous.” You bite your bottom lip nervously, hands itching to come up to your mouth.

Your hair is pushed behind your ears, natural and beautiful, and your makeup is light. Adorning your body is a simple light blue dress that stops just above your knees, as well as a beige cardigan that hangs loosely off of your shoulders.

Nat grabs you a pair of beige heels and shoves them into your hands.

“Put your shoes on and stop worrying. He’s on his way up so even if you didn’t look good there’s no time to change now.” You nod, taking a few deep breaths before crouching down and putting your shoes on. Right as you’re doing up the clasp around your ankle there's a knock on your door.

You freeze in place, looking at Natasha in absolute terror, and she rolls her eyes.

“It’s open!” She calls. You shake your head, one shoe on and the other off as you run to your bedroom.

“I can’t,” you whisper as the door starts to open. Hiding away in your bedroom, you listen to Nat greet Bucky.

“She’s almost ready. Just needs to grow a pair,” The redhead says loudly, her footsteps clomping towards the bedroom door.

She whips it open, ready to give you an earful, but when she sees the genuine fear on your face she reconsiders.

“Beans, you’re gonna be okay. He’s a real gentleman and he won’t do anything that you don’t want to do, I promise.” You take a few deep breaths, trying to hold back tears.

“What if I get hurt again, Nat? I don’t think I could handle it.” The weak whimper that leaves you has her heart shattering in her chest.

“He won’t hurt you. If he does I’ll kill him, I swear I will.” You sniffle and chuckle softly, sliding your foot into your other shoe and doing the clasp up.

“Okay. I think I’m ready.” She nods, taking your hand and giving it a firm squeeze before stepping aside and motioning to the door.

You take a deep breath, lift your chin, then leave your bedroom.

Bucky stands in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in his grasp. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a black button-up, as well as a leather jacket.

“Wow,” he whispers, eyes wide as he takes you in.

“You look... wow.”

You smile shyly at him. “You clean up pretty nice yourself, James.” He chuckles, then, as if remembering he’s holding flowers, offers the bouquet to you.

“I uh... I didn’t know what kind of flowers you’d like... and Steve said to get red roses but Nat said that red roses are for love and I think it’s too early for that because this is our first date and all and I really didn’t wanna scare you away and now I’m definitely talking too much but I’ve been looking forward tot his for.. since we set our real first date and-” Nat interrupts his rambling, hating and loving seeing her usually so confident friend stumbling over his words.

“You’re doing great, Casanova. Keep this up and she won’t even leave.” You glare at Nat over your shoulder, not wanting her to be mean to Bucky.

“Thank you, I love them.”

He got you a bouquet of beautiful lavender roses, white lilies, and an assortment of small little leaves that tie the whole bouquet together.

“Nat, can you put these in a vase for me please?” You hand the bouquet to her after taking a long sniff, smiling eagerly at her. She nods, taking them from you and handing you your purse.

“Now go on. Have fun kids, use a condom and all that.” You groan, risking a glance at Bucky to see that his cheeks are bright pink.

Feeling better at the fact that you’re not the only nervous one, you take his outstretched arm and allow him to walk you out of your apartment.

“So where are you taking me?” You ask, smiling up at him.

“Well, I know this little café that makes these nice little sandwiches. I figured we could start there, grab a bite to eat and see where the day takes us.” You nod, taking a few deep breaths to calm your heart.

~*~

“I’m really glad you gave me a chance, I know things started really rocky but I... I’m glad I get a second chance.”

You smile at him, setting down your cup of tea and nodding.

“Of course. I don’t think I would have ever heard the end of it from Nat if I didn’t anyway.” The two of you share a laugh, him smiling brightly at you.

“I’ll make sure I thank her.” You nod, taking another sip of the decaf tea, heart thundering in your chest.

“I-I’m sorry, I just need to take something. I’m very nervous and my heart-” He reaches across the table and grabs your hand, squeezing gently.

“You don’t need to explain it to me if you don’t want to. Do whatever you need to do to keep yourself healthy, okay? Your health and happiness... those are my top priority.” You swear if it wasn’t beating unbearably fast against your ribs it would melt.

You take your pills as discreetly as you can, but Bucky, being ever the gentleman, excused himself to the bathroom to give you space to do whatever you need to do.

~*~

“I uh... I pushed Steve out of the way when we were in a really bad fire. I saw the beam coming down and it would’ve killed him. So I pushed him out of the way and... took the damage instead. Doctors told me if I had waited a second longer it would’ve been too high up and would’ve got me right in the chest. Instead... it took my arm.”

You sit idling in Bucky’s truck in front of your apartment, the two of you talking for the past two hours.

“Oh James... I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head, smiling at you. “If it hadn’t happened then Steve wouldn’t be alive and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing I could’ve done something. Besides, Tommy thinks it’s pretty cool.” You nod at that, fingers tracing small patterns on his metal hand.

“I uh... When I was younger my mom was really careful with me. She wouldn’t let me do gym class... I could never go out with friends... nothing. One day we got into a nasty fight before I went to school. We called each other names and said awful things...

“I stopped on my way to school and bought an energy drink.” He stiffens beside you, eyes wide.

“I’d never even had caffeinated tea before, but I was so... so angry. I thought that... ‘whatever happens will teach her’. And I drank it. The whole can. I started feeling it halfway through class and when I raised my hand to tell my teacher... I just passed out. Collapsed right there in the middle of math class. They rushed me to the hospital and... I’ll never forget the fear I saw on my mom’s face. They said I almost killed myself. My heart couldn't handle the caffeine and I almost died. So from then on I just kinda... listened to my mom. Lived my life in the safe lane.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, eyes on your pretty face as you continue tracing patterns on his prosthetic.

“I’m glad you took a chance with me,” he whispers.

You look up at him, a shy smile on your face.

“I am too.”

His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes, and you do the same, silently granting him permission.

He leans in, and before you have a moment to second-guess your decision, his warm lips are against yours.

You whimper, hand grabbing his wrist while the other finds his hair. He leans forward, lips moving against yours as if that is what they were made to do.

After a moment he pulls away, eyes wide.

“I-I’m sorry! I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have done that. I-is your heart okay?” You giggle, pushing him back into his seat and climbing over until you’re seated comfortably on his lap.

“It's gonna take a little more than some kissing to stop me,” you whisper, bringing your lips back down onto his.

He kisses you with newfound passion, hands gripping your waist and pulling you tight against him. His tongue explores your mouth, dancing with your own and making you feel things you haven’t felt in... ever.

When you pull away to breathe he doesn't stop. No, his lips, teeth, and tongue work their way down your neck until you’re quivering on top of him, body desperate for more.

“Come upstairs,” you whisper, panting against his mouth.

He lets out a weak chuckle then sighs, shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t.” You pull away, giving him a confused look. “Why not?” His hands find your thighs beneath your dress and he rubs his thumbs in circles on the soft skin.

“I... I wanna take my time with you. I wanna take you out again and I wanna wine and dine you real nice. If we just get right to it... It doesn’t feel right.” You go to climb off his lap but he stops you.

“This feels right. I didn’t mean that this,” he motions to where you are,” doesn’t feel right. I just... you already deserve so much more than I can give you, and I wanna do everything I can to prove that I’m gonna take care of you. Believe me, I wanna come upstairs and fuck you until you can’t remember your goddamn name.” You shiver at his words and he chuckles, pulling your hips forward a bit. You gasp as you feel his hard length through his pants, pressing up against you.

“I fucking want you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your neck. “You’ve got no idea how bad I want you. But you deserve to be taken out and treated like a queen.” He pulls away, flesh hand coming up and cupping your cheek.

“I like you, (Y/n). And I don’t wanna ruin things before they get good.” You rest your hands against his chest, fingers splayed on the warm skin beneath his shirt from where you’ve popped a few buttons open.

“I like you too, James. A lot more than I thought I would. And... if I’m being honest... that scares me.” He frowns, looking up at you and waiting for you to continue.

“I just... what if something happens to you?” His heart melts and he leans up, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and then another.

“Don’t you worry about me, pretty girl. I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as I’ve got you willing to wait for me.” You grin, nodding and leaning down to press a kiss to his chest. Your lips linger long enough to feel the steady pulsing beneath the skin.

“I’m gonna be waiting for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Good.”

He walks you up to your apartment, hand held tightly in yours and a goofy smile on his face.

When you reach your door you feel sad that the night is coming to an end. Slowly you turn to him, eyes filled with things you want to say but can’t explain.

He simply chuckles softly, metal hand cupping your jaw gently.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” You ask softly, eyelids fluttering closed as he leans down. His lips find yours and you never want them to leave.

They fit so perfectly against yours, you could spend all of eternity kissing him.

Unfortunately, he pulls away after another fantastic moment.

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes on his as he slowly stands up to his full height.

“You can still wine and dine me even if you stay the night,” you whisper, already knowing what his answer will be.

He laughs quietly, shaking his head while smile lines fan out around his eyes.

“You, (Y/n), are gonna be the death of me. But god, what a way to go.” He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek then a lingering kiss to your knuckles before pulling away slowly.

“I’ll see you soon, babydoll. And I promise to text when I get home.” You nod, watching as he walks down the hallway. He shoots a glance over his shoulder when he reaches the elevator, a smile spreading on his face and red coating his cheeks as he sees you watching him.

Only once the door is closed do you unlock your apartment.

You hardly have time to step a foot in when you hear the door behind you open up.

“Next time you put on a show like that let me know so I can make popcorn.” You giggle, turning to Gladys and shaking your head.

“If we had known you’d be peeping on us we wouldn’t have done anything.” She shrugs, smiling at you. “It’s hard not to watch with a man like that standing there.” You roll your eyes at her.

“Goodnight, Gladys.” She’s already back in her apartment.

“So I’m assuming it went well?”

You nearly scream.

“Nat?! What the fuck!” She laughs, throwing her head back and letting out a good belly-laugh.

“You should’ve seen your face!” You glare at her, throwing your purse at her.

“Not funny! Why are you still here?” You kick off your shoes and groan as your toes finally have time to relax after being in heels all day.

“After last time I wanted to make sure nothing went wrong. But from the sounds of it I almost caught something scarring, didn’t I?” You shake your head, sighing and plopping down on the couch with her.

“He’s a fucking gentleman. For better or for worse.” She nods, hand slapping your knee.

“I told you. He’s gonna treat you right, Beans. I promise.”

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 1

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x reader

summary: spencer makes a confession as you’re doing dishes together. this is from a prompt list but i can’t find it :( 1633 words. part 2 

a/n: this was originally a poe dameron thing but i started thinking about it with spencer and then there were tears streaming down my face then i wrote it

Your favourite memories with the team are always those where you really feel like a family. Most days these are only fleeting moments, less than five minute conversations filled with banter and affectionate insults, but there are times, like now, where you’re all sat around Rossi’s dinner table with too much wine and too much pasta (although there is no such thing), and you feel like you might cry from happiness.

You’re a family.

The downside to being a family is you get treated like a family member, meaning when you and Spencer are assigned to clean dishes, dry them and put them away, you sulk to the kitchen just like you did when you were eleven and your younger sibling got out of helping by claiming he has too tired.

At least you can stare at Spencer as you do it.

In the kitchen, you’re working in perfect harmony – you, elbow deep in somehow tolerable hot water, scrubbing away at the bowls and plates stained with pasta sauce, and Spencer who methodically dries said bowls and plates with a worrying amount of scrutiny.

Right before you open your mouth to ask him if he’s okay, Spencer speaks.

“What do you think of love?”

Huh. Didn’t expect that.

“Love is… is good, I guess.”

You’re not sure what to say, or what he wants you to say. There’s obviously an answer he’s looking for, but you’re not sure you can provide it.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Your brows furrow. The question catches you off guard and your hand freezes mid-wipe. Why is he asking you this? It’s not that you’re not close with Spencer, cause you are, but you feel ill-equipped for this conversation. You wish you could somehow swap positions with Hotch, or Rossi, maybe Derek. Or Emily! Anyone, except you.

“I don’t think so, no, Spence.”

He grimaces.

“Why?”

“Well, because-cause…” He pauses and grits his teeth, as if the words are painful to force out, “I want to love someone and be loved.”

The confusion shines brightly in your eyes, “You are loved, Spence. Everyone in our unit would do anything for you, you know that. I’d go so far as to say you’re the favourite, probably the most loved person in the BAU.”

“No. No.” He shakes his head, “I want someone to love me. Romantically. Not Dr Spencer Reid of the BAU, notorious rambler and know-it-all who’s exceptionally good at pissing people off. I want them to love me – Spencer – the guy who is a technophobe, a pretty bad shot, and secretly wants to be a cowboy. The guy who has a recurring dream that Morgan forces me into a room where I’m plunged into darkness and Doctor Who is playing but it’s in a language I don’t understand. I don’t.. I don’t want someone that’ll make me feel like a baby, like the team sometimes does, you know? I think I’d be a great partner and I just… I just want someone to share something with. Something good, something pure, in this job where we face evil and demise every day.”

You’re in stunned silence when he makes eye contact, hands stilled mid-air as you gape at him.

“Sorry. Totally unloaded a lot of emotional stuff on you there – my bad. Uhh..” He clears his throat.

The air becomes awkward as you figure out how to reply. You flounder. You don’t know what to follow that speech with. It almost feels like the right time to admit your feelings for him, but a second later you realise this conversation sounds a lot like one you’d have with someone you definitely do not have feelings for. You’re just a consultation, you’re not the end goal. Suddenly, you wish you had been assigned to clearing the table rather than washing up.

Swallowing what feels like pure acid, you begin, “That’s sweet, Spence. Genuinely. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” You want to reach out and touch him, but your hands are now submerged in water, and touching him might break you. “So what’s stopping you?”

“Huh?”

“What’s stopping you from getting that?” You ask. “I’ve seen you. When you put your mind to it, you can be preeeetty smooth with the ladies. Remember the magic trick you did for that one girl?” Spencer gives a small, shy smile, “Exactly! So what’s stopping you?”

Spencer looks like a deer in headlights. What is stopping him? He’s proud to say his confidence has exponentially grown since joining the BAU. When he started, his self-esteem was non-existent, but times passed and he’s grown to accept himself the way he is. It helps that you’ve been there, cheering him on and showering him in compliments whenever he starts to doubt himself. Initially, Spencer thought you were doing it just to get on his good side, maybe build some good karma, but somewhere along the line he started to somewhat agree with you. The compliments never ceased.

“Well,” He starts, “I’m picky.”

You scoff, “Yeah, if I was you, I’d be picky.”

You turn and squirt some dish soap into the sink, smiling when Spencer laughs, “What does that mean?!”

“You know what it means! I always say you could be a ladies man if you truly put your mind to it, and I stand by that. You’re a ten out of ten on a bad day so, yeah, you should be picky. I’m tempted to say no one is worthy, but I’ve already inflated your ego too much.”

He grins at your teasing and licks his lips, “There is one person.”

“Oh?” You ask, interest piqued. You ignore the pang in your heart.

“Yeah. She’s really cool. It’s kind of terrifying.”

You giggle at that. There’s a warmth to Spencer’s words, and you realise whoever this girl is is super fucking lucky. He’s completely and utterly smitten and she doesn’t even know it. You kind of hate her.

“So are you gonna tell her?” You ask.

He shrugs, “I guess so. Should I?”

Finally done with the washing up, you move to put the dried plates into their cupboards. With a quizzical look, you say, “You’re really asking me that? Yes, you should tell her.”

“Would you tell her?”

“God, no.”

“What?!”

“I’m shy when it comes to that stuff! I’d rather ferment my feelings and then tell myself to get over it and never think of it again.”

“Sounds healthy.”

You grin, turning to lean against the counter next to Spencer, “I would tell her if I was you, though. You’re sweet, attractive, and you have more than just your looks going for you. If I was you and got rejected I’d be like… okay, cool. I’ll just go bang every one of your friends, then.”

Spencer guffaws, “You’d what?!”

“I’m kidding!” You laugh, a hearty laugh at his expression. The pure shock and borderline disgust makes you oddly proud. It’s a rare reaction from Spencer.

He rolls his eyes but still smiles. His eyes lock on your face and you can’t pinpoint what emotion is pouring out of them, but it’s so strong that it shoots panic through you. You quickly turn and pick up as many glasses as you can, manoeuvring to the opposite side of the kitchen.

You can’t be thinking about him like that if he’s about to admit his feelings for someone else.

“So, you gonna tell her?” You try to sound nonchalant, but you can’t deny you’re unbelievably curious.

Spencer hums, but still sounds unsure, “I think I will.”  

“If she’s as great as you think she is, no matter her response she’ll handle it well. Otherwise, she wasn’t worth your time anyway.”

Behind your back, Spencer barely contains a gentle smile and thinks, yeah, you are pretty great.

“What did you say?” You swing around to face him.

Spencer straightens up and furiously dries the last bowl, “What?”

“You mumbled something.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

You’re visibly bemused but don’t say anything. Spencer opens his mouth to speak, maybe tell you what he should’ve a while ago, when Emily comes sliding in.

“Garcia has had too much wine and I’m one glass away from joining her. Y/N, are you ready to head home?”

You roll your eyes and nod. In hindsight, you’re glad that you refused the big glass of wine Rossi initially offered you because you knew this would happen and you’d be taking drunk girls home. “Yeah, all good. Spence, is it okay if I leave you to put the last few dishes away?”

Spencer nods eagerly and glances at Emily when she sways, “No problem. Drive safe.”

You mumble a thanks and move to the living room to collect your bag. Garcia is splayed across the biggest couch and you can’t help but aww at her sleeping form. Just an hour ago she was giving a sermon on why Hotch is the best dad and how that translates to the bedroom (why did no one stop her), and now she looks at peace with the world in the fluffiest pillows you’ve ever seen. Then she chokes, snorts, and springs upright with a loud “Derek!” and you jump back at her volume. When she sees you, she looks like she’s found the cutest kitten and makes grabby hands, asking for a hug.

Yeah, it’s time to go home.

Just before you leave Rossi’s house, you turn to Spencer and shout across, “Good luck, Spence!”

Morgan turns to Spencer and silently asks what? And Spencer barely acknowledges him, “I’ve got big plans for tomorrow.”

“Big plans, huh?” Morgan teases.

“Yeah. Big plans, big payoff, and all that.”

Looking over your shoulder, you give one final wave after tying Garcia to her seat.

Spencer wonders if you realise you’re his big plan.

[blueluneacy]

Monsters of the Alley

I did it folks. It’s a dedicated sorbet/gelato/reader fic, written by me. I’m supposed to be studying for finals.

I got this idea from @j0succ, so you should check them out! Their blog gave me minor character disease-

It’s a Not SFW Werewolf!Sorbet x Human!Reader x Vampire! Gelato! wow

Words: 3k

Warnings: NOT SFW, implied stalking, predator/prey play, breaking and entering, violence, rough play, biting, bloodplay, SERIOUS dubcon, kidnapping, all around yandere, just a bad time for the reader

You knew that walking alone at night was a bad idea, but what could you do, really? It wasn’t like the world was going to wait around for you, cater to your every need. In a world full of monsters, you knew that it was dangerous to be a human, alone and fragile in the dark, but hey. They say that humans were the most common and that attacks from monsters were actually pretty uncommon, yadda yadda, whatever. It didn’t matter how many warnings you were given, you weren’t the type to listen to you. Maybe it was stubbornness, or just plain need that kept you moving through the dark streets. After all, you had done this probably hundreds of times before. If you stopped working, who knows what would happen. It was well worth the risk. 

So, you kept walking, kept moving through the dark streets in hopes that slipping through an alleyway here or there would get you home faster. While maybe this wasn’t the best idea, you weren’t exactly the type to care. You had pepper spray, after all. Everything would be fine.

That’s what you continued to tell yourself as you walked down the alleyway, ignoring every sound you heard down the street. Because it was always a stray cat in a dumpster, or a drug deal you weren’t about to get in the middle of. It was basic Italian sentiment to mind your own business, and you had at least picked up on that rather well. So when you passed the two men at a corner, you didn’t really give their glances two thoughts, just gripping your purse tighter and walking a bit more quickly. You let them rake their eyes over you, because that’s all you thought they would do. After all, no men would hang out around these parts of Naples unless they were up to no good. When you were a few steps away, you turned back just to see if they were still looking at you, only to find that they had walked away. Good. It was always nice when things were easier for you. Maybe they thought you would get in the way of some meeting or whatever. You didn’t care enough to find out. You just kept walking, taking your usual route home.

And maybe that’s where you should’ve been worried. After all, you took this route home every day, rarely changing your routine. Have you seen those men before? You weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn something was familiar about them. Like, the darker haired man’s nose felt quite sharp, or the teeth of the smaller man looked like they almost glistened in the light. You tried to shake the thoughts away as you opened the door to your small, shitty apartment, fumbling with the key a bit in the darkness. This was hell, working late into the night like this. You knew you weren’t going to make yourself anything healthy to eat, so you didn’t even bother to kid yourself anymore. You just swung open the door, pulling off your shoes and practically flinging yourself onto the couch, sinking into the cushions as you already felt your eyes fluttering shit. 

And yet, something wasn’t right. Something didn’t feel right about something in your home, but you didn’t know what it was. You sat up, looking around but you couldn’t find a thing to really put your finger on. A certain uneasiness in your chest, like you could feel yourself being watched. You got up and moved to check if your door was locked, sighing a bit in relief when you saw it was. Good, you were just going crazy. It was much easier for you to accept that you were a lunatic than you were in danger, after all. And yet, when you heard a floorboard creak behind you, you turned in fear, swallowing as you looked over what had to be an illusion.

“So nice of you to lock the door for us, cara.” You heard the smaller man practically snarl to you, but the sound was faint over the sound of the blood pumping in your ears as your breathing picked up. They were… The men from the alleyway? But how did they get here faster than you, and what was the deal with…. You noticed the large teeth and muzzle of the darker haired man, the way his eyes looked over you as if you were just meat, and maybe that’s all you really were to him. Or maybe it was seeing how pale the other man’s skin was in this light, the way you could see him baring his fangs, his tongue drifting over them idly.

Oh god. Not only were these two monsters, but they were the most stereotypical combo to murder you. Your death was totally going to look like a joke. Still you swallowed a bit, trying to show a little bit of strength in this dire moment. 

“G… Get out of my house, and I won’t call the cops.” You snapped back, letting the heavy pause linger in the air. The two of them stared at you, almost shocked at your defiance, before laughing. Well, maybe you should’ve seen that coming. Not only were the both of them stronger than you, but everyone knew that the police would take their time coming here, ready to solve a crime but not stop one. That was the way things were. With the weak being devoured by the strong. 

“I told you, Sorbet. She’s a fighter, wouldn’t it be a lot more fun that way?” The man purred, leaning his head against the taller man, who you could only assume was Sorbet, leaving him to wrap an arm around him, but not take his eyes off of you.

“This should be interesting enough.” Sorbet replied, leaving you to gulp. Fuck it. Fuck it all. It was now or never. You would rather die knowing you gave a proper fight than just let yourself be devoured by these… things. You gripped the doorknob tightly, flinging open the door and bolting out, hoping to get as far away as possible. You had no idea where or how you were going to get there, but it didn’t really matter in the long run, did it? After all, you only got ten meters out the door. 

You yelped as claws dug into your shoulders, grabbing onto you and dragging you back into your apartment. You tried to fight, but it became quickly clear that if you got away from Sorbet’s hold, it would be without your shoulder. You noticed vaguely how the vampire’s nose seemed to flare up as you were thrown to the ground, your head slamming against the shitty hardwood. You groaned, trying to pick yourself up off the ground as you heard the door slam shut, only for a boot to be slammed into your back.

“You look hungry, Gelato. Maybe you should take a bite before we get started?” Sorbet spoke out, but his teasing seemed much more sadistic that Gelato’s. Well, they were both sadistic assholes, but at least Gelato’s words had a light quality to them. Either way, Gelato just leaned down and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“That was quite a cute stunt you pulled, ragazza. We really do look forward to seeing what other tricks you attempt to pull.” He purred. You squirmed in his grasp, but his hold on you was bruising, leaving you just to snarl.

“Do you always play with your food, or am I just special?” You spat back, leaving Gelato to give you a sick smile as he let you go, only from Sorbet to thread his head through your hair and pull you up, his claws digging into your scalp.

“You’re just special, troia.” Sorbet growled into your ear, roughly using his other hand to tear off your clothing as if it were just paper. You gasped and tried to cover yourself, only for Gelato to grab your wrists and pin your against Sorbet’s body, the two of them giving you little room to move. You felt the bulges against you, and you gulped, your eyes widening a bit. Oh god, they weren’t planning to kill you. They were planning to do so much worse. You just squirmed, trying to fight your captors but to no avail. They were both just too strong, enjoying the chase a little too much. Gelato leaned down to your shoulder wound, inhaling sharply before dragging his tongue over it. You gasped at the sting, gritting your teeth as you heard the breathy purr that came from Gelato’s throat. 

“I’d prefer if you didn’t fuck around with the killing me part.” You spat back, trying to kick to get the two of them off of you, only for Sorbet to growl as he dug his nails into you, the pain leaving you to whimper a bit as you were a bit more still for Gelato to suck and lap at the wound. You were certain that it was going to leave a nasty scar at this rate.

“You’re lucky I’m not the one who’s starving, or else you’d be torn to shreds. Be good for my Gelatino, now.” He breathed into your ear, and you could feel how hot his breath was, smell the blood wafting off him in a way that just made your most primal instincts tell you to run, to escape from these predators. And yet, you gasped when you felt the two of them grind against you. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, and that was the only reason the heat was starting to coil in your belly. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Gelato finally pulled away from your shoulder with a soft hum, letting go of you to work on tearing off your pants. The two of them really had no care for your clothing, to the point where it was pissing you off. You could at least undress yourself.

“H-Hey, what the hell?! I had to pay for those, you know!” Well, it was easier to bring up smaller concerns in your attempts to be defiant in all of this, doing your best to ignore the hot feelings coiling inside of you as you felt Sorbet wrapping his arms around you as Gelato more tenderly took off your panties.

“You’ve already soaked through, troia. I guess a needy slut like you will do anything for a cock inside of her.” Gelato teased, shoving a finger inside of you. It easily slid in, but you still jumped at the roughness, a bit of fight still in you. It was quickly quelled with a tight grip from Sorbet, his nails drawing blood in a way that made Gelato lick his lips.

“Behave, or I’ll make you.” Sorbet growled, leaving you to whimper and nod just a little bit, Gelato just rolling his eyes a bit. He pulled his finger out, shoving it in your mouth with expectation to suck. With Sorbet’s threat still in the air, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your lips around his finger.

“She’s spread enough. Besides, a slut like that will enjoy the pain anyway, there’s no need.” Gelato complained, not looking at you but up at his boyfriend. You could tell that he was impatient, clearly used to getting what he wanted rather quickly and not wanting to work for it. Sorbet thought for a moment, before leaning in to press a kiss against Gelato’s lips over your shoulder. You never felt like such a third wheel before. 

“I indulge you too much.” Sorbet replied, relenting as he let you go for a moment, leaving you to wobble for a moment as you got your bearings. It might be easier to run from one rather than two, but a sick twisted part of you kind of just wanted to see where this would go. I mean, even if they were two twisted bastards who most certainly would kill you after this, well… This familiarity, you just still couldn’t quite understand what it was.

Almost as quickly he let go though, Sorbet was grabbing you again, dragging you over to the couch and onto his lap. You gasped as you felt your bare back against his chest, the fur that covered his body much more prominent. You gasped as you felt Sorbet’s cock rub up against you, realizing how big it was, and how much you fucked up by not trying to run away.

“W-Wait, it’s too big! It won’t fit, please!” You cried out, only for Sorbet to simply scoff at your pleas.

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.” He growled, giving you no chance to protest before pushing into you with one harsh thrust. You screamed out, tears falling from your eyes as your body tried to adjust to the length inside of you. You gasped and heaved, barely noticing how Gelato was coming closer to you, like a fox towards an injured rabbit. 

“Look how pretty the two of you are together. I feel left out.” Gelato purred, brushing a piece of hair from your face. The tenderness was unnerving, leaving you to fear what exactly he was planning to do next.

“I never said you couldn’t join us.” Sorbet replied, and you craned your head to see a smirk on his face, the same plan forming in both their minds that you were helplessly left out of. It only clicked when you started to feel Gelato rub up against your full entrance, leaving your eyes to widen as you realized exactly what was going on.

“So kind of you to invite me. You don’t mind, do you, carina?” Gelato asked, but his voice was dripping with vitriol, clearly having no intentions to stop no matter what you said. But still, you pleaded.

“W-Wait, please, I’m too full, you can’t, p-please-” You were cut off by your own breathy gasp and Gelato pushed past your limits, thrusting himself inside of you in a way that you didn’t think the human body could actually handle. 

“Such a bad liar, puttana. It’s clear that your body was made for our cocks.” Sorbet growled, allowing you no time to adjust as he started to move, Gelato gladly taking the cue to start fucking into you with vigor. There was nowhere for you to escape, leaving you to groan, grabbing onto Sorbet’s thighs to try and give yourself something to hold onto. Gelato grabbed onto your chest while Sorbet held your hips.

“Do you like this? Like being fucked by the men who’ve been watching you all this time?” Gelato teased, and you whimpered, realizing to yourself that you did like it, quite a lot in fact. Something about the way they were fucking you seemed to scratch some primal itch, leaving you to squeeze down on their cocks heartily, moans and gasping pouring from your open mouth. 

“Che brava coniglia… It’s a good thing we got to you first.” Sorbet huffed into your ear, and god, you could feel him nipping at it lightly, subconsciously tilting your head to give the man more access.

“Any other monster would’ve devoured you by now. But you’re ours, and we like to make sure what’s ours stays right in our sight. You should be grateful.” Gelato’s tone and words were threatening, but you were too far gone to care. The two of them just felt so good inside of you that you could barely put together a coherent thought, leaving you to simply babble.

“P-Please, fuck, Sorbet, g-god, Gelato, please, I’m so so close-” You whined out, trying to buck against the two of them, but Sorbet held you far too tightly. The two of them just seemed to speed up their thrusts into you at your warning, leaning in to the opposite sides of your neck to worry at the flesh.

“Cum for us then, piccola puttana sporca.” Sorbet growled, before the two of them sunk their teeth into the sides of your neck. You moaned out loudly as you came, the waves of ecstasy washing over your body quickly leaving you just to shudder in their grasp before going limp. Lucky enough for you, the way you milked their cocks while you came seemed to be enough to push them over the edge, and you felt the heat of their mixed fluids deep inside of you. It felt so much hotter than you would’ve anticipated. They held onto your neck for a bit, before pulling away and lapping up the blood they drew, taking pleasure in the small winces and whines you gave in return. 

When they finally pulled out, you felt yourself immediately lose balance and collapse in a heap on the floor. That took a lot more out of you than you expected. You looked up drearily at the pair, thinking about how this was it, how they were going to kill you. Well. It was a good run, at least. You can definitely say you went out with a bang. 

But, Sorbet just scooped you up in his arms, carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “W-What? What’s going on, what are you doing?!” You started to squirm, but Sorbet paid it no mind, turning to Gelato.

“See anything you like here?” “Not really. It’s honestly just full of a bunch of knick knack crap. She won’t need any of it anyway.” Gelato replied, leaving you to cry out as you squirmed.

“What, can’t just eat me here?! Got more plans to torture me?!” You spat, but Gelato just smirked, shaking his head.

“Do you really think we’re going to kill you? You really are dense. Maybe we will, later. But I think I want to see how far that pretty little will of yours goes. You don’t mind, do you?” Gelato replied, and god, you had learned to hate that smile on his face. Sorbet just patted you on the back, his tone smooth but ultimately as terrifying.

“Oh, carina. We have so many more plans for you.” 

[nev3rfound]

unanswered : p.p

brief summary: you can’t deny it, you’re in love with your best friend, peter. however, as you fight alongside him during the events of far from home, you do wonder if the feelings could ever be returned. 

word count: 3.4k (it is a long one that has taken months to work on) requested: yes by the sweetest anon - i am sorry it’s taken me literal months to write this, but i hope you enjoy reading it warnings: ffh spoilers, angst. 

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

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“It’s a shame she couldn’t come on the trip,” Ned sighs to Peter as he sits beside him on the plane, glancing to see Peter weakly nod in response. “why couldn’t she come again?” 

Peter shrugs his shoulders, having received a message from you last night about your Mom being sick. He had it all planned, this was going to be his chance to tell you, but once again something has gotten in the way. 

“Come on, dude.” Ned nudges Peter who averts his longing gaze to his phone background which happens to be his favourite photo of you all. “Could she not like sneak out, call for some assistance?” Ned raises an eyebrow, having recently learnt that you’re also apart of the whole SHIELD/Avengers world.

“I told you Ned,” Peter reminds Ned. “Y/n has to stay low about that stuff.” A shiver curls through his body as his mind wanders back to the moment you were almost caught on a rooftop mere months ago. If it wasn’t for Fury keeping his eye out on you and Peter, anything could’ve happened.

Seeing his phone light up, Peter can’t help but smile at the sight. It’s a photo of you all at the local pizza place, cheesy grins whilst you’re in mid-laugh thanks to Peter. MJ is rolling her eyes, but she has a hint of a smile whilst Ned is holding up the biggest slice of pizza possible. 

“I know, it’ll be great I just, I had plans,” Peter mutters, having told Ned the plan of action he had all thought out. 

“But we’re bachelors in Europe!” Ned cheers quietly, but Peter merely shrugs it off. “Come on, Y/n will be alright you know that.” 

“I guess,” Peter agrees half-heartedly as he turns his eyes to the window, looking over three people to see them rising higher into the air as clouds disperse below them. “I’m just gonna miss her.” 

*

Inside of their small room, Peter continues to brush his teeth as Ned rambles on. After everything that has happened, all Peter can focus on is how he’ll explain this to you. 

“She’s so pretty, she was showing me around and suddenly it happened. Do you know what caused it? Like, I don’t know how to even comprehend it all does Y/n know? Is she going to come hel-” Ned’s rambles come to a halt as he hits the ground with a heavy thud. 

Turning quickly on his feet, Peter allows his toothbrush to fall as Nick Fury sits in an armchair. “You’re Nick Fury?” Peter mumbles before he spits his toothpaste out and wipes his mouth. 

“And you’ve been ignoring me, Spider-Man.” Fury retorts before he rises to his feet. “Come on,” He motions for Peter to follow. “you’re needed.” 

Without a chance to fully reason, Peter hangs his head in defeat as he follows behind Fury, unsure where he’ll be led. 

“Where are we?” Peter speaks up as he rests his hands in his pockets, looking around at the underground base. 

“About time and all!” Someone announces with a huff and Peter freezes. 

You turn around, your arms crossed over your chest as you stand alongside Maria. 

“Y/n?” Peter stutters in shock. “Why, what?” Words struggle to form as you chuckle. 

“You didn’t tell him?” You look over to Fury who shakes his head.

“He ghosted me, how was I supposed to tell him?” Fury answers before taking a seat, leaving you to explain to a rather confused Peter Parker. 

*

“So, all this time you’ve been apart of this?” Peter questions as you sit down in a private room, a table between the two of you as a dying plant rests in the middle.

You simply nod, unsure what to say. “Fury contacted me the day after Ixtenco, told me I was needed so I had to come up with an excuse to not come on the trip.” You explain, absentmindedly playing with the plant, slowly bringing it back to life with your powers. 

Peter couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Though your abilities to control nature were unlike anything he’d ever seen, Peter always knew the girl behind it first and foremost. He grew up with you, knew you throughout school and learnt your secret before the snap happened. 

“And Fury knew I’d come if you were involved,” Peter mutters, knowing his longing looks at you say more than words could at times, even if you remain oblivious. 

“He’s smarter than he lets on you know.” You comment with a small smile, now looking at a healthy plant before your very eyes. 

“And now we just have to wait?” Peter breaks the silence, snapping you from your deep concentration on the plant. 

You sit upright, leaning back in the chair as you nod. “Just go along with it, and have fun.” You tell him with a small smile, wishing you could’ve been a part of it. 

Deep down you regret having agreed to help with Fury. You had this whole trip planned, you were going to have the summer of a lifetime with your friends and make new memories. Part of you hoped something could’ve happened between you and Peter, but you saw the looks he gave MJ. You knew he could never look at you in that way. 

*

Sitting with Maria, you watched from the sidelines as things clearly developed between Peter and MJ. You couldn’t be mad about it, hell, you anticipated it happening. A trip around Europe? It would be the perfect and most romantic place to fall in love. It’s just a shame it wasn’t you.

“You seeing this?” Maria calls out, catching you out from your daydream as you walk over to see what she’s monitoring. 

Your eyes widen as you see Edith has sent drones to Brad. “Oh no.” You mutter as you watch in panic, unsure how it can be resolved. “What’s wrong with Brad! He’s a nice guy, albeit a bit of a douche at times.” You ramble, watching as the drones never hit. 

“He avoided that one,” Maria comments before looking up at you, seeing a smile ghost your lips. “just.” 

“He’ll get better,” You shrug your shoulder, trying to convince Maria but you can see she’s not warming to him. “it’s a lot of responsibility, knowing Tony wanted him to have those.” 

Maria hums quietly before she continues with her work. “You’ve got work to do, go on.” She tells you, dismissing you from the room as you walk off to find Fury, knowing he’ll at least be more helpful in your next task. 

*

You’re one of the first on the scene during the events in Prague. Undercover, hidden away from your friends’ view you try your best to fight the fire elemental. “Anyone around to help a girl out?!” You yell as you keep your hands on the ground, forcing plants to rise and swarm the creature whilst water runs through, causing the creature to scream. 

“Hang in there, Y/n.” You hear Peter speak through the comms system as he appears dressed in all black before he jumps to a building, shooting webs to secure your friends on the Ferris wheel. 

Forcing back the urge to laugh, you return to your main goal and focus. 

“Where’s Beck?” You question as Peter looks around, wondering the same thing. 

As if on cue, Beck appears. “You monster.” He mutters as the beast roars loudly, growing in size as he stomps down, forcing you back as you slam into a wall. You watch as he burns off the vines you wrapped him in. 

“He’s getting stronger!” You yell to the others and Peter is by your side, helping you to your feet. 

His hands rest on your cheeks, though he is masked you can tell he’s worried. “Are you alright?” He questions, watching as you nod in response before Beck surrounds you all in a bubble. 

“We need a new plan,” Beck announces as you nod. “What can you do, Y/n?” He asks you as you look down at your hands before resting them on the ground. 

“I can flood the place, control the water directly at the elemental.” You suggest and Beck waits for your signal before dropping the barrier, allowing it to happen. 

With a scream, you flood the creature, but within seconds his flames return. “No,” You mutter as you turn to see Peter, but he’s vanished. “that, that should’ve stopped it.” You state as Beck takes a step forward, standing directly in front of the thing as he fires at it. “Beck, what’re you doing?” You yell and Peter yells too. 

“What I should’ve done last time.” He states before nodding to you. 

Before you can react, Beck launches himself right into the belly of the beast. You shelter your eyes as you see the orange being engulfed in green smoke. 

The elemental roars before it becomes green and crashes to the ground. Flames surround you as Peter holds up the Ferris wheel. “Mr Beck?” Peter yells, but you’re running over to Beck who is lying on the ground.

Cautious to move him, you check to make sure he’s breathing. “Is he?” Peter mutters as he kneels beside you, fear evident in his tone.

Beck begins to move and Peter lets out a sigh of relief. “I’ll be alright, kid.” Beck mutters as he groans loudly, forcing himself upright with both of you helping him. “It’s gone, right?” Beck questions as he looks around at the damage caused. 

“Yeah,” You say with a small smile. “it’s gone.” 

Maria moves in to help get you out of there. You glance back at Peter, seeing him still standing there in his new black suit. “You in there?” You question and Peter snaps out of his daze before walking alongside you. “Gotta say, the new suit isn’t too shabby.” You nudge his arm, hearing him chuckle.

“So, I have your approval on it, then?” His voice has a small quirk to it, and he can see you smiling to yourself. 

As you go to respond, you hear the sound of your name being called. “I, I better go.” You tell him half-heartedly, watching as he quickly nods.

“Yeah, I should get back to everyone. MJ and Ned will probably be worried.” Peter tells you quickly, and you wish you could disguise your small heartache when he mentions MJ before Ned. 

You begin to walk away, but then you pause and turn on your heels. “Hey, Spidey?” You see Peter point to himself and you nod before wrapping your arms around him tightly. “Take care, okay?” You whisper to him, not waiting to hear his response before you disappear into the chaotic scenes surrounding you both.

Yet, you missed something that could’ve changed everything. You miss the way Peter rests his hand against his chest and the smile that refuses to leave his lips beneath the mask. If you saw that then maybe, just maybe, things could’ve been different. 

“He won’t come to Berlin, will he?” You ask Maria as you sit in the back of the car, leaving Prague to head to the jet.

She shakes her head in response, and as she goes to tell you it’ll be fine you shift and look out of the window longingly. 

*

“How did we not notice this?!” You yell in frustration, panic filling your mind as you think to everything that’s happened. 

He’s gotten everything he’s wanted and did it right under your noses. Hell, he fooled you all. You felt sorry for him, the loss he endured, the pain he went through. And all of it, it was all a lie. 

“Listen, we can’t let him know we’ve caught on. You have to go along with it, Y/n.” Fury explains to you as you all remain in one of the many office blocks in London. “Peter’s trip has been diverted to London, so they’ll be here,” 

Your eyes go wide. “You brought my class right in the middle of this?” You ask boldly, not caring who you’re talking to anymore. 

“Y/n,” Maria tries to calm you down, but Fury can see the fire rising in your eyes. 

“And, and where’s Peter?” You begin to pace as no one answers your questions. “Why is no one answering?!” 

“Y/n,” Fury snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts. “you have to focus.” He tells you, looking right at you as sparks begin to play at the plug sockets. “Beck has this all planned. A lot of people will die if you don’t focus.” 

Letting out a deep breath, you shut everything else back. “Tell me what I have to do.” 

*

Standing on London bridge you remain still as people scream with fear as they run past you. You focus on the tour bus being emptied, your classmates running in confusion as your teachers fumble behind, close to shitting their pants. 

You watch as the elemental is filled with lightning, flames and water amongst the dusty form. The technology is something else, you have to hand it to him. But you have to stay present at this moment, if you slip out of place it’ll ruin the plan. 

Resting your hands down on the ground, you begin to feel vines surrounding the bridge, holding parts together as they start to crumble. You block out the cries of families, children screaming knowing they’ll be saved. No one has to die today, not a single person. 

An illusion of Beck flies around the elemental, repeating the same line you have heard before. You can hear the elemental screaming in pain, but as you open your eyes you see a piece of rock hurtling toward you. 

Somehow, it misses you, only just. 

You rise to your feet and raise your arms, bringing water from the Themes upwards and force it straight at the elemental. Though it’s an illusion, it could be damaged by enough of a brute force, especially when it’s unexpected. 

“Not today!” You scream, ignoring the projection of Beck as it stumbles backwards. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, you remain unaware of Peter hurtling through the sky. You turn to see several bots rising from the water and locking on you. 

Sitting safely, Beck tells them something that no one would’ve expected. “Kill Y/n.” He states coldly, and not even Peter could stop it from happening.

Everything happened within an instant. 

You blocked only so many of them, stopped them using your powers. But for once, you couldn’t escape all of it, no matter how strong you were. 

The green laser fired through the right side of your chest, missing your heart by inches. You saw it coming, but there wasn’t time to react. Beck planned this element, a sick twisted way allowing you to die slowly. You would die before Peter could find you, you would die with a broken heart and Peter would live on with one. 

A painful scream left your lips as you fell to the ground, only to see a blurred image of red and blue fly past and disappear into the elemental. 

With weak vision, you reach out to the ground, forcing a vine to spread toward the bridge in the hope he might find you. All you want is to be found, for someone to save you. 

“Y/n, you in there?” Maria asks and you weakly reply.

“I’m, I’m down.” Your lower lip begins to quiver, the realisation hitting that you won’t be making it out alive.

“Y/n, can you hear me?” She repeats, urgency rising in her tone as you tilt your head, seeing the elemental projection disappearing piece by piece. 

“He’s doing it,” You think aloud, your comms system still on as tears fall from your eyes. “Peter, he, he’s saving everyone.” 

“Where are you?” Maria yells, but you merely chuckle to yourself as Peter lands on the bridge, the projection gone. 

Panting heavily, Peter looks around at the damage caused, the destruction Beck has created in months. 

Taking a step forward, Peter looks down to see a vine beneath his feet and his stomach drops. With fear rising through his mind, he follows the path to find something he never wanted to see. 

“No, no no,” He mumbles, collapsing down beside you and removes his mask. The glossy look of your eyes says the painful truth; you’re almost gone. “Y/n, please, no,” He whimpers as he rests his hand on your cheek. 

You smile up at him, realising it really is him. “Hey, Pete.” You whisper, forcing the corners of your lips to rise even further. “Gotta say,” You cough, ignoring Peter’s protests for you to not talk. “new suit ain’t too shabby.” 

Peter can feel the tears rolling down his cheeks as he wishes he could say it all to you, tell you the truth behind everything he’s ever felt. But time isn’t on his side, it’s never been a good friend to him. 

“You’ll be okay, Pete.” You nod, wanting him to believe it. “T, Tony would be proud.” You whisper, feeling tears pour more as you struggle to breathe. 

“Don’t go, Y/n. Please, I, I can’t,” Peter cries as he holds you in his arms. 

He watches as your weak smile drops and you go limp in his embrace, you’re gone. 

Sadly, someone died today, and it just had to be you. 

*

Two months had passed since the events that had taken place in London. 

It didn’t feel like two months to Peter, to MJ, to Aunt May or to Happy. Everyone felt lost without your presence to lift the mood. No one would ever hear your sweet laugh as you sat in the pizzeria, you wouldn’t hug anyone with as much love as you could project. 

But what hurts the most is that you’ll never know how much Peter truly loved you. 

You’ll never hear that Peter wandered the streets of Prague asking MJ about the best way to ask you out. Or how he looked back at old photos on the flight to Venice instead of discussing how to live his bachelor life with Ned for the next few weeks. 

You won’t ever hear Peter tell you he loves you, but he still says it every day when he visits your gravestone. 

Walking down the steps he’s memorised, Peter keeps a tight grip on another bunch of flowers. He’ll always bring you flowers, knowing you loved to be surrounded by nature at all times. 

“Hey, Y/n,” Peter speaks up as he kneels in front of your gravestone, wiping off a bit of dirt before placing the flowers alongside the rest. “I just wanted to check up on you as I do.” He lets out a small sigh. “Still trying to figure out how to, to talk to you knowing you aren’t here anymore.” His voice cracks as Peter averts his gaze from the dates on your stone, the engraved quote. 

Peter wishes he could scream, that he could yell at Beck for causing it all. But he’s dead, Peter watched him die before his very eyes. He has no one left to hold accountable beside himself. 

“I wish I could take it all back.” He thinks aloud. “That I told you to stay away, not go to London or if I told you sooner how much I love you it might not have happened.” He rambles, knowing it makes no difference now. “I just wish you were here,” He sighs as he wipes his face, unaware of Aunt May and Happy stood at the entrance of the cemetery. 

“Does it ever get easier?” Aunt May turns to Happy, seeing a solemn look on his face as he watches Peter hunch over, his shoulders shaking as he strokes your name, remembering how he stroked your cheek as he held you in his arms. 

“Time will heal him,” Happy says with a sad smile. “but he’ll never forget.” 

May nods. “He won’t want to forget.” She says honestly as Peter rises to his feet before turning away, seeing them stood waiting for him. 

Accepting him with open arms, May holds Peter close. “It’ll get easier, Pete.” May mutters as she looks at your gravestone, seeing the bright colours that surround the dull graphite. “You’ll learn to heal, and Y/n would be so proud.” 

The three of them walk out of the cemetery with heavy hearts, but you died knowing things would be okay. No one else had to die, and that’s what mattered the most. 

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[hermannsthumb]

Please do 6 , bed sharing is my only (well one of them) weakness :)

6. we always carpool home for the holidays from college but a storm hit and now we’re taking the last room at the local b&b (bonus: bedsharing! we’re adults!)

from winter writing prompts here

bedsharing…..the trope of the gods…i could write this same scenario over and over again and never get tired of it. heres some vague professors au

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

“Unbelievable,” Hermann says. “Bloody unbelievable. This is your fault, you realize.”

“How the fuck is this my fault?” Newt says. He slams the car door hard enough it shakes snow off from the other side of the hood and onto Hermann, which he derives a petty joy from. Not that it fucking makes a difference--they’re both already ankle-deep in it, both already shielding their eyes against it and squinting through it just to argue. “I didn’t will a storm into existence.”

“You made us late,” Hermann says.

“Bullshit!”

“I was all set to go—”

“Until you made us stop for coffee,” Newt says.

“I was tired—”

The rest of his words are drowned out in a howling gust of wind, which sweeps even more snow into their faces. Hermann slams his car door, too, and curses. Newt hears that without a problem. “Let’s just get inside,” he shouts over. “I don’t want to die of hypothermia because you decided to be a bitch.”

They trudge up to the front door of the Bed and Breakfast (Newt lunging away from Hermann’s sharp jabs at his ankles with the end of his cane all the while), the first one they could find on the literal shortest notice possible. Judging by the packed parking lot they’re not the only ones with that idea. Newt wonders how many of them are coming from the college, too, students or—like them—otherwise. “I hope there’s room for us,” he says.

“For your sake, I hope so too,” Hermann says, ominously.

The inside of the lobby isn’t very encouraging. There’s at least half a dozen other people shivering in line at the front desk, most of whom are toting suitcases, some of them even wrapped Christmas presents. A lot of exhausted college students, like Newt expected. One older couple in matching Christmas sweaters. “Yeesh,” Newt says. 

Scowling all the while, Hermann muscles himself into line just as the door opens and more people come bustling in. “Unbelievable,” he mutters again.

Newt squeezes in behind him. He wishes he’d thought to bring their luggage in, too; if they manage to get a room, and that’s a big if, he’ll either have to go without pajamas and a toothbrush or brave the blizzard again. Neither option sounds appealing. Staying at the B&B doesn’t exactly sound appealing, either, especially not with the promise of Geiszler homecooked dinners and his actual (well, childhood) bed just out of reach on the horizon. He told his dad he’d be home tonight, too, damn it. “At least it’s warmer in here,” he finally sighs.

“Only just,” Hermann says, casting his scowl towards the door, which has opened again. He draws his coat tighter around himself and hmphs.

The good news, they discover when they finally reach the front of the line, is that the B&B has space for them. The bad news… “I’m afraid we’ve only got one room left open,” the receptionist says apologetically, “and it’s a queen, not twins. Would you guys mind sharing?”

“Sharing?” Newt and Hermann say.

“We’d be happy to give it to you at a reduced rate, considering the circumstances,” the receptionist continues, just as apologetic.

“Sharing,” Hermann repeats. He sniffs. “Are you certain you’ve got no other rooms?”

The receptionist nods. Someone behind them in line coughs; they’re not the only ones vying for that last queen bed, Newt realizes. And unless they want to keep trying to navigate the snowstorm, unless Hermann’s stubborn, stubborn ass wants to stay up in the B&B lobby all night long, they better fucking claim it now. “We’ll take the queen,” Newt says.

Hermann bitches at him all the way up the stairs to their room, and he continues to bitch at him while he strips out of his winter coat and hat, and he doesn’t even stop when Newt shuts himself in the bathroom to brush his teeth with the (complementary) toothbrush he got from the front desk. It has built in toothpaste. It’s kind of weird, to be honest. “We didn’t have to resort to this,” Hermann insists through the crack in the door. “We could’ve—”

“Camped out in the car?” Newt says. He spits out his toothpaste foam and wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist. “Turned around and driven all the way back to campus, which is also shut down because of the snow?”

“Taken a plane,” Hermann sniffs.

“Airport’s closed too, buddy,” Newt says. “This is literally our only option.” No lobbies for him, thank you. 

He pushes open the door; Hermann turns a bright red and drops his eyes to the carpet quickly, like Newt’s done something terrifically scandalous. “Where on Earth is your clothing?”

Maybe Newt has done something scandalous. It’s just makeshift pjs, is all: the old t-shirt he’d already been wearing under his fifty layers of sweater and jacket, and his boxers. His wet jeans are spread out across the small radiator in the bathroom. “My suitcase is in the car, man, and I just wanna be comfy,” he says. “No way in hell I’m going back out there to get my pajamas.” When Hermann still looks disgruntled, Newt starts to tug at the waistband of his boxers. “I can go full commando, if you want.”

“No,” Hermann says. “No. That’s quite enough.”

Newt drops his hand, grinning. “Take off your stupid coat already. You’re sweating. Here—” He drags it off of a ragdoll-limp Hermann himself, then (after a second of consideration) does similarly with his blazer and sweater. He looks almost naked in just the button-up—it’s weird. Newt rarely sees him in anything that bare. “Take off your pants.”

“No,” Hermann repeats. “Absolutely not.”

“They’re not gonna dry otherwise,” Newt says. “Come on, just—”

Hermann swats him away twice, then raises his cane threateningly. Newt holds up his hands and takes a deliberate step back. “Fine, fine.”

Hermann lowers his cane.

Neither of them fall asleep very fast. Or at all. Newt, because Hermann is a blanket hog, and as a result he can’t stop shivering; Hermann, because Newt can’t as much so breathe without apparently annoying the everloving shit out of him and keeping him up. Finally (after Newt yawns, and Hermann hisses like an angry cat), Newt just rolls over and prods Hermann’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get a snack from the vending machine,” he says. “Do you want anything?”

He half expects Hermann to ignore him and pretend to be asleep or something, so he’s surprised when he’s answered with a quiet, terse “Pretzels.”

Newt smiles. “Got it.”

Hermann’s sitting up and wrapped in the comforter when he gets back. He shakes his head when Newt tucks his snacks under one arm and makes to turn on the light. “Don’t,” he says. “I’d rather it dark. Is it still snowing?”

“Yeah.” Pretty badly, in fact: the vending machine was in a small alcove across from a window, and Newt peeked through the curtains before he came back here. It’s a white wasteland out there. He can barely see the cars in the parking lot. “I don’t think we’re gonna be out of here any time soon.”

He nudges Hermann’s side until Hermann finally relents his grip on the comforter, scoots in next to him, and passes him his pretzels. Hermann wrinkles his nose at the package. “Peanut butter?”

“It was either that or the cheese kind,” Newt says. “Be grateful I got you anything.”

Hermann glares, but opens the package and begins munching away with more venom than Newt thinks pretzels strictly require. Newt, meanwhile, eats his M&Ms and drafts a quick text to his dad, just to keep him from having a heart attack when he wakes up tomorrow and Newt’s still MIA. not sure when i’ll be getting in. storm is rly bad. me and herm are stuck at hotel

Four years of carpooling up the east coast for the university’s winter break (Newt back to his dad’s place in Boston, Hermann just a short bus ride north of that, where he stays in his sister’s guest room), and this is the first year he and Hermann have ever been incapacitated by a storm like this. “Did you text you sister yet?” he says.

“Mm?” Hermann says. “Ah. No, I haven’t. I left my mobile in the car.”

“You left it in the car?”

“Well, it’s not as if I bloody well need it,” Hermann snaps. “The only person who texts me is in my bed.” He fidgets. “Besides. I never told my sister we left in the first place, so there’s no point..”

“Oh,” Newt says.

Hermann fidgets again. “Truthfully, Newton—if we never made it up at all, I don’t imagine I’d be too heartbroken. My sister will be hosting our entire family this year, and many of us...don’t get along.”

“With each other, or with you?” Newt jokes.

“With me,” Hermann sighs.

Okay. Newt made that five times more awkward than it needed to be. He supposes he should’ve guessed that there was a reason Hermann only ever seems to talk about his sister out of his immediate family of six, and even then he does like she’s his business partner. “Do you want to. Uh. Talk about it?” he says.

“Not particularly,” Hermann says.

They sit in mildly uncomfortable silence. Newt kicks his heel back against the bed. He’s about to say something very, very dumb, but if he’s lucky, Hermann might not mind. (Though, if he doesn’t, Newt can’t say the same for his dad when Newt breaks the news.) “We don’t have to go up at all,” he blurts out. “We can just stay right here.”

Hermann looks up at him sharply. “Here?”

Newt likes Hermann. He’s...weird. Crazy smart, and funny, with big brown eyes to die for, but most importantly, he’s bitchy, and he’s weird. He likes Hermann as a colleague, and he likes Hermann as a frenemy, and he likes Hermann in the sense that he daydreams about holding his hand and brushing his stupid hair out of his face more than is probably healthy. He would, frankly, love nothing more than to blow off all of his holiday plans to eat Chinese food and watch movies or something with the guy instead. “Okay, maybe not here-here, but if the storm clears we could just go back home. And. Y’know. Do something fun together.” He grins, mostly just to diffuse the tension. “And if it doesn’t clear and we’re stuck here, I did pack your Hanukkah present with me, so it’s not a total bust.”

“Ha,” Hermann says. Newt watches him worry at his lower lip. “I wouldn’t...mind that,” he continues. “Going back home. Or just staying here together.”

“Good,” Newt says. His mouth feels dry; his heart is racing, just a bit. “That’s...good.”

Hermann smiles at him, and ducks a little closer under the comforter.

[sunkissedpages]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Fourteen || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: I will take my romantic bakery side story to the grave it is the ultimate life goal. Also big shout-out to @alt-ernativewonderland​ for helping me with my indecisiveness with this part!!

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of previous smut

What I listened to while writing: mamma mia + rap playlist I made for literally no reason

Word Count: 3.1k yeah boi

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine| Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen

“Are you okay?” Tom asked. “You were crying out,”

“Yeah,” you panted, trying to convince not only him, but yourself too. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Nightmare?”

“Something like that.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He settled back down on his side, but didn’t turn away from you. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, sorry to wake you.”

“S’okay, don’t worry about it,” he assured you before rolling back over. His accent combined with his mumbling from being half asleep made his sentences almost unintelligible, but that’s not what you were focused on at the moment.

Your heart was still beating a thousand miles a minute and the sheets were still tangled between your fingers like they had been in your dream, making the line between fantasy and reality that much finer.

Pushing your hair off of your face you sat up and saw that the pillow barrier between you and Tom was all messed up from how you must have been thrashing around in your sleep. You would have laughed at the irony of the metaphor if you weren’t still internally panicking.

You were thankful you hadn’t been saying actual words in your sleep. What if you had called out Tom’s name? God, you were already so mortified. You had never had a sex dream so vivid before, and never about someone who was sleeping right beside you.

You dogeared the page in your book and set it on the bedside table. Every time you picked it back up you’d be reminded of how Tom had thrown it across the room with lust in your dream. Taking a risk, you peered over cautiously at him whose breathing was steady now. Somehow the boy had gone back to sleep instantly and you were so jealous.

He had to have come back from the bar, showered, brushed his teeth, gotten into bed, and fallen asleep- all without waking you. He was the loudest person you knew, and you were such a light sleeper, how was that even possible?

It was the middle of the night, four am to be exact, but it was safe to say you were awake now. Despite everything there was still a dull ache in your core and an electric energy that tingled in your veins. You had been this close to getting off in your dream before real-life Tom had woken you up. You considered finishing the job yourself, but you couldn’t do that with him in the room, much less right next to you.

You rolled over, away from him and towards the window, trying to breathe steadily. Just because you’d dreamt about Tom in that way didn’t mean you actually wanted him in that way. It’d just...been a while that’s all. And people have random sex dreams about their bosses all the time, this was no different. 

You told yourself all of this, but weren’t convinced.

Much like the last, your night was restless. You were afraid that if you drifted off again the dream would pick up right where it had left off, not that you’d be able to sleep if you tried, but you couldn’t risk waking Tom like that again.

You figured that if you were already awake you might get some work done so you propped yourself up in bed and filled out overdue paperwork until you were actually a week ahead of schedule. You were so focused you hadn’t even realized how long you’d been working for until you noticed the sun had started rising and was steadily filling the room up with light. You glanced over at Tom who was still fast asleep and saw that his arm was slung over the pillow barrier and his fingers were outstretched almost like he was reaching for you. His hands looked soft, yet calloused from stunts and training. You wondered if they actually were soft.

For once you were up and getting ready before Tom. You even braved the streets of Venice without Harrison’s sweatshirt to get you and Tom some breakfast. He had gotten you waffles that one morning and you wanted to pay him back. It seemed like there were cafes on every corner so the hard part wasn’t finding where to get breakfast, but choosing where. You decided on the family owned cafe where you’d gotten your coffee the other day because you knew the people were friendly.

To your surprise they recognized you immediately and smiled at you as you approached the counter.

“Can I help you?” one of the women asked, seeming to remember you had ordered in English the last time you were there. You hadn’t noticed before that she had an American accent and your eyes must’ve lit up in recognition because she chuckled a little at your reaction. “I’m from Atlanta,” she explained.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude or anything! I was just surprised that’s all-”

“Don’t worry about it, you didn’t do anything wrong!” she assured you. “My wife, Paula, is from here so this is where we decided to open our cafe.”

“I would love to live here,” you lied. Any reasonable person would want to spend the rest of their life in Venice, but you couldn’t say the same for yourself. Not after everything that had happened over the course of just a few days.

“Yeah, what’s not to love? Good people, good food, good business.” You nodded and smiled politely. “Anyway, what can I get started for you?”

“I’m not quite sure, actually. I’m supposed to get something for me and my...friend, but I don’t know what he likes. What do you recommend?”

“Our cornettos are really popular and so are our fette biscottates, which is like a little toast. Paula butters the cornettos really lightly so that they’re just fluffy enough and everyone orders them with this rich chocolate sauce she makes, it’s not a very healthy breakfast, but it is delicious.”

“I’ll do two of those, please,” you decided.

“With the sauce?”

“Of course.”

You managed to carry the baked goods and two coffees back to the hotel without any casualties, which was pretty impressive for you.

Tom was awake and getting ready by the time you got back. When you walked in he was pulling up his jeans and you immediately and shielded your eyes with the bag of pastries .

“Oh shit, sorry!” you apologized.

“We’ve been through this a hundred times, y/n, I don’t care. I change in front of dozens of people every day,” Tom sighed.

“Well, the door was also wide open and I don’t think you want the whole world to see that,” you added, hoping he’d attribute your jumpiness to that.

“I’d be doing the world a favor,” he said and smirked over at you as he pulled a t-shirt on over his head, clearly flexing for emphasis in the process.

You tried not to spill coffee all over the carpet as you watched him. “I don’t know if ‘favor’ is the word I would use,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice even. Tom laughed. You put the food and drinks on the dresser and picked up your cup. “I got us some breakfast.”

“Us?” he asked, looking up from the watch he was fastening around his wrist.

“Yeah, you got breakfast the other day, I wanted to return the favor.” You handed him his coffee and began rifling through the paper bag for the food.

“Thank you,” he took a sip. “It’s prefect, thanks.”

“It better be. I memorized your coffee order after two weeks of being on the job.”

“I was surprised it took you that long.”

“I can eat all this food myself,” you threatened.

“Sorry! I was joking,” he insisted.

You shot him a look. “Mmhmm.” You pulled the pastries out of the bag and handed one to him. “They’re cornettos, basically big croissants. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect.”

You sat on the floor with your cornetto and Tom followed your lead. You popped the lid off of the chocolate sauce and put it in between you and Tom on the floor to share. He ripped a bite-size piece off to dip and you did the same and tried not to let any drip on your clothes or the carpet in the process. The woman at the cafe had been right, it was delicious.

“You didn’t sleep last night again, did you?” Tom asked after taking another sip of his coffee.

“No,” you admitted, figuring he would know if you were lying anyway. You didn’t know how he always called you on your bullshit, but he did. And it was irritating.

“Y/n!” he groaned.

“I know, I know,” you sighed. “How’d you know?”

“You were up earlier than me, which never happens so I figured you just hadn’t gone back to sleep,” he explained. “You should’ve kept me up, sometimes it helps to talk nightmares through.”

You shook your head with half a laugh and tore off another piece of your cornetto. “Trust me, it only would’ve made things worse.”

His face softened. “Well, I’m sorry that you had such a bad dream. I hope you get some sleep tonight.”

“Thanks,” you smiled and put the bite in your mouth, letting the bittersweet chocolate roll over your tongue. “Me too.”

Tom went down to the lobby first and you followed a few minutes later. Everyone was already scrambling around, trying to get on boats, and you decided you’d just stay back and get on one of the later ones. You couldn’t see Tom in the sea of people anyway, but figured he’d already snaked his way through the crowd onto one of the earliest boats. At least, you hoped that’s what had happened.

One of the main differences between filming in London and abroad was that here it was every man for himself. Back in England the actors had all had preferential, treatment, especially Tom. He was Spider-man. But back there everything was centered around the actors, everyone was always making sure the actors were catered to and where they needed to be when. But here in Venice (and in Prague) everything was centered around production. Everyone had their own shit to take care of and being on-location made everything ten times harder to set up so the actors were on their own, aside from having assistants.

You thought Tom might actually like this style better. He was pretty independent, as he liked to remind you, and you noticed that having everyone fuss over him all the time definitely made him a little uncomfortable. That being said, you’d still be the one in trouble if he didn’t get himself where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there, so you could only hope.

Thankfully, no one was blowing up your phone about Tom once you got to set so you figured he’d checked in like he was supposed to.

The sky was gray and overcast, unlike it had been this morning, threatening to  start a downpour at any moment. The storm had rolled in unannounced, throwing everyone and everything off schedule. Over your radio you could hear different people starting to yell directions about waterproofing the equipment, which ideally should’ve started hours ago.

Once you got over to the tent with the other crew you were able to see Tom at his mark, ready to start filming whenever he got his cue. Harrison was over there with him, most likely telling a story from what you could tell by the way he was gesturing wildly with his hands.

Watching from the sidelines made the feelings of helplessness you’d had when you initially took the job start creeping back. It was hard to resist the urge to help run wires or set up rigs and dollies with the other production assistants like you’d been trained to do, but you’d tried before and were only scolded for it. The other PAs saw you as an outsider and didn’t want your input and the higher crew heads thought you were incompetent even though you had the same training and experience as all the other assistants. Standing and watching everyone work was your job, and you’d learned to have a sort of indifference over time, but on hectic days like these you still had to fight the itch to jump in and help.

It was starting to sprinkle now, and more and more people started crowding around under the tent while others ran around trying to save the scene and the equipment. People were arguing in your ear about whether to shoot the scene or postpone it. Everything was descending into chaos.

You looked back over to where Tom had been standing on the bridge and saw that he was still there, waiting for instructions. Harrison was holding an umbrella over the both of them, shouting across the lot at someone on the other side. You wondered whether or not you should try to get over to them. You were reaching for your phone to text Haz when you felt someone bump your shoulder. You started to apologize before you realized it was Zendaya who had somehow made her way through the masses to be at your side.

“How many cups have you had today?” she asked with a smirk, nodding at the paper cup in your hand.

“Only two,” you insisted.

“Right.”

“I swear!”

“Well you look crazy,” she said.

“Thank you so much, Z,” you scoffed. “You know, I keep hearing that-”

“No, I mean you just look exhausted, yet also super buzzed.”

“I had a weird night,” you sighed.

“No sleep again?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked sincerely and you were reminded of every time she’d confided in you about her dating life. Maybe she’d have some good advice.

“Um, yeah actually,” you agreed thankfully. “But can we, uh go over there?”

You led her over to a small area that had been cleared out because of the rain, holding an umbrella over the both of you.

“Miss y/l/n, can you please tell Mr. Holland that we’re moving shooting up an hour?” an indistinguishable voice suddenly asked over headset.

You sighed. Of course you had to be the bearer of bad news.

“I’ll let him know,” you replied over the comm and rolled your eyes, thankful they couldn’t see you. You pulled out your phone and shot Tom a quick text, something literally anyone else could have done, before giving Zendaya your attention again.

“Okay, what’d you drag me all the way over here for?”

“I have to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone,” you said nervously, hoping what you said wouldn’t get back to Tom somehow. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she agreed. “Okay, why didn’t you sleep? Oh my god, is this about a boy?”

“Kind of?” you cringed at the way Zendaya’s eyes lit up. “Not like that.”

She deflated visibly. “Oh.”

“So I sort of, had a dream,” you paused, not sure if you could force yourself to say the words.

“A dream?”

“A...sex dream.”

“About who?”

“About...Tom.”

“What?”

“I know,” you groaned and put your head in your hands. Zendaya pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. “It’s not funny!”

“I know, I know I’m sorry,” she said, pulling herself together. “What happened?”

“I-I didn’t even know it was a dream at first, he was just in my hotel room and we were talking and then he kissed me again and then-”

“Wait,” Zendaya cut you off. “Again? Tom...kissed you? In real life?” You froze, realizing you’d slipped. Your expression must’ve given you away because Z’s eyes went wide and she grabbed your wrist excitedly. “Y/n!”

“It wasn’t like that! I think. He didn’t mean it-I don’t know it’s confusing.”

“Clearly. Okay wait, wait, your dream. What happened in your dream?”

“Right,” you inhaled deeply, trying to clear your head. “He kissed me again and then he...took off my shirt and my...ummder,” you mumbled the last part.

“Your what?” She grinned, obviously loving this.

“You know what!” Your cheeks were positively on fire, but getting it all off your chest was starting to feel good. “And then he, you know.”

Zendaya waited for you to elaborate. “He what?”

“You know,” you hissed and put your tongue in between your fingers to demonstrate.

“He ate you out?”

“In my dream!” you reminded her.

“Did you, you know?” she asked with a smirk.

“Almost, but no.”

“Damn. What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know, people have sex dreams about their bosses all the time, right?”

“I guess, but your boss has also kissed you.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Do you think maybe your subconscious was giving you what you really wanted?”

It wasn’t what you’d wanted to hear, but Zendaya had a point. But before you could even process what she’d said yourself, you felt a tap on your shoulder and whipped around. Behind you, was another production standing in the rain and you instantly wondered how much she’d overheard.

“What?” you asked, wanting her to get to the point as fast as possible. Clearly she had something important to tell you if she came all the way over here, but she was hesitating, cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment.

“Um, sorry to interrupt, but we kind of need to use channel three.”

“What?” you repeated, even more confused.

“The radios, we need to use channel three, but we haven’t been able to because your headset is, um, in use on that channel.”

Still confused, you looked down at the wiring on your headset and realized the speaking button had gotten stuck from when you told whoever that you’d pass the message on to Tom, meaning the whole production crew had just heard the entirety of what you’d just said. Every production assistant, manager, director had heard about the wet dream you’d had about your boss. Including Harrison.

Without another word you thrust the umbrella into Zendaya’s hands and took off at a sprint, not even sure where you’d be able to find Haz.

He wasn’t that hard to locate, as it turned out. You found him right where he’d been earlier, standing where the actors marks were on his phone. He looked up when he heard you run up, unfazed.

“Haz,” you panted, “did you-”

“Hear all of that? Yeah. Kind of wish I hadn’t,” he said coldly.

You were thrown off for a second. You’d expected him to joke with you, tease you about accidentally telling at least fifty people about your sex dream, but you were met with hostility instead.

“Please,” you begged. “Please don’t tell Tom.”

“How do you know someone else won’t?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I don’t. But he can’t hear it from his best friend. Please. Promise me?”

fuck me this is late, but it was a lot of fun to write!! today was a fucking day, y’all. I had a french quiz, I fell in the middle of the street and scraped both my knees, it was wild. anwyay, lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

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[confessionsfromachristian]

As a millennial myself, I’m not particularly surprised by this.

Organized religion increasingly feels hollow and insincere in a world where religious leaders play politics both within and without the church, literally everything important turns into another power struggle, and no one seems interested in discussing the important questions.

Pretty much every public religious figure treats their religious text of choice as if they, and they alone, definitely have it all figured out. And if their interpretation (which is definitely, 100% correct, mind you) happens to benefit their interests at the expense of other people, then that’s fine, because it’s religion and therefore it’s good. Televangelists are what most people see of organized religion, and frankly most televangelists seem to be interested first and foremost in what you and God can do for them.

Which isn’t what religion is supposed to be, or what it has to be, but it’s often what it looks like in the here and now.

On a personal level, organized religion is designed astonishingly well to break faithful hearts. If I didn’t have someone to pull me back into church (someone whom I care about deeply, and want to support), I probably wouldn’t ever attend church, between the heartache religion has inflicted on me on a personal level and the disgust I get watching it on an organizational level.

(Story under the cut, because it’s rambling and still fueled by a lot of pain. TW: parent death)

I grew up Catholic, and I left the Catholic church in college because, increasingly, Catholic doctrine started having more holes than substance (at least, to me and my reading of the Bible) and none of the priests I reached out to were willing to give me anything more substantial than “the Bible says so,” even when I couldn’t find where the Bible actually said anything about the matter at hand.

Add on the longstanding problems in the Catholic church (where priests’ jobs have been repeatedly placed ahead of innocent children’s physical and psychological wellbeing, and the few authority figures who try to take local action keep getting told to wait for a comprehensive plan), and, well… I realized that I was getting more stress than fulfillment, and I felt like an outsider every time I went to Mass, so I stopped going.

So I turned to Methodism, because I was raised to be a Good Christian Girl™ and not going to church just wasn’t really an option. I ended up really involved in the Methodist Church in the mid-2010’s, and particularly in the children’s program at my own small church. And that was great for a while.

My conversion to Protestantism was always a sticking point between me and my mother, and I will always regret that a difference of religion meant that many of the times I saw her in the last months of her life were filled with bitter, frustrated arguments.

The day I finished the long process of writing and defending my undergraduate thesis, I drove 3 hours to my hometown with my roommate (a friend from my pre-college years), and didn’t go home because I was too proud of my pro-same-sex-marriage thesis (this was pre-Obergefell) and too tired to put up with another argument about my Protestantism, my liberal views, and my different interpretation of the Bible from the priest at my former church. I called her, told her I was done, that I’d done well, and that I’d see her the next evening, but I was going to crash with my roommate at her parents’ house.

My mother died the next afternoon, before I could call her again. I missed my last chance to see her because I feared another fight about religion. I would give anything to take that decision back.

My father was not thrilled at my conversion, but he’s come around since my mom passed away; he supports me finding a place where I feel spiritually filled, I think more or less because he’s lonely and he’s afraid to lose me (but I won’t ever let a difference of religion come between us). He volunteers at the church I went to as a child, and, up until the events that led to me leaving my small church, he always supported our kids’ programs to.

Although my church always had problems that left me frustrated, I got a lot of fulfillment out of teaching the kids in the church. But then, in 2016, I ended up as an Annual Conference delegate, and I think that’s where things started to spiral, happy as I was to go at the time.

AC was great, and I’m a law-brained sorta person, so all that legislation was wonderful. But I also had the opportunity to see the gritty reality of a world where religion is designed to make money, not just to fill spirits. Churches that don’t make money - even if they don’t lose any - can be closed, regardless of the negative effects, if someone in power thinks that a different kind of church can be more profitable. And if people at AC express dismay over the results? They’re probably good Christians, or they wouldn’t be at AC. Call for a prayer so they’ll shut up and you can move on.

But, you know, power corrupts. So I went back to my small church to try and fix everything I could on a local level, because I while I couldn’t fix the United Methodist Church, I could fix MY church. And, as an AC delegate, I had a spot on the Church Council to help with that goal. But, as it turns out, sometimes even people on a local level really just want the church to make more money. My dream (shared with a couple other church members, admittedly, but by no means all) was to use our children’s program to reach unchurched and underserved kids and bring them to Jesus. That, unfortunately, is not a financially profitable dream. Kids cost money, and unchurched kids are usually not rich ones. And their families often don’t come for more than the children’s events - and they only come for the children’s events because it’s free babysitting.

So every step was like clawing my way out of quicksand. Getting volunteers was like pulling teeth. Getting supplies was usually a matter of “do what you can with the church budget, and donate the rest.” Without volunteers, setup became “work until you’re about to pass out, go home, sleep two hours, then come back and finish before the kids get here.” Meanwhile, programs meant to draw in rich retirees from our community (so that they could give donations while they were in the building, of course) had more volunteers than they needed, and no one questioned whether practically every single man in the church was going to stay after on Sunday to help set up.

And the pastor at the time really was great. But they were a peacekeeper; any problems that arose always had two sides, and always ended in whatever decision kept the status quo because the status quo was safe, and easy.

But then the next AC came, and my pastor retired. The pastor that replaced them had wanted to retire, but had been encouraged by the district superintendent to take on our church instead, as a “part-time full-time assignment.” And I hoped and prayed that they’d bring with them change, but I should’ve been more careful with what I wished for.

They cannot tell the truth to save their life. They would approach me about an issue that was “very important” to them. We’d talk, and come up with a solution. At Church Council, without fail, the pastor would come in and insist that, in fact, we had decided on some entirely different plan. The pastor rarely showed up at children’s ministry events, so getting volunteers got even harder (why care about VBS if the pastor doesn’t?). Slowly, but surely, the church eroded every program I had helped put in place, watering it down or trying to monetize it. So, the Book of Discipline actually mandates a YA representative have a spot on the Church Council. For a while, I and one other millennial (also an AC delegate) fulfilled that role. But the pastor felt it was more important to send the church treasurer, so he could learn to make more money for the church. And that was fine; I and the other millennial approached the pastor at the end of the year about having a YA rep on the council either way (I’d always gone as an at-large delegate; our church was small enough that we only needed 1 lay delegate), and he more or less told us that the Book of Discipline didn’t apply when it was inconvenient for the church.

That’s where I realized that the bridge I was standing on would, inevitably, crumble. But I told myself it was worth trying to fix what was wrong. So I tried. And for a short time, I thought my biggest problem was going to be ensuring that the 2019 General Conference decision didn’t change the way my church embraced its LGBT members.

This new year had brought someone I’d always viewed as a friend into a position of authority in the church. I was excited for her, and I really hoped and prayed that she could do good for the church, and that we could work together to build an inclusive church with a healthy outreach to the underserved and unchurched, things I had always thought she agreed with me about (because she’d told me to my face that she did).

But no sooner did she take the reins than she implemented the volunteer dress code. Which was a far worse thing than it sounds.

We live in Texas. The dress code? No tank tops, no shorts. Ever. Apparently, some anonymous complainer had, at some point, seen an underwear slip or a bra strap. And rather than talk to the volunteers, they wrote a policy. Side note, apparently skirts of any length were fine for women.

Goodbye VBS. I can’t in good conscience ask anyone to monitor children outside, in June, in Texas, in full-length jeans and a t-shirt.

Also, no going barefoot in the sanctuary, ever, for any reason. I was one of two people who regularly shed my shoes during kids’ events where we used the sanctuary. But rather than talk to me about it, it was better to make a policy about it that literally everyone I spoke to knew was a rebuke.

Then, in one of the brand-new children’s oversight committee meetings, they decided to dismantle the children’s program bit by bit. Children’s church? Cancelled. Apparently, we were running a renegade program without pastoral approval anyway.

VBS? “If we can’t charge for it, let’s just cancel it. Add on a few lies about how poorly it was run (by me, in part) to make it seem like a logistical problem.” The children’s director objects to a sexist-worded dress code and refuses to impose it on those under her? “Fire her, no need to look at whether there’s a problem. Make the volunteers (including me) sign the policy before you’ll let them teach the kids on Sunday. Remind them explicitly that this is a prerequisite to working with the kids, so that they don’t feel they have any choice if they want to say goodbye, because they already know that it’s over and they don’t want to blindside the kids.”

I posted about it on Facebook in my frustration and pain at watching them tear apart everything I’ve tried to do for kids that I love like they were my family. I received a termination letter in my e-mail the next day. They proceeded to send a newsletter to the entire church (except me and my family) informing the church that I had been removed as a volunteer for lying on Facebook. No goodbye for the kids. No warning. They couldn’t handle public dissent.

I hadn’t told a single lie. I dared the person who drafted the newsletter to tell me where I lied. No answer.

Of course I left. And it still hurts to walk into a church building. It still hurts to see the kids on my FB feed. I’m still friends with a few of the moms, because I still love their kids. And it will keep hurting me, because I trusted my church. And even though I still go to church now and then, I know damn well not to trust anyone inside.

[thepetulantpen]

Modern AU/Giving

(Day 2 of @widomauk-week , slowly catching up!)

When a purple tiefling, with what appears to be a bowling alley carpet draped over him like a shawl, sets down a rainbow picnic blanket next to Caleb and proceeds to spread out tarot cards, it’s not even the weirdest thing he’s seen today.

Honestly, the streets of Zadash have an abundance of strange people walking down them and an even stranger population living on them. The homeless, the criminals, the drifters- they all have their place on the streets and every one of them is weirder than the next.

The stranger finishes setting out his cardboard sign (proclaiming that it’s $10 for a reading) and various other cheap, vaguely supernatural trinkets then looks up at Caleb.

“This street any good for business?”

He’s about to default to “I don’t know”, which would be sensible and at least half true but he hears Nott’s voice in his ear, nagging him about making friends. He supposes he could at least try, for her sake.

“Ja, uh, there’s a corporate building that way,” he tilts his head to their right, down the street, “so there’s usually a healthy commute. From my experience, the people here are...rather gullible.”

Caleb knows that he can’t really be incriminated on those vague words alone- this stranger couldn’t possibly guess all the cons he and Nott have been running on this street- but it still makes him nervous to share any details at all. There are eyes everywhere in Zadash and Caleb can’t ever be sure he’s safe, even hidden on the streets.

The tiefling either doesn’t notice or isn’t bothered by Caleb’s silent distress and offers a broad smile.

“Thanks! I’m Molly, by the way.” He holds out a deep lavender, tattooed hand with pointed nails.

Caleb takes it in his own, somewhat grimy, hand and shakes, formal and brief. “Caleb. Caleb Widogast.”

Molly smiles wider, teeth sharp and more shiny than any street-side psychic should have.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around a lot, Mr. Widogast.”

...

Molly certainly delivers on that prediction, showing up to the same street corner almost everyday. They see each other frequently enough that Nott has taken to stealing buttons to add to his coat and Caleb has started to help out in his little future telling scam.

Of course, Molly doesn’t admit its a scam, only ever spouting in-character bullshit about how the stars really can guide us, but he does accept Caleb’s help in drawing people in and figuring out just enough information to earn a tip. Nott takes the role of pickpocket, borrowing customers’ wallets to dig for clues that Molly can use while Caleb keeps them distracted.

It’s pretty effective, they make an excellent team, but he knows their time together is limited. Caleb can’t stay on this street corner attracting attention for so long. It’s time to move.

“Molly?”

Molly hums to indicate he’s listening, but doesn’t look up at Caleb, too busy setting up for the day. Caleb clears his throat, waiting for a few painful seconds before Molly meets his eyes, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Mr. Widogast?”

“Uh,” Caleb doesn’t know why he’s nervous, or why he’s even decided to tell Molly this, “I just wanted to let you know that me and Nott are going to move streets.”

“Oh,” Molly pauses, thinking for a moment and then, “What street?”

Caleb fidgets, choking on his words as his mind drowns in the red of Molly’s eyes. Before he gets a chance to answer, Molly looks away, frowning.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude if I’m not invited.”

Caleb blinks, replays the words and, once he understands what Molly is saying, holds up his hands.

“No, no, of course you’re invited. I just didn’t think you’d want to move, is all.”

Molly moves from his rug onto Caleb’s ratty blanket and puts his hands on Caleb’s shoulders, leaning in so his forehead rests against Caleb’s. His eyes are so much more intense up close, where the red seems to take up his entire field of vision. Caleb swallows, anxious and unable to move, although he’s not sure he even wants to.

Molly grins, shattering the tension with the edge of his fangs. The midday (exactly 12:33) light reflects across his canines, horn piercings and hair jewelry, forming Molly’s personal disco ball.

“My street is wherever your street is, Mr. Widogast.”

...

It turns out that Caleb’s street has no protection from the rain whatsoever.

Caleb stares up at the angry, storm-torn sky, drinking in what he perceives as a sort of karmic punishment from the universe. He does what he can to shield Nott, but there’s little he can do for her with no welcoming shelter in sight. She’s already drenched and shaking with resurfaced memories of rushing water, only adding to Caleb’s guilt.

He shouldn’t have moved streets, shouldn’t have let his damn paranoia take away their shelter. He shouldn’t have let Nott get this close, should’ve convinced her to leave Caleb, and the dangers associated with him, behind long ago.

He shifts, another series of apologies on his lips, but doesn’t manage it before a colorful shape breaks through the grey mass of water all around them.

“I thought I’d find you here!”

Molly smiles as if they aren’t caught in a near flood, as if this is just another day of sunshine and bright conversation.

Caleb notices he doesn’t carry any of his normal supplies, only that heavy coat on his shoulders.

“Don’t you have anywhere to stay, in this rain?” A frown crosses Molly’s face, concern an unfamiliar expression on him.

“No,” rain gets caught in Caleb’s eyelashes as he looks up at Molly, “We live out here.”

Lightning cracks overhead and Molly has to shout over the renewed rumbling of the storm. “Would you like a roof to ride out the storm under?”

Caleb hesitates, wary of overly kind offers, but Nott detaches herself from his side and pulls on his hand to make him stand.

“Yes, please!”

...

Yasha’s home is a lovely, if cramped, little place. It sits sandwiched between two larger buildings, looking as if it was added as an afterthought to fill space.

Caleb has no idea how two people can live here, let alone how they will manage four, but he is grateful to be dry and warm.

For now, Caleb and Molly have been left to their own devices at the tiny table shoved in the corner of the kitchen, drinking cheap tea and staring at the rain hitting the window.

“So, uh,” Caleb’s eyes dart down as Molly’s suddenly turn their full force on him, “this is where you live?”

“Yes, it’s near the florist, where Yasha works, and it’s cheap so I can cover my half of the rent telling fortunes.”

Caleb nods, glancing around at the tiny living room beside them and the stairs at the end of the hall leading to the two bedrooms. It’s better than the streets, certainly.

“Thank you, for lending us a room. If there’s anything I can do to repay you-“

“That won’t be necessary. Although,” Molly smirks, an idea visibly lighting up behind his eyes, “I have been in need of someone to hang out with lately. There’s this bar that just opened down the street and it’s always more fun to drink with... friends, I suppose.”

Noticing Caleb’s blush, he tacks on, “Or more than that, if you’re up for it.”

Caleb sips his tea, using it as an excuse to close his eyes briefly, trying to sort out his thoughts and block out Molly’s stare even as he can feel it piercing through the darkness.

There’s a swirl of thoughts, questions and calculations making a dizzying, multicolored pattern against his eyelids and then it all cuts out abruptly, replaced with the simple memory of Molly’s carefree smile.

Maybe it’s time for him to let go. For just an evening.

Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

“Ja, I think I’d like that.”

Molly smiles, delighted, and Caleb can’t help but return the grin, letting go of his spiraling thoughts for the first time in months.

“It’s a date!”

[mittensmorgul]

7.22, There Will Be Blood.

It took the monsters to crack into Purgatory, so it takes a monster to shove the bad things back... But there's some interesting things that happen along the way that also call back to s6-- like the girl pretending to be an innocent who all along was working for the Alpha Vampire, like the little monster boy Eve created as a trap for Sam and Dean in 6.19.

But for me, the most interesting thing in this episode is the strengthening of the parallel between Bobby's ghost and Cas in his current state. And really, they've been paralleled through the entire season. They both... died, first off. But then came back as either literal (Bobby) or metaphorical (Cas as Emmanuel with no memories) ghosts of themselves. But here's where it gets interesting. They both wanted to help, but were unable to get over their own issues blocking them from actually being effective...

in 7.19, Bobby confronts this and overcomes his fear that "materializing" to actually help will speed his progression toward "Vengeful" status, that participating actively-- the reason he fought to come back as a ghost in the first place-- would lead to him causing more harm than good, destroying himself and those he wanted to help and failing to actually accomplish the mission he returned for.

But in 7.17, we had Cas first confront all of his memories, feeling the guilt of responsibility for what has happened, and afraid and hopeless about being able to make it right. He was afraid to fully engage for fear of failing yet again, and in taking Sam's damage on himself, he did the one thing he could, even if it actively took him out of the game and still left fixing everything else on Sam and Dean's shoulders. It was how he accomplished the same objective Bobby subconsciously did before he fully engaged (which did eventually in this episode drive Bobby over the edge into Vengeful territory, where he lost control of himself and became single-minded in his revenge, running off by himself, hurting an innocent (the maid he possessed) and nearly destroying himself in the process).

Meanwhile, I'm gonna loop in the next episode to this post, because it really does function like a two-parter here...

7.23, Survival of the Fittest:

Because Cas bore witness to Bobby's decompensation, his fear of losing himself entirely, or worse-- potentially hurting the very people he'd sacrificed his eternity for. Yet Cas is still refusing to engage himself:

CASTIEL:  Now, you understand I don't participate in aggressive activity.

Despite his entire garrison having been killed (presumably by the Leviathans). It's just one more ton of guilt to heap onto Mt. Guiltmore. As long as he maintains his distance with "I don't fight anymore" and absolutely sticking to that, he doesn't have to accept the guilt.

DEAN: Hey! [He claps his hands.] Focus. Is Kevin alive? CASTIEL: I don't want to fight. DEAN: No, I'm not – [very calmly] we're worried. CASTIEL: They took him. He's alive. I felt such responsibility, but it's in your hands now. DEAN: Wait. Hold on a freakin' minute. CASTIEL: I feel much better.

Yeah, he feels much better, because he's able to absolve himself of responsibility for any of it without having to actually DO anything himself. But Sam and Dean quickly learn they have zero hope of getting Dick without Cas there to point out the "Real Dick" amongst all the copies. They DO find Bobby, gone completely vengeful and trying to break into Sucrocorp on his own... Cas is becoming more and more obvious about what his true issue is:

DEAN: Hey, shifty, what's your problem? CASTIEL: Do we need a cat? Doesn't this place feel one species short? DEAN: You got anything to say on the topic of Dicks? Crowley was pretty sure that you could help. CASTIEL: I can't help. You understand? I can't. I destroyed... everything, and I will destroy everything again. Can we please just leave it at that? DEAN: No. [He gets up.] No, we can't.

AVOID AVOID AVOID! And here's why. He refuses to help, has disconnected from reality and is hiding in the remnants of Sam's burned soul bits entirely out of FEAR that anything he does will result in more of the same...

Because Bobby couldn't fight it, going vengeful, because that's the inherent nature of ghosts. And poor Cas is at a point where he believes his "inherent nature" is cosmic-level failure.

SAM: Bobby. We didn't know if you’d, uh – BOBBY: Well, you should've. You got the flask. Dumb. You should've burned it right off. DEAN: Bobby – BOBBY: I'm still jonesing to go back... grab some poor bastard, kamikaze 'em going after Dick. It's bad.

But at least Dean knows one thing Cas can do to help without having to fight-- he can take Dean to where Baby has been hidden since the beginning of the season:

CASTIEL: If we attack Dick and fail, then you and Sam die heroically, correct? DEAN: I don't know. I guess. CASTIEL: And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or... I don't die – I'm brought back again. I see now. It's a punishment resurrection. It's worse every time. DEAN: I'm sorry. Uh, we're talking about God crap, right? CASTIEL: I'm not good luck, Dean. DEAN: Yeah, but you know what? Bottom of the ninth, and you're the only guy left on the bench... Sorry, but I'd rather have you, cursed or not. And anyway, nut up, all right? We're all cursed. I seem like good luck to you? [CASTIEL stares at DEAN.] What? CASTIEL: Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I detect a note of forgiveness. DEAN: Yeah, well, I'm probably gonna die tomorrow, so... CASTIEL: Well, I'll go with you. And I'll do my best.

So at the end of the day, Cas accepts they only have one chance to get Dick, and that regardless of if he helps or not, Sam and Dean will willingly face death to clean up the mess he feels responsible for in the first place. The least he can do is go with... but what truly convinces him it's worth risking isn't Dean's lil pep talk. It's what he'd been hoping for since he first tried to fix his mistake in 7.01 and what Dean himself told "Emmanuel" in 7.17 that he still couldn't muster for Cas... Dean's forgiveness. Without that, there was no point. This was step one to rebuilding their relationship, and the thing that pulled Cas back toward reality. He finally had something worth risking himself for. It was no longer a hopeless mission to believe that he might one day be able to make up for his betrayal.

The last few interesting things I want to mention here, since this is already a disasterpost, is the oddly redundant way Dean and Cas killed Dick:

DEAN: Oh, you don't think this'll work, do you? You trust that demon? DICK ROMAN: You sure I'm even me, Dean? DEAN: No. But he is. [DICK ROMAN looks at CASTIEL.] See, here's the thing when dealing with Crowley – he will always find a way to bone you. DICK ROMAN: This meeting's over. CASTIEL moves towards DICK ROMAN, but DICK ROMAN grabs him and flings him into a wall. DEAN plunges the bone into DICK ROMAN’s chest. DICK ROMAN gasps, but then pulls the bone out and snaps it in two. DICK ROMAN: Did you really think you could trump me? DEAN: Honestly? [He takes another bone out of his jacket.] No. CASTIEL pulls DICK ROMAN’s head back. DEAN plunges the bone sideways through DICK ROMAN’s neck. DICK ROMAN yells. SAM and KEVIN run into the room. DICK ROMAN continues to yell and gurgle. DEAN: Figured we'd have to catch you off guard. DICK ROMAN’s face transforms into the Leviathan enormous mouth with long pointed teeth and a protruding tongue. He roars briefly before his face returns to normal. He grunts and black goo starts to run from his nose. Waves of energy begin to pulsate from his body in time with a loud, accelerating heartbeat. The energy then appears to concentrate back in his body. SAM flings up an arm to cover his face and KEVIN as DICK ROMAN explodes into black goo.

Like... what even was the point of having two bones? First the "fake" and then the real bone? I mean, Dean didn't have a problem stabbing that first bone into Dick's chest, after all... did he really need the bluff? Was it just for the sake of Drama™? Eh, whatever, it gave us one of the best Cas Faces of all time, so it's worth it, whatever the reason.

CROWLEY: Not to worry. I have a small army of demons outside. Cut off the head, and the body will flounder, after all. Think if you'd had just one king since before the first sunrise. You'd be in a kerfuffle, too. SAM: Which is exactly what you wanted. CROWLEY: So did you. Without a master plan, the Levis are just another monster. Hard to stomp, sure, but you love a challenge. Your job is to keep them from organizing.

Spoiler alert: Sam's about to run away from this job just as fast as cas ran away from fighting...

CROWLEY: That bone... has a bit of a kick. God weapons often do. They should put a warning on the box.

Yeah, God weapons always suck... see the Hammurabi in 14.20 for proof.

But this all sets the stage for the issues that Cas will be dealing with up to the current point in canon after 14.20. It sets the stage for Sam and Dean’s respective struggles throughout Carver era that they finally begin to address in more healthy ways in Dabb era. But all of it is built on guilt, how they each choose to deal with it, and tearing down the barriers they put up to avoid facing themselves truly.

[themutantunderground]

Don’t Go

James and Ali spar sometimes in the Resistance AU, and usually it goes really well. This is one of the few times it did not.

I liked this prompt so much it became pretty long! James and Ali are seventeen and dating here. Poor James, this was a total and complete accident...

55 - “Could you forget about the “leave me alone” part and focus on the “I love you” instead?”

AO3

“How long are you planning to keep this up?”

James didn’t look up from the guts of his motorcycle, the pieces spread out on the concrete floor around him. He didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted everyone to leave him alone in the garage and for them to stay out unless they needed a vehicle. And if they needed a vehicle, they needed to not talk to him while they went to get it.

“James.” John’s voice was stern this time, less understanding, firmer. “Clarice is calling this a self-imposed exile. Whatever it is, it isn’t healthy.”

“I’m working,” James replied, picking up an intake valve, “It’s not an exile. She’s exaggerating.” He waved a hand at around the room that was still technically attached to HQ, indicating that he hadn’t really gone anywhere. You couldn’t be in exile if you never left home, right?

“Really.” John walked over to the camping cot that James had set up in the corner and sat down on the edge. “Because sleeping in here isn’t weird or out of the ordinary.”

James struggled to not close his hand around the intake valve and crush it. “Don’t lecture me, okay? I’m not in the mood for you to go all wise older brother on me right now.” He grabbed a wrench and pretended to focus on the motorcycle when all he could really think about was how much he wanted John to leave. If he was telekinetic, he would’ve lifted John and floated him right out the door.

“Ali thinks it’s her fault you’re doing this.”

That made James jerk his head up, eyes widening. “Go tell her it’s not.”

“I’ve tried,” John said, frowning at him, “So have Clarice and Marcos, but she needs to hear it from you.”

That familiar guilt fretted at James gut, gnawing at his stomach at the thought of talking to Ali. “I’ll...text her.”

“She’s literally fifty feet away, and you can’t just go talk to her?” John said, incredulous. He stood up and scrubbed at his face with one hand before walking toward James. “Come on,” he said as he crouched down next to James, “You have to stop punishing yourself. It was an accident, and you’re starting to punish her, too.”

Yeah, it had been an accident, but it was an accident with serious consequences. And James wasn’t going to forget the brief disappointed shock that had been in John’s eyes that day any time soon, though that paled in comparison to the pain in Ali’s…. James scowled as he looked at John. “If you put an understanding hand on my shoulder, we’re going to have a problem.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because there’s no way I’d understand where you’re coming from, right?”

James stood up and stormed over to the tool cabinet. He grabbed a wrench, examined it, and then tossed it back into the pile before picking up another one. No, John didn’t understand because John had never physically hurt Clarice. So it was different. He didn’t get it. “Are we done yet?”

John got up and crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Well, I am.” James headed for the door, intending to leave, to get out of here, because if John was going to invade his space, James wasn’t going to put up with it. He was seventeen now, he wasn’t a kid, he didn’t need a lecture. And he couldn’t deal with John’s sympathy, either.

“Hey, no,” John came after him, and James sped up, but having to stop to open the door gave John the chance he needed to catch up. John grabbed his arm and turned him around. “James, you need to stop.”

James glared at his older brother, his muscles tensing. “Get. Off.”

John sighed and let go. “No one is mad at you except yourself. You have to move past this—”

James yanked the door and slammed it against John’s words, driving it into the frame so hard that it crumpled at the top. Shit. Shit. Frustrated, he shouted wordlessly at the air and then took off toward the woods at a flat run, determined to get away from John and his infuriating patience. He didn’t deserve understanding or sympathy or patience, and he much rather would’ve preferred being yelled at.

He ran for an hour, taking barely-there deer paths and racing along a creek and then backtracking his way to HQ. No matter how much he ran, he couldn’t avoid the guilt that kept eating at him. He slowed to a walk as the sounds of HQ trickled into the forest, clashing with the quiet sounds of wildlife and the breeze against the dead winter leaves. He didn’t feel like going back just yet, so he sat down against a tree, pulled his legs to his chest, and hoped John didn’t come after him.

Instead, it was Clarice. He heard her a long time before he saw her, her usual Converses noisy against the forest floor. She walked toward him, paused, and then tossed a plastic grocery bag at him. The smell of turkey and mustard drifted up from it before he even opened it, and there was a bag of chips and a water bottle in there too.

“You skipped lunch. And breakfast.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, tearing into the bag of chips.

“Don’t mention it,” Clarice said. She sat down cross-legged across from him, her hands dangling in her lap.

James cast a wary glance at her as he ate. She was going to lecture him, too, but Clarice was sometimes less direct about it than John. She sometimes launched into an inspirational talking-to, but sometimes it was a story. He wondered what it was going to be this time.

But she didn’t say anything. She took a sip from her own water bottle and then flopped backward onto the forest floor, looking up at the bare limbs of the tree James was leaning against.

The silence stretched on, and James guessed she was trying to make him talk. Let him get all uncomfortable with how quiet it was, forcing him to say something, defend himself. She was going to be disappointed. He frowned at her as she put her arms behind her head, crossing her legs at the ankle, still looking up at the sky. Hesitantly, he picked up the sandwich and started in on that too.

When he was finishing off the water bottle, Clarice rolled over and got to her feet. She pulled a leaf out of her hair. “Here, give me all that,” she said, gesturing to the trash.

James stared at her then gathered up everything and tucking it into the grocery bag. “I can take it back.”

“I’ve got it,” she said. She nabbed the bag and looped it around her wrist. “Don’t stay out here too long, okay?”

James nodded. “Yeah. I won’t.”

Clarice gave him a half-smile. “I mean it. And move out of the garage and back into the bank while you’re at it. You’re freaking your brother out, which means he’s fussing and driving me crazy.”

And there it was. James shrugged, not committing to anything. He didn’t mind staying out in the garage, it was quiet out there and he could be by himself. He could think in the garage.

Clarice leaned over and gently flicked him on the forehead. “I think you’ve beaten yourself up enough. Just my opinion though. Then again, I know a lot about being yourself up, so it's a well-informed opinion.”

James watched her walk away, the plastic bag swinging from her wrist. He shoved his hands through his hair and stretched his legs out, pushing through half-rotted leaves and twigs. They didn’t get it. None of them did, they didn’t have to live with that sound in their ears.

After another hour or so, he headed back to HQ, making his way toward the garage. He stopped when he caught a familiar scent on the wind, guitar wood and jasmine, and heard the sound of Ali breathing, but before he could turn away, she came around the corner of the building.

“Don’t. Just don’t.” She said, putting her hands up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

James looked at the ground, grinding one foot into the dirt, avoiding looking at her face or meeting her eyes.

“James, please.”

He glanced up and immediately wished he hadn’t. The sight of the black and purple bruises ringing Ali’s right eye made him feel sick all over again. He took a step back, wanting to escape, but she darted toward him, surprising him into staying still.

“Don’t,” she said again, voice laced with desperation, “I gave you your space, I thought it’d help, but I can’t—” She made a frustrated noise and shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket. “I can’t just stay away any more and let you wallow in guilt like this. I told you, I’m not mad, but I’m going to be if you keep this up.”

James gritted his teeth. “Leave me alone, Ali.” He started to walk past her, but she grabbed his arm, wrapping both hands around his bicep as he pulled away. He froze.

“Please,” she said, “I hate this.” She lowered her head, her blond and pink hair drifting into her face, a temptation for him to brush it back behind her ear. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Ali, I broke your nose,” he said quietly, pain in each word, “I gave you a black eye.”

“And you never meant to, you would never do that on purpose,” she rushed to say, “Damn it, James, it was an accident. We were sparring, remember? You got startled, we both did, and I moved the wrong way, I practically rammed my face into your fist—”

“But you don’t have enhanced reflexes,” he said, “I do. I should’ve—” This time he did pull his arm away, and he turned from her, the memory flashing through his mind like it had for the past three days.

It shouldn’t have happened. He and Ali had been sparring in the space in front of HQ, both of them totally in sync, careful, in-the-moment like they usually were. As always, the goal was to not hit each other but come as close as possible. He could remember the way Ali had been grinning, the exercise making both of them near-giddy.

Then one of the kids that had been watching their match had decided to jump into the action and flew at them, a small flying torpedo. James saw the kid first and moved to catch her but Ali had stepped forward, and it had happened so fast. But the way his knuckles grazed her cheek, the crunch as his fist connected with her nose. He had pulled back as quick as he could, which was the only reason why it was a hairline fracture instead of a massive break. Still…

Ali had fallen to the ground while he caught the kid, and an instant later he was beside her, his hands shaking, nausea boiling in his stomach as his heart crawled into his throat. They had hurt each other before while they were sparring, but not—

Blood spilled down Ali’s face as she sat up, tears mixing in as she started crying. The kids on the steps started screaming, and that’s when James had scooped up Ali and carried her inside, yelling for John as loud as the kids were screaming.

“Should’ve what?” she asked, stepping toward him, “Been psychic? I’ve burned you before. With a laser.”

“Not that badly,” he said, frowning at her. “Ali, I love you and I hurt you. I think it’s pretty damn normal to feel like shit about that.”

“I get it,” she said, “But please, James, I don’t blame you. You would never...it…” She took a deep breath and he saw tears in her eyes. “I can’t stand knowing you’re torturing yourself about this. It was an accident.”

It was everything he had been afraid of when it came to his powers. He was always worried about hurting people, but hurting someone he loved? Hurting Ali? Even if it was an accident, he couldn’t afford accidents like that.

“Don’t cry, okay?” he said, “Come on, Ali…”

She darted toward him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest. He hesitated and then hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head. It felt so good to hold her again, to breathe in her comforting scent. “Could you forget about the ‘leave me alone part and focus on the ‘I love you’ instead?” she asked softly, “Because that’s what I’m focusing on. I love you too, James.”

“It’s not that easy,” he said, “I can’t forget it.”

“You…” She sighed and nuzzled against him. “Let’s try to move on with our lives? Can you start by moving back into your room?” She looked up at him, her fingers pressing into his back. “You smell like oil and gasoline.”

The first smile he had cracked in days made its way onto his face. “And that’s bad?”

“I’m just saying, the garage isn’t your bedroom.”

He made a noncommittal noise and nodded. “Fine. It’ll get John off my back, at least.”

“He’s just worried about you,” Ali said.

James hesitated and then very carefully squeezed her in a hug. “I know.”

“You know, we don’t have to spar again any time soon,” she said, “Not until you say it’s all right.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” he said. He pulled back but took her hand, looking at her face for a long moment. “I’m so sorry, Alison.”

“It’s okay, James,” she said gently, her hand tightening around his fingers. She knew he would never, ever do something like that on purpose. It had never crossed her mind. She brought his hand up to her cheek and brushed his knuckles against her skin. “Really."

Leaning over, he kissed the top of her head and the two of them headed into the building, hand in hand.

[stopthepres]

“um, i thought you quit? like, forever ago?”

“fuck, i did. i’m sorry.”

i drop my cigarette and stomp it out with guilt weighing heavy on my shoulders. i stopped smoking years ago - the day brady told me about the cancer. it wasn’t some selfless noble gesture or me seeing ghosts of hanukkah future.

he begged me to stop. “you need to be good, man. totally healthy,” he’d sniffed into my neck while we hugged tight. “for him. he can’t lose both of us.”

that him, of course, was stevie.

the same stevie who is staring at his sneakers with a lump growing in his throat. i thought i had enough time to finish the damn cigarette behind our building before he came over. he always uses the back entrance. you know, less people, less chance of forced conversation.

but here we are and he’s not saying anything. he’s not pushing past me to the door either.

“it’s only the third one.” fuck, like that sounds any better given what he’s seen, what he’s been through, what he fears more than anything. “i won’t have anymore, i promise.”

silence hangs between us for a few moments until he finally speaks up again. “stacey told me.” he scratches the back of his neck, fingertips barely peeking out from the sleeve of his oversized sweater. “is that...”

“it’s a stupid reason.”

and it is. nate coming out of fucking nowhere to brag to stacey about talking to doe? that’s a stupid reason to rush to the nearest gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes. i don’t even know why that was my impulse? i guess you make bad decisions when you’re desperate to feel something that isn’t your body shutting down completely.

that’s dramatic but i connected the dots pretty fast and it sent my head spinning. doe’s delayed responses to my texts and how she was too tired to see me last night. i thought she needed to chill out after the overblown buzzfeed fiasco but i didn’t believe she’d talk to nate again.

not until stacey sent me screen shots this morning of goddamn nate sending her a bunch of smug dms. of course stacey still follows him everywhere. how else would she get the latest gossip to spread?

i have no idea how her and stevie are twins sometimes. that girls sips and spills tea like her life depends on it. meanwhile he had no interest in other people; he’s content to stay in a bubble with brady.

i’m only granted the privilege of being allowed to exist in his world, to know him beyond the quiet surface level of constantly fizzling anxiety, because i didn’t bail when shit got hard. stevie knows i would do anything to him and i’d do anything for brady. because i’d done everything for them when it mattered most.

“it’s, you know... you can’t... even if...” stevie does this thing where he uses his hand to shield his eyes like he’s trying to keep the sun out when he’s actually trying to stop focusing on something overwhelming.

like my dumbass smoking means i could get sick too. that’s how his brain works, in these spirals he struggles to stop once they start.

god, i’m the worst.

at least i can hear brady’s voice in my head. dude, distract him if it happens and i’m not there. it works.

“i don’t think she’s going to get back with him now or anything.” honestly i don’t know if i’m changing the subject for him or if i’m attempting to talk myself down now that i don’t have a bad habit to force me to breathe in and out. “i don’t get why she would even talk to him when he’s such a garbage can. it’s not the same as me talking to cait.”

stevie furrows his brow, lowers his hands and slides them into his pockets. “why are you?”

“huh?”

“talking to cait,” he answers, somehow patient with me when i don’t deserve it.

“i don’t know,” i groan, pissed at myself for being so clueless all the fucking time. “doe definitely doesn’t like it.”

“you love her...”

stevie has this way of speaking, so soft and so unsure if he’s ready to keep going or if he’s said enough, they it’s difficult to tell the difference between a question and a statement sometimes. i’m not prepared to process either option.

“HUH?”

(honestly he’s a saint.)

“are you in love with her?” he says each word slowly, like he knows how heavy each syllable feels when they all pile on top of my chest.

i don’t answer. i can’t. there’s too much to say, too much to feel, too much, too much, too much. how do you know if you’re in love with someone? it’s not like i grew up with… oh my god, i can NOT be thinking about this while i’m standing by outdoor ash trays across from fucking dumpsters. my face falls - lost, defeated, afraid.

stevie makes his right hand into a fist and reaches across his chest to tap his left shoulder a couple times before holding it there. i do the same.

this is the signal i made up for when i want to hug him. i know he doesn’t like anybody but brady in his space unexpectedly (or ever, if he can help it).

he’s never been the first one to bust it out before so i feel my knees wobble and i wish the cigarette carton in my pocket would catch fire. i don’t deserve this kid to exist in my bubble but he takes a small step closer.

“it’s possible to think someone could never love you until it becomes obvious they’ve loved you the whole time.”

what stevie said rattles around my head for hours. is that true? is that what happened to him? i’d never even considered there was a time when stevie didn’t know with absolute certainty that brady loved him back. we all knew.

what if all the assumptions about me and doe have nothing to do with us fucking all the time? what if everybody’s been seeing in us what i do when i look at bravie? what if that’s why they’re so damn worried i’m going to mess this up? what if i already pulled that off?

WHAT IF SHE KEEPS TALKING TO NATE?

i can’t let that happen.

kat rolls her eyes when she opens their door but she doesn’t stop me from rushing right by her to doe’s room. she’s in bed, covers pulled up to her waist, hair tied up, eyes focused on her phone. there’s seven messages from me she’s ignored. SEVEN.

i bet she’s playing some ridiculous game where you dress up a doll or something. i see her swiping away, refusing to look up at me even when i clear my throat.

“hey, can we talk for a second?”

“i don’t know, how would cinderella feel about that?” she brushes a stray hair away from her eyes and i want to kick something but i take a deep breath instead.

“i don’t think cait cares what i do but nate might.”

i can feel doe tense up when i turn to shut the door. i can feel her eyes burning holes into my back. i’d give anything for this all to stop. for us to go back to laughing as we fall onto the mattress, to laughing harder when we tumble onto the floor in a mess of tangled limbs and twisted sweets.

i miss when our fights were fun and nothing but an excuse to push each other just far enough to snap right back into each other’s arms.

“i’m sorry,” i sigh, turning back toward her. “i’m sorry cait’s being weird and i’m even more sorry i didn’t tell her to knock it off knowing it was getting under your skin. i’m sorry i haven’t been a good boyfriend. i’m sorry my mouth might taste like smoke but i brushed my teeth, like, five times and used that swishy stuff a couple times to-“

“mouthwash?” she snorts, shifting to one side of her bed and dropping her phone on the nightstand.

“huh?”

“the swishy stuff is called mouthwash, genius.” doe pats the space beside her and glares when i hesitate instead of moving right away. “c’mon, if we’re going to talk, you can’t just stand over there like a weirdo.”

i slip my shoes off and climb onto her bed, sliding underneath the covers and slouching down until i can rest my head on her shoulder. “you’re supposed to be focusing on me saying i’m sorry.”

“well, you’re supposed to tell me why talking to him is a bad idea.” her body isn’t melting against mine the way it always does. “maybe we’re supposed to do a lot of things and we’re just not cut out for it. we got x number of chances, p, and that’s why we’re fucked.”

“hey, that’s not true.” i tilt my head to press a kiss to her jaw. “you shouldn’t waste your time on someone who never loved you but there’s nothing wrong with wanting to find something better. something that’s actually good. something that’s more meant to be than supposed to be.”

her hand finds mine underneath the sheet and she laces our fingers together, thumb brushing lightly over my skin. i feel it stronger in my chest than any fucking cigarette i’ve ever smoked.

she nudges her head against mine and i can hear her smile in her voice. “what’s all this? did my mom call and finally talk you into marriage or something?”

“we could be together and not get married.”

the thought is out in the world before i catch myself and there’s no way to shove the words back down my throat. my heart is pounding and i wind an arm around her waist to pull her in closer, holding onto her like we’re lost at sea and she’s about to start explaining the physics of the door scene in titanic for the billionth time.

why isn’t she saying anything? why is she taking so long to talk? doe doesn’t do quiet.

too much, too much, too much. too much, too much, too much. too much, too much, too much. too much, too much, too much. too much, too much, too much.

“damn, that could work,” she whispers, sounding slightly of breath, and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “we could start a trend where you register for your friends to buy you shit without the boring wedding part.”

i squeeze her tight and press a kiss to her collarbone. that’s my favorite place to kiss her - it always makes her shiver and then i can feel goosebumps on her skin when i touch her. “we should start a trend where we only need each other.”

“oh my god,” she sighs, dragging me in closer, dragging me on top of her so she can tease my lips with her tongue when her thighs press against my hips. that’s what she does to make me shiver. “we can’t start something that’s already a thing. keep. up.”

i should’ve asked stevie how you know, what makes the flip switch so you see the obvious.

…or is wanting to see it enough?

[directionlessbuthappy]

Dawn of the Draugr: p2

Modern AU: Alex H. Anderson x Reader

Warnings: graphic violence, language, death

Prev. part

Tagged: @missrobyn81 @steadypiepsychicflower

I’d not seen a healthy human in ages. I was sitting on my rooftop like I did plenty of times, able to see the road opposite of my street. It used to be a busy 40mph road out there; my mom would always worry our cat would get hit by cars. Now, it was packed full of cars, no longer moving or honking at each other. Artifacts of people trying to escape their deaths, frozen in time. I couldn’t play music through my speakers like I used to; it attracted sick people. I didn’t think it attracted living people too, but even listening to piano music quietly on my phone was enough.  Someone hit me with a pebble. It didn’t hurt, but I was baffled. I hadn’t met anyone with good aim in a while. Sick people weren’t very fast. I jumped up and shut off the music quietly, listening as the wind blew in my ears. I heard a click and turned my head abruptly.

Standing on his own roof, I saw a man waving. I waved back. He knelt down a moment and lifted a small window that looked like it led to a bathroom, his silhouette disappearing at once. I was suddenly wary. My lack of human contact in the last two weeks made me too vulnerable, too trusting… But that house was two doors down, on the corner…that was the Lothbrok’s house.

The Lothbrok brothers and I weren’t close, or really friends. But we were neighbors. When we were younger, I had to break up fights between Alex his brothers pretty often, or my mom would invite them over for dinner, or I’d see them when we had block parties. As we got older, we didn’t hang out much, but they were cool guys. Their mom was always so nice to me…if they were home with her, she was probably safer than I was. 

But if that man on the roof wasn’t one of them…

I hopped down from the roof into my room and locked the window. Rushing through the house, I made sure everything was locked down tight. It always was nowadays, but my slight paranoia made me double check. I took my gun and started packing pretty quickly. This was a gamble, I knew it was, but with cabin fever setting in I couldn’t stand to sit around and wait anymore. I knew my mom wasn’t coming home. I knew there was a high possibility she and her husband were already dead.

I still left a note on the kitchen counter.

Walking down the sidewalk in the dead of night was always scary since I’m a scrawny young female, but its even worse when you’re around people who want to eat you. I moved as quietly as I could with my backpack weighing me down. There weren’t many of the sick out tonight, a few were scattered along the lawns, standing around listlessly. Every crunch of a rock under my shoe would make them turn slightly more to the noise. I was trying to be careful, but it was like trying to walk around cracks in the sidewalk. That old “step on a crack and you break your mother’s back” rhyme from childhood started swirling around in my head.

I wasn’t exactly armored; I had my black sweatshirt on, in jeans, with sneakers. And my gun in the back of my pants that dug uncomfortably into my lower back. My hair was always a pain that I tucked back in a ponytail, and I wore glasses. I didn’t need the glasses to see really, but I needed them for details like reading street signs from far away. I took them off in case they made me look younger, which I really didn’t need right now, and knocked. 

At first there was no answer. The sick weren’t around on this street; even looking down Kattegat Road to the left of my block, there was nothing. They were gone. It was more unsettling…

I knocked again and on my second rap, I felt it. That cold, heavy barrel pinned to the back of my head. It made me freeze, all my nerve endings vibrating. Screaming danger.

“Are you sick?”

“N…No…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve stayed inside for the last 6 months since school got canceled…”

“…”

A hand on my shoulder spun me around. I probably looked like a terrifed little girl; I felt like one, only for a second, until I saw him. The guy who lived up my block for the last 7 years, until he went away to photography school last year. I thought he was still there, but I was wrong.

“Alex?”

The look on his face was a mix of relief and horror. One of those “Its good to see you, but I’m sorry you’re here” looks. He dropped his gun to the side and I gave him a hug.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, letting him go to see him. His expression was still dumbstruck but he shook his head, snapping out of it.

“My brothers told me what was happening. When I flew in last month it was shitshow, I-”

“Why are you here Alex? You should’ve stayed in Denmark! Fuck, are you insane?” I asked. I was angry now. Alex was in school in Europe, he would’ve been safer there. I ranted a little further until he shook his head and finally put a hand on my shoulder to silence me.

Alex grit his teeth and gave me a hug this time, which I returned. His hair was longer than before he left; obviously it would be, but still, his size and growth spurt surprised me.

“Sorry about the gun…”

“Did…are your brothers…?”

“Oh! Yeah, they’re fine. Come in,” he said, stepping up to the door. I swallowed nervously and glanced around, seeing if anyone else was there. The sick lurking around make you feel…watched.

“Elyse,” Alex asked. I turned; he was standing in the doorframe, waiting for me. I just realized he had an AR-15 strapped to his back…

“You coming?”

…

Sitting on a much higher rooftop was more fun. Thrills like this didn’t exist anymore, unless we broke into an amusement park and tried the roller coasters. We’d both seen Zombieland though. Alex and I had pistachio contests. Crack and unpeel the pistachio, eat it, and spit out the shell as far as you can. The sun was about to rise; morning air sucked the heat from my body. Even in the summer here, mornings were always cool and new…sent shivers down my spine every first step I took outside. Alex was taking pictures of the fields and the countryside. It wasn’t his camera from back home; this one was better. We raided an electronics store when we went into town last time, and found all these cameras and extra parts. Alex assembled his dream camera while I secretly stuffed my backpack full of tampons from the shop next door. We both got our greatest desire that day.

“Why did you go so far away to go to school?”

“I loved Denmark,” he shrugged. “My grandparents on my mom’s side are from Copenhagen. We’d visited a few times in my childhood. I wanted to try there first.”

“Still, so far away from family?” I questioned.

“Xander and Jordan had already gone for the military. As far as I’m concerned, it was them that started littering our family all over the fucking place.”

“Defensive positions not required,” I muttered. Alex finally took a breath and exhaled the edge off his nerves.

“You know I don’t like talking about back then.”

“Its not as far back as people think,” I retorted. “If you give this…” opening my arms to gesture to the quiet world around us “…too much power, you forget why you’re in it. The past is just that, yeah, but its worth remembering. Someday it might go back to that.”

“You think so,” Alex sighed. He wasn’t asking, the pessimistic dork.

“I do.”

I spit another shell out. It rolled off the roof; not exactly a far shoot. When I looked at Alex, he was holding his camera again. This time he took a shot of me.

“Don’t waste your film. I don’t like smiling in pictures,” I huffed. He laughed at my frustration, nestling the camera in his lap again.

“I prefer it that way. Its more natural to take pictures of…real people. Unposed.” I smiled a little and shoved a hand back into the pistachio bag, cracking one with my hands to enjoy. “Besides, you have more details than anything out here I can shoot.”

“Details?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “And whatever you’re shooting, just be careful where you point.” I glanced at his gun and let out a chuckle, but his face twisted slightly into an evil smile. 

“Alex…don’t say that’s what she said unless you want me to push you off this roof.”

[pocketsizedsam-blog1]

The Unexpected Perks of Being a Nanny Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: pregnancy

Beta: @my-squirrel-and-moose

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there.” You were frustrated as to why Jared had to work on Christmas’ Eve, the holidays were always given off.  Although it only interfered with your plans- the kids would not be in Vancouver until after the new year. They were having Christmas at Nanny and Poppy Cortese’s like Genevieve promised them, so you were home alone, for yet another Christmas Eve. You had felt more tired than normal in the the last few weeks and all of a sudden, you felt a sick feeling in your stomach. You just barely made it to the bathroom before you spilled your stomach contents out into the toilet. Hoping you were just coming down with the flu, you flushed the toilet, washed your face and brushed your teeth. You pulled your cell phone out of your pocket as you curled up on the couch, cuddled into your favorite blanket. You dialed Jared’s number and listened to it ring while you waited for a response.

“Hello.” He answered.

You could hear other voices in the background, which was obviously distracting Jared. And by the tone of his voice, he hadn’t even looked at the caller ID before answering.

“Hey.” You yawned.

“Oh, Hey, Y/N. What’s up?”

“Nothing much… I’m sick.” You frowned.

“Sick… Like how?”

“I just threw up. I’ve been nothing but exhausted and nauseated these last couple of weeks… I’ve got a terrible headache and my period is really off this week. It was late, now it’s like I don’t even have a period. I’m just spotty, crampy and bloated.” You sighed. “Maybe I’m stressin’. All these symptoms can be caused by stress, right?”

“That and pregnancy.” Jared worried.

“Oh, come on, Jared. That’s impossible! The first time we had sex we used a condom, and we haven’t really had a lot of sex since than.” You shrugged.

“Condoms break, Y/N.  Even a pinhole can let the sperm go through.”

“Jared, don’t tell me that….Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick.” You rushed.

In truth, you weren’t ready for a baby of your own quite yet.  Jared and you have only been dating for a year, his youngest is only nine months old!

“I know, I know, don’t worry.  Look, I’m just gonna take the rest of the night off and come home early. I’ll pick up some pregnancy tests on my way and don’t drink any eggnog, just to be on the safe side. Maybe you’re not even pregnant… maybe you’re just stressin’, like you said!” Jared tried to calm you down.

You took a deep breath and gulped, “okay.”

It wasn’t long before Jared was home and he arrived with the pregnancy tests like he said. He was about to greet you with a kiss, but you put your hand up and shook your head no, signalling him to stop.

“I just threw up.” You groaned.

He proceeded to give you a kiss on the forehead before handing you three different kinds of pregnancy tests.

“These things rarely give false positives… So if you get a positive on at least one… we’ll call and make an appointment, okay? We’ll be regardless of the outcome. And my god, Y/N you went to school to take care of kids and I have three of them myself!”

You nodded and took the tests from Jared, then went into the powder room. You came out a few minutes later.

“I couldn’t pee.” Your bottom lip quivered.

“Okay… well let’s get some water into you, Okay?”

You shook your head yes as Jared led you into the kitchen. He sat you down with a glass of water and told you to drink as much as you could.

“Do you need me to help?”

You gave Jared a glare, “no.”

He threw his hands up in the air as if to surrender.

“Nope, Okay. Sorry.”

You, shakily, made your way back into the powder room off the kitchen, and waited a few minutes. You were able to pee the second time, taking all three of the different tests. Jared knocked on the door.

“You okay in there? Did you take the tests?” He worried.

“Yeah, I did.” You opened up the door and let Jared in.

He closed the door behind him and stood behind you and the sink, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“I can’t do this.” You sniffed.

“Yeah, you can. You know what I see when I look in this mirror? A happy, healthy, independent, hot woman. You’re perfect, Y/N. You know a lot about how to take care of kids and you have a great relationship with my kiddos- and Jensen’s kids-”

You cut him off, “what about the things I screwed up? Adam? Adelaide? Adam barely talks to me and I can’t exactly call Adelaide up on the phone!”

“Those relationships will take time to heal, but they will.”

You and Jared stood in silence until your phone timer went off. When you didn’t look right away, Jared took it upon himself to look.

“They’re negative.” He frowned.

“W-what? You’re joking, r-right?”

He shook his head no. You started to cry and you reached for the tests.

“I am just kidding babe, they’re all positive.” Jared cracked a smile as he showed you the pregnancy tests.

You punched his arm and grabbed the tests. It was exactly like the scene you watched in F.R.I.E.N.D.S when Phoebe told Rachel she wasn’t pregnant… and she actually was!

“You little shit!” You exclaimed, wiping your tears and staring at all the positives. “Oh god, Jare, I haven’t even met your parents yet!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Or your sister and brother! Wow, I am a terrible person!”

“You’re not a terrible person, it’s just I haven’t had the chance to take you down to Texas. We can go soon, okay? Just let me get the tickets.”

“Okay.” You rubbed your stomach.

You and Jared washed your hands, then placed the pregnancy tests on the countertop. You headed into the living room and lied down with Jared to watch a movie. How the Grinch Stole Christmas was playing and you started to doze off while watching, cuddled into Jared. You didn’t remember him turning off the movie and you didn’t remember him carrying you upstairs. It was the next morning before you remembered anything, you rushed out to the ensuite and threw up again. To no surprise, you had very little left in your stomach to throw up. Jared must have already been downstairs, you figured he was booking a flight to Texas. You brushed your teeth then made your way down over the stairs and glanced at the Christmas tree. It looked bare. It reminded you of every other Christmas you had growing up.

“Oh, hey.” Jared smiled and greeted you with a kiss. “Good morning, Y/N! Mornin’ Baby.”

Jared rubbed your stomach and smiled down at it.

“Daddy’s super happy you’re in there. I think mommy’s a little bit nervous-”

“A little bit nervous? That’s an understatement!” You giggled.

“But, I know she’s going to do great… ‘cause she’s awesome with your older brothers and sister! Isn’t that right?” Jared looked back up to you. “I got you something!”

“Oh, yeah? I got you a little something too!”

“Let’s open up some gifts and then get breakfast, huh? Then we can have a lazy day, you’re probably not feeling up to turkey.”

“Yeah… I’m not.” You laughed. “Not up for breakfast either.”

“You gotta eat something, Y/N, remember, you’re eating for two! Tell mommy she’s got to try and eat something!”

“Alright, after we open presents we’ll have breakfast.” You smiled, rubbing your stomach.

It was pretty lonely in Vancouver, you didn’t have a lot of friends and the Ackles were gone back to Texas for Christmas.

“So… I was also thinking, you haven’t met all my co-workers yet, why don’t we have Misha and Alexander over before we go to Texas?”

“I’d like that.” You grinned, taking a seat on the floor next to the Christmas tree.

“It’s our first Christmas as a couple.”

“As friends too… remember? We only met in June of the year.” You corrected him.

“Right, right.” He laughed. “I-I got something for you.”

Jared smiled as he handed you a wrapped box. You took it excitedly, but not eagerly. It was wrapped so perfectly, no doubt Jared had done it himself. He also handed you a card. “Y/N” in all capitals was written across the front. You opened the card first. Inside was Jared’s beautiful handwriting, saying, “Dear Y/N, here’s to our first Christmas together.” There was a Victoria Secret gift card inside.

“I guess you can you can use that after the baby comes.” He gave you a smile.

You chuckled and tore the wrapping paper off the box. When you opened the box, you couldn’t believe your eyes. There was a matching set of earrings, a necklace and a ring!

“I know we’re know we’re nowhere near ready to get married, just consider it a promise ring, or just an ordinary ‘ole ring from your boyfriend.”

“Oh, wow, Jared- This is beautiful!” You choked back tears. “I love it!”

Quickly, you grabbed the present you had for Jared. You handed it to him. He took it carefully and started to unwrap it. You felt you should have given him more. He opened it, looked at it closely and flipped through the pages. He frowned when he got halfway through the book. You had given him a photo album that was half filled with pictures of you, him and the kids.

“It’s not finished?”

“I-I figured we could fill it with new memories that we make.” You sniffed, looking to the ground. “I’m sorry, it was stupid. I should’ve given you something else.”

“No, no! Y/N, I love it!” He laid the book down and scooted over next to you.

He pulled you into his arms as you started to sob.

“You really like it?” You sniffed, looking up at him.

“Like it? I love it, Y/N. I couldn’t ask for anything better! I got the perfect present from the perfect girl. I was the one who gave you the stereotypical, materialistic present. You gave me something that was heartfelt.”

You gave him a little smile, “but I love what you gave me! My bra and panty selection is crappy and I have zero pieces of jewelry.”

“Hey, I love your bra and panty selection! I think you look beautiful in whatever you wear!”

“Oh, are you purposely trying to score boyfriend points?” You giggled, wiping your tears.

“What? No… of course not…” He grinned. “But if I was… would it be working?”

“Oh, you sly guy.” You curled into him. “Yes, of course it would.”

You and Jared stayed like that for a few minutes before you opened up the gifts from other people. After that, you and Jared had breakfast, which the baby did not agree with, and you watched movies. Your mind wandered to your siblings who haven’t talked to you in months. You sent them Christmas gifts but you never got any reply to say they received them. You could only imagine the amount of pain they were going through this Christmas, with their father so sick and all. You wished you could help, but Adam didn’t want it. You only got dressed when Jared announced that Alexander, Misha and Misha’s family were on their way.

“Did you want to tell them or should we wait to tell everybody?” You pulled a shirt down over your body.

It was a red shirt with Christmas designs all over it.

“I mean, if you want to tell them, they could probably keep the secret until we’re ready to tell everyone else.” Jared shrugged.

“Well yeah.” You laughed. “I think we should tell him.”

Before you knew it, you heard the doorbell downstairs. You rushed down to meet Alex and the Collins’, getting slightly stomach sick from how fast you moved. You opened up the door and shot Alex, who was in front of Misha, Vicki, West and Maison, a warm smile. You let them all in the house to get out of the cold, harsh Vancouver weather.

“Hi! It’s nice to finally meet you!” Alexander smiled as he pulled you into a hug.

“Wow, such a gentleman!”

Alex was closer to your age than Jared was. He was only twenty-seven whereas Jared was thirty-five.

“Me? Nah.” He laughed. “Merry Christmas! I brought some wine!”

Jared entered the foyer and grinned, taking the bottle from Alexander, “that will be all mine.”

“Would it kill you to share, Jared? He gets like this on set.” Alex teased.

You proceed to give Misha a hug while Jared and Alex spoke.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N! Jared doesn’t stop talking about you.” Misha laughed.

“Actually, Y/N doesn’t drink and she can’t have it anyways.” Jared cut in and placed the bottle on the counter.

You gave Vicki a hug as well, then waved hi to the kids. West and Maison waved hi back. Alex never put two and two together which caused you and Jared to let out a few laughs, but you were sure Misha and Vicki knew what you were talking about.

“What? What’s so funny? Did I step in something? Is something on my face? I feel like I’m on set.” He referenced how the older men always played pranks on him.

“No, no.” You laughed.

“You’re just not the sharpest tool in the shed.” Jared cackled.

You landed a smack on Jared’s shoulder,

“The reason I can’t have alcohol is because I’m pregnant.” You smiled shyly.

“Oh wow! Congratulations you two!” Alex shot you a smile.

“There’s going to be another mini-Jared around here?!” Misha faked annoyance.

“If I’m lucky at all, the little one will be a mini Y/N; the world could use more like her.” Jared said looking straight at you with pride in his eyes.

“Kids are awesome, congrats you two!” Vicki added.

“Oh, trust me… I know.” You laughed.

West and Maison wandered off into the house as if they were at their own house.

“Just don’t tell anyone.” Jared warned. “You guys are the first ones to know and we don’t want you to spoil the surprise!”  

“The secret is safe with me, but…uh.. I don’t know how long this one will be able to keep the surprise.” Vicki said pointing to her husband.

“Me!! Are you joking? Moose here is the one who spoils the surprises when he can’t keep his mouth shut!” Misha said glaring at Jared.

“Fine, that may be true, but with this one, I’m not ruining it.” Jared said, once again staring only at you. And that’s when you looked back up to him, reaching up on your tippy-toes to kiss Jared.

“Now I get why Jensen says that being around you two is gross.” Alex said beginning to walk away from the entrance and in further to the home.

“Aw is Alex jealous that his girl couldn’t come with him?” Jared said after the two of you broke apart.

“You all are such boys.” Vicki said laughing beside you.

“Hey!!” Both Jared and Misha said at the same time, causing everyone to break out in chuckles and laughter.

“Okay okay, let’s go sit, I’ve got snacks in the kitchen if anyone is interested. We can talk about true ages later.” You said teasing Jared and Misha, already knowing that tonight would be a great way to meet the Collins family and Alex.

Tags: @inevergaveuplarry @nanie5 @reachforthestarsgirl @beckawinchester @internationalmusicteacher