#this is your reminder to take your car out to a nice open backroad and open that bitch up

[butch-himbo-king]

cars are like horses in that if you don’t give them frequent turnout time and run them hard every once in a while they’ll get depressed and develop health problems

[minheelovelee]

im curious your thoughts about having car sex with keum after him having a really long day 👀

That’s real good anon. I switched it up a bit bc I started writing but I always made him too grumpy. Hehe. Thanks for requesting!

Warnings : car sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that), fem!reader, fem receiving oral, swearing.

- putting your car in park, you let out a deep sigh. dealing with a strict boss and incompetent coworkers really drains the life out of you.

- rather than getting out of the car, you choose to pull out your phone to text your boyfriend.

- donghyun pops the door open within minutes. “hi, baby. how was your day today? i missed you.” he sees the look in your eyes and realizes he doesn’t really need an answer. “oh. shitty?” he asks.

- “yup. not the best. thought going for a drive might help. anywhere you wanna go?” he shakes his head. “nah. anywhere’s good.”

- with that, you put the vehicle into reverse and pull out the driveway. it’s nearly dark out now, but taking a drive on some backroads sounds like a dream.

- donghyun tells you about work, his friends, and video games. you’re not really listening to what he has to say, but he’s making you feel sentimental. the fact that he agreed to sit as passenger while you sulk about your day makes you smile a bit. you couldn’t ask for a better partner.

- you offer a few one-word responses, looking over occasionally. when the moon finds itself in the perfect spot, it shines it’s light through the window to put donghyun’s pretty features on display.

- he looks like a dream. rambling on about his interests while doused in moonlight. it reminds you of a previous encounter.

- the bed wasn’t making the cut that night. donghyun had ended up taking you on the floor. no lights were on. the sun still lit the sky when you’d began your encounter. the only thing that allowed you to see him was the moon’s light shining through open windows.

- he took on a different persona that night, taking complete control over the situation. your vivid memory of that night has you grinding your hips down into the seat.

- wordlessly debating with yourself, you decide to pull the car over to the paved shoulder. no one’s around and you’re desperate to get his hands on you.

- “what’s up, baby? why’d you stop?” he looks over at you with a concerned expression.

- “I want you to fuck me. now. in the car, please.” his face turns to one of understand. “i see how it is. go to the backseat if you’re so sure you want this.”

- you crack the front windows and take the keys out. popping the door open, you head to the back. he’s already back there, welcoming you with a hug. “my poor baby. had such a bad day she wants me to fuck her ‘till she forgets all about it.” you nod into his chest and he kisses you on the head. “let me take care of you, lovey.”

- he tilts you up to meet his eyes, leaning in to kiss you. there’s nothing innocent about it. it’s desperate and messy. he lets your lips meet for a while, just taking time to hold you close.

- when he pulls away, you open your eyes. he’s got his hands on your hips to flip you around. he pushes you forward to hold onto the door while on your knees. you’re surprised when you look down to see his face between your thighs.

- it was a nice day to wear a skirt. he sits himself up on his elbows and pushes your panties to the side. “still want this, baby? sit.” of course you do. so you nod, drawing a smile from him.

- there’s no space for him to use his hands. it doesn’t both him at all. you lower yourself to meet where his face is. he gives you no warning when he starts attacking you with his tongue. the yelp you let out makes him chuckle.

- he doesn’t waste time and goes for your most sensitive areas. when you try to run from his mouth, he follows you and never detaches himself. in a space this small, there’s nowhere to hide.

- looking up at you, he can’t help but smile against your pussy. your parted lips and fluttering lashes look so pretty from this angle.

- he moves further down to tongue at your opening. the stain in his neck is worth it. he shoves his tongue as far as it can go, letting his nose nudge below your clit. it pulls such a pretty sound from your lips.

- that action continues until his jaw is sore. he pulls away to look in your eyes. “can i fuck you, baby? i didn’t bring a condom.” he honestly didn’t think you’d be fucking in the middle of nowhere.

- “yes please. i don’t care.” with a little encouragement, he pulls himself up and gets behind you. he gets a hold of your hips and lines himself up to your entrance.

- his hand rests above your head as he leans over your body. he slips inside easily and almost instantly bottoms out. “oh my fucking god, baby. so damn good without a condom. can feel how wet you are.” his rambling doesn’t stop.

- its the first time you’ve fucked him without a condom. it feels like the first time all over again. “donghyun, i wan’ it harder please.” letting him pound the shit out of you in a cramped space was exactly what you needed. “course, love. such a nice girl askin’ me like that.”

- he uses all the force he can muster to fuck into you. hitting all the nice spots inside, he reaches around to play with your clit. “i’m goddamn close, baby. should i pull out?”

- “no! not in my car please, baby.” he laughs at your response but continues his actions. a few sharp strokes have him finishing inside, filling you up with a warm feeling.

- he doesn’t stop until you cum. he’s overstimulated and tearing up, but pushes on to let you finish. when you do finally squeeze around him, he grips your thighs with his nails so damn hard. the little crescent marks left behind contrast your skin nicely.

- “hyunnie. was so good. thank you baby.” you nuzzle into his neck while he catches his breath. “you feelin’ better at all?” you nod. “so much better. better enough to go get some ice cream.” his pretty eyes light up. “let’s gooo!”

[asteriismos]

flashing lights — bill denbrough

pairing: bill denbrough x fem! reader

warning(s): smut, eighteen! bill denbrough, is it choking if he doesn’t squeeze?, fingering, piv sex, cursing, ig kinda degrading idk tho judge for yourself, unedited

summary: bill, the star baseball player of derry, and you, from another high school, meet in the locker room and get to know each other. 

words: 3.1k

note: don’t say i never gave you anything i am a woman of my word

sitting here in the bleachers adjacent to the baseball field, with the setting sun in your gaze and the feeling of newly spring wind on your skin, you had high hopes that your schools baseball team would win. out of all the schools in lieu with your own, bangor high school, derry’s team was the most anticipated of in the season. where most high schools in the nation favored the fall sport of football, the central part of maine where you lived actually liked baseball more, so when the first sprouts of spring showed, everyone was excited for the next season. 

you were a senior, almost finished with school and personally tasked yourself and your group of friends with trying to go to every single baseball game that you all could make it to - whether they were at home or away. 

“look, he’s up to bat,” your friend marcella said, catching your attention by lightly tapping your shoulder and motioning to the field. there you saw your close friend owen, who was the star player of your school’s team and one of your friends since you were a little kid. he was the person who introduced you to the group that you were here with now, here specifically to cheer him on. 

you saw him walk to home plate, bat in hand and getting into position to swing. your eyes took you across from him to the pitcher of the other team, who you didn’t know but could see the name displayed on the back of his shirt. denbrough. you raised your eyebrow at the last name, it didn’t ring a bell. 

the crowd started to cheer for your friend, waiting for denbrough to throw the first pitch. everything became silent, and the ball was thrown with stellar accuracy. whoever this denbrough boy was, he was seemingly a really good pitcher. when the second ball was thrown and owen missed yet again, your hand ran through your hair nervously. you could hear people whispering all around you, wondering if he was going to strike out. 

just as if someone of the heavens was listening to the anxious worries of your fellow classmates, denbrough went to throw the ball and owen swung and the ball went flying, going straight for the outfield as owen ran with all his might to first base. you cheered with your friends, yelling words of encouragement and praise towards your team. 

the game, from that point, was in your high schools favor. it was seemingly decided almost halfway through that bangor high school had it in the bag, which did nothing for any person in your crowds ego. just as the last inning was finished, your school came out victorious. 

“hopefully this means that we’re going to the championships this year,” you heard people say. “and maybe we can host it at our school so we don’t have to drive all the way out here again.” 

you were anxious to see your friend, running down the stairs of the bleachers and shouting his name, but owen didn’t hear you. sighing, you turned to your group to say, “should we get back home?” the team would have to come back by bus anyways, which sucked, because you wanted to congratulate your friend on such a good win. 

“yeah, probably before it gets too late, you know how bad those backroads are,” jake stated. “do you want to catch a ride with me? im sure marcella can take your car back.” 

half of you wanted to go with them and just see owen later, but to you, it felt like poor taste to make him wait that long. plus, maybe you could catch him before he left. you shook your head, “no, i’ll stay. i want to see the team. go without me, I'll see you tomorrow.” 

jake laughed. “okay, just don’t get lost.” he wiggled his eyebrows in a teasing manner and walked away, taking your friends with him and leaving you alone in the front of derry high school. 

you had been here once before, just for a short while and after a baseball game like right now. but that was all the way back during freshman year when you were trying to find the bathroom, you really had no idea where the locker rooms were. 

opening the large door, you started along the main hallway, looking at the posters that aligned the wall that reminded you of your own school. derry was really similar in layout, so perhaps it wouldn’t be that hard. turning the corner, you saw a sign that pointed to the gym and the locker rooms. in no time you were there, but there was no one coming out of the doors. had they already left and you missed them? it was silent. 

you put your ear to the door and listened, hearing some rustling. you knocked, but there was no answer, making you raise your eyebrow. and you don’t exactly know what prompted you to open the wooden door and make your way inside, but you did, and along the array of closed lockers, your eyes took you to the one person who was in there. 

it was the denbrough pitcher. 

you got a good look of him now, with his honeyed locks that fell messy on his forehead, standing taller than you. his back was slightly turned to you and through his jersey you could see his toned back muscles, making you lose yourself for a moment and send you almost stumbling over your feet. you knew that he was attractive from the moment you set your eyes on him but you didn’t know that he was this attractive. 

he turned around now and immediately those dazzling cerulean blue eyes landed on you, making your face heat up in realizing that this was not the visitors locker room like you had intended on trying to find. 

“sorry,” you fumbled out after a moment of shameless staring. “I was looking for my friend.” denbrough tilted his head to the side and you watched him take out a bag and push his locker door closed. instead of walking out like you should’ve, you just stood there watching him. it was in poor taste, since the longer you looked at him, you could see clearly that he was angry. 

a tiny grin came to his face. “it’s fine, no one’s in here except me anyways.” a silent moment passed and then a quizzical look came to his face, eyes falling back on you. “wait . . . weren’t you cheering on the other team?” he had noticed you, just as you were now noticing him. the room seemed a lot smaller than it had earlier and you ignored the fluttering feeling in your stomach the longer he stared at you. you didn’t even know his name. 

“yeah, it was a good game,” you shrugged your shoulders. 

“we should’ve won that game.” 

a cocky grin splayed on your features. “well, im sure you’ll get another shot next time.” you would have to play them again to secure a spot in the championships, it was still rather early in the season anyways. 

“will you be at the next game?” denbrough asked, he walked closer to you now, and there was a look in his eyes that was not easy to mistake. he was looking at you like you were a full course meal and he was the hungriest man on earth. and you liked the way that he looked at you, this gorgeous boy that you had barely met, and you wanted him to keep looking at you like that. well, you would rather him be doing other things. “maybe we could go do something together afterwards.” now you were certain of his likeness for you. 

you gave him a smirk. “well, i don’t know about that, i wouldn’t want to get involved with the opposing team.” when he noticed you were directly giving back the same energy he was giving, his feet stopped so he was just inches away from you. it took everything in you to keep yourself from grabbing him by those large muscles and - 

in a moment of weakness or just pure idiocy, you did exactly as you thought, lunging yourself forward, hands reaching for his face and pulling him into a searing kiss. when he reciprocated your movements, you had to stop another smirk from rising to your face, pushing it down and focusing on your hands that made it’s way to his soft hair. 

your kiss was unexpected by denbrough, though seemingly not unwelcome since his hands found their place exploring your sides, not being exactly gentle with his touches which you didn’t mind. this was so unlike you, doing something like this with someone you didn’t know. and to be honest, it was unlike him, too. 

but both of you were giving each other the ‘fuck me’ eyes and well, you only live once, right? 

as the kiss became more sloppy and he broke it to press kisses to your jawline and trailing down your neck, you breathed out and closed your eyes. “I don’t even know your name.” you sighed into his touches though, not really caring what his name was but knowing that it would probably be useful sometime soon. 

denbrough came back up to meet your gaze. “it’s bill,” he gave you a grin. “pleasure to meet you.” there was a sense of teasing in his tone, which you would’ve laughed at if his hands weren't reaching for where your shirt met your pants. 

“y/n,” you said weakly, already feeling your legs start to give out by the way that he was looking at you. you reached out to bill, wanting to feel his body pressed against yours again. he chuckled at your eagerness, giving you what you wanted by slowly pushing you against the lockers behind you. you felt the cool metal through your shirt and instantly realized how hot it was getting in this locker room, your skin was already on fire. 

bill reattached his lips to your skin and you spent the time trying to undo the belt that was around his pants that nicely accentuated everything that you wanted from him. thank god for baseball pants. 

tentatively, you pressed your hips against his and you heard a groan leave his throat, his lips stalling for a moment and then going back to his earlier movements. you were well aware of how excited he was, taking a moment to note that you could feel that he was absolutely fucking enormous. 

of course he was. 

as if he had enough of this teasing, his hand reached down and went straight under the band of your pants, being met with the wetness that was gathering in your panties. you bucked your hips forward into his hand and he smirked at how compliant you seemed to be with him. his other hand was gripping your side, keeping you close to him while the other pushed your panties to the side and the pad of his pointer finger came into contact with your slit. 

you moaned out and bill covered your mouth with his own, not kissing you but keeping it there. “so tell me,” he said, breath hot against you, finger tracing a line from your slick folds to your clit, making you almost keel over if it hadn���t been for his hand keeping you up and body pressing you farther into the locker. “this friend of yours, he was on your team wasn’t he?” 

you nodded, not trusting your voice. but he didn’t seem to like that, his hand stalling and not moving no matter how much you tried to gain friction. 

“answer me with words,” the hand on your side coming up to the bottom of your throat so you were forced to look at him in the face, those blue eyes on him seemingly had become darker. 

you took in a sharp breath. “yes,” you answered. his movements started again, but this time he took one finger and pushed it inside you till he was knuckle deep in, a large moan falling off of your tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. 

“and how do you think he would feel seeing you like this for me? the star player of the other team?” bill’s tone was condescending and you wondered if he was normally like this, or he was just angry about the outcome of the game. his finger sped up, soon being joined with another one that slipped in with ease. you were so wet for him already. “but you wouldn’t care, would you?” 

it was seemingly rhetorical, because he didn’t wait for you to answer and instead attached his lips to your throat, teeth grazing a point that had you gasping, hand coming and tugging on those locks of his, the other falling to his neck. 

“bill,” you muttered. “please just-” you were cut off by a moan, gripping him close as his thumb came into contact with your clit and rubbed tight circles against it. 

he looked up at you from the mess he was creating on your neck. “please what?” 

“just fuck me.” 

you were really in no position to be making such requests since bill seemed to be in control (which really, you didn’t mind if it meant that he was making you feel good in the process), but at this point you were too strung out to care what he thought of the rather forward request. you knew that you needed him and you needed him now. 

bill pulled away from you and you took in his now ragged features, noticing the tint of red in his cheeks and the freckles that dotted them, and the goldenness that he seems to radiate. in some ways you hoped that this wouldn’t be your only encounter with the denbrough boy, but that was something to worry about later, since his hands were undoing the rest of his belt and you knew that was your cue to do the same with your own pants. 

soon enough you were back in the same position, one of his hands next to your head on the locker behind you as he moved to position his cock at your entrance, eyes meeting with yours as he pushed in to look at your reaction. and it was everything that he hoped to see, your mouth opening into an ‘o’ shape, lips parted and eyes never leaving his own. 

once he bottomed out, he already started a fast rhythm, giving you little to no time to adjust. but you were so needy you didn’t care, not one bit because he was making you feel so good that you wished for this moment to last forever. and you were already so wet and willing, bill couldn’t wait a second longer. 

your hands gripped onto his forearms, steadying yourself, but it was hard to keep your legs from giving out. bill must've noticed your struggle and leaned down, grabbing you by the back of your thighs and hoisting you up in his arms, using the leverage of the locker to fuck into you. 

the change in position made you quiver in his arms like putty, arms wrapping around his neck and caging him close to you. incoherent words fell from your mouth that wouldn’t close no matter how hard you tried, while his pace became fast, rough, and unrelenting. you didn’t know bill well but you could tell that he was adamant about making you feel good, which fueled the fire inside of you even more. 

if he was tired from playing the game, he didn’t even show it. bill fucked into you with such a frenzy that it was almost animalistic, which made you wonder how much energy this boy possibly had. what you didn’t know was it was your moans what were spurring him on, your moans that kept him going. bill had already been to point of exhaustion from the game but you were able to give him a second wind and he was not fucking up this one like he had fucked up in the game. his determination both of the field and in this moment caught up with him and well, he was bringing all of his emotion out. 

and you loved it so much that you couldn’t think straight. all you could do was try and keep yourself still, words stringing together into barely put together sentences of oh fuck yes and that feels so good. 

it was a moment of pure bliss that you didn’t even feel yourself start to clench around him, noticing it finally when you felt every inch of him scrape against your willing walls, bringing you closer to that cliff into a sea of pleasure that only he could give you. what finally made you break was the groans that he was making, which were hot and heavy and like heaven to your ears that you knew you would be playing on repeat before you went to sleep tonight. 

and then his hand slipped between your legs, pressing up against your swollen clit and that was it. you were sent into a state of pure, fucked out bliss as you came around him, your moans everything but silent. luckily there seemed to be no one around to hear, and if they did they didn’t bother with stopping it.

a few thrusts afterwards and with an insistent command from you to cum inside you because you were on the pill, bill came undone and it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in his life. as if this boy couldn’t get more perfect, haven been basically sent to you on a gift from god himself. he pulled out and you could feel the evidence slightly dripping out of you and onto your thighs. 

there was a moment of cleaning up, where he actually grabbed a towel from his locker and helped you wipe away everything and eventually sit down onto the bench between the sides of lockers. where you thought would be awkwardness, there wasn’t, a few words passed between the two of you and then you told him that you should go, you had to drive home. 

surprisingly, he asked if you needed help and then you remembered you barely knew him and shook your head. it was late anyways, he probably had things to do. 

and when you got control of your limbs again (which bill cheekily smirked at), you walked out of the high school, him trailing behind you. you gave him one last look before parting ways, and in the heat of the moment, you told him your number and to call him if he ever wanted to get together again. 

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 2: No Vacancy

Title: Backroad Romance

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,119

Tags: First Kiss, Dean Winchester and Castiel are Alone in the Dark, Mild Angst With a Happy Ending, Sam Ships It, Making out in the Impala

On AO3 Here

“You’re shittin’ me, Sammy.” Dean groans and smacks the steering wheel with his palm. “There’s no room in the whole place?”

Sam’s voice floats into the Impala, high and tinny over the burner phone’s speakers. “No vacancy, Dean, I’m sorry, I checked with them three times--”

“--Nah, nah, it’s cool, we believe you,” Dean interrupts, cradling the phone between shoulder and ear so he can rub his face while steering around a bend. Cas reaches over and deftly slips the phone away, fingers pinched like he’s removing a block from a Jenga tower.

“Did you and Eileen find accommodations?” Cas asks, holding the phone out in front of him so Dean can listen in.

There’s a short pause, then: “Yeah… yeah, we did, but guys, the room is really small, like, a closet, I swear, and there’s only one bed, and--”

This time it’s Cas who interrupts. “--and you wish to engage in private romantic activities. Dean and I completely understand.”

They’re on a straight stretch of highway, but Dean still manages to swerve clumsily into the shoulder. He hastily course-corrects and bites down the urge to snap at Cas for-- for what? For talking like that? For using his deep, rough voice to say any words even vaguely related to--

No. It’s not Cas’ fault that everything he does steadily turns Dean into more and more of a creep. Dean shakes his head firmly and tunes back in to the conversation just in time to catch Sam awkwardly stumbling over his reply. Dean leans over, cutting him off with a whistle into the phone.

“We’ll be fine, little brother. Be a gentleman. Don’t hog the sheets. Girl like Eileen doesn’t come around every day.”

He can feel the bitchface radiating through the speaker and motions at Cas to hang up. Cas frowns and gravely says “Dean would like to end the conversation. Goodbye, Sam,” before flipping the phone shut. He drops it into the cupholder.

Dean makes a show of focusing on the road to avoid looking at Cas. He knows Cas is staring at him; it’s just something the guy does, sitting in the passenger seat and gazing at Dean as if the whole world isn’t flashing by outside.

Dean’s long stopped commenting on it. Let the dude stare.

He clears his throat. “We’ll probably have to find a logging road or something. Pull in and hole up for the night.”

“All right,” Cas replies. He opens the glovebox and pulls out the local map they picked up this afternoon when they rolled into Matlock, Washington, to investigate a haunted post office. It was a gray, dinky, bleak town and the poor ghost lurking around the mailroom seemed more melancholy than anything. She allowed them to dispatch her into the afterlife with very little struggle; that is, after some creative sweet-talking by Sam.

Eileen had teased Sam mercilessly about it before Dean had even gotten a chance. That’s how Dean knows she’s The One.

There was, of course, no motel in town. Sam and Eileen hit the road before Dean and Cas, because Dean insisted on getting a burger for dinner at the tiny diner on Main Street (a mistake). Now he’s staring down the barrel of a night alone with Cas, in cramped quarters, on a dark backroad. If they hadn’t already driven all day to get to Matlock, Dean would push on until they found a motel with vacancies, but he’s exhausted and Cas is just human enough these days to actually be tired too.

“There’s an access road nearby,” Cas says, tracing the map with his index finger. “In a quarter mile. Left.”

Dean follows his directions and sure enough, there’s a bumpy logging road branching off from the highway, stretching deep into the pitch-black trees. Dean pulls in about five hundred feet before turning off the lights and the ignition.

It’s silent. The darkness is all-encompassing, pressing in on Dean, so heavy it’s like he can feel it on his eyelids when he blinks. He takes a slightly shaky breath. Cas is utterly still, as usual, not a single rustle or exhale indicating his presence in the gloom, but Dean feels him there as intensely as he’d feel a roaring bonfire. His heart thuds in his ears.

Why is he freaking out? He’s slept in the car with Sam a million times. But even as he thinks that, he knows, he knows, that this is different. His brain starts whirling through logistics -- who’s gonna take the back seat? Is Cas even gonna sleep the whole night? Or will he wake up and just sit there, staring at Dean for hours, inches away?

Dean needs to shut off his brain. He taps the seat and says “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” comes the immediate response, measured and reassuring. “Would you like to talk?”

Relaxing against the seat and slinging an arm over the backrest, Dean peers over to the passenger side. “Sure.”

The moon’s out tonight, far above the trees, and the grayscale of nighttime slowly bleeds into view as Dean’s eyes adjust. He can just make out the sharp angle of Cas’ nose, the slope of his chest and the outline of his hands folded in his lap. He’s always so upright, so proper. Dean wonders what it would feel like to undo him.

“Are Sam and Eileen having sex?”

Dean chokes on air. Sputtering, he braces himself on the seat and coughs until his eyes stop watering. “What?” he wheezes. “Why-- Dude, why would you ask that?”

He sees Cas turn his head to regard him. Even in the dark, Dean can imagine the piercing gaze.

“It was unclear to me what you meant by ‘be a gentleman.’” Cas lifts his hands to shape the finger quotes. “I assumed the two of them would take advantage of their privacy to engage in physical intimacy. Was your comment meant to discourage Sam from having sex?”

Dean throws up his hands desperately. “Okay-- okay, first of all, quit talking about my brother doing it. And second, no, I wasn’t ‘discouraging’ him, just reminding him to treat Eileen like a lady. You know, romance her a little.”

The darkness is a godsend as Dean’s cheeks flush hotter with every word. He’s surprised they’re not glowing. He taps the seat in a random pattern as Cas sits quietly, seemingly digesting the information.

When he responds, it’s slow and thoughtful. “In the pornography I’ve watched, the participants always begin undressing one another rather quickly. And in my own experiences, there has been very little that I would label ‘romantic.’ What is classified as ‘romance,’ Dean?”

Well, shit. The last of Dean’s composure evaporates, sizzles away like a drop of water meeting his burning face. He drops his head into his hands and groans.

Cas leans forward, his knee brushing Dean’s. “Have I made you uncomfortable?” he asks, voice laden with concern.

Dean’s throat is tight, his fingers sweaty against his forehead. He forces himself to take a deep breath and to at least open his eyes against the shadow of his palms. “Uh-- no. No, Cas. You, uh-- you should be able to ask that kinda stuff. Human stuff. I get that it’s, uh-- it’s important to know. For, y’know. So you can--”

There’s a hand on his knee. A warm, strong hand. Long fingers. Weighty. Dean’s heart kicks into overdrive. He slowly, very slowly, lowers his hands to peek at Cas.

“How do you like to be romanced, Dean?”

There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing in Dean’s brain. It’s a chamber of silence. A void. He stares at the outline of Cas’ wild hair, mouth slightly open.

“...Dean?” The hand on his knee shifts slightly and Dean’s blank brain runs zero interference as his own hand darts out and stills the one threatening to leave his leg. As soon as his skin makes contact with Cas’, though, everything zings back online in a rushing roar.

Play it off, Winchester. Crack a joke. C’mon. “Hah, funny, buddy, you really got me there--”

“--Kissing’s nice.”

He snaps his mouth shut too late. The words float away, unrecoverable.

Cas tilts his head. Then, slowly, very slowly, as if he’s afraid of spooking Dean, he turns his hand around under Dean’s so that they’re palm to palm. An invitation.

With a pounding heart, Dean accepts it. He laces their fingers together. His palm feels even sweatier when it’s rubbing up against Cas’ dry, smooth skin.

Sexy, Dean. Way to go.

Somehow, even though it was Cas asking the questions, he’s the one leading now, shifting closer, laying his left arm along the backrest behind Dean’s shoulders. Their faces are so close that they’re sharing air, just two shadows suspended in a frozen moment.

“May I kiss you?” Cas murmurs gently, his breath washing over Dean’s lips. It smells like rain-refreshed air, like a promise of sunshine, alleviating the weight of the darkness. Dean tentatively chases it with his tongue, wetting his lips and leaving them parted.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. Because fuck, he wants this. He’s wanted this for so long.

And Cas wants it, too.

Dean always imagined that his first kiss with Cas would be an inferno, fireworks, showering sparks, all those cliches. That it would yank him from his body and send him floating through the ether.

It’s not like any of that. It’s better. It’s real.

Cas’ lips are just lips -- a little more chapped than Dean’s used to, perhaps, but they meet his in a familiar brush, followed by the typical tentative press, leading into a hesitant swipe of the tongue.

He’s kissing Cas. Cas, who he’s built up in his head for so long as this untouchable, impossible ideal, who stormed Hell to drag him out, who smote demons with his bare hands, who is so inconceivably old that Dean should be just a speck of sand under his eternal gaze.

Instead, that same Cas is busy dragging his fingers down the side of Dean’s neck. A crest of goosebumps follow, shivers trailing down Dean’s torso, and he gasps a quivery breath against Cas’ lips. He’s not used to being led. Normally he’s the one in charge, giving as good as he gets, focused on hitting the highlights, satisfying his partner. There’s a whole formula.

He’s never trembled like this before.

“Dean,” Cas whispers against his mouth, reverent, his voice somehow gravelly even as a breath. He suddenly pulls his hand free from Dean’s and grips his bicep, dropping his other arm from the backrest to wrap around Dean’s waist. Without preamble, he twists, tugging Dean across his lap. Dean yelps and hurriedly adjusts his legs, ending up with his knees on the seat, straddling Cas’ thighs. His fingers and toes are zinging in excitement.

Goddamn. Who knew being manhandled would do it for him?

The crown of his head presses against the roof of the car and he slouches forward until their foreheads are touching. He pushes his hands into Cas’ hair.

Cas surges forward again, nudging Dean’s head to the side and pressing his lips to Dean’s neck. Dean groans, low and shaky, as Cas parts his lips and sucks a trail up to Dean’s earlobe, his tongue soothing in the wake of his mouth, dragging over every mark that he coaxes to the surface. Dean knows his neck will be littered with bruises tomorrow, but he finds he can’t bring himself to care, not when Cas’ teeth are busy grazing the shell of his ear.

“Jeez, Cas,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to Cas’ shoulder. He's hard already, hips twitching a little, but he keeps his hands firmly in Cas’ hair, tugging the soft, thick strands, guiding Cas’ mouth back down to his neck. His pulse hammers under each press of chapped lips.

He pulls back and captures Cas’ mouth again, sliding his tongue into that wet heat. They trade open-mouthed kisses, a bit sloppy, while Cas’ hands glide up Dean’s back under his flannel. Dean’s absolutely flying, his pounding heart easily winning the battle against the tiny voice in his head dredging up reasons to stop, reasons to run.

He wants to stay .

Their kisses have escalated to a panting, frenzied give-and-take, and Dean’s tired of hunching over. He drops his hands onto Cas’ shoulders and starts leaning back over to the driver’s seat, trying to pull Cas on top of him. Cas whines when their lips separate, but he catches on quickly. A little too quickly. He grips Dean’s waist and shifts him along the bench seat with such force that Dean’s arm goes flying and his elbow smacks right into the middle of the steering wheel.

The horn blares, rending the night.

Both Dean and Cas jerk upright, instantly on high alert. Reality takes a moment to catch up with them.

Cas recovers first. “That startled me,” he says, voice wrecked.

Dean lets out a long breath. He’s still got one leg up on the seat, the other one cramped awkwardly next to the steering wheel. He drags a hand across his face and lets out a breathy laugh. The next thing he knows, he’s doubled over, laughing so hard his cheeks hurt and his eyes water.

He’s just so goddamn happy.

Cas watches him, head tilted in the shadows. Dean lets his laughter run its course, petering out with a sigh of mirth and hand slapped on Cas’ knee.

“What a night, huh?” he says.

Cas lifts a hand and strokes Dean’s cheek with his knuckles. Even after all that making out, this one gesture seems inordinately intimate. But Dean just smiles.

Cas swipes his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone one more time before slowly, almost reluctantly, letting his hand fall. “You need to sleep.”

Dean nods and glances into the backseat. “You do too, don’t you? At least a bit? Maybe we can both fit back there.”

They get out of the car -- the cool night air rushes into Dean’s lungs and fizzes through his chest, bringing the events of the past half hour into blood-rich focus in his brain. He steels himself for the freakout, for the doubt and the deflection, but it doesn’t come. He feels right.

They crawl into the backseat, awkwardly shuffling and shifting, ending up with Cas sitting mostly upright (insisting that he’s fine) and Dean laid out on the seat with his head in Cas’ lap.

He drops off to sleep faster than he has a long time, Cas’ long fingers carding through his hair.

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

It’s the light that wakes him, pale gray seeping under his lashes and rousing him from a blissfully dreamless sleep. He lifts his head and immediately winces -- his neck is stiff as a board and his back aches all the way down to his tailbone. He’s really getting too old to be sleeping in the car.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean twists around and peers blearily up at Cas, who’s gazing down at him with one of his rare enigmatic smiles. Dean yawns and stretches as best he can, his back popping. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting next to Cas.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas leans over and, before Dean can react, presses a warm, dry kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Sore body or not, this is the best morning of Dean’s life.

They extract themselves from the backseat and stumble into the damp early-morning air. Dean pops the collar of his flannel after a single glance into the side mirror. He’s got a lot of hickies.

They take a second to stretch (Dean admires the way Cas’ pecs shift under his dress shirt as he reaches for the sky) before sliding into the front seat. Dean backs them out of the logging road, the verdant green pines on either side nearly overwhelming his night-accustomed eyes.

Cas calls Sam as they roar down the highway again. It’s only 5 a.m., but Dean handed Cas the phone and told him to give Sam a wakeup call. The kid deserves it after a good night’s sleep in a real bed.

They pull into the parking lot of the Cedar Crest Motel just past 5:30. Dean ends up having to park on the street, though, because the lot’s at capacity, not a single spot unoccupied. He pats Baby in apology as he leaves her, and he and Cas make their way to the room number that a very irritated, cranky Sam snapped at them over the phone.

They’ve almost reached it when Dean suddenly stops dead. He grabs Cas’ arm. Cas shoots him a questioning glance.

“Look." Dean points up at the motel sign. There, huge red letters, blinking through the pale morning light, spell out a clear VACANCY.

“It’s hardly been six hours," Dean says. "No one would’ve checked out in the middle of the night.”

Suspicion rising rapidly, he strides to Sam’s door and knocks as obnoxiously as he can. As soon as the door creaks open, he reaches through and grabs Sam’s shirt, yanking him outside. Sam protests and slaps at Dean with one hand, shoving his bird’s nest hair out of his face with the other.

“What the hell, Dean!”

Dean just throws one arm up at the sign, staring at Sam with raised eyebrows. As soon as Sam sees what he’s pointing at, he shrinks into what Dean immediately recognizes as guilty little brother posture. He’s not even trying to hide it.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, eyes darting between Dean and Sam, before holding out a placating hand. “I just-- I just thought, maybe you could use some time alone,” he explains hastily, backing up a bit into the room. “If we all ended up here, Dean, you’d insist that we share, you know you would.”

Dean knows Sam’s right (he’s careful with their fake money, so sue him), but he keeps glaring regardless.

“I just wanted some time with Eileen,” Sam mumbles, deflating a bit. “And I thought, y’know, with how you and Cas have been acting lately, that you’d-- uh, that you’d want some time together, too.”

Dean sputters. “Acting? We-- what--”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, deep voice cutting off Dean’s protests. “We had a very pleasant night.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he straightens up, a knowing grin stretching over his face. His eyes dart to Dean’s popped collar. “Oh yeah? Did you now?”

Dean shoves him into the room and slams the door shut. There. He turns to Cas, who looks amused.

“Give me at least a couple days before blabbing to my brother,” Dean says, but he finds himself smiling. Cas nods. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, just for a moment, squeezing before letting it fall again.

“Of course, Dean.”

[thesightstoshowyou]

Stranded

Part 2

(Intro) (Part 1.5)

Bo Sinclair x Pregnant!F Reader

Warnings: Awkward sexual tension, Lester’s smelly truck

~~

You rest under the garage awning, shielding yourself from the unforgiving Louisiana heat. Muffled clangs and thuds come from inside the shop as Bo fiddles with your car. You hope he’s able to repair the old thing.

As you look down the empty street, you frown. You’ve been here at least an hour and you’ve yet to see any other signs of life. Even for a tiny town like—what was it—Ambrose, it’s odd.

“Engine overheated, is all.” Bo’s voice distracts you from your thoughts. He leans in the doorway, wiping his oily hands on an equally oily rag, lazy smile stretched across his face. He continues, “Ran outta coolant. I refilled that n’ changed yer oil. Needed that too.”

“Doesn’t sound too major,” you say, grinning. You’re relieved this mess isn’t going to cost you an arm and a leg, “Thank you, Bo, you’re a lifesaver. How much do I owe you?”

Bo adjusts his hat and pushes away from the door, bringing himself a few steps closer to you before answering, “Ya’ could let me take ya’ out.” You blink, taken aback. Stunned, even. His easy drawl and the sultry look in those baby blues renders you momentarily speechless.

You recover with a breathy laugh and a stammered, “W-What?” The rumble of an engine distracts you, makes you look over your shoulder in surprise. Another old, rusted pick-up pulls into the parking lot, the driver eyeing you strangely through the window.

“Huh, so someone else does live here. For a second, I thought this place was abandoned,” you say with a nervous chuckle, turning back to Bo. He only hums in response, his brow furrowed.

The second the truck door squeals open, you stiffen. The scent of rotting meat and blood hits your over-sensitive nose like a freight train and it takes every ounce of control you possess not to vomit on the spot. Instead, you plaster a friendly smile on your face as the grimy newcomer approaches.

He’s sporting a frown not unlike Bo’s as he begins to speak, “Uh—

“This is my baby brother, Lester,” Bo interrupts, walking past you to clap the shorter man on the shoulder.

“Oh, hi, nice to meet you.” You give Lester your name and hold out your hand. Nervously, Lester glances down at your hand and over to Bo before wiping his filthy palm on his dirty jeans. He gives you a quick shake and a nod before hastily pulling away.

“Little lady’s car broke down along the backroad,” Bo explains as he crosses his arms and comes to stand next to you. Lester nods slowly, his shifty eyes darting to your belly and back over to Bo. The hair on the back of your neck raises at the exchange, but you keep the stupid smile on your face as a precaution.

“O-Oh, that’s, uh, too bad. You-you, uh, git ‘er fixed up, Bo?” Lester asks, feet shuffling on hot concrete, hands sliding into his pockets.

“Was jus’ about t’send ‘er on ‘er way,” Bo comments casually, but there’s something else there in his tone; a hidden message for his brother to decipher. You swallow, wondering what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

He seems to catch Bo’s drift, “A-Alright. Was nice to meet you.” Lester turns on his heel and heads back to his truck, sliding into the passenger seat and peeling out of the parking lot without a backward glance.

When the sound of the engine fades, you realize you’re alone with Bo once more, but now you’re not quite as comfortable in his presence. Trepidation growing, you turn to face him. That disarming smile returns to his face, as though nothing strange had just occurred.

“So, whaddya say, sugar?” It takes you a moment to remember what he’s asking. Oh. The date.

“Uh...” you start with another uneasy laugh, “Sorry, I’m just-just, um, confused. Not many guys would go for someone with so much,” you motion vaguely to yourself, “Baggage.”

Bo shrugs leisurely, “I reckon I got a bit o’that myself. Baggage, I mean. Wouldn’t mind sharin’ it with ya’ over some coffee.” Once again, he shocks you. You’re so flattered you nearly forget the odd exchange from a few minutes prior.

Immediately, your brain makes excuses for him: Maybe the brother is awkward, maybe they don’t have a good relationship, maybe it’s an old town full of old people that like to stay home.... Quickly, you backtrack, reminding yourself making excuses for men is what got you into this mess in the first place.

However, this particular man went out of his way to retrieve your car, give you a ride, fix said car, and now he only wants a date as payment. Maybe they aren’t all bad. Is it worth putting yourself out there again?

You sigh, “Yeah, okay. Coffee sounds nice.” Bo gives you an award winning smile and writes your number down on the back of his hand. He takes you into the humid garage and draws out a map for you, murmuring directions in that attractive accent until you’re at ease once more.

As you pull out of the garage, crudely drawn map clutched in your palm, you return Bo’s wave, a giddy smile itching to creep across your face. You crank up the A/C as you take the back roads and turns out of the sleepy little town.

On the way, you pass Lester’s ancient truck. You smile and wave as you pass. When his jaw drops at the sight of you, you decide he probably is just a really awkward guy.

[mediocre--writing]

I loved your childhood friends ask! I have a headcannon that when they grow up and get to high school, Billy has a hard time because Steve is seeking out girls whereas Billy just wants him. Billy would definitely cry to his mom about it, especially when Nancy comes into the picture, his head in her lap as she plays with his hair and tries to soothe his broken heart and sobs. How could he fall in love with his straight childhood best friend?

it wasn’t steve’s fault.

billy had to keep reminding himself that it was in no way steve’s fault.

but as he sat in the camaro, waiting for steve to get out of his house, billy could see steve twirling the phone cord around his fingers while he blushed and talked to someone.

billy had been there for almost ten minutes. and steve had seen him, even waved at him, and was usually so punctual about leaving the house.

but it took a total of 25 minutes for steve to hang up the phone and come out to billy’s car.

“nance was talking to me about that party friday, you know the one? but yeah she wanted us to go together and so...”

“so you wanna drive her to the party. steve, she’s your girl, you gotta take her,”

steve sighed out in relief, “we’ll go to the next one together, b, alright?”

“of course,”

they hung out that afternoon but billy didn’t feel as up for it as he was when he was getting ready.

steve was constantly talking about nancy or the party and what he should wear. billy wanted to beat his face in.

it wasn’t for any other reason than he was being annoying. steve and billy were hanging out. that was the plan. it wasn’t steve, billy, and the constant thought of nancy wheeler hanging out.

they drove around for a while, which was nice, and they sang to music, and billy felt settled by steve’s semi-raspy singing voice.

he felt a bit better about losing steve to nancy until he went to drop steve off. it wasn’t anything that happened, just what he said:

“thanks for being so cool about the party. maybe nance and i can introduce you to heather, she’s super nice and i think she likes you!”

billy forced an easy smile on his face while he looked at steve, “sure, t, that would be nice,”

then steve left and billy waited until he got into the house before driving off like a bat outta hell.

he didn’t go straight home. he went to the gas station, filled up the tank, bought three packs of cigarettes, and a candy bar before driving around for the remainder of the night, until about 12.

steve never listened anymore.

in the car, billy had been talking about how he had found a second job at the pool and his coworker, heather, was really sweet.

then steve brings her up at the end of the night like he came up with her out of nowhere? did he not listen to a word billy had said all night?

and nancy. nancy prissy-motherfucker wheeler.

who does she think she is? ramming her way into their group, pretending to be all shy and sweet and cutesy when she just wants steve.

and the way she thinks she’s better than everyone because she’s taking next-grade level clases.

well guess what, wheeler, so am i!! you’re nothing special!!

as billy finished off the last cigarette of the second pack, he reached into the passenger seat to grab for the third pack when he realized how shaky his hands were.

glancing around the car, he noted that it was 11:45, three and a half hours since he’d left steve’s house. and he was going 94 on a shady backroad.

billy loved the feel of speeding, but knew his mother would whip his ass if he did.

rather than open a new pack, billy decreased his speed (to 70, but it was better than 100) and started driving home.

he rolled all the windows down completely, hopefully getting some of the smell out.

when he’d pulled into his driveway, his mom was standing on the porch, trying to shove the key into the lock while balancing her purse, diner leftovers, and another bag in her arms.

billy quickly got out of the car, leaving the pack of cigarettes in there and grabbing the candy bar before walking up the steps and taking the takeout boxes out of her hands.

“thank you, sweet boy,” she smiled as she finally got the key in the lock

they walked into the house quietly, setting all of their stuff down.

billy discarded his jacket in the coat closet while she had gone to change out of her diner uniform into comfy pajamas.

billy moved to the kitchen to take plates and cups down, setting them on the dining table suit for three people, maximum.

he opened the take out boxes and moved each of their dinners onto plates before filling the glasses with ice and water.

“thank you, baby,”

she pecked him on the forehead as he sat down at the table, then took her normal seat and began eating.

“how was your day?”

“better than yours,”

billy’s face scrunched up a little at her comment as she took a bite of her burger.

“you still smell like smoke, plus you were meeting with steve at 6, so you’ve been out for quite a while...”

“it’s nothing to worry about,” billy kept holding his burger rather than take a bite out of it, the smoking having ruined his appetite.

“billy,”

“promise, it’s nothing to worry about,”

“alright. don’t you both have that party friday?”

“why does everyone care about this stupid party!?” billy said, louder than he meant to.

“who’s ‘everyone’?”

“nobody, mom,”

“oooh, you’re all grumpy, calling me ‘mom’ and shit. why don’t you check the attitude by tomorrow morning, mkay?”

billy nodded and took a bite of his food, “sorry,”

“it’s alright, but you can’t get angry at me for something i didn’t do, billy,”

billy nodded and she got up to clear her finished plate, rinsing it then coming back to where billy was still eating.

she held his face gently in her hands and placed a long kiss on his forehead, “try to get a good nights sleep, hon,”

she walked to the back of the house, where her bedroom was, and shut the door, leaving billy with most of his dinner still on his plate and heaviness in his heart.

billy made it through the rest of the school week. the weather was warming up, nearing the end of the school year, and the days were pretty easy.

but he was avoiding steve. well, really, he was avoiding the priss, and since she was always with steve, he was avoiding him by default.

and it didn’t feel any better avoiding steve when every time he did see him, he was holding flowers for her, or picking her up from behind, or talking real close to her face all sweet.

the worst part was that steve didn’t seem all to fazed by not seeing billy those four days.

and it hurt. it hurt that, apparently, steve meant more to billy than billy meant to steve. it hurt that the priss could replace billy so quickly.

and so billy was getting agitated. his mom kept working late shifts and billy was working on training for his lifeguard job and homework and it all felt like too much was going on and he didn’t have steve there to distract him.

so, by complete accident, he got into a fight. a big one. with a senior.

for a junior, billy could probably pass as an actual adult, and had the muscles and fighting skills to prove it.

the senior wasn’t too far off either, though.

billy got knocked into (by accident) in the hall while he was watching steve and the priss and just... snapped.

he and the boy were both losers of the fight, neither looking better than the other and neither having been declared winner. plus, they were both marched off to the principals office at the end of the day.

billy, out of the corner of his eye, saw steve watching him get marched off to the front offices, but didn’t care to look and see his face.

more so, the disappointment that would be there. steve hated when he got angry and fought. he hadn’t gotten into a fight since freshman year, so what happened now?

billy’s mom, having been called in from work, seemed as if she was on fire when she came into the building.

she was a taller woman, had broad shoulders and a glare that rivaled billy’s. in short, she was intimidating as fuck (even in her cute 50s work uniform)

billy couldn’t look her in the eye.

after they’d finished with the principal (two day suspension for both boys), billy and his mom walked out to his car.

“where’d you park?” billy grumbled.

“i had christopher drop me off so i could make sure that you would be going straight home after this,”

they made it to the blue camaro, both standing on the drivers side door.

“mom—“

“keys!” she held her hand out and billy stared at her, “now!”

he fumbled in his jean jacket pocket before handing her the keys, walking around to the passenger door and getting in.

they drove the speed limit the whole way home, not talking and not listening to music. just the rumble of the engine as they sat in silence, both seething with different types of anger.

they pulled up to the house, both getting out and going to the door, unlocking it and billy tried storming off to his room before he was called back.

“what!”

“first of all, loose the ‘tude,” she gestured for him to sit on the couch as she walked back and forth in front of the coffee table. “second of all, no party friday.

“now, what the hell is wrong with you? huh? i didn’t raise you to punch a kid for accidentally bumping you in the hall and i most definitely never taught you to talk back to me!

“i get it, billy. we all have bad days or weeks or whatever but we don’t scream at other people or start fights because we feel angry! do you understand that?”

“yes, ma’am,”

“now, why don’t you tell me why you’ve been all ‘hormonal teenager’ for the past week. well, the past month you’ve been weird, so start from the beginning,”

billy took a few deep breaths, “mom, i really don’t wanna—“

“no, we’re gonna talk. i took the whole day off work so we could fix this, so we are gonna talk and we are gonna figure this out, because you’re not you, billy. you are sweet and smiley and funny and you’ve been a little shit recently,”

billy smiled a little bit at his moms crude language, something most parents would frown upon.

“i’m pretty sure that steve and i aren’t really friends anymore. not like we used to be, at least,” billy scrunched up his nose, a tell that meant he was pretending he wasn’t about to start crying.

“why do you think that? you and steve are inseparable, have been since the day you met,”

“he got a girlfriend,” billy was staring just over his mom’s head, pretending he was looking at her. “and he hasn’t been...”

“hasn’t been what?”

he rolls his eyes, “i’m gonna sound like an asshole,”

“you are a little asshole, just say it,”

“he doesn’t pay attention to me anymore. all he talks about is the priss and how their relationship is going. i love him, mom, you know i do, but i can’t hear another word about her! i hate her!”

“why? is she mean to steve?”

“not mean mean, but, like, i talked to some of the guys we hang out with and they think steve’s been weird recently too. he doesn’t do anything without her and he’s different. i can’t explain it, he’s just not the same steve,”

“billy, it’s his first love, he’s gonna be all sappy for her and forget about his friends, it’s just how it is most of the time,”

“no! it’s not ‘just how it is’ because steve and i aren’t just friends, we’re closer and she’s just pulling him away! he doesn’t even care that she is!”

“billy,”

“you don’t understand!”

“i do, i get it completely, but you’re teenagers and you’re gonna get upset. i’m surprised you and steve have made it this far without having a big fight yet,”

“but we aren’t supposed to have big fights! he’s supposed to listen to me and i’m supposed to listen to him! we get each other and he knows me better than anyone! he’s not like my other friends, he’s—he’s steve—and i can’t loose him, mom,

“he was the first kid i really got to hang out with when you kicked dad out, and he helped me through that. we’re close! i can’t just lose him now, after everything!”

“billy, baby,” he looked up to her, teary eyes and all, “what are you really thinking about right now?”

“i think... i think i like steve, like, i like like steve,”

“i know, baby,”

billy’s head shot up to look at her eyes, “you—“

“billy, you’ve loved steve since the day you met, it’s harder not to notice,��

billy starts breathing deeper then, and his mom moves to sit on the couch, pulling him into her chest as she plays with his hair while he cries quietly about losing his best friend and crush.

“it hurts so bad, momma,”

she shushes his broken voice and continues to play with his hair, “i know, baby, i know,” she tears up along with him.

they stay like that until the school day ends, then when the sun goes down.

billy ends up falling asleep on the couch that night. she gets up to get the knitted blanket off of an adjacent chair and drapes it over his body, not being able to cover all of his legs, but staying there with him all night.

it was hard, as a mother, to watch her son break into so many little pieces. but it was even harder when she almost felt her heart break with his.

she knew steve, knew he would make whoever he ended up with a very, very happy person. he was sweet and went out of his way to make others happy.

and a selfish part of her really wanted steve to end up with her billy, for him to be treated right by the only person he’s been in love with. the person who he’d unintentionally pined after for years.

she just wanted to see her boys happy.

[notquitecanon]

Steven Hyde being readers date to a wedding?

Did someone say FakeDate!Au?? No? Just me? Great, here I go!  

_________

4 Things Steven Hyde Agreed To & 1 He Didn’t

1.) Photos

“There’s not much you have to do, it’ll be really fun!” You promised after Hyde gave into your begging, “First, we’ll pose for photos together since I’m in the bridal party.”

Hyde begrudgingly tucked his shades into his suit pocket before wrapping an arm around your waist.  The hand on your hip made you blush, but you didn’t dare squirm away- this needed to look real so your family would stop playing matchmaker. Instead, you leaned closer into his touch as you grinned at the photographer.

After said photographer waved you on, you groaned in frustration as you readjusted the bridesmaid dress- which in your opinion? hideous. Frowning you looked to Hyde who was already slipping his sunglasses back on, “I hate this dress, literally no one could make this good.”

Hyde spared you a glance before looking away again, clearing his throat before murmuring, “You do.”

“Oh.”

2.) Convince the Family

“Tell my family we’re together so they’ll quit setting me up on terrible blind dates- and make it convincing.”

“So Steve,” Your Aunt smiled and you saw Hyde flinch at the misnomer, “Where’d you meet our (Y/N)?”

You tried to hide your nervousness- you hadn’t thought to create a backstory. Nevertheless, Steven took it in stride as he wrapped an arm around your waist and squeezed you closer with a large smile that was almost unsettling on him- you wish he’d go back to his classic smirk or smug grin.

“It started when she transferred to Point Place, our friend Donna was the one to show her around- but I wasn’t actually at school that day, but later that afternoon- Donna brought her by to hang out.” He paused to throw you on an over-exaggerated smile before his expression softened, “Well, she basically fell through the door, laughing at something Donna said so hard that she doubled over. That’s when I knew I had to make her my girl.”

That was what happened the first time you met Hyde- he left out the part where you fell forward and your chest went straight into Fez’s chest. The boy was so delirious with excitement that he fainted on the spot. Fez still got flustered if you wore a V-neck. Hyde had told the story a million times, but never with that tone of voice or with that last part- obviously a lie for your act, but damn was he convincing. He left all your Auntie’s and cousins (and you) giggly as they continued quizzing him. Every question was answered with an eerily honest tone.

All you could do was stare up at him as you listened- your soft smile wasn’t act and neither were the butterflies.

3.) Dancing

“Dance a little, in front of the photographer specifically so I have photographic evidence to remind my family with.”

You almost forgot how good of a dancer Hyde was. And how good of an actor, apparently. Maybe it was the drinks the two of you had been sneaking from the open bar, maybe it was the music or his cologne, or maybe it was just how close he was holding you as he swayed and spun you- occasionally moving in front of the wedding photographer, just as you’d instructed him- but he was making it really easy to forget this was just an act.

As a Sinatra song faded out (which Hyde strangely knew every word of) an ABBA song began- I’ve Been Waiting For You, you recognized. Knowing his stance on Disco, you tried to step back with a smile, “I know how you feel about ABBA, so we can stop now.”

To your surprise, his grip on your waist stayed firm and his gaze soft, “No, no. I don’t mind. This is nice.”

“Oh,” You nodded in shock as you settled back into the swaying motion, head on his chest to hid the creeping blush on your cheeks as the chorus played through.  You thrill me, you delight me, you please me, you excite me, your something I’ve pleading for, I love you, I adore you, I lay my life before you, I only want you more and more, And finally it seems, my lonely days are through, I’ve been waiting for you. “This is nice.”

And that’s how you stayed until the DJ packed up.

4.) Chauffeur

“And lastly, we leave together.”

Before hitting the dance floor, Hyde switched to coffee so he’d be good to drive- so when the DJ finally shut down the music, he escorted you to the car after the newlyweds had their send-off. Still the perfect gentleman, he draped his jacket over your shoulders and even letting you laugh at the magenta lipstick stain your grandmother had left on his cheek. 

After you’d slid into the El Camino, he shut the door behind you before settling into the driver's seat. Still giggling, you offered him a handful of napkins from the glove box- falling back into full laughter when he furiously scrubbed at the magenta lip mark (it didn’t even go away, just smudged the color around further). Rooting around in your purse, you victoriously produced a wet wipe which he snatched quickly.

“We never speak of this.” He warned as the stain slowly faded, tossing the trash in the back before cranking the car. The engine roared to life, almost drowning out your laughter as he stared at you expectantly. 

“Fine, fine.” You giggled, offering your pinky. Steven shook it with such seriousness before finally pulling out of the venue’s lot. Besides the Pink Floyd playing in the background, the ride was comfortably silent until he pulled onto a highway. Looking over to him, you offered a sweet smile, “Thanks again for doing this- I know it was kind of ridiculous. But I actually had a really enjoyed myself.”

“Don’t mention it. Open bar, free food, only one ABBA song, and a chance to lie to multiple adults.” He smirked, eyes on the road as they turned mischievous, “Besides, no need to thank me. Your gran showed me your baby pictures that she keeps in her purse. Thanks is good for the night, baby picture blackmail is good forever.” 

Playfully, you smacked his shoulder while he laughed at your embarrassment, “Steven, your cheek is still stained magenta, and I will tell Kelso you can sing Sinatra.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, and you sighed as you settled back into your seat. There was a pause before you looked over to him, he was staring back- near immediately dissolving into a fit of giggles while he just chuckled putting his attention back on the road. Clearing your throat, “Blackmail or not, I really appreciate you wasting your Saturday night to go to a lame wedding with me.”

“I didn’t waste my Saturday. Being there with you- wasn’t terrible. There were parts that I’d even say I was having a good time.” He admitted a small smile as he looked over to you before continuing, “Besides, my other options were sitting in the basement with Kelso, Jackie, and Fez- and Fez just found out about threeways.” 

You laughed and nodded, a weird sense of pride that he’d had a good time on your fake date. 

5.) Unplanned

“And then once you drop me off, the minute I’m out of the car, we can forget it ever happened. Sound good?” You asked. Hyde shook his head, puffing up to argue before catching a glimpse of the flash of disappointment.

“...Fine.”

The rest of the drive home was wonderful- the two of you laughed until your sides hurt, stopped at a 24-hour diner for fries, pie, and a milkshake, and narrowly avoided a speeding ticket. But the night was quickly coming to an end as the Camino rolled onto your street. Chewing your lip, you looked to Steven, “Let’s make a block.”

He seemed to catch your drift, rolling past your house and back onto the main road. Making a block turned into another bout of just driving around- laughing about everything, talking about everything, and even just singing along to whatever music Steven would put on. This lasted until you could barely keep your eyes open and even Hyde was yawning between sentences. When your head slumped against the window, that’s when he shook his head, “Alright, time for home.”

He continued through your protests, “Yeah if I get pulled over with unconscious teenager in a formal dress on dark backroads- they’ll call me a cult leader. And the last thing I need is the cops paying more attention to me.”

Sighing, you nodded- giggling at the thought of Hyde starting a cult, good lord they’d smoke so much weed. Nevertheless, you decided to test the waters by letting your head fall to his shoulder. He tensed before relaxing, but didn’t say anything or shake you off. Content, that’s how you stayed for the rest of the ride.  

Shortly thereafter, the engine hummed as Hyde put it in park in your driveway. He moved to get out to open the door for you, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out and stopped him. 

Hyde’s eyes flicked between your eyes and the grip you had on the sleeve of his shirt, waiting expectantly as you just stared back lamely while chewing your lip, finally, you stammered out, “Still in the car, nights not over yet.”

“Yeah, that was the deal…” He nodded slowly, settling back into the driver's seat as he watched you curiously, wondering what you’d do next- you weren’t sure yourself, but you had a few ideas. 

“Well, that means, for the moment, you’re still my boyfriend for the moment.” You stated, taking a short breath while your eyes flicked to his lips, “So…”

Before you could chicken out, you rushed forward, pulling him to you by his shirt collar. He was shocked at first but reacted rather quickly to your lips on his. Tentatively, his hand cupped your cheek and the other rested on your thigh while you kept your hands on his chest. The kiss was exploratory, slow and curious and sweet- you could taste the mint on him from his ever-present chewing gum and he could still taste the salt on your lips from the fries earlier in the night. After a minute, you realized you needed to explain yourself- or at least come up with an excuse that could salvage your friendship if need be- so you pulled away, “I know that wasn’t part of the deal, but I really didn’t want this night to end.”

He didn’t answer, breath still heavy as he stared at your lips, eyebrows furrowed. You interpreted his silence as a sign that you crossed a line so with a rushed, whispered apology you fled the car before anything else could be said or done. It wasn’t until the passenger door slammed shut that Steven snapped back to reality; realizing his pause probably sent the wrong signal he cursed under his breath as he scrambled out after you, “(Y/N), wa-“

Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you swiftly interrupted him to save yourself from embarrassment, “Hyde, we don’t have to do this.”

You emphasized “this” by gesturing back and forth between the two of you before continuing while Hyde, “You did everything I asked, and now you’ve dropped me off, which according to the deal means you don’t have to pretend to like me-“

Hyde stepped forwards drawing out your sentence, but it didn’t stop you from finishing, creating an odd cacophony of words. 

“We can just forget this whole fake date and everything that happened.”

“Can we just forget about the stupid deal for a second?!” 

He did that thing where he made his voice harsh just to command attention, it always worked. The “master of zen” rarely raised his voice (unless it was to yell at Kelso and Fez), so his raised voice always turned heads. In fact, his harsh tone stopped you dead in your tracks in your march towards your front door. Forget about the deal- did that mean…?

After you’d frozen, he easily caught up to you, fingers barely brushing yours, “What if I don’t want to forget?”

He watched your expression very carefully as he continued, “The only thing I was pretending was that I was faking it.. well and I pretended to list to your uncle, but that was- never mind-“

“No one could make this look go.” “You do.”

“That’s when I knew I had to make her my girl.”

“No, no, I don’t mind, this is nice.” 

“Being there with you wasn’t terrible.” 

Reaching up, Steven tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, “(Y/N), I didn’t want to pretend to be your boyfriend when you asked me because I’ve liked you since the day I met you.”

Butterflies had turned to the whole zoo as you just dumbly nodded up to him, cheeks so hot you were sure they were glowing, with nothing better to say you just muttered, “Then I guess tonight doesn’t have to be a fake date then.”

“Guess not, doll.” He smirked, “And as your real boyfriend, I reserve the right to do this.”

Without further warning, he raised your chin and leaned down, kissing you again. This time it was more confident, assured and lasted until your porch light flicked on- the silent sign that your dad was watching and expected you to be inside within the next minute. Hyde understood this too, and let you pull away, watching you enter your house. 

Right before you walked in he called after you, “And if anyone asks- I kissed you first!”

[myemergence]

take me back to the start

Title: take me back to the start Author: @myemergence Rating: E (for one smut scene, later in the fic) Artist: @benjaminrussell Artwork: MAGAZINE COVER and MUSIC VIDEO Warnings/Triggers: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of OC character death, car accident Notes: Thanks to @marcia-elena for the beta on this. I so appreciate all the work you put in! Written for @buddiebigbang. And the artwork is amazing! I love them so much, Holly! Summary: Country music star, Eddie Diaz, is on a break before his US tour when he gets unexpected news: he has a son. He needs to come home to his hometown in West River, TX right away. He hasn’t set foot there since he left for Nashville nine years ago, leaving his old life behind. West River is the last place that Eddie wants to be—he needs to focus on his career, and his tour—not looking after a kid that he doesn’t even know yet.

Crossing paths with his high school sweetheart, Evan Buckley, who’s now a Deputy with the sheriff’s office just might change all of that, reminding Eddie of the person that he used to be… and the kind of person that he wants to be.

Read the whole thing here: AO3 LINK

*

The thing about being a musician and wrapping up a big tour is that it makes the time afterward to unwind and let loose even more rewarding. Taking the time to ground himself before hitting the road again has become essential for Eddie, an integral part of his process. 

This time, there’s no unwinding. As soon as the last concert in the tour ended, he boarded a red-eye flight from Los Angeles into Houston. And he’s tired, a feeling that’s not exactly foreign to him, but he feels weary down to his bones. He’s headed back to West River, Texas, about fifteen minutes outside of Austin, where he was born and raised.

A place he hasn’t as much as set foot in for nine years.

Eddie blinks blearily as he pulls his rental car up to the drive-through at Dunkin for a much needed coffee. He’s within an hour of West River, but he’s going to need something to power through the last hour of his drive as the sun is beginning to rise over the expanse of otherwise deserted small-town Texas that surrounds him.

It’s so quiet out here that it’s almost unnerving.

“Good morning, sir. That’ll be $3.27.” The dark-haired girl at the drive-through window can’t be more than eighteen. 

“Morning.” He holds out his phone so that she can scan his payment.

“Aren’t you…” She trails off slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Eddie adjusts the trucker hat that he’s wearing, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t become a hindrance yet. He’d put the hat on before he pulled up to the drive-through only a couple of minutes ago. He knows that he’d be nowhere without the support of his fans, but he’s exhausted. He just wants to get to his abuela’s so that he can fall into bed. He’s tempted to drag a hand over his face and beg for his coffee.

“Eddie Diaz.” He introduces himself with a winning smile. He’ll try to find time to rest later. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Rosie. I-I can’t believe I’m preparing Eddie Diaz’s coffee. Nobody is going to believe me,” Rosie practically squeals, her face flushed as she fumbles with scanning his phone. “Here, um,” she steps away from the drive-through window momentarily and comes back with a pastry bag along with his coffee. Simple like always: black, with 2 sugars. “For the road. Gone Now really helped me through a hard time, when I lost my grandpa—and you wrote it about yours.”

Eddie’s smile becomes more genuine as he takes the coffee and muffin from the girl. He’s sure he looks like a mess, with blood-shot eyes and bags under his eyes. “I think most people have forgotten about that song. That was on my debut album.” He’d written that song what feels like a lifetime ago.

Like he was a different person back then than he is now. He supposes that in some ways, he was.

“I was only thirteen when it came out,” Rosie says. “I hope you make more songs like that. Your new stuff is great, but… that’s definitely my favorite. Anyhow, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“I do,” Eddie confirms, reaching over into the top of his duffel bag that’s resting on the passenger seat. “It was really nice to meet you, Rosie.” He hands her one of the signed albums that he carries with him, a simple thank you that he likes to have for those truly special fans. “It’s not my debut album, but I do hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Eddie offers her a parting wave as he pulls away, and tosses the hat that was his poor attempt at disguise onto the passenger seat. He takes several sips from the steaming coffee, then sets it in the cupholder, wincing as the heat nips at his tongue, hoping that the caffeine will help keep him alert for the rest of the drive home.

Before he pulls onto the road, he scrolls through his phone, pulling up his debut album on Spotify and pressing play, a wistful smile crossing his face. He’s trying to put a little space between him and the reason that he’s coming home to West River; Rosie’s words remind him, at least for a moment, why he started making music in the first place. He hears the familiar opening chords and pulls out onto the quiet road.

There was a time when not a single day

Went by without us talking

And now I can barely remember your face

We’d spend hours weaving words

And guitar notes together

Just you and me in the music’s embrace

But you’re gone now, you’re gone

All those moments lie six-feet deep in the ground

You’re gone now, you’re gone

I keep missing you ‘cause you’re not around

He knows he can’t live in this world of make-believe for long. He can’t pretend that what matters is his connection to the music anymore—he stopped writing his own music long ago. But it’s nice to remember, even if those moments are fleeting.

*

Eddie pulls into the same gravel driveway that he used to skid his bike tires on as a kid. His abuela still lives in the same house she did back then, only a few doors down from his childhood home. His parents moved an hour north about five years ago. Eddie’s stomach flops a bit, and he tries not to dwell on how little he talks to them these days, or their lack of support over the years.

 He drags himself out of the rental car and grabs his bag out of the passenger side, leaving the rest of his luggage in the trunk. Before he can even make his way up the short drive, his abuela steps out onto the porch.

Eddie yawns into the crook of his elbow, then makes his way up to her. “Hey, Abuela,” he murmurs, pecking her on the cheek.

“Eddie,” Abuela says. She welcomes him with a crushing embrace, and he smiles as he hugs her back. She pulls back just enough that he can see a fire in her eyes; he already knows what that means, so he remains silent until she spits it out. “You were supposed to call me back so I knew you were doing alright.”

“I told you I have you listed as my emergency contact. If anything happens to me you’ll be the first one they call,” Eddie teases with a laugh.

“Edmundo,” she scolds, swatting his arm, and he watches as her jaw tenses under his name.

“Okay,” Eddie acquiesces. “I’m sorry, alright? I’ll be more cautious next time and call you. But Houston to West River isn’t a long drive.”

“Shannon—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Eddie asks. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I just need a couple of hours and then I promise we’ll talk, okay?”

“But, Eddie—” Despite the fact that he’ll probably be reamed for not turning his full attention to her, Eddie pushes the door open and steps inside. He stops in his tracks as his eyes catch sight of the figure who’s settled at the table, and his duffel bag drops to the floor. He feels abuela’s hand on his shoulder. “This is—”

The pretending is over.

“This is Christopher, your son.”

*

Eddie knew coming back home to West River wasn’t going to be a vacation in any sense of the word. He knew what would be waiting for him; baggage so heavy that it had the ability to destroy his entire career. The dream that he’d risked everything for, that he’d given up everything for.

This is Christopher, your son.

Abuela’s words echo in his ears.

Sure, there had been a few phone calls beforehand, warning Eddie of the kid’s existence after Shannon had shown up at Abuela’s with the boy. That hadn’t prepared him for this moment at all.

What the fuck is he going to do?

The temptation to drop by the hole-in-the-wall bar downtown to take the edge off is there. Instead, he tells Abuela he has to take care of some things and he disappears. He just needs to drive around for a little bit to clear his head. He needs to figure out what he’s going to do.

A kid will ruin everything.

How could Shannon keep this kid to herself for years, not mention a word of his existence, and then just drop him off and leave like he’s somehow now Eddie’s responsibility?

Eddie unrolls the window, letting the evening air hit his face as his foot presses down more firmly on the gas pedal.

Take care of it. You only have a few months until the tour.

Fuck all of this.

These backroads are so familiar, and there’s something comforting in driving down them late at night, when the rest of the town is quiet. It reminds him of those late nights when he and Buck would—

Eddie stops his thoughts short, the ache in his chest just as familiar as these roads. Buck.

What are the chances that in a town of a few thousand people he won’t run into Evan Buckley? That’s even if he still lives here. Eddie shakes the notion from his head, refusing to allow himself to get nostalgic about the past. A past that revolved around Buck.

Right now, he needs to focus on how he’s going to fix his life—before it becomes a public relations disaster.

Pressing down on the gas harder, Eddie gets lost in the feeling of the cool night air hitting his face, saving him from his downward spiral and memories of Buck.

Unfortunately, the moment is short lived. Red and blue lights flash in his rearview mirror amidst the otherwise stark darkness of the night. With a sigh, he pulls over to the shoulder of the road.

*

Buck climbs out of the cruiser and closes the door, walking up to the driver’s side of the out-of-state car. “Do you know why I stopped you tonight?” He quickly scans the inside of the vehicle, assessing if there are any passengers that he needs to be aware of before settling his sight on the driver.

Of all the people he could’ve had the unfortunate task of pulling over tonight, somehow it’s Eddie Diaz. He studies Eddie’s face, tipping his head to the side as his identity registers with Eddie. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Buck.”

It’s like he took the words right out of Buck’s mouth, because really, what are the fucking chances? After nine years Eddie somehow still has the ability to make Buck’s heart thunder in his chest merely by saying his name. His jaw tightens as he looks at the country music star in front of him.

“It’s Deputy Buckley,” Buck tells Eddie, his voice tight. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“This has to be an actual nightmare,” Eddie mutters, though Buck’s sure at this point that he’s talking to himself.

“License and registration.”

“Evan—”

“I said, license and registration. Don’t make me ask again. I’m going to suggest that you actually listen this time if you don’t want to end up in jail for the night.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut at Buck’s words. “I’m gonna grab the registration from the glove compartment.” He opens the glove box and hands over the paperwork, along with his license.

“Yeah, didn’t think you’d want that news story,” Buck mutters as he takes the documents and inspects them. He obviously knows that it’s Eddie, and he already ran the plates and knows that it belongs to a rental in Houston. He hands the paperwork back to Eddie. “Watch your speed, because next time I’m not going to be this nice,” Buck warns.

“This is nice?” Eddie actually has the audacity to laugh at him. “Seems more like you’re Deputy Dick to me.”

Buck’s lips press together into a tight line. He’s used to not being well liked while on the job—but it feels harsher coming from Eddie. “You know, I could still take you in tonight, if that’s what you want.”

Eddie shrinks under the words, and what he says next sounds sincere. “You know that’s not what I want.”

The same words that Eddie had said to him all those years ago, at the end. Buck feels his chest fracture down the middle, a reprise of the heartbreak that Eddie left in his wake.

He forces himself to school his expression despite the way he’s feeling. “Have a good night, Eddie.”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to respond, turning sharply on his heels and walking away from the man that’s had his heart all along.

*

“You know, I don’t really think that this qualifies as guys’ night,” Buck says as he looks across the card table at Chimney, taking a sip of the lemonade in front of him. 

 Chim raises his brow a little, glancing in the direction of the living room. “You’re my brother-in-law,” Chim says, “and I’m not sure how to say this delicately, so I’m just gonna say it. If there’s one Buckley I’m trying to make happy right now, it’s not you, Buck. I’m trying to get in her good graces after the bottle rocket incident.”

Josh snorts from where he’s sitting, bringing the beer up to his lips.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell my wife that she needs to leave so we can have a proper guys’ night,” Chim adds.

“You would never say something to Maddie, and not just about guys’ night,” Josh challenges, his brows shooting up.

“I’m sorry, was that a complaint I just heard? Because I’m pretty sure that the last time you hosted a card night your mom showed up,” Chim points out.

“And Buck’s place—”

“Has constant interruption. I know, I know.” Buck rolls his eyes dramatically. “Are you gonna deal us in, or what?”

“Mads, were you gonna join us?” Chim calls helpfully into the other room, and Buck glares at him.

Maddie lifts herself off of the couch and walks out to the dining room table where they’re all situated, grabbing the bowl of chips from the counter and pulling up an empty seat. “I don’t want to play, but I’d love to talk to you guys.”

They really need to start finding different circles of friends, at least for nights like tonight. It’s not as if Buck’s going to tell his pregnant sister to go away, so instead he smiles. “We’d love it if you talked to us, Mads.”

“Really?” She grins, and Chim looks at Buck gratefully. “So, I heard a rumor that Eddie’s back in town.”

“Pick a different subject.”

“He’s back in town and got pulled over by West River’s youngest and brightest the other night,” Chim says.

Just the mention of Eddie’s name is an unwanted reminder that he’s back in town, at least temporarily. The fact that this wasn’t a figment of Buck’s imagination sends his brain into overdrive. There’s been some speculation over the reason for his return, and Buck has done everything in his power to stay squarely on the outside of those conversations.

He’s made it clear to his family and friends since Eddie left town that there is one topic that he refuses to discuss: Eddie Diaz. A lot of the locals were around Eddie growing up, and having someone that’s famous from their small hometown is something to talk about—especially when there’s a new tour that’s announced, or when Eddie is working on a new album.

But his friends? They know that it’s a hard and fast rule, and bringing it up on guys’ night is a definite foul. 

“Guys,” Buck manages as evenly as he can muster. “Talk about something else.”

A tense silence falls over the room, and for a minute Buck refuses to look up, knowing the pity that crosses their faces any time that someone brings up Eddie. He’s tried to hide his heartbreak behind indifference, but he’s not naive enough to believe that any of them buy it. Most of them had front-row seats as they watched Buck’s hopes and dreams shatter to the ground around him, leaving a hollow shell behind.

Finally he looks up.

“Can we make an exception this one time, Ev?”

“Maddie. I don’t talk about— about this, and you know that.”

Maddie’s hand covers his, her touch light, her tone equally calm and even. “You know, this has a name.”

“Why are you bringing him up now? You know I moved on from him a long time ago.”

It’s as if Chim and Josh aren’t sitting awkwardly at the table, trying to avoid the line of fire. Even if Maddie is officially a Han now, nobody wants to get obliterated during a battle of the wills between the siblings.

“This is guys’ night,” Buck reminds her. “The one night of the week that I can unwind and relax. Instead you’re here and dredging up a past that died years ago.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I was a kid. Just a stupid kid. There’s nothing else to say. We were together and then we weren’t. He has his life now, and I have mine.”

“Maybe that’s true, but you never did move on, not really. He’s in town for who knows how long, so maybe it’d be a good chance for the two of you to talk?”

“No, it wouldn’t. And, uh, thanks for ruining tonight,” Buck mutters as he stands up from the table. This is the kind of interference he’d expect from their out-of-town parents, always assuming they know what’s best, but not from Maddie.

“Buck,” Chim warns, and Buck sighs again, shaking his head in frustration. Chim’s always been protective of Maddie, something that Buck’s always appreciated, especially after all that she endured with Doug, but tonight feels like the exception.

“I’m gonna head home.”

“Buck, you really don’t have to go,” Josh says helplessly.

He attempts a smile for what Josh is trying to do—slapping a bandage on the evening, trying to piece everything back together. Buck shakes his head. “I think it’s for the best if I go.”

Buck says his goodbyes and hops into his Jeep, driving home. He knows that Maddie has the best of intentions, and that she cares about him with her whole heart, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

When he arrives home he notices there are only a few lights left on in the house, and that the porch light is on for him. 

“You’re home awful early,” Carla says as soon as he makes his way inside, barely looking up from the little girl that’s propped against her side.

He shrugs a little, not wanting to get into all of the details of how the night quickly spiraled out of control in a way that was just too much for him to handle. “I couldn’t stand the time away from her.”

“Mhm,” Carla says in her knowing way, and Buck’s thankful that she doesn’t say more than that. She knows enough about his past with Eddie, but she’s always stayed out of that part of his life.

Buck toes off his shoes, crossing the room then and scooping Lucy up in his arms. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

“She insisted I read her three stories out here and not in her bed because she was ‘not tired yet, Carla’.”

Buck chuckles at her words, feeling Lucy squirm in his arms before she settles again. She rests her head against his shoulder and he hoists her up higher so that she can curl into him. In a world where everything else is imperfect he’s able to come home and hold a little piece of perfection in his arms. Their lives have been far from easy, and there isn’t a day that Buck doesn’t wish he could be more for her.

He’s doing his best to make up for the huge piece missing from her life—the absence of her mother. Every day she helps him remember that there is more than heartbreak and loss, that sometimes there’s hope, too. He has to hold on to that.

“I’m gonna head out,” Carla says, kissing the back of Lucy’s head and giving Buck a sideways hug before leaving.

Buck walks down the hallway, glancing at Lucy’s bedroom door and then pivoting, walking across the hall to his own room and laying the sleeping girl down on the pillows, covering her with the sheet and comforter. He gets ready for bed and lies on top of the covers beside her. He knows he shouldn’t make a habit out of this and he won’t, but tonight he needs the physical proof.

He hasn’t lost everything, because he still has Lucy.

[catstrophysics-fics]

Been a while since I posted something here. Dean/Cas, 2k, domestic and written in one sitting. Likes, comments, and reblogs WILDLY appreciated! It wasn’t dark at night in the city. Streetlights glowed orange, marking every 100 feet with soldier’s precision—guards never present along backroads and country highways. Buildings adorned with neon signs lined the street, marketing “OPEN” or “VACANCY” or any of the thousand other possibilities for a storefront. Even the horizon shone, light pollution leaching into the night sky unlike anything he’d see among the trees. It wasn’t dark at night, and the Impala’s headlights barely showed against the road.

Sam was home, keeping tabs on Eileen as she hunted down a siren that only targeted men, leaving Dean and Castiel to sort out wrapping up a case in Nowhere, USA. The case was an easy finish: exorcise a demon, salt the doors and windows afterwards, and check the perimeter for anything else dodgy. Then they were alone downtown, and for the first time in too long they had a night to themselves. They started with the basics. Take Baby to a gas station, fill her up and clean the mud (and blood) off of her chrome, then Rain-X the windshields. Stop by the most middle-of-the-road all-night diner they could find, Dean slipping off his overcoat in the car before they went in. He ordered a burger, same as always. Castiel sat across from him in the cramped linoleum booth, same as always. The persistent shake in his leg had slowed to an occasional bounce, and he stretched out both feet under the booth, barely mustering the care to flinch away when he knocked into Castiel’s legs. For a split second he considered apologizing, but when Castiel nabbed a fry off of his plate—he didn’t need to eat, but Dean had long since learned he’d snag bites of food when he felt really happy—he called it even and let his knee rest softly against the side of Castiel’s. Dean ate slowly. Castiel watched. The streetlights outside flickered every handful of minutes, a reminder that time passed even as they sat nearly motionless. He snagged another fry, and this time Dean batted at his thieving fingers with his free hand. That’s mine, his initial look said, but with a cocked eyebrow and half of a sideways smile he relented (as always; so it had been, so it always would be). They finished eating, talking of anything but hunting. I don’t understand why we need to sleep here tonight, Cas had said, met by Dean’s reciprocal I need sleep, and you’re not driving. Never mind that Castiel could drive perfectly well, save for when a truck swerved into his lane and the stereo turned on full blast, or when bouts of road rage would pop tires off of cars in front of him. Aside from incidents like that, he was a good driver, patient in a way Dean assumed came with millennia of watching time come and go. Dean paid, tipping 20% and rounding up to the nearest whole number, some remnant of John and Mary discussing credit card bills and adding them up themselves hanging over from his childhood. They stood, neither acknowledging that they’d been separated only by the fabric of their pants moments before, and Dean held the door on their way out, giving the restaurant one last once-over (for black eyes, glowing blue eyes, and a glance for silver eyes on the monitor over the door). The Impala glistened in the night, chrome freshly wiped and windshields free of the dirt of miles. Absently, Dean checked his watch, more of a habit than anything, and Castiel cocked his head inquiringly. Dean flipped his hand over, showing an upside-down 10:32, and they got in the car with a thunk of the locks shifting. The engine turned over with Dean’s key, and the radio crackled back to life, playing one of Led Zeppelin’s lesser-known songs softly. By some unspoken mutual agreement, they drove aimlessly. The city was nice, Dean thought, small enough to be beneath the notice of big box chain stores and big enough to have infrastructure they didn’t run into most places. A few nice houses scattered around, painted murals on the sides of strip malls, and straggly if well-kept medians. A swath of dark green appeared up the road, and without turning his head he could feel Castiel looking at him hopefully, a question hanging in the air like static electricity. Dean turned on the blinker, and a sense of satisfaction permeated the front seat. The park was nice. The whole city, really, was nice, Dean thought. Well-proportioned. Cas seemed to like it, too, it seemed, as he walked a few feet ahead not by any conscious thought; Dean just preferred to hang back and watch him, sometimes. Turn the tables a little, see him when he’s off guard and full of wonder even after all his years on

Earth. They wandered without direction, taking the first path they saw before breaking off to follow tiny train tracks for a spell, Castiel walking carefully between the ties and Dean balancing haphazardly on the rails themselves. A few dozen yards into their balancing act, Castiel tripped, and without thinking Dean caught him around the forearm, holding him steady until he regained his footing. Unlike back home, when they’d limit touching to necessities such as healing or spellwork, Castiel didn’t seem inclined to shake Dean off, and Dean didn’t let go, sliding his hand down to rest closer to Castiel’s as though it were the most natural thing in the world. They carried on, tracks now running between them The train tracks ended abruptly with a miniature “STOP!” sign before opening up into a paved pavilion with a pool in the middle, bubbling softly. Castiel paused, hand slipping out of Dean’s as he looked around slowly, eyes aglow not from within but from the reflections of the lights around the pavilion off of the water. Dean stepped up beside him, careful not to break whatever spell seemed to have come over him in the pavilion. “Y’know,” he said, hearing his words bounce back off of the white stone, “I could teach you how to dance.” Castiel turned to him slowly, surprised at first before his expression settled into something softer. Dean felt his cheeks heat, conversations late at night in motel rooms slipping back into his mind. “You’d said you wanted to learn, and Sonny made all of us boys go to cotillion at least once.” He cracked a grin, and Castiel’s lips responded reflexively. “I can waltz like nobody’s business.” For a split second it looked like he was going to refuse, carefully place another layer of brick between whatever forbidden hands reached out between them. Then he stepped forward off the end of the track, coat swishing, and waited expectantly. Frankly, Dean had expected him to decline. Angels weren’t known to dance except on the heads of pins. But it was Cas, standing in the center of the pavilion a few feet from the water’s edge, head cocked as he waited. Dean took a moment to remember, thinking back to teenage him in a scratchy shirt and too-tight bowtie and the one-two-three step he’d committed to muscle memory years ago in a school gym, rattly classical music playing over the PA system as he laughed and flirted carelessly with whatever girl he danced with that night. The steps had never left him, though faces and memories did, and he flipped through the songs he’d since learned he could waltz to. Castiel stood waiting, stiff in the shoulders and watching his every move expectantly. Dean stepped closer, feeling the familiar electric hum that came with proximity to him and a matching buzz hum through his veins. Gently—he pegged the emotion pounding in his chest as nervousness, and butterflies fluttered to life in his stomach to accompany—he moved their hands into place, one around Cas’s waist resting low near his hips, Cas’s right hand on Dean’s left shoulder. Just like always, his fingers tingled when they brushed over the raised scar, and Dean smiled quietly to himself as he interlocked their hands, the easiest motion in the world. “It’s just one-two-three,” Dean said, taking tiny steps of his own to demonstrate. “We’re set up like you’re leading”—because I want your hand on my shoulder, because I want to feel you under my fingertips—“because you’ve got two left feet, and it’s a little easier to start going forward first.” He paused, flexing his fingers in the fabric of Castiel’s coat. “I’ll lead, though, just follow me.” Castiel nodded, and Dean couldn’t help the smile that broke through his nerves. Clearing his throat, he started to hum the opening of his favorite waltz song, holding eye contact with Castiel as they started to move. I put a spell on you Because you’re mine Even wordlessly, he saw recognition spark in Castiel’s eyes, and the happy, comforting buzz of his presence turned up a few notches as they began to move, Dean guiding them backwards in

spiralling circles around the fountain as he hummed through the rest of the song, watching enraptured as the light changed and shifted around them, always seeming to glint an otherworldly blue from Cas’s eyes. I just can't stand it, babe Castiel was relaxing, pulling Dean near-imperceptible millimeters closer with each turn, and Dean let himself be drawn in, magnetic until they were nearly pressed up one another in the glow of the fountain. Because you’re mine. Dean held out the last note for a few moments, still staring intently at Castiel who seemed breathless despite needing no air. A surge of joy rushed through his chest, and he leaned in the few inches between their lips and pressed a quick, happy kiss to the corner of his lips. Behind him, the fountain burst out a geyser of water that cleared the treetops as the backlight in the water flickered to black. The water came raining down on them, still holding each other from dancing, drenching Castiel’s coat and plastering Dean’s hair to his head. They stood frozen for moments, the din of traffic in the distance audible for the first time, and Castiel’s eyes got wider and wider, fear creeping in at the edges until Dean burst out laughing, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Castiel’s shoulder. Slowly, the tension dissipated from his shoulders and he breaks into quiet giggles, starting soft and low and escalating in seconds into the same body-shaking laughter Dean trembled with, both of them tapering to the end of a bout before catching it back from the other. The fountain behind them had returned to normal, the only signs anything had happened the puddle of water surrounding it and the broken, dark bulb underneath. They drew apart slightly, aftershocks of laughter still coursing through them in tandem with adrenaline. “To avoid further municipal catastrophes,” Dean began, before collapsing into another bout of giggles as Castiel squeezed his hand, “I’m giving you advance warning this time: I’m going to kiss you again.” Castiel’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he didn’t give Dean time to lean in before his lips were on Dean’s, wet from fountain water and warm from laughter, and Dean didn’t mind the static shocks passing between their hands and radiating out in all directions from Castiel. They followed the train tracks back to the main path, leaving wet shoe prints behind and a line of drips gathering underneath their joined hands. “Grab the towels from the back,” Dean said as they reached the car. “We’re not dripping all over Baby like this.” It wasn’t dark at all in the city as they drove to the cheapest motel on the edge of town, Dean driving left-handed as he stroked over Cas’s thumb. He parked, got out their only bag (a change of clothes apiece, and a handful of weapons just in case), and his voice didn’t waver at all as he asked for a room with just one bed.

[andythane]

HOLY WATER CANNOT HELP YOU NOW  I’VE COME TO BURN YOUR KINGDOM DOWN

MAY 19TH, 2021. OUTSIDE OF LAFAYETTE, LOUISIANA. notes & tw: this is literally all just bloody, brutal violence of every kind. andy, along side wes and wyatt, gets revenge on the rogue’s responsible for attacking rowan in february. italics are flashbacks, ps. tw for very graphic murder, lots of blood, violence, gore (eye, specifically), stabbing, decapitation/dismemberment,  tc ahead. please read at your own discretion, it’s a lot.

The first time he kills someone, he’s twenty years old. Four months after he’d been officially patched into the club, reconciled with Rowan, and started this new chapter of his life. He knew what the patch sewn to his cut meant -- He had grown up next to it, had seen his father come home at all hours of the night covered in blood with a smile on his face as he slapped his gun onto the kitchen table and happily declared he needed a beer. That being said, doing it yourself and hearing stories were so comically different it made his head spin. 

Most of the ride, he’s quiet, staring out the window of the Wyatt’s jeep as they drive through the backroads. There’s not much conversation to be had once they’ve gone over the plan, all three men knowing exactly what they’re going to this warehouse for. It’s roughly a two hour car ride, giving Andy enough time to go mentally go over the weapons he’s brought with him -- The gun tucked into his cut, one tucked into the waistband of his pants, one strapped to his ankle; The knife tucked in his boot strap, the other in the sheath of his belt. He’s nothing if not prepared. Andy goes over their placement for the thousandth, unneeded time, thinking through every what if scenario he could find himself in. It’s not often that his paranoid nature actually becomes a benefit. 

They know the layout of the building, where each of them will cover, and the amount of people that will be there -- But he likes to prepare for the worst and the best, knowing from experience that they’re likely going to meet a mixture of both. Andy’s planned and executed this kind of thing enough times to know how to go about it blindfolded. At this point, it’s just like riding a bike. 

He wonders what Wes is thinking, if his mind drifts back to Jace asleep at home, unaware of the violence going on around him; If Wyatt is imagining Iris in her hospital bed three months ago, scared of the oxygen mask strapped to her face. All Andy can think of is Rowan, sobbing in his arms while struggling not to move and potentially injure herself further, tearfully telling him why she hadn’t shown up to dinner.

It’s been a while since he’s found himself in this kind of mindset, having hung up his metaphoric hat when it comes to hitman jobs in the last few years. After his time in prison, Andy knew he had to lay low -- Being on parole, and having a daughter to raise changed his priorities. While the money from his ‘freelancing’ had been nice, he and Rowan had enough saved to last them a lifetime, especially with his cut of the guns the club sold, and her salary. There was no need for it now, not like when they were struggling to pay rent and put Rowan through school. Though, he couldn’t deny the high that came with planning a job was one Andy didn’t know he desperately missed. It used to scare him, how exciting he found this -- The rush that came from a stake out, figuring out each detail all the way down to the small possibility, the thrill of actually pulling his gun and breaking through the door. Now he welcomes it like an old friend. 

He always imagined it would be a fair fight -- Or at least, not like this. Whenever the thought came to mind, he pictured himself wrestling some bond villain looking guy, the two diving for the gun that had been cast aside. It was naive, childish even -- But he didn’t expect that he’d be pointing his gun at someone who couldn’t be much older than him, one who was sobbing through swollen eyes, pleading for his life. His father kept his hand’s firmly planted on the kid’s shoulder’s to keep him from squirming out of the rickety chair, acting like this was a prize for a job well done. This could easily have been me, Andy thinks. Had this job gone wrong, he has no doubt Cronus wouldn’t hesitate to put him into that chair, make an example out of his son. Only, it didn’t. It was nothing short of an absolute success. 

His father says something, but Andy doesn’t hear it. Jason is somewhere in the background cheering him on. Andy’s heart is pounding in his ears, both hands holding tightly to his gun, fighting to conceal the fact that they’re shaking. The gun is pointed directly at the poor kid’s head, Cronus’ steady hands keeping him from getting away from his obvious fate. Andy glances to his father for a moment, the wild look in the man’s surely meant to be read as adrenaline fueled pride. This is Andy’s first job after being patched in, and he had proved himself thus far. Now he just needed to finish this. Andy wishes he had the strength to lift his arms just that much higher, and put a bullet in his father’s head. 

In that moment, he thinks of Rowan; Part of him wishes he hadn’t, based on the way his jaw clenches and his chest constricts -- He doesn’t want her to ever know about the horrible things he’s going to do, the horrible thing he’s about to do. Rowan shouldn’t have to see him for what he really is, what he’ll grow up to be: A monster. The rational part of himself reminds him that she already knows, and she’s still waiting for him at home, ready to pull him into open arms once he passes through the front door. 

He pulls the trigger. 

The kid’s blood splatters across Andy’s face.

They move quietly, each taking different sections of the warehouse. Wes covers the open space where the guns lie, Wyatt takes the small offices turned into ‘bedrooms’, while Andy takes the conference turned war room. He knows this is only a piece of the Rogues puzzle, but it’s a step in the right direction. They don’t plan on leaving anyone behind to tell the others what happened -- The grizzly scene and blood splattered across the walls will paint the picture for them. 

His back remains against the wall, pulling his gun from his cut as he moves quietly, the three men in the conference room too distracted by their own conversation to notice Andy slipped into the dimly lit room. He makes presence known by firing a bullet into one man’s -- His name is Sam, based on the conversation Andy heard before entering -- knee, which creates a flurry of action as everyone tries to dive for the guns on the table. It’s the obvious move, one that Andy had anticipated. His hand reaches for the underside of the table between the four men seconds after his gun first fires, sending the flimsy plastic table over, their guns scattered and out of reach. 

Sam fits one of the descriptions Will gave him, of a shorter, stocky man, blacked out ink covering him aside from a poorly done mermaid tattoo covering his throat. The man across from Sam fits the bill, as well  -- Blonde, long hair, scar across his cheek, entire right arm covered in blacked out tattoos. Jack, Andy’s memory recalls. The man in question tries to make a run for one of the guns, but Andy stops him with a bullet to the stomach. Enough to knock him down, but not enough to immediately kill him. He wants them alive for this, to feel the same terror and pain Rowan did that night. They’re not going to be lucky enough to get a bullet to the head first. 

The third and final man is one Andy recognizes now that he’s face to face. His name is Danny, but he’d been called Tex during his time in the club. (The nickname was stupid then, and it’s stupid now, Andy thinks.) He had his ink blacked out and left town roughly ten years ago after screwing the club over. The surprise reunion is enough to catch Tex off guard, enough that he hesitates, eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene in front of them. Both Sam and Jack bleeding on the floor, the former clutching his leg and screaming to the third to Do something, you fucking idiot. So, he does. The man charges forward, managing to knock Andy to the ground given the fact that he’s got about a hundred pounds on him. 

They struggle as Tex tries to wrestle the gun away from Andy, before it gets thrown to the side in the fight. Punches are thrown on both ends, a ringing settling in Andy’s ears after a particular blow to the side of his head, though it doesn’t deter him. Andy manages to roll them over, holding the other man down with knee pressing down on his throat. Tex claws, scratches, and hits Andy in an attempt to get out from under him, but the cut off of oxygen makes it more difficult. He gets a few good blows in, though -- There’s blood dribbling down Andy’s arms from scratches, bruises that have already begun to form. He doesn’t notice, too focused on keeping the man under him from getting out of his grip. His hands move to hold Tex’s head, Andy’s thumbs digging into the inner corners of his eyes, gouging them as deeply as he can manage. 

He can’t help but wonder if the three men have realized this isn’t about killing them; It’s about watching them suffer. 

The fact that Tyson is still breathing is enough to send Andy into a tailspin. He had hoped the spineless piece of shit had fucked off somewhere, given that he hadn’t made an appearance in his and Rowan’s life in quite some time. Andy’s attempts at optimism always seem to be met with harsh reality, though, one that consistently proves the obvious: It’s childish to try and see the best out of a situation like this. He knows this as he throws the man off his front porch, knowing he has to take care of this problem himself -- Restraining orders and the local cops just aren’t going to cut it. Not when he and Rowan have a fragile six month old daughter sleeping in a crib down the hall.  

His downfall is the fact that he reacts, he doesn’t plan. Andy knows better. The reason he’s been so successful with the club is his commitment to discretion, detail, and planning. He analyzes that night over and over for the next three years from the comfort of his prison cell, imagining how he would have killed Tyson if he had taken the time to do it properly -- Instead of grabbing his baseball bat, and kicking the front door in. He would have made it last longer, Andy decided. Prolong his suffering, before letting him gain a shred of hope that he’d make it out alive — Before finally putting him in the ground. That being said, the satisfaction that comes from the look of pure fear on Tyson’s face the moment he sees Andy come through the door? Unmatched. 

The mental image is one that never fails to bring him a swell of pride. He can still hear the sound of his bat crushing bone, feel the way his heart skipped a beat with each and every hit. It didn’t matter if there was blood flying, covering him in the evidence; The fact that he hadn’t been quiet in his entrance; The sound of distant sirens headed their way, after a loud, shrill scream rang out. All that mattered was crushing Tyson’s skull, ending the iron grip he’s had on Rowan’s life for the better half of a decade. He didn’t care what happened next, as long as his wife and daughter were able to live in a world where Tyson Grant didn’t. 

He only regrets not being able to finish the job that night. 

It occurs to him, as his foot comes stomping down on Sam’s already shot knee, that he hasn’t done anything like this since prison. He’s gone on runs, jobs, the works -- Hell, he even threatened to brain Will in his own home. Everything pales in comparison, though. In prison, they had to be more creative; Breaking bones, cutting off fingers, slitting throats before the guards showed up. It was all quick and dirty, done by hand. There was no choice in the matter -- If he wanted to finish out his sentence, see his wife and daughter, even have a chance of making it to the end of the week at all, Andy had to get rid of the other guy. The protection that came with being a Primordial didn’t go as far as one would hope. There’s a reason they used to refer to him as the Grim Reaper. Years later, and he’s made it clear that he hasn’t lost his touch. 

This man doesn’t want to fucking die, though. The way he keeps clawing at Andy, yelling obscenities between each scream of pain. He makes proclamations about how he’s going to kill Andy, calling him every name in the book as he tries and fails to fight for his life. A hard kick to the head shuts him up for a moment, disorienting him enough before Sam musters up enough energy to stab Andy in the calf, almost successful in knocking him to the floor. Clearly, the man got a last surge of something, accompanied by a knife he hadn’t realized Sam had on him.  This only provokes an annoyed grunt and eye roll from Andy. He stumbles down onto one knee from the surprise of the movement, a stab to the man’s arm with the knife from his boot strap gets Sam to let go. He does, going limp as his knife is stuck in Andy’s calf. It doesn’t stop him from continuing the effort though, within a moment Andy’s on top of his unconscious victim, stabbing him in the chest over and over again like he’s in a cheap horror movie. 

In that moment, he loses himself  -- Something snaps, taking him back to the night he’d gotten a call that Rowan was in the hospital, the way he so desperately pushed down all of the anger and rage that came with knowing she’d been hurt at the hands of these assholes. Everything he’s fought to hold at bay for the sake of his wife, the kids, his sobriety, the club -- It all bubbles to the surface now, when he’s not worrying about keeping the kids safe and Rowan above water. When all there is is this room, and him, and the people that have to pay for the crimes they’ve committed. 

Every emotion he’s expertly avoided, every ounce of it boils over as he stabs the Rogue over and over until they’re both covered in blood. The need for vengeance for what they did, the way they turned Rowan’s life upside down and left her afraid to look over her shoulder; Guilt over the fact that Andy, yet again, couldn’t protect the person he holds so dearly; The power that comes with knowing these men are at his mercy, ready to beg for their lives in a last ditch effort to survive what’s coming next. It all hits him like a freight train, leaving him a little dizzy. Though, that may be from the hits he’s taken himself, blood he’s lost -- Andy doesn’t take the time to find out. Instead, he comes to once he realizes the man under him is long dead, having succumbed to the injuries inflicted after the first few stabs. 

The revelation stuns Andy momentarily, as he tries to catch his breath. If there was any witness to this, they’d see how frenzied the moment had become, that there was far more pent of emotion attached to this than Andy initially realized. Eyes glance to the two men left -- Tex, having passed out, and Jack slumped against a wall trying to stay conscious, a string of profanities passing his lips in a hoarse voice. His attention turns to his hands after that, steady but covered in a mixture of Sam’s blood and his own. A blood soaked piece of hair falls forward and onto his cheek as Andy wipes his hands off on his shirt, a wave of frustration running through him. Of fucking course he’d get blood in his hair, and now -- More on his face. He makes a mental note to book an appointment for a haircut. 

They cut the man’s fingers off one by one, moving slowly and deliberately. The man in question, Gerald, is tied to a chair in the kitchen of the prison, thanks to a guard that’s on the MC’s payroll. No one is going to give a second thought to the sound of muffled screams or a hacksaw from the locked up tool shed going missing for the night. Andy’s only been out of the hospital for a day at this point -- The guy he’s torturing, having been responsible for his brush with near-death.  Gerald felt bold enough to go after Andy with a homemade shank, trying to get even for some issue he held with Cronus. It was laughable to him, considering Andy hated his father just as much as this sorry bastard.

Andy had hoped to make it through his sentence by keeping his head down (for the most part, at least) doing what he needed, sticking with the right crowd -- Club members who were serving life sentences. His name gained him respect, plenty of other inmates happy to keep an eye on Cronus’ boy, but the revenge he’s getting tonight is what gains him his reputation. He becomes the go-to for these kinds of things, the one his fellow club members call on to take care of problems they have behind bars. Rowan’s words ring in his head -- Do what you have to do to stay alive. Come back to me. Playing executioner for the club wasn’t his first choice, but if it’s what kept him safe and gets him home, so fucking be it. Plus, killing the man who had tried to murder him in the showers brought Andy plenty of satisfaction. What kind of person would he be if he let some jaded idiot get away with almost killing him, right?

First the fingers, then his hands, and so on and so forth -- Dismemberment isn’t something new, Andy himself has had to cut up a few bodies so they can get rid of the evidence before. Though, typically speaking, the person isn’t still alive as they do it. Watching this guy suffer was just icing on the cake. Each time Gerald passes out, they cauterize the wound and pull out the smelling salts to give him a fake sense of safety -- That now they’re done, eye for an eye, the message is sent. Only each time he’s lulled into a half-dazed security, they stuff the rag back in his mouth and cut off another limb. It was going to be a long night.

He finds himself with a moment where he can tend to the wound he’s gotten — It's not a particularly deep stab, but it hurts like a bitch and that stupid knife looks fucking dull once he pulls it out and can actually get a good look at it. Not wasting anytime, and to  make sure he doesn’t lose too much blood, Andy works quickly. The last thing he needs is to pass out and run the risk of getting himself killed, or having to have Wes haul him out over his shoulder. He has to get creative for now, knowing they can’t exactly make a pit stop at the ER on the way back and he doesn’t want to call Rowan after, given the fact that they’re bringing one of the Rogues back with them to get information out of -- So he moves to rip off part of Sam’s torn pant leg so that he can get pressure on the wound. Using a piece of folded up denim, he holds it against his injury, tying a piece tightly around his calf to keep it in place. It’s not great, but it’ll do for now, until he can get to a proper first aid kit. Andy can practically hear Rowan in the back of his head, scolding him for getting hurt in the first place. Once she knows the context, he’d imagine she probably wouldn’t think much of the injury after. 

The sound of Tex’s screams pulled his attention, the man having regained consciousness and begun to panic -- The knee jerk reaction from Andy is to pull his gun back out, silencing Tex with a bullet to the chest. Andy unloads the rest of his clip into the man as he approaches, finding himself feeling lighter and lighter with each shot, despite the fact that he’s now limping. An unbearable amount of helplessness has weighed on him the last six months — Like all he can do is watch these terrible things happen from the sidelines, only able to help tend to the aftermath rather than keep his loved ones safe. What has left him lying awake at night as been the feeling that he’s constantly one step behind, always a minute too late — Whether it’s the shipment getting hijacked and Blake getting to him hours later, homes being burned down while he’s shooting up a warehouse, his own wife lying beaten and bloody in the middle of the street while he sits at a restaurant waiting for her. One thing after the other.

It’s unclear what kind of man it makes him to take such pleasure in revenge -- That he isn’t haunted at night by the people he’s killed or the homes he’s wrecked for the right amount of cash. Maybe it’s proof that he really is his father’s son, or that he’s just as heartless as people believe him to be. Andy’s not sure if it matters much at this point. The idea of knowing he is sending these assholes to an early grave gives him a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in a long time, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever know again after Valentine’s Day. This isn’t the end of the Rogues, but it’s retribution for what they’ve done, bringing him more clarity than ever before. Anyone who hurts the people he loves deserves to die screaming. 

Confusion finds him when the sound of a gun firing fills his ears with a familiar ringing, a bullet hitting the dead man on the ground in front of him rather than its intended target. Andy follows the direction it came from to find a wild eyed Jack, having managed to pull himself across the floor in a bloody heap, far enough to get to a gun, clearly struggling to hold himself up right even while propped against the turned over table. He had the element of surprise on his side, but Andy has the benefit of not having been shot in the stomach -- So he moves quickly across the small room, easily smacking the gun out of the man’s hand. It’s clear Jack is running on pure adrenaline and spite, though now that he got his one shot in, it’s running out. Fists colliding with the man’s jaw only speed up the process, though before he finally gives up and slumps over to side and lands on the floor -- He spits blood back at Andy, clearly trying to get in one last fuck you before he dies. Jack doesn’t get much of a reaction out of Andy, instead he stands up fully, giving the half-conscious man a good look before the heel of his boot meets his head over and over until he is long dead and unrecognizable. 

[lyssismagical]

in my need, you have always been there

Parkner Week Day Ten: “We’re going to frame you for murder” / canon-compliant / villain au

okay i know I’m like eleven days late but I got busy oops but here we are! the last installment of parkner week !! 

 Keeping his family safe was his number one priority as soon as Beck had appeared all over the news, so he made sure Happy was with May, and that MJ was going home with plans to talk to Ned, and then he started running.

He didn’t have time to pack a bag, not with the citizens of New York turning against him. They knew his face, they were staring and jeering and throwing things, there was nowhere for him to hide so close to everything. So he boarded a bus, hood pulled low over his face and eyes downcast, empty-handed aside from his phone and his wallet.

And then he was on the run.

It sounded so dramatic, even in his head, to be on the run. Despite having particularly bad periods with money in the past, Peter had only ever technically been homeless once and it was only for three nights, living out of May’s old car.

Peter doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t have a passport, he’d lost it somewhere in Europe a few weeks prior. He only has a few dollars on him. His wounds from Beck in Europe still haven’t entirely healed, he’s still limping and his shoulder twinges.

Most people he knows lives in New York, and he definitely can’t stay anywhere near the whole state. He’s only ever even left New York three times. DC for Academic Decathlon, Germany with the Avengers, and the Europe trip for school.

Now, he’s apparently moving out of New York, on his own, with no money.

“Last stop!” the bus driver calls out, looking over at Peter, the last one on the bus. He doesn’t know where he is, where he’s going,  anything. But he gets off the bus, onto a dark, empty street, and watches as the bus peels away from the sidewalk, leaving him.

He made it to New Jersey. Not far enough, not yet. He needs somewhere to hide away for a few weeks, at the very least, until Pepper can figure this whole thing out.

As if on cue, his phone rings.

He’s about to decline it, he doesn’t want to talk to anybody he just left behind. He definitely doesn’t want to talk to May or Ned who will try to change his mind about running away. But it’s not them, it’s an unknown number.

“Hello?” Peter says, voice trembling already. He’s cold and tired and the fear of spending the night somewhere on the streets makes him desperately want to call May, get her to come save him.

“Peter Parker, right?” the voice asks, no tell of who it is beyond the southern lilt to his voice. “We met a couple months ago. At the… At the funeral?”

The hero flinches harder than he’d like to admit at the reminder of who’s not here. If Tony were here, Peter wouldn’t have had to fight Beck on his own, his identity wouldn’t have been leaked, and most of all, he wouldn’t be on his own right now.

Peter doesn’t remember much from the funeral, most of it having blurred away through his grief. He thinks he can remember a pair of bright blue eyes and a hand on his shoulder from who must’ve been the guy on the phone, but he can’t place a name of fill in the missing gaps.

“Sorry, I-”

“Harley Keener,” the boy says, not even phased at being forgotten. “I was the kid who talked about a potato gun? It’s not important. What matters is I just saw you on the news.”

Peter would’ve thought the potato gun idea would’ve sparked some memory, but he really can’t remember anything from that day. He can barely even remember what he said, himself, so it’s a lost cause to remember one Harley Keener.

“Why does it matter?”

Harley lets out a little laugh, the sounds of traffic washing over it. “You’re running away, aren’t you? You have a place to go?”

“No,” Peter admits half-heartedly. He doesn’t have any kind of plan.

“Alright, well, if you need a place to stay, Rose Hill is full of people who don’t care enough to watch the news, and I’ve got a couch with your name on it,” Harley says, voice light and breezy.

Peter frowns, moving closer to the nearest alley to get away from the prying eyes of the last few people wandering the streets. He tucks his arms close to his body, ankle aching with the pressure on it. “Rose Hill?”

“Tennessee, my friend.” Harley laughs again, bright and easy. “You wanna come stay with me while this whole thing blows over?”

“In Tennessee?” Peter’s not exactly sure why he feels like he’s stuck in molasses, unable to comprehend the offer. “With you?”

“Wow, harsh much. Listen, I’m on my way to come pick you up and get you somewhere safe, but it’ll take me a good ten hours to make up the distance, even speeding down backroads. Is there anywhere near where you are you could stay for one night?”

Peter frowns, looking up and down the street at the empty darkness, nobody here would be willing to let a poor kid sleep on their couch, and he certainly doesn’t know anybody living in New Jersey aside from one of May’s old coworkers, Janet, who used to babysit for Peter before she moved. Even then, he has no idea where Janet is, nor does he have anyway to contact her.

“I’ll, uh, yeah, I can figure it out,” he says, though he doesn’t think there’s any options. If he has to, he can spend the night in the alley if it means having somewhere warm and safe when he wakes up. “Thank you, Harley, I don’t know how-”

“Don’t sweat it.” Harley swears a few times under his breath. “I’ve gotta stop for gas in a second. Text me where you are, I’ll be there as soon as I can, yeah? And call me if you need anything.”

Peter nods a few times, looking down his alleyway into the darkness and shivers. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Good.”

Harley doesn’t bother with pleasantries or goodbyes, just hangs up the phone.

Peter slips down the alley, phone tight in his hand, and finds a nice spot between two big dumpsters, wedging himself in and trying to mentally prepare himself for calling it a night. Ten hours. He can do ten hours here.

* He doesn’t manage to do more than drift off, not really sleeping, arms tucked around himself like he’s trying to be his own blanket.

He keeps half his attention on his watch, keeping count of how much time he has left, and leaving his phone off, not wanting to drain the battery.

There’s only three hours left when his phone rings again.

“I’m getting gas and snacks, I’m in Virginia. Just a few more hours until I’m there. Anything you want me to pick you up?”

Peter’s teeth are chattering so hard he can barely get out a few words. “Something warm?”

Harley curses a few times and then there’s the sound of coins hitting a counter. “Are you- Fucking hell, I thought you were going to stay with somebody? Are you outside?”

“Alley,” Peter says, shivers wracking his body. At least that’s a good thing. Through his hazy memory, he thinks shivering’s a good thing. It’ll be bad if he stops shivering.

“Shit, okay, you know it’s fucking freezing out, don’t you? What kind of- Okay, I’ll make it two hours, okay? Can you do two hours? I’ve got a few blankets in the back of my car and I’ll make sure to pick you up a nice hot coffee or something. Is that okay?”

Peter nearly drops his phone, fingers going numb. “Mm, ‘kay. Two hours.”

“Two hours, Peter. Gotta hang on until then, yeah?”

“Yeah… Also,” Peter almost forgets where he’s going with his train of thought. “Also, gummy bears.”

“Gummy bears?” Harley echoes and then he laughs, a touch hysterical. “I can get you gummy bears, Peter. Anything else?”

Peter thinks for a long moment, eyes slipping shut. “A hug?”

There’s a beat of silence followed by more cursing and then a door opening and closing. Harley’s voice is soft, though, when he speaks. “I’ll give you the warmest hug in the world when I get to you, okay?”

“’kay.”

“Good. Two hours, you hear me, Parker?”

“Two hours.”

* Despite already promising two hours for a nearly three hour trip, Harley makes it in an hour and a half.

Peter hears the truck engine and he knows he should get up, meet Harley on the sidewalk, at the very least, pry himself out for between the dumpsters, but his legs are numb, thoughts escaping him, so he stays put, listening for the telltale footsteps.

“Peter?” Harley spots him a second later, face drawing up in worry and fear. “Oh shit, Peter, come on. Let’s get you out of there. Come here.”

Harley seems to understand that Peter’s incapable of getting up on his own, so he does most of the work of pulling Peter up and onto his feet, and then letting Peter lean most of his weight against the southerner’s side.

“T’ank you,” Peter stutters still, shaking from head to toe but feet too numb to do more than drag on the pavement as Harley drags him over to his running truck.

The older boy lifts him into the passenger seat, barely blinking an eye as he tugs off his hoodie and yanks it over Peter’s head. He grabs a thick blanket from the backseat and wraps it around Peter’s shoulders and puts a second one over his legs.

“That good?” Harley asks nervously. He looks over at the steaming coffees waiting for them, but he doesn’t seem to trust Peter’s hands to carry one.

Peter shakes his head, carefully extracting his arms to reach out for the other boy. He’s too tired to feel embarrassed by the silent request, mouth pouting and eyes undoubtedly sad and pleading.

“Oh, come here,” Harley says, voice dripping with sympathy. He wraps Peter up in his arms, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. Just as promised, it’s the warmest hug in the world. “I would’ve left sooner if I’d known. Pepper only called me after you’d left and then I had to convince Mom to let you crash with us and to let me skip school tomorrow… Anyways, you’re safe now. Nobody’s going to find you in Rose Hill.”

The warmth of Harley’s arms around him, the gentle smell of coffee and gasoline, the promise of safety, it makes Peter feel safe and makes the shivers dissipate.

“Thank you,” he repeats, tucking his head against the crook of Harley’s neck, taking a slow breath.

Harley smiles gently, only pulling back when Peter loosens his grip, as though he’d hold Peter as long as he wanted to.

“I’ll take care of driving, you sleep and eat your gummy bears and drink your coffee. It’s another twelve hours till we get home.”

Peter frowns, enough of a mind to worry about Harley. “You don’t want to take a break? You’ll be driving like twenty-four hours total.”

“It’s cool, don’t you worry about me. I’ll stop if I have to.”

Harley finally slips away from him, closing the door and then climbing into the driver’s seat, gunning the engine and starting off on their journey back to Tennessee.

“I still can’t believe this happened,” Peter admits. His shoulder throbs where the seatbelt digs into his old wound. “I was framed for murder. I was painted as a villain. After everything he did to me, everything he pretended to be… I thought it’d be enough for him to try to kill me and all my friends, to hit me with a fucking train, to betray me like he did, but no. He had to make it public, out my identity, call me a fraud. I just- I don’t know how I’ll ever bounce back from this.”

“You haven’t been on social media, have you?” Peter was expecting it to be a bad thing, but Harley’s smiling. He shakes his head. “It’s trending everywhere. Things like Spider-Man’s-A-Hero or hashtag I-Stand-With-Spidey. People telling stories of everything you did for them, how much you’ve meant to them. There’s always going to be people who don’t like you, but there’s also people who know what you’ve done for New York and the world.”

Peter frowns, looking over at Harley. The angle makes his jaw look strong and sharp, but Peter chides himself for focusing on it. “People are standing with me?”

“Course they are,” Harley says like it’s obvious. He throws a smile in Peter’s direction. “You’ve spent, what? Three years? Working tirelessly to reduce crime, save people’s lives, even last year, you saved the world. Of course they’re standing with you.”

It’s the last piece of reassurance Peter needs to get comfortable in his seat, curling up tightly and pulling his hood up over his head, and finally letting himself fall asleep in the comfort of Harley’s truck.

* By the time they finally reach Rose Hill, it’s night again.

Harley’s yawning, fingers tapping against the wheel as they pull up onto a gravel driveway, engine cutting off.

“Home sweet home,” Harley murmurs, helping Peter unbuckle his seatbelt. “Come on, I’ll show you around real quick, you can get a shower, and then you can sleep, okay?”

Peter nods, hopping out of the car and checking, almost obsessively to make sure his phone and wallet are still tucked in his pockets. He lets Harley wrap his arm around his waist, letting himself fall lax in his grip, following Harley up to the house.

It’s warm in the house too, smelling of laundry and baking. There’s a girl curled up on the couch, watching what looks like an old sitcom on the TV. She looks up when they walk in, face falling into a frown.

“You were gone for over twenty-four hours, Harley,” she says, turning her nose up petulantly. “Mom was worried.”

“She’s been stress-baking?” Harley questions, but he shakes his head before the girl can answer. “Peter, this is my little sister, Abbie. Abbie, this is Peter. He’s staying here for a couple weeks.”

Abbie’s eyes narrow as she looks him over and he’s immediately self-conscious. He probably looks awful, he probably smells like garbage, he’s probably dirty.

But she shrugs and offers a smile. “Welcome to Rose Hill, Peter. Home of douchebags and failures. Good luck ever getting out.”

Harley rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue with her. He tightens his grip on Peter’s waist, leading him out of the living room, up the stairs, and into a bathroom.

Peter showers quickly, not sure how much he trusts his own legs to hold him up. And when he gets out, there’s a pile of Harley’s clothes waiting for him. The hoodie is much too big, falling over his shoulders and down to his thighs, covering his hands, and the pants aren’t much better, barely staying up on his hips, but they’re warm and they smell like Harley, and they make him feel safe.

Harley’s waiting for him in the bedroom across the hall, sprawled out on a bed, looking seconds away from passing out.

“Do you have a pillow?” Peter blurts before he can stop himself. “You said, uh, that I’d be staying on the couch, sorry. Was wondering if-”

“Honestly, I really don’t care if you’d wanna crash here with me,” Harley says, voice slurring with exhaustion. He kicks at a blanket near his foot. “There’s enough space for you. Plus, it gets cold downstairs at night, wouldn’t want you freezing to death again.”

Peter can feel the blush creeping up his neck, but he holds himself together as he silently accepts the invitation, slipping into the space left on the bed. He tugs the blanket up and over his shoulders, letting himself sink into the mattress.

The older boy is like a heater at his side, radiating warmth, eyes already closed, hair like a halo around his tan, freckled face. He peeks open one of his eyes. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”

Harley laughs, unashamedly tossing his arm around Peter’s waist, who immediately relaxes in his hold. “Just teasin’. Go to sleep. Mom will no doubt have me up and ready for school in less than five hours.”

Peter’s not exactly sure how living in Tennessee is going to work out, he doesn’t know how long it’ll take until everything blows over, he doesn’t know how long it’ll be until he can say May and Ned and MJ again.

But he knows one thing.

He really likes staying here with Harley and he knows Harley will keep him safe and happy until he can return to New York.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spidey-reids-2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[sweetpeaownsmyheart]

T-Bird (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Hi Guys! Here is a lil something I wrote in an hour which has had limited editing, it’s bad basically! It is also past midnight here so I think I may just be sleepy writing but I hope you like it! I’m obsessed with musicals (all of them) so expect more writing inspired by them and feel free to request anything at all! Remember you are loved, my inbox is always open if anyone needs to talk in these unprecedented times :)

Word Count - Under 2000

Warnings - Bad writing? Not really anything else?

Summary - When you meet Sweet Pea again, things aren’t exactly going as planned. It is made more awkward by the fact he doesn’t know what you’re referencing...so you change that!

-----

It was cold out that night. Cold and ridiculously dark in the middle of nowhere without any of the towns light pollution. So, while it was cold and dark, with car parts and a long-forgotten manual thrown on the floor around you, you were searching for the nearest mechanics on your phone.

The situation stunk. You wanted nothing more to be at home, in bed, not calling up a random mechanic to come to a random abandoned road to fix whatever decided to go randomly wrong with your car. It stunk of the plot of a badly written and self-produced horror movie in which you were the victim.

As the phone kept ringing and ringing, you kept pacing, trying to keep warm. Who would pick up the phone at 2am anyway? No one would be in the shop and it was unlikely to be a home/mobile number. They were probably asleep. With your hope dwindling and the air still getting colder you decided to take a walk and see whether you could find help. Until...

-RING-

'Hello?' you began.

'Hey' you heard a raspy voice from the other end of the phone.

'Sorry to bother you this late, from the sounds of it you were sleeping. My car has broken down and i tried to fix it, but I think I may have made it worse. Is there anything you can do?'

'Umm sure, where are you?'

'oh. Right. Well about that... I'm not too sure. I don't have any signal so can't check on my phone and yeh... Somewhere on a backroad between Riverdale and Greendale. I took the third left turn when I left Greendale if that helps?'

'No, it doesn't but thanks for that Princess. I didn't plan on having to do rescue missions when i signed up for this job.'

It was if him saying the word Princess sparked something in your brain and suddenly the voice became slightly more familiar. 'Sweet Pea?'

'Yes? How do you know that? Who are you?'

'Y/N, umm we were in Math together in High School, not that you'd remember, god that was years ago now.' It had only been 3 years but having not spoken to him in School besides him asking to borrow your textbook, you didn't want to embarrass him by placing him on the spot.

'Yeh, I remember. How've you been?'

'Good up to now. I'm not exactly peachy sat on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere.'

'Well stay where you are, and I'll come find you. Be there soon.' And with that he hung up leaving you alone with thoughts about the 'good old days' and how you have changed.

-----

The sound of an engine broke you out of your thoughts and as you checked your phone you noticed that it had been about 20 minutes since you had called. As a slightly beaten up truck pulled up beside your car you got up from the curb and walked towards your (more beaten up at this point) car once again.

As Sweet Pea got out of the cab of the truck you can't help but feel 17 again. Not much had changed about him, he was still wearing the typical black jeans, his hair was still styled the same way, dog tags still hung around his neck and the iconic serpent jacket sat on his shoulders. Though, something was different. The way he held himself maybe. He looked as if he no longer was trying to carry the world, he looked more relaxed. Either way you felt like a younger version of yourself who would spend math staring at the back of his head wondering if he would notice you.

Sweet Pea had noticed you back then and he was convincing himself in that moment not to feel how he did when he was 17. You were just a customer.

'Hey Sweet Pea! Thank you so much for coming, I'll pay you double for it being, you know, the middle of the night.'

'It's my job. What's the problem?'

'Well as I was driving home, I noticed smoke coming from the engine and a god awful smell and then the car stopped.' At that moment, Sweet Pea looked down and noticed various tools on the floor. 'Um yeh... i tried to fix it but it didn't work.' you say, packing the tools into a bag, a blush settling on your face.

Pea stepped forward and looked under the hood of your car before stepping back. 'Looks like you did more harm than good Princess.'

'Can you fix it?' He responds with a hum before turning to look at you.

'Yes but not here or now, I'll take it to the shop and you can come pick it up in the next few days.'

'thanks.' You say as he begins wrapping some wires and rope type things around your car, attaching it to his truck before getting back in the front cab and opening the other side door for you.

'come on then!'

You hurried over and climbed into the seat beside him. He started the truck up and began the slow drive back to Riverdale. You took that time to admire his profile. You sure knew he was attractive at school but now he's an Adonis. Although, his current look reminded you an awful lot of a character from Grease

'What have you been up to then? What led you to be on a backroad at 2am?' He broke the uneasy silence that had settled between you both.

'You know, just work ended late and I fancied a drive to clear my head. Lost track of time.' Your response seemed short and you were glad SP didn't push further, you didn't need a reminder of your day. 'And what about you?' He looked at you puzzled. 'What led you to be the one picking up the phone at 2am? Had the

leather jacket and decided to go full T-Bird?'

He still looked confused. 'you know "automatic, systematic, hydromatic?"' you pushed but were still met with a blank stare. You decide to let it go as you reached the garage. 'Well thanks for getting me, call me when it is ready, and I'll come pick it up.' You practically whisper, already walking away from him feeing rather awkward and questioning if he had ever even seen Grease - he didn't exactly look the type.

'Wait, let me just get this unhooked and I'll drop you home, don't want you getting hurt.'

'Oh, that's nice of you, are you sure? I don't want to be trouble; I've already interrupted your sleep.'

'What's an extra five minutes though princess?' Truth was, despite not knowing you, Sweet Pea felt drawn to you and couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you. So, he sat you back in his truck, put your car in the shop and then got back in next to you.

The silence then seemed more comfortable, the tension lay within you both wondering who was going to try and start a conversation - you both did. At the same time. Another awkward moment to add to the many of the night. You started to talk about how school used to be and him about work.

'Tell me about it, Stud.' You hit him with another reference to test your theory and are met with a confused look once again before he starts to go on about work. Before…

'Oh my god you haven't seen Grease!' you interrupt him.

'I don't see what that has to do with anything?'

'The references Sweets, you haven't got them. Thank god I thought I was just being an idiot.' His heart swelled when you called him Sweets, normally he wouldn't take it but the way you sounded so innocent as his name left your mouth made him feel ~gooey~ inside!

'Oh right, was that what it was?' you respond with a hum. 'You like that film?'

'Yes, who wouldn't? Apart from people who haven't seen it of course.' You send a cheeky glare his way.

Suddenly Sweet Pea feels very nervous, a feeling that he hasn't really ever felt before and as he pulls up at your house, he turns to you.

'It's playing at the drive-in on Saturday, if you want to go? If you're free. To go. With me, I mean.' He just about stutters out.

'Sounds great - here's my number, pick me up at 7?' Your reply is perky and a smile settle on your lips followed by a smirk appearing on his. There was the cocky guy you knew. 'Thanks for coming to my rescue T-Bird, see you Saturday' you say turning and walking into your house.

-----

Saturday came sooner than you thought, you had spent most of the previous few days texting back and forth with Sweet Pea and had come to really like the guy. He turned up at 7 as you had said, dressed in his usual attire, you greeted him with a quick, 'Hey Zuko.' before grabbing his hand and walking to his truck.

The drive-in was relatively empty (not surprising as the film had played loads before) so you grab a good spot and go to get snacks before jumping in the back of the pickup and settling between cushions and blankets as the opening credits played.

As the film progressed you and Sweet Pea got gradually closer without realising it. By the end, he could hear you softly singing along to the film and at that moment he knew he was absolutely smitten with you.

It was the way your fingers softly tapped to the beat of the song while resting on his chest. It was how your eyes would light up every time that an iconic line was said. It was the way that you would keep turning to check on him and see that he was enjoying the film. He was head over heels by the time the ending note of 'We go together' played.

'What did you think?' You whisper to him, startling him out of his daze.

'Umm there was a lot of singing?'

'It's a musical Pea.' You respond, playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

'Yes, I know. It was okay, I suppose.'

'I know you're only saying that to keep up the bad boy persona but it's okay, I know you loved it.' You jump out the pickup and climb back into the cab, Pea quickly joins you.

'Okay, okay, I liked it. That's all you're getting. Don't tell anyone though.'

'Course not.' You scoot closer to him as he starts the engine and begins to drive back to your house.

Once you reach your house, the ride home having been filled with off-key singing from you and disapproving looks from Sweet Pea, he gets out to walk you to your door.

'I had a great time tonight Y/N'

You blush, 'Yeh, Me too Sweets. I think the Wiz is playing next week if you want to go maybe, with me.'

He smirked. 'You asking me out Y/N/N?'

'And if I am?'

'I'd have to let you know that you're the one that I want.' You were leaning into him, focussed on his lips but quickly pulled back erupting in giggles as he said the famous line.

'Told you that you loved it, T-Bird.' You lean in again and as your lips meet, you're both smiling because, you both knew, you really were hopelessly devoted.

<3

[salt-warrior]

WHEN EARTH TURNS TO ASHES

Masterlist

Chapter Two: Angel of Hell

The crisp happy music thrummed in a chirpy harmony through Kai's ears. A smile lit his face as he opened his eyes and gently turned off his alarm clock. The smile remained as he turned on his favorite rock playlist and practically danced around his shared apartment, and allowing his hips to sway to the music. He even managed to smile as he read the morning news off his phone and ate his favorite breakfast of Cocoa Puffs.

It's not as though Kaito Crown was always happy; he just normally was. He loved going to school at the nearby university. He had aced all his business classes, due to the fact he had been trained since birth to overtake Beijing Empire. He was close with his dad and loved working with him. His life was great— no, it was perfect.

Kai had been raised in wealth; his father was the most proclaimed business man throughout the entire world. His mother had been a fashion icon that outshone all others. Kai himself was loved and known by everyone. The fact that he was smart and handsome didn't help his case.

A moan escaped the nearby room, and Kai laughed as he watched his best friend stumble out of his room and into the kitchen. Kai had known Carswell Thorne since they were in the first grade. Both came from well known families and had attended the same private academy in California.

"Did you rest well, Sleeping Beauty?" Kai raised an eyebrow. Thorne threw a laser beam glare back.

"Have you ever considered turning the music down? It's only seven in the morning for stars sake, and not all of us are morning people," Thorne retorted, plunking down in the seat across from Kai with his cup of coffee.

"Well, I'm sorry that you're cranky. Are you fighting with Kate again?"

Thorne tensed up at Kai's words. "Oh," Kai sighed. "I'm sorry, Thorne."

"It's alright, Crown." Thorne smiled, tight lipped. "It was bound to happen eventually. It's just like my father said: I'm 'toxic' when it comes to relationships," he air-quoted with a scowl, and Kai grinned at him.

"Hey, you've kept me around for what— sixteen years?" Thorne rolled his eyes at Kai's words.

"Yeah, that's only because I can't seem to get rid of you, no matter how bad of a friend I am."

Kai stood from his seat, placing his bowl in the empty sink. "Cheer up, little toxin. You'll find love eventually." Kai picked up his backpack and began to walk out the door, just as Thorne called out to him.

"How'd your date go last night, since we're talking about my sad love life."

"Oh, you know," Kai shrugged, wrapping a scarf around his neck. It really wasn't that cold, as Thorne like to remind him, but Kai was a wimp. "She was nice— really nice, but not the one. Redheads aren't exactly my type."

Kai had a great record in school. He was great at making friends. He was seemingly the most outgoing person alive, but he could never seem to get a girlfriend. It wasn't like he didn't have dozens of girls stalking him and wanting to go out with him. He just had never found one that understood him.

"Don't worry, mate," Thorne bowed in front of him, looking goofy in his plaid robe. "You'll find her someday."

***

The December weather had brought ice to the roads, causing Kai to change his regular course to school to a backroad, but Kai was having a blast as he drove he path while belting "Sweet Caroline" at the top of his lungs. He was right behind a really old and rusty Chevrolet Cavalier the color of dirt and waiting for the light to turn green.

Finally it did, and the old Chevy began to move forward. Kai waited a second, before following behind it, not wanting any surprises from the piece of junk. The drive was nice and breezy, and Kai hardly hit any ice. The song changed, and on came Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benetar.

Kai sang along, enjoying the chorus. He loved listening to songs in his car. He thrived off the feeling of singing until his lungs burned, but his father had told him at a young age that he sounded like a dying peacock when he sang so he only belted out melodies when he was alone.

The chorus was playing a final time when, out of the blue, a red sports car slammed into the old Chevy. The crack of sound that cut through the air was deafening. Time seemed to slow down and Kai watched in horror as the Chevy in front of him tried to stop sliding. Tried so hard, but was no match for the ice and propulsion.

Kai slammed on his brakes, and came to a complete stop just in time to watch the dirt colored car fall off the road and roll down the hill. It tumbled for what seemed like a lifetime, and Kai wondered if whoever was in there would live. He finally understood the expression "watching a slow-motion car crash." It was terrifying.

An eternity later, the car came to a stop at the bottom of the slope. The red sports car had stayed on the road, but was crunched in the front. Kai got out of his car, and walked over to the red car, ears ringing.

The drivers side was a wreck, but the woman sitting there was alive. She had dark auburn hair, and a tearstained face. Her entire body was shaking horribly and her door was jammed. The airbag was deflating, and Kai could tell the lady was crying though he couldn't quite hear her. All the noise had become one high pitched note that seemed to forever echo throughout his head.

Kai walked around the car to the passenger's side. The door opened easily, and Kai began speaking to the woman. He motioned for her to climb out of her vehicle, before anything else happened, and she complied.

Everything seemed so easy. Sure, this woman was in shock but she was still able to get out of her car by herself. Kai had just pulled out his phone to call the police when a spark of light caught the corner of his eye.

Kai practically threw his phone at the red car woman in his haste to run down the hill. How could he be so stupid? Obviously the car that had rolled down a hill would need help first. Kai mentally cursed himself for his idiocy.

Kai threw himself down the diagonal slope in a sprint, attempting to get to to the old car. He ignored the cries of the woman behind him, even as she screamed and wailed. The flames had started small, but were quickly climbing across the surface of the old rust-bucket, the color brighter than normal flames. Kai could see that there was only one person in the car, but he couldn't tell if it was a male or female. They weren't screaming, which frightened Kai. Maybe they were unconscious, or maybe he was too late to save them.

The hill wasn't necessarily long, but it seemed so as Kai raced down at top speed. Flames danced farther along the car, and Kai had the sickening feeling that they were eating the driver alive.

Finally Kai reached the car. It was rolled onto the driver's side, so he knew he would have to get in through the passenger's side again. Kai tried to open the door, but it was jammed.

Cursing, Kai looked at the ground. He had his pocket knife with him, having been told from his boy scout master to “always be prepared.” He couldn't use that to open the door though. Still scanning the ground, Kai's eyes landed on a rather large rock. He smiled and knew that it would work.

Kai began hammering on the window with his rock. The glass began to splinter, and the sickening feeling hit Kai. How long would it take to break the window if rolling down a hill hadn't done it? He had to get that person out of there soon, or else they would either be engulfed in flames or choke on the smoke. Kai was that person's only hope; he had to save them.

The glass seemed almost indestructible, but Kai somehow managed to shatter it all into a thousand pieces. Kai whooped with joy, and began climbing into the car.

That's when he laid eyes on her. She was beautiful, with flames surrounding her, casting a dark, protective shadow. Kai wondered if Hell had angels, and he knew that if they did, this is what they would look like. Kai internally slapped himself for thinking like that during a crisis and tried to undo her seatbelt. It was jammed.

Not even checking to see if she was conscious, he pulled out his pocket knife. The blade was prime, seeing as Kai sharpened it once a month. He wasn't a crazy survivalist, or anything, but he wanted to be prepared.

Kai began sawing through the rough material, and it was much easier than breaking the window glass, though the smoke made it impossible to breathe. The threads came undone in less than sixty seconds and Kai began to wonder if they could ever actually keep anyone safe.

Flames fluttered across his skin, but Kai kept sawing. He had to keep going, even if it meant he got a few burns. Kai knew that the girl was going to have it worse than him, and he had to save her.

The final thread snapped, and Kai grabbed the girl, before she could fall into the windshield. He tucked his knife back into his pants, and began to drag the girl's limp body away from the wreckage.

Kai climbed out backwards, trying to keep both hands on the girl. Glass cut deep into his skin and he winced. The smoke was suffocating him, and he started to panic. Gradually, he pulled his own body from the destruction, and only had the girl left. As gently as he could, Kai hauled her from the car, trying not to let the glass scrape her.

Kai tugged at the girl, and she finally became free of the Hell she had been in. The girl had her chocolate eyes open, but Kai could tell that she was drifting away. He spoke to her. Telling her to stay with him—not to go to sleep, but stay awake— stay alive. He still didn't understand why, but he needed to save her.

He felt as though his life was connected to hers, and the only way to make it complete would be to save her. Her brown eyes locked on his, staring into what must have been his soul. He yelled, wishing he knew her name.

Her lids closed, and the finality seemed to hit Kai like a bulldozer. He ran up the hill, the dying girl still in his arms. He had never run so hard in all of his life—his lungs burning from smoke and exertion.

By the time Kai had climbed to the top of the hill, he could hardly breathe. The smoke was gone, but he knew that it would stay within him for a long, long time.

The red car lady was sprawled across Kai's car, tears running down her cheeks. She was still shaking, though Kai was not surprised. He himself was in shock due to the event that had played before him.

She still had his phone in her hand, and Kai wondered if she had called the police. Kai marched straight for the woman. "Did you call the police?" Kai yelled. His hearing had come back to him, but his ears were still ringing slightly.

The woman nodded and then whimpered. She was she began sobbing hysterically, and Kai felt sympathetic. This woman had not asked for this— it was not her fault.

Kai then remembered the girl in his arms. She had also not asked for this, but look where she was. He set her down on the ground, not sure what to do.

That's when Kai caught sight of her body. She was burned along her entire left side. Her leg was charred black up to her knee, and the rest of her flesh was a raw red with angry blisters already converging.

Kai began dry heaving at the sight and had to look away. How was this girl even alive? Was she still alive? Kai dropped down on his knees and checked for a pulse. He was met by a light, slow thump, and knew they didn't have much time.

The snow on the side of the road was crisp, white and clean. Kai walked over and scooped up an arm full. He wasn't a doctor, or anything, but Kai was pretty sure that it wouldn't do any harm to try and cool her skin down.

White soon covered the charred black flesh, but Kai still felt hopeless. He wished he could do more.

About five minutes later, Kai heard sirens. He jumped up, lifting the burned girl with him. The snow had melted on her skin, and drizzled off in dark, flaking droplets.

Kai watched as the ambulances sped to a stop in front of all the wreckage. EMT's immediately jumped out of the vehicle, pulling two stretchers with them.

People rushed over to the burned girl first, pulling her away and into the first ambulance. They didn't even wait to check on her before loading her up and driving away. Kai stood, still shocked at how fast they had worked.

The rest of the attendants checked the red car lady, and pulled her onto the second stretcher. A woman came over to him, and began asking him questions. He couldn't speak. The world was going at one hundred miles an hour, and he couldn't grasp anything.

Kai fell to the ground, clutching his head, trying to get a grip, but he couldn't. The woman shouted over her shoulder, and hands lifted Kai up onto another stretcher. He began to feel dizzy, wondering where he was.

Medics rushed around him, pushing him into the ambulance. Kai smiled. He had always wanted to see the inside of one of these when he was a kid. The vehicle began to move, and Kai laughed. His eyelids began to droop, and Kai's last thought before drifting off were of the beautiful Angel of Hell.

Tag list: @cerenoya (Let me know if you want to be added!)

[eiressofinspirationwrites]

Snowed In

Pairing: Malcolm Bright x Female Reader

Word Count: 2650

Description: Shameless use of the only one-bed trope starring Malcolm Bright. Gil sends you to pick up some old cold case files from a detective in a town a few hours away and Malcolm accompanies you. What was supposed to be a quick day trip turns into an overnight trip when a blizzard leaves you stranded in the small town.

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

“Doesn’t look like the two of you are going anywhere anytime soon, Detective,” Detective Kinzinger said as he caught a glimpse of the snowstorm that had started to rage outside the station walls, “Just received word that the main road out of town was just shut down due to severe conditions.”

“There’s got to be another way out,” you insisted, “We have got to get these files back to our team. We’ve got a serial killer on our hands and we needed to close this case yesterday!”

“Sorry,” Kinzinger apologized, “but any backroads out of town are going to be in even worse condition than the main road. Your best bet is to check into Mrs. Marshall’s bed and breakfast. It’s only a few doors down from here.”

“Malcolm are you okay?” you asked when you noticed him staring out the window, his hand shaking slightly. When he didn’t respond you walked over to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Malcolm?”

Malcolm jumped when he was pulled out of whatever trance he’d been in, “Yeah, sorry,” he gave you an unconvincing smile, “I’m fine.”

“You look exhausted,” you frowned, “What do you say we go and find that bed and breakfast so you can get some rest?”

Malcolm shot a sideways glance at Detective Kinzinger, you could tell he wanted to say that he wasn’t going to risk sleeping without restraints but didn’t want to draw attention from the older man, “Yeah, that sounds great,” he lied.

“Care to point us in the right direction, Detective?” you asked shouldering your messenger bag filled with the copies of the case files you’d been sent for after you’d pulled on your coat.

“Give me a second to put on my coat and I’ll walk you there,” Kinzinger offered, “I wouldn’t want you two to get lost in the blizzard.”

“Thank you,” you smiled politely, “Do you have everything you need Malcolm?”

“Yes,” Malcolm replied as he pulled on his own coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

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

“Hello, dears,” a kind-looking woman you assumed to be Mrs. Marshall greeted the two of you when you entered the bed and breakfast, stomping the snow from your shoes before entering any further, “Need a room for the night?”

“That would be great,” you replied with a smile, you couldn’t help but feel at ease around the woman. She gave off very heavy grandmotherly vibes, “My partner and I didn’t quite make it out of town before the storm rolled in.”

“You’re not from around here are you?” Mrs. Marshall asked as she pulled out her registration book.

“No, we’re both from New York City,” you replied, “We both work for the NYPD. Our Lieutenant sent us out here to get somethings from Detective Kinzinger for a case.”

“Oh, Jimmy is such a lovely man,” Mrs. Marshall cooed, before she asked, “What name should I put down?”

“Malcolm Bright,” Malcolm spoke for the first time since entering the bed and breakfast.

“And your name dear?” Mrs. Marshall asked after jotting down Malcolm’s name, “I don’t need if for the register, but I don’t want to just call you Mrs. Bright.”

You nearly choked at the assumption that you and Malcolm were married, and you caught a glimpse of his ears reddening but he didn’t say anything, “Uh, it’s Y/n.”

“Well, Y/n,” Mrs. Marshall grinned, “It’s a pleasure to meet you and you too Malcolm. Here’s your room key. You’re in 204. Up the stairs, second door on the right. Let me know if any of your neighbors get a little too noisy. We’re full up now. Lots of people got stranded here by the blizzard just like you.”

“We will,” you replied taking the key from her, “Thank you so much Mrs. Marshall.”

You and Malcolm trudged off in search of your room. Your mind raced as you trailed behind him. Mrs. Marshall had said the two of you had gotten the very last room and you prayed that it had two beds in it, but you had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t going to be the case.

“Well, that answers that question,” Malcolm sighed when he pushed open the door to reveal one full-size bed, “I’ll make up a spot on the floor with the extra blankets and pillow. I’m not going to be sleeping much anyway.”

“We can share the bed,” you said as you brushed past him to deposit your bags on the floor by the bed, “We are both adults, Malcolm.”

“Night terrors remember?” Malcolm reminded you, “I would never forgive myself if I accidentally hurt you.”

“We can debate the bed situation after I take a shower,” you sighed, pulling a t-shirt and shorts from your bag.

“How are you so prepared?” Malcolm asked as he watched you remove a small bag filled with travel-sized toiletries from your bag, “We weren’t planning to stay the night anywhere. I didn’t even know you had that other bag until you grabbed it on the way over here.”

“I always have an emergency bag in my car with a change of work clothes, gym clothes, and shower stuff along with a few other odds and ends,” you replied as you wandered towards the bathroom, “If you look in there, you’ll find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that should fit you. I planned ahead for you.”

“Wow, thanks,” Malcolm said as he turned to dig through the bag, when he looked back you already had closed the door and he heard the shower turn on a second later.

He went ahead and dressed in the clothes you’d packed for him, surprised to find they fit him perfectly. Once he finished neatly folding his suit, he started making himself a place to sleep on the floor. While he worked, he thought about how much he wished he could share the bed with you.

Which was a foreign feeling to him, he’d never found himself wishing that before. Intimate relationships had never been his forte and it would be unprofessional for him to engage in such a relationship with you. You worked for Gil and Malcolm couldn’t risk compromising your position or his own on the team. Your work was everything to you, just like work was his everything.

“I told you that you didn’t have to sleep on the floor,” Malcolm jumped when he heard your voice. He hadn’t even heard the shower shut off let alone the opening of the bathroom door, “Sorry,” you apologized, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Malcolm reassured you, “I was just lost in my own thoughts.”

“Thinking about the case?” you asked running a towel through your hair to wring out as much of the water as you could.

“Yeah,” Malcolm said, you could tell he was lying but decided not to push the issue.

“I’m glad those fit,” you gestured to the sweats, “I was guessing when I packed them.”

“Where did you even get them?” Malcolm asked tugging at the hem of the shirt.

“Pulled them out of the lost and found at the station,” you shrugged, “They’re clean. I washed them when I went home to take care of my cat before we left.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm said.

“You’re welcome,” you gave him a small smile, “I-,”

You froze when the lights in the room went out.

“Well that can’t be good,” Malcolm said as he reached around for his phone to use the flashlight feature.

“Blizzard probably knocked the power out,” you said turning on the light on your phone, beating him by a second, “I’ll go check in with Mrs. Marshall. She might have some candles or something we can use so we don’t drain our phones before bed.”

“Sounds good,” Malcolm said as he sank into the armchair that was in the corner to wait for your return.

“She could only spare a couple of candles,” you announced when you returned, “Seemed like everyone else in this place had the same idea. Thankfully she thought we were so nice and cute together that she offered us a few extra blankets.”

You held up the pile of blankets, “She said when the power goes out like this it’s usually for several hours so it’s likely gonna get cold in here given how old the building is.”

“Well, I guess we’re in for a long night,” Malcolm sighed, looking forlornly at the sad arrangement he’d made on the floor.

“If you think you’re going to be laying on the floor all night with the heat out you’re crazy,” you informed him, “I don’t care if you actually sleep or not. You’re going to lay in the real bed.”

“I can’t… I mean we shouldn’t…” Malcolm stammered nervously.

“Malcolm, we’re adults and the heat is out,” you said, “It would be absolutely ridiculous for you to sleep on the floor at this point. Besides, I trust you. You’ve saved my life a few times now.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer,” Malcolm chuckled, “Are you?”

“Absolutely not,” you said stubbornly, “Now get your butt in bed. There’s not much we can do at this point so we might as well try and stay warm while we can and if you’re that worried about impropriety you can sleep on top of one of the blankets so that there’s a layer between us.”

“Alright,” Malcolm conceded, “you get in first.”

“Fine,” you said. Once you layered the extra blankets on top of the bed, you climbed into the bed and snuggled into the soft mattress, your head sinking comfortably into the down pillow.

Malcolm stood hesitantly on his side of the bed.

“Good lord, Malcolm,” you rolled your eyes, “You’ve faced down cold-blooded killers and your own father, and you’re scared to share a bed with a girl?”

Malcolm wanted to say that he wasn’t scared to share a bed with a girl, he’d done it before. He’d simply never felt the way about the girl in the bed the way he feels about you, “What if Gil or the rest of the team finds out?”

“If it makes you feel better, I won’t tell if you don’t,” you promised, “We can tell them we had separate rooms.”

“Okay,” Malcolm sighed and finally slid into the bed, making sure to leave a blanket between you and him.

“Is it safe to assume you’re going to lie awake all night?” you asked as you rolled onto your side to face him.

“Oh yes,” Malcolm nodded, not that you could really see it since it was so dark in the room.

“Well, I’m going to get some sleep,” you said, “It’s been a long day.”

“Goodnight, Y/n,” Malcolm said.

“Goodnight, Malcolm,” you yawned and rolled back to your other side so that you were facing away. It didn’t take long before you drifted off.

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

Several hours later you woke up, but you weren’t sure why. It was still pitch-black outside, and you could hear the wind howling violently. Then, you heard the muttering.

You shot up in the bed quickly grabbing your phone off the nightstand to light up the room. When you looked back towards Malcolm, you saw that he’d fallen asleep, but his face was contorted with fear. He was trapped in one of his night terrors.

“Malcolm!” you shook his shoulder, you briefly considered that it might not be a good idea to wake him up too roughly, but you couldn’t leave him trapped in his own mind like that. You’d seen how quickly they could escalate when he’d tackled Dani in the station during his first case.

“No, stop,” Malcolm whimpered, “Don’t… Don’t hurt her.”

“Malcolm!” you said louder this time, still shaking his shoulder, “Come on, Malcolm, wake up!”

“Stop, don’t… don’t do it!” Malcolm's pleas grew louder and more urgent and he started to toss and jerk.

“Dammit, Malcolm,” you cursed, “This is probably going to hurt.”

You pulled your arm back and proceeded to give him a solid punch to the gut.

“NO!” Malcolm howled as he bolted upright in the bed, but his eyes flew open finally free from the nightmare, but they were still wild as he struggled to regain his bearings.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re safe,” you said gently grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to you, wrapping him in a reassuring embrace, “It was just a nightmare.”

“Y/n?” Malcolm whimpered into your shoulder slowly coming back to his senses.

“Yeah, I’m here, Malcolm,” you rubbed his back, “You’re okay. We’re in Mrs. Marshall’s bed and breakfast. Remember? We got stuck here because of the blizzard.”

“I-I remember,” Malcolm stammered, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?” you asked as he pulled away. Thanks to the dim light your phone provided, you could see the fear still etched across his face, whatever he’d been seeing wasn’t good.

“I woke you up,” Malcolm cleared his throat, “and I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t,” you pointed out, “I woke up in time. I was awake before you even started to thrash around.”

“You should try to get some more sleep,” Malcolm said as he tossed the blankets aside and started to get out of the bed.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist as he stood up, “Where do you think you’re going?” “I can’t stay in the bed,” he said, “It’s pretty clear I can’t be trusted to stay awake and I’m not going to risk hurting you.”

“It’s freezing in here, Malcolm,” you argued, “Just lie back down. We’ll both stay awake this time. We can talk.”

“No, you should get more sleep,” Malcolm repeated his earlier sentiment.

“I got plenty of sleep,” you lied, “Besides, my adrenaline is rushing now. I wouldn’t be able to at this point. Now get back under the covers.”

“Fine,” Malcolm sighed and slid back under the blankets. In his exhaustion, he didn’t notice that he’d failed to keep one blanket between the two of you. You noticed but decided not to say anything. You really didn’t mind in the first place, “So what should we talk about?”

“What was it like working for the FBI?” you asked as you reached over to shut off the phone light.

“Well, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds,” he said as you turned back around and slid back down into the blankets next to him.

“Tell me anyway,” you said.

The two of you spent a couple of hours swapping stories back and forth before you both succumbed to sleep once again. Neither of you meant to but it just happened.

The next time you woke up you found yourself wrapped in Malcolm’s arms tucked securely against his chest. Your first thought was to pull away, but then you noticed how he was holding you. It was almost as if he was clinging to you for comfort like a child would their teddy bear.

You smiled when you realized that he was sleeping rather soundly and couldn’t bring yourself to risk waking him up. So, you closed your eyes again, hoping to get a few more hours of sleep.

After all, you were snowed in. The two of you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon and you had to admit, being wrapped in Malcolm’s arms was rather nice.

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

A/N: Hello, loves! Hope you enjoyed this little fic. I promise that I’m still working on my last three Good Omens requests. Unfortunately, I got way off track in the one I was working on so I had to start over so it probably won’t be ready tomorrow. Thank you all so much for your patience.

[saltandburnsis]

pilot, pt. 3

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader, Joseph and Constance Welch

Age: 20

Warnings: Gun Use, Car Crash

Word Count: 2,730

Summary: You’ve stumbled upon a major break with John’s motel room, or so you’d thought. When he’s found to be long gone, you, Sam, and Dean must pick up where he’s left off. An unforeseen run-in with the local law enforcement leaves you and Sam stuck working without Dean. Will it lead to more disaster or push you both in the direction you need to go to fix your relationship?

A/N: All dialogue taken from the show will be in italics. Part 4 will be the final part!

~ ~ ~ ~

You were frozen in the doorway, staring at the covered walls of the motel room before you. Sam and Dean stepped into the room, Dean turning on the lamp placed the end table while Sam went to get a closer look at some of the papers. Dean grabbed the half-eaten burger on the end table and sniffed it, recoiling at the smell.

“I don’t think he’s been here for a couple days at least,” he sighed, dropping the food back in its spot. Finally, you were able to walk into the space, looking down at the floor as you stepped through.

“Salt, cat’s-eyes shells. He was worried, trying to keep something from coming in,” you mused, making your way over to Dean, who was now reading over some of the papers on the wall by the lamp. Sam looked over at the two of you then quickly crossed the space.

“What do you got here?” he asked.

“Centennial Highway victims,” Dean replied. Sam began walking around the space again, this time really looking over each and every paper and surface he passed. Dean spoke again: “I don’t get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There’s always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?”

It was silent for a few minutes as the three of you continued reading over everything John had compiled. You heard a light behind you click as Sam turned the second lamp on but continued reading from the paper before you, only turning when you heard Sam scoff.

“Dad figured it out.” The words fell from his lips, sounding more like he was annoyed rather than relieved at the idea.

“What do you mean?” Dean questioned. The two of you turned around to look at Sam but remained where you were.

“He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She’s a Woman in White,” Sam revealed. Dean looked back at the victims on the wall.

“You sly dogs. Alright, so, if we’re dealing with a Woman in White, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.”

“She might have another weakness,” you spoke up. Dean shook his head.

“No, Dad would want to make sure. He’d dig her up,” Dean countered. He walked over to Sam, looking at the papers. “Does it say where she’s buried?”

“No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I’d go ask her husband…if he’s still alive.” Sam pointed to a picture of the grieving man from the article.

“Alright, why don’t you see if you can find an address. Y/N and I’ll go clean up.” Dean dug your room key out of his pocket and tossed it to you before heading towards the bathroom. Thankfully, the owner’d made you pay for a room before giving you any more information about your father’s room. No fighting over who’d get to shower first and a space all to yourself—even for ten minutes—sounded like heaven. As you turned toward the door, Sam cleared his throat.

“Hey. What I said earlier about Mom and Dad— I’m sorry.”

“No chick-flick moments,” Dean quickly replied, putting his hand up to stop Sam from continuing further.

“Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean shot back. You shook your head, offering up one word before walking out of the room: “Freaks.”

———————

Three hard raps on the front door shook you out of your thoughts as you finished drying your hair with the scratchy motel towel. You remained silent. That wasn’t Dean’s knock, and you were certain it wouldn’t be Sam. You slowly dropped the towel and went to the toilet, quickly climbing onto the seat to get a full view out of the window. The coast was clear, but you could see the back end of the police cruiser parked in front of the building. Shit.

Another three raps on the front door. You stepped off the toilet and grabbed all of your belongings before climbing back up and sliding out the window. The fall was short and easy, nothing compared to your swan dive off the bridge. You slipped into the sparse woods behind the building and pulled your cell phone out of your pocket. Sam’s number flashed across your screen the moment you were about to call Dean. You ducked behind a tree and answered the call.

“Five-o, dude. You guys gotta get out of there,” you spoke before Sam could.

“I know, I know. They grabbed Dean—“

“Son of a bitch.”

“Where are you?” Sam asked.

“There’s a bit of woods behind the rooms. I’m about ten feet in. I should be out of sight, but I still have a view of the lot.” You glanced back at the cruiser, ducking back behind the tree when you saw two officers throw Dean in the back. “They’re going to be coming after us, you know.”

“The two of ‘em at least are gonna take Dean back first.” Sam emerged in the woods and you hung up your phone.

“Yeah, well, finding him in a room covered in information on all those missing person cases isn’t going to bode well.” Sure, Dean had gotten himself out of stickier situations before, but it only took things going wrong once to get him hauled away for god knows how long.

“Let’s just focus on finding Dad. Dean can take care of himself,” Sam reminded. You nodded and looked back at the parking lot. The cruiser had driven off shortly after Sam had reached you, and so the two of you snuck your way back to the parking lot and over to the Impala in record time. Sam slid in the driver’s seat and you the passenger’s seat, and the two of you were off on the road before anyone could catch sight of you.

———————

“Yeah, he was older, but that’s him,” Joseph Welch spoke, walking back to the Impala with you and Sam. He handed the picture of a younger John, Sam, Dean, and you back to Sam. “He came by three or four days ago, said he was a reporter.”

“That’s right. We’re working on a story together,” Sam replied, sliding the picture back into his pocket.

“Well, I don’t know the hell kind of story you’re working on—the questions he asked me.”

“About your late wife, Constance,” you mused, fiddling with the strap on the camera around your neck. Honestly, the places you got into with a fake press badge and the old, broken camera were baffling to you.

“He asked me where she was buried.”

“And where is that again?” Sam pressed.

“What, I got to go through these twice?” Joseph questioned.

“It’s fact-checking,” you reassured him. “If you don’t mind.”

“In a plot behind my old place over on Breckenridge,” Joseph answered after taking a deep breath.

“Why did you move?” Sam asked. Joseph looked up at him incredulously before replying, his voice shaking.

“I’m not gonna live in the house where my children died.” The three of you stopped once you’d reached the Impala, and Sam turned to face Joseph.

“Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?”

“No way. Constance—she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.”

“So you had a happy marriage.” Sam pretended to summarize. Of course, the two of you knew that was false, or else you wouldn’t have the Woman in White on your hands. Joseph was quiet, staring up at Sam. A quick shake of his head, however, pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Definitely,” he answered. Sam nodded.

“Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time.” He walked over to the car with you and unlocked it. But, neither of you reached for the door handles. Instead, you looked at each other, having a silent conversation with your eyes. The two of you used to be so good at reading each other, which worked in your favor in moments like these. Joseph turned to go back to the house, but you called after him.

“Mr. Welch, have you ever heard of a Woman in White?” you asked. Joseph looked back at you, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“A what?”

“A Woman in White, or sometimes a Weeping Woman. It’s a ghost story. Well, it’s more of a phenomenon, really.” You started walking towards him, Sam following close behind. “They’re spirits. They’ve been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places in Hawaii and Mexico. Lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women, you understand, but all share the same story.”

“Girl, I don’t care much for nonsense,” Joseph spat. He spun on his heel and began walking back towards his house. You and Sam followed him

“You see, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them, and these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children,” Sam continued your thought. At this, Joseph stopped in his tracks and turned back to look at you two.

“Then, once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking backroads, waterways,” you picked up where Sam had left off.

“And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again,” Sam finished. Joseph looked between the two of you

“You think…you think that has something to do with Constance, you smartasses?” He took a few steps towards Sam.

“You tell me,” Sam spoke calmly.

“I mean, maybe—maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance never would have killed her own children,” Joseph’s voice was shaking again, this time seemingly from a mixture of his anger and sadness. “Now, you two get the hell out of here, and you don’t come back.” He looked between the two of you, jaw clenched and lip quivering, before turning his back on you. You looked up at Sam for a moment before walking to the car.

——————

Sam grabbed his phone as you sped down the road and, after a quick glance at the caller ID, flipped it open and put it on speaker. Dean’s voice immediately came through.

“Nice call on the fake 911 call.”

“Get this. It was all Sam’s idea,” you informed Dean, smiling over at Sam before turning your attention back to the road.

“I don’t know, Sammy. That’s pretty illegal,” Dean said. Sam chuckled.

“You’re welcome.”

“Listen, we gotta talk,” Dean started.

“Tell me about it,” you held your hand out for the phone, taking it when Sam handed it over. “So, the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a Woman in White. She’s buried behind her old house, so that should be Dad’s next stop—“

“Y/N, would you shut up for a second?” Dean interjected, but you were talking a mile a minute, trying to relay all in information to your brother, think and keep a steady hand on the wheel at the same time.

“We just can’t figure out why he hasn’t destroyed the corpse yet,” you mused.

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Dean interrupted again. “He’s gone. Dad left Jericho.”

“What? How do you know?” Sam asked.

“I’ve got his journal.”

“He doesn’t go anywhere without that thing.”

“Yeah, well, he did this time.”

“What’s it say?” you asked, grip tightening on the wheel.

“Same old ex-marine crap when he wants to let us know where he’s going.”

“Coordinates,” you breathed out, shaking your head.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Dean replied.

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” Sam was exasperated. You sighed, then jumped half out of your seat when a woman appeared on the road in front of you. Constance.

“Whoa!” You jumped, slamming on the brakes. Your grip on the wheel tightened even more, your knuckles turning a ghostly white. The car went right through her. Once you were fully stopped, you slowly sat back, letting out a long, shaky breath. You shot a quick look at Sam to make sure he was alright, then turned your attention to the rear-view. As soon as your eyes met Constance’s ghostly figure, she spoke.

“Take me home.” Her eyes were locked on Sam’s figure. You looked over to him, pursing your lips. Constance spoke again, her voice angrier. “Take me home.”

“No,” Sam stated firmly. Immediately, all the locks went down into the doors. You reached for your lock while Sam reached for his. While you were turned away from the wheel, the car began driving down the road. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t stop it, and neither of you could leave.

Shortly, you arrived at the old, dilapidated house. The car rolled to a stop then shut off. You stared out the windshield, trying to devise a plan.

“Don’t do this,” Sam spoke up.

“I can never go home,” Constance spoke.

“You’re scared to go home,” Sam corrected. He turned to look at her, but she’d vanished. You both looked around the space, and she quickly appeared on top of Sam, pinning him down on the seat.

“Hold me. I’m so cold.”

“You can’t kill me,” Sam struggled against her. “I’m not unfaithful. I’ve never been.” Constance leaned in close to him.

“You will be.” With that, she pressed her lips to his.

“Oh, that’s sick,” you couldn’t help but comment. Reflexively, you searched your pockets for your gun, but it must have gone flying when you’d slammed on the brakes. Your hands found it under the seat just as you heard Sam begin groaning in pain.

“Y/N!” He was able to get out. You looked over to see her hand in his chest, face morphed into something truly evil. Without another thought, you began shooting at her form. She disappeared just long enough for you to finally get a grip on the situation—now that she wasn’t holding your brother’s life in her hand. Finally, it clicked. You dropped your gun and started the car.

“I’m taking you home, bitch.” You slammed your foot onto the gas pedal and launched the car forward, crashing through the front of the house.

“Sam! Y/N!” Dean called, running inside. He ran to the passenger side and looked in. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you replied, crawling out of the car through the window after you were unable to get the door open through all the debris.

“Yeah, help me,” Sam answered. Dean helped him out through his door.

“There you go,” he stated as he got Sam up in his feet. You eyed Constance carefully, unsure of her next move, as you walked over to them. Constance threw the picture she had been holding down on the ground before looking to the three of you. She stepped out of the way and sent a large dresser across the room, pinning the three of you against the car. You groaned and tried to push it away, unsuccessfully.

Suddenly, the electricity began to crackle, lights flickering all around the space. Even Constance looked around, unsure of the cause. Water began to trickle down the stairs, and Constance looked to the top.

“You’ve come home to us, Mommy,” two young voices called out. You watched on as the two children appeared at the bottom of the stairs. They hugged Constance, and the three of them disappeared into the ground beneath them, Constance screaming and changing shape the whole way down. Finally, the three of you could push the dresser away and move away from the car. Dean led you and Sam over to the spot where the ghosts had vanished.

“So, this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean said, staring down at the wet spot.

“That’s why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them,” Sam added.

“You found her weak spot.”

“Nice work, Y/N.” Sam smiled weakly down at you.

“Thanks, Sammy. Couldn’t have done it without you, though.” You hit his chest, smiling, before following Dean over to the Impala.

“Ah!” Sam laughed through the pain then looked over at you. “But, what were you thinking, shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey, saved your ass,” you shot back, still grinning. Dean looked up from inspecting the car.

“I’ll tell you another thing, Y/N. If you screwed up my car, I’ll kill you,” he threatened. You rolled your eyes, laughing softly.

“Oh, come on. I crash a car through a house one time…”

—————--

SPN rewrite taglist: @mrsfortune1306 @marvelous-glims

forever taglist: @griff1ndor @gothsatanicrapunzel @choosemyname @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @not-astounding @sassy-specter @vicmc624 @idksupernatural

[haildoodles-writing]

Where the Sky Meets the Sea - Prologue 

A Detroit: Become Human fic. AO3

Summary:  It’s been nearly a year since the deviant uprising--since Markus and his followers protested peacefully for android rights and deviancy spread like a wild virus. Rose Huggins, an old friend of Hank Anderson, had helped along the sidelines, quietly doing all she could to aid the newly established people. And after months of hard work on both sides, androids and humans found some semblance of peace . . . 

But when sporadic disappearances occur and strange evidence begins to show up at the DCPD, everything is flipped on its head.  And Rose, for better or for worse, will be its turning point.

Word Count: 3758

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x OFC

CHAPTER WARNING: Content in this chapter deals with some elements of domestic abuse, and thus may be triggering to some readers. If you or a loved one are experiencing any sort of domestic abuse, please do not hesitate to reach out to those who can help and offer support. We are here for you, and we love you. 

A/N: Welcome to WTSMTS, aka the dbh fic I’ve been planning on making for an eternity. I honestly don’t know how people will take this fic, and if it’ll even gain traction at all, but it doesn’t matter--I’ve been having fun making it, and I wanted to share it with you anyways! Enjoy <3

* * *

Rose Huggins had been feeling like she was being watched. 

Lately, it had been as if the hairs on the back of her neck and the goosebumps on her arms knew something she didn’t--especially at night. She didn’t know why. 

Taking the backroads, though sometimes revolting, proved to be a much faster method at getting home in the evenings. And so after her shift at Jimmy’s Bar or the rundown Thai restaurant next door, Rose would slip through the back and onto the garbage-ridden alleys, avoiding the main streets completely. 

Sure, it was unnerving, and she used to jump at any rat crossing near her feet or trash bag shifting in the breeze. But after two years into working both jobs, she came to learn that the dreary atmosphere was better than being late. She had a dull ache in her pinkie finger and an Urgent Care visit on her record to prove for that. 

That night, a regular from Jimmy’s had slipped out the door behind her and managed to catch her off guard. He had drunkenly stumbled after her for the past few blocks, somehow keeping track of her despite his twisted footing. And the comments he threw at her, at the bystanders, at the world in general--

It was safe to say that Rose wanted to vomit. 

Had it been early enough into the night, she would have sprinted to the train station and avoided him altogether. But it was too late by now, and she didn’t have the cash for a cab, so had to resort to simply keep him at a safe distance as she led him away from her home. At least he was too drunk to notice she was practically hugging the main roads. 

Rose had managed to lose him for good when she finally calmed. Her clutch on her keys loosened enough to swing back and forth—she was back on track to the house now; maybe a few minutes away. Close enough to see the DCPD lights and parked police cars near the main road. If she had time, she could have possibly stopped by, perhaps say hello to Hank Anderson and Gavin Reed—likely still there at this hour— and maybe string enough words together to have a conversation with Connor. 

Connor, who had shown up a year ago to catch deviating androids, only to become a deviant himself. Connor, who practically became Hank’s own son after the revolution calmed down enough. Connor, who made her throat constrict and her chest feel like it was going to collapse every time she saw him. 

The thought of seeing them--seeing him--was tempting, and she slowed to a halt at the steps of the DCPD. But then her pinky ached again, as if a steady reminder, and she decided that stopping by wouldn’t be the best idea. So she hurried home, ignoring the buzzing phone in her back pocket and the omnipresent feeling that she was being watched. 

But no matter how much the back of her neck itched and how many creaks and shuffles sounded right behind her, she never found anything. Only the wind, and the snow, and the distant sounds of Detroit.

She managed to reach the townhouse safely, climbing up the steps and twisting the key into the lock before noticing that the door was already slightly ajar. 

It was strange--her father always bolted up, even when he was home. He was always paranoid.

But the television was blasting from inside and kitchen lights were on, so Rose knew her father was there, at least. 

So she cracked open the door and slipped through, careful to avoid the street lights shining into the doorway. 

“You’re late,” a voice sounded from the couch. Harsh and gravelly, as if sifting through cobbled dirt. Something stirred in the pit of Rose’s stomach, twisting, but she snuffed it out without thinking twice. 

“Sorry, Father. Work kept me a little bit later than usual,” she lied through her teeth, pulling her shoes off and placing them neatly in her corner. And then she headed directly for the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a can of beer from the bottom shelf. 

“Well tell your work to piss off next time, Rosy,” her father grumbled. But then he heard the beer top opening and huffed, leaning further into the couch and holding a waiting hand out. 

Her chest seized at every can she gave him, every bottle he demanded with an open hand. But it was usually only at night--and he stopped talking, at least. Stopped berating her, for just a moment longer. Better drunk and incapacitated on the couch than drunk and throwing things. 

Or drunk, and missing. That was the worst one. 

Her father took the can and inspected it, slandering the brand name. “Why’d you have to get this one, Rosy? You know better,” he snapped, even though he already had a few of the same cans empty around his lap. Either way, he was the one who had bought it—or had stolen; she didn’t really know how he got his supply anymore. All she knew is that she never bought anything herself. 

“I’m sorry,” she said anyway. 

He merely grunted and sipped from it, ignoring her completely. She dropped her hand from the back of the couch, a breath escaping her—but then fingers shot out and gripped her wrist, squeezing. It was nothing she couldn’t handle — but his thumb was pressing on a bruise through her shirt sleeve, and it made her breath catch. 

He squeezed for a moment longer, sighing. “Clean this mess up,” was all he ended up saying, releasing her wrist to gesture to the pile of trash he sat in. But then he fell silent, and Rose nodded, leaving him to float between realities for a while. 

She crept upstairs, head low until she reached her room at the end of the hallway. Her chest heaved out a sigh, her shoulders dropping as she walked into the bedroom. 

And as she changed into her painting clothes and prepped her easel and paints in the corner of the room, and as she painted until she could finally feel, Rose longed for something other than this life she had put herself in. 

*  *  *

Whenever a case of his wasn’t improving, Gavin Reed became one of the usuals at Jimmy’s Bar. 

When she first met him over a year ago, Rose constantly had to fight the twinge of annoyance every time he chatted her up. She had to bite her tongue to keep from huffing when he would vent about androids, of all creatures, infiltrating the DCPD. But then, through his arrogance and ranting, he would sometimes pause. He would ask her about her day, about what she did, and genuinely seem interested in it. Something not a lot of people did that often. 

So she would withstand his . . . Gavin-ness, every time he came in. If only for those small moments that he acted like a decent human being. 

Today, though, didn’t seem like it was a good day for him—if the way he stormed in fuming said anything, at least. 

He ignored Rose for a minute as she started making his regular, fists clenched against the table and head bowed. From what she could see, every word in the dictionary was spewing from his mouth. 

Eventually though, after Rose was finished helping a few others, Gavin lifted his head. A fresh bruise adorned his cheek. 

“Bad day?” Rose asked quietly, raising a brow as she set a glass of whiskey in front of him. Neat, as he liked it. 

Gavin sighed, downing the glass before pausing. “Got no idea, sweetheart.” He signaled to bring more, so she poured him a double rye. 

“Let me guess,” Rose said. “Nines?” 

If she had brought up androids six months ago, Gavin would’ve spewed expletives and cursed androids--usually one specific Connor--until her ears bled. But then he was assigned a new partner, Nines, Connor’s prototype successor, and he  . . . well, cooled. He wasn’t necessarily nice to Connor, by all means, but he grew comfortable with Nines and his ever-present company.

Though Gavin would never actually admit it.

Gavin pointed at Rose and clicked his tongue, before collapsing in on himself again. “I think he’s turning into a housecat,” he said. “He never leaves--” 

Rose looked around, nodding to the Nines-less bar.

“He’s outside,” Gavin muttered. At that, Rose outright laughed.

She sobered herself enough to shoot him a look. “That’s not new, though,” she pointed out. And it was true--Gavin often complained about Nines trailing after him constantly, both in and outside of work. Some sort of annoying guardian, he had said. But it wasn’t something Rose hadn’t heard of before--no, something else was bothering him. Something that made him much more sour than normal.

Gavin gave a thousand-mile stare past Rose’s shoulder. “There’s another one.” 

Another android--at the station, she guessed.

That would be . . . three then, working at the DCPD. Connor, and then Nines—and now another one, evidently. 

Another RK model, she presumed. 

By how hard Gavin was clenching the glass in his hands, she knew she was right. Another “Connor” walking around in the precinct; another “Connor” for him to get used to. 

It was nearly a year after the uprising, and Gavin wasn’t cold towards androids any longer--but he wasn’t exactly warm, either. 

“Well, at least you get a break for now, right?” Rose tried to lighten up the mood, offering him another drink. He took it without thinking twice. 

But then Gavin bit down, a muscle flickering in his jaw, and ground out, “Not for long.” 

Rose was nearly about to question him before the doorbell jingled, two silhouettes slipping through the doorway.  

And then Hank and Connor appeared in the dim lighting, Hank calling out a “Hey, kid,” and Connor giving a polite wave. Rose smiled in return, trying to level her breathing at seeing Connor--it had been a while, anyway.

In front of her, Gavin clenched his hand around the glass even tighter — if that was even possible, at this point. He stared at her arm, heaving a deep sigh. 

“Well, if it isn’t Hank and the tin can,” Gavin slurred, seemingly more exhausted than miffed. At least he wasn’t biting; Rose wasn’t in the mood to break up a fight tonight.

Even though Hank and Connor weren’t affected by him—in fact, Hank seemed amused at his ex-protege—Rose still cringed at the nickname. 

Connor, unperturbed, greeted them. “Hello, Detective Reed,” was all he said before turning to Rose, stepping around Gavin. “Hello, Rosalind.” 

“Rose,” she corrected him, still smiling and ignoring Gavin’s visible irritation. No one ever called her Rosalind, save her own mother. And that was nearly a decade ago. 

Hank scoffed, throwing a hand against Connor’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be so professional during work. I mean, how many times does she have to tell you, kid? It’s been like, what—a year?” 

Connor didn’t have to pause. “Ten months, twenty-three days, fifteen hours and forty-four minutes.” 

He said it so bluntly that Rose choked on a laugh, her stomach fluttering. 

At the sound of Rose’s giggle, Gavin unfroze, stepping between the three of them. “Hank, we’re off the clock today. Get him out.” 

Hank began to step forward and open his mouth, but Connor cut him off. “We just need to ask Rose some questions for a recent case.” 

Deviancy had done Connor well, and emotions began to lace his words—his expressions, his stance, everything. But still, in the moment, Connor composed himself enough to seem nonchalant about Gavin’s presence. Enough to annoy Gavin further. 

Hank had bet money that Gavin was just bitter about getting knocked out by Connor two punches in back in the evidence room, nearly a year ago. But Rose often thought it was something else, though.

Gavin looked back at Rose, gauging her reaction. “Fine,” he shrugged. And then he yanked out his wallet and handed Rose a handful of cash, reaching for his remaining glass and downing it with a grunt. Then he winked at Rose, clicking his tongue. “You tell me if these runts give you trouble, yeah?” 

If she was being honest with herself, Rose was impressed. Gavin, with alcohol in his system, not starting a fight? It was nearly unheard of. 

She bit her lip and nodded, satisfying Gavin enough. “Good luck, sweetheart,” he called, stepping around Hank and slapping a hand on Connor’s shoulder. 

And then he was gone, the doorbell signaling he had stepped into the night. 

Rose sighed, throwing a curl from her braid loose with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry,” she told them both. 

Hank scoffed as he took a seat at the bar, patting the seat next to him for Connor. “Don’t know what you need to be apologizing for, Squid.” 

Squid--a name Cole, his son, used to call her when she babysat him. Before he passed, Rose would walk to Hank’s house whenever he was called in and take care of Cole for years. And whether it was in the dead of night or at midday, she would come with the hand-sewn squid Cole loved. 

She still had that little stuffed squid on her nightstand. 

Rose smiled at Hank’s comment, rolling her eyes playfully. After checking on the other customers, she went to offer Hank his usual, opening her mouth to speak — but then Connor shot out a hand beside him, nearly brushing her own fingers against the table. 

“He won’t be drinking tonight,” Connor said. Rose raised an eyebrow.

A noise sounded in Hank’s throat, but then he swallowed it. Evidently, by the look Connor gave him, they had already discussed the matter. 

“I tried,” Hank shrugged—and then sighed at Rose’s raised brows. “Only drinking on weekends, now.” 

Apparently, Connor’s passing comments of them “working things out” with Hank’s drinking habits had proven true. Hank had seemed more sober lately, anyway. It was a nice improvement.

Rose grinned, genuinely happy for him. But, nonetheless, “So I won’t be seeing you around here that often, then?” 

Hank nodded. “Yeah, thanks to this kid,”—he grabbed Connor’s shoulder again, and a smile pulled at both of their mouths. “But Sumo needs more lovin’, if you ever wanna come over to watch him while we’re out.” 

At the mention of the old dog, Rose nodded enthusiastically. Hank only lived a few streets down from her, anyway, right by the docks—and the precious ball of fluff always needed more love. 

Connor’s face went soft at the mention of Sumo, his eyes taking in Rose’s giddy expression with an odd look on his face. But then his LED quickly flashed yellow, and his face dropped.

“We came here to ask you something, Rose,” Connor said. And Hank, with the conversation having been steered back on track, grew somber. 

“Yeah, Squid. We, ah . . .” Hank heaved a sigh, tapping his fingers on the table. Avoiding having to talk, most likely—which made Rose’s chest seize a bit. 

When they asked Rose for information before, there was no hesitation to their questions. What was making Hank so quiet this time? 

Rose watched a customer a few stools down drop some cash on the table as he exited and stepped over to him, collecting the change and grabbing the empty glasses before she turned to Connor and Hank completely. 

“Well,” Hank continued, “we know a lot passes around through here, and we know you hear everything. . .” — which was true. Rose knew almost as many people as Hank did, having grown up in the outskirts of Detroit, and word tended to travel fast through tipsy mouths. 

But this had already been established. At this point, Hank was stalling. 

Likely sensing her unease, Connor’s LED flashed as he eyed her. He moved his hand to rest on top of hers, to soothe her. 

If he noticed how her heartbeat sped up instead, he didn’t mention it. 

“We need to know if you’ve been experiencing anything strange lately,” he said, and Rose’s heart rate immediately died down. “We . . . we have reason to believe that you are being followed.” 

Rose froze completely, her jaw going slack. Her mind flicking to every instance the hair on her neck raised, every fleeing form she witnessed that somehow always behind her . . .

More than once recently, she had felt eyes on her. Watching. Waiting, silent, as she walked down the streets of Detroit. 

Rose had thought it was her mere imagination. 

“Yes,” Rose eventually blurted out, eyeing Connor’s hand. “I mean, no, I haven’t seen anyone, or heard anything. But . . .” A curl fell against her cheek as she tilted her head. 

Eyes scrunching, Hank spoke up. “You think you’re being followed, kiddo?” 

It took everything in her to force the words out--They’re cops, she reminded herself. They have to know this stuff. 

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I . . . Sometimes a couple drunks stalk me, but only for a few minutes before giving up. But lately, I’ve been feeling like someone’s been watching me--the entire way home.” But then she shrugged, brushing it off. “But I haven’t spotted anyone, so it may be nothing.” 

Connor tilted his head as his LED spun. “Human minds can pick up on subtle cues outside of their direct field of vision and not be completely aware of it,” he blurted. “You may be noticing someone’s gaze without actually seeing it. There is a chance your brain may be sending false alarms, but it’s still better to be cautious.”

Taking in the information, Rose’s eyes fell to Hank. “Why?” she asked. “I mean, what’s making you think I’m being followed?” 

At that moment, Jimmy himself walked through the front door, the bell jingling and throwing Rose out of her thoughts. Her shift was up. 

Hank clenched his jaw for a moment, considering. 

It was Connor that spoke up in the silence. “We received photographs at the precinct the other day,” he breathed, lowering his voice. “Candid photos of people around the city.” 

“And you were the main one,” Hank muttered. His eyes were cloudy, his face somber. 

Rose felt her blood run cold. 

From behind her, Jimmy clasped Rose on the shoulder and nodded to Hank in greeting. “I’ll take it from here,” he said. “You’re good to head on home.” 

She didn’t move. She couldn’t, not when someone was taking pictures of her, following her, for some unknown reason--

“I’ll walk you home,” Connor spoke up, retracting his hand from hers and sliding off the bar stool. “Hank needs to finish up at the precinct, but I can stay with you.” In response, Hank nodded. 

Rose let out a sigh of relief and nodded. 

And so they left her to gather her things, Hank squeezing her forearm in a gentle farewell and Connor standing politely at the exitway. His LED didn’t stray from blue, even when he and Rose stepped into the winter night and the chill took over. Always bright, always flickering. 

She wondered why he never decided to take it out. 

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, and Connor let Rose take the lead as he processed everything around them. Looking for clues, most likely. 

But then she couldn’t stand the silence anymore, and she spoke up. “I heard there’s another RK model at the precinct,” she said, eyeing him as he glanced around through the snow. At her comment, his eyes flicked to her and he smiled, polite and cheerful. 

Her stomach flipped again. 

“His name is Corvus,” he said as they rounded another corner. “He’s my successor by three models--and he’s the last one, evidently.”

“The last one?” She thought there were more--there were around ten Connor models made, right?

“After the deviant uprising, CyberLife gave orders for every active RK unit to return to the Tower and be deactivated. The rest of my successors, save Nines, were all destroyed.” His voice was soft, quiet, and Rose noticed that he was rubbing his hands together--a nervous habit, she realized. Something he developed after the uprising.

Without thinking, Rose tugged on one of his hands and intertwined her fingers with his. For a second, his LED flashed--but then it faded back into its constant, soothing blue. She felt his hand squeeze back, if only for a moment, before she released her hold. 

“Except Corvus,” she responded, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He nodded. “He was already deviated from his time at the Salt Lake City Police Department, and he came to Detroit a few days ago.” 

“To meet you?” 

Connor’s lip twitched. “To meet Markus.” 

Oh. She should have assumed. 

The tension between Markus and the general public had slowly settled over time, leaving Markus the ability to establish a community for deviants, just north of Detroit. It seemed that deviants were still flocking to him, even now.  

“I think you’d like him,” he mused. 

Rose was about to comment more--but then his LED sputtered into yellow, and he returned his attention to his surroundings as he processed. Looking for hints again--even though, oddly enough, there were none. 

She stifled the nagging thought, that doubt that she had ever seen anything at all. Maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her--Connor had brought up that idea as an option, anyway.

She remained quiet as Connor processed everything, completely content with just his company until they reached the front steps of the townhouse. This time, it was late enough that she was sure her father was asleep--something that made her heave a sigh of relief. 

Connor remained on the sidewalk as Rose slowly climbed the steps, her feet nearly dragging.  “Thank you,” she murmured, turning on her heel to face him. In return, Connor bowed his head. 

For a moment, he said nothing, simply staring at her with an odd look on his face. But then his LED blinked all over again, and his expression slowly faded. 

“Let me know if you ever need anything, Rose,” he said, so sincerely that her chest warmed. She nearly grinned at the way he said her name. 

But she didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded, turning to unlock the door and slipping in with a small wave of farewell. 

He called for her before she could close the door.  “Come to the precinct tomorrow, during Hank’s break,” he requested. It was likely to meet Corvus, and she faltered a little at the idea of seeing Connor’s face on someone else--but it was he who asked her, and she couldn’t say no.

“Okay,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

Connor’s responding grin made her laugh. 

* * *

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