#yeah someone might get stuck trying to decipher this as though it's walking us continuously through a scene lol but alas. c'est la vie

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Asia Kate Dillon as Lucifer again in Opus For All, Opus 4, Our Better Angels

[alltooreid]

Call It What You Want

Everyone around them is trying to discover the true nature of Y/N and Spencer’s relationship. Little do they know Y/N is trying to figure out the exact same thing. 

A/N: Sorry this took a lot longer than I wanted it to.... Mental health is hard but here it is!! I hope you guys love it :)) Additionally I added a lil garvez to this... but for it to work with the timeline we’re all just gonna pretend Lisa doesn’t exist... ok great!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (with a little splash of implied Garvez content for my personal joy)

Requested?: Yes!! :)) “can you do a one shot based off call it what you want??”

Type: Fluffiest Fluff

Word Count: 3K

Content Warnings: None! 

“My baby's fly like a jet stream High above the whole scene Loves me like I'm brand new So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to”

The team was sure something was going on between Y/N and Spencer, they just weren’t sure how to prove it.

Every sign pointed to the two dating, but the pair hadn’t said anything about it. Maybe they were trying to keep it a secret, but at the same time they didn’t appear to be being very secretive about it.

So ever since Penelope saw Y/N giving Spencer a ride home a week ago, she has been determined to uncover the truth, and hopefully the truth was her two best friends were in the world’s cutest, most perfect relationship.

She was using her technical brilliance to gather data when she was caught by none other than Luke Alvez.

“What are you doing in here?”

“This is my job Luke, I have to be in here,” she rolled her eyes.

“Well, I know that! I mean what are you doing right now, we don’t have a case.” he smirked “Are you committing any cyber crimes? You know you could get in a lot of trouble for those, the FBI won’t help you. You should let me help.”

She smiled, “You do know I got my job here from committing cyber crimes right? I don’t think I would need your help. Besides, I’m working on a personal project.” After some thought she decided Luke might actually be helpful “I’m trying to find out if Spencer and Y/N are dating.”

“I swear I saw them leaving together yesterday, that seems like pretty good evidence! I could be very helpful to you.”

“I’m way ahead of you, but I guess you can help,” she pulled up a new tab, quickly constructing a timeline while Luke pulled a chair next to her. “So our favorite pair’s relationship would, based on my intense experimentation and surveying, begin here,” she traced a circle around the start of the timeline with her cursor, “on that night we went out after the case and then wouldn’t stop talking to each other.”

Luke and Penelope discussed all the things they saw that led them to believe that Y/N and Spencer were more than just friends, from how keen Y/N was to listen to anything that came out of Spencer’s mouth no matter how difficult to follow, to Spencer’s willingness to touch her. After about 15 minutes however they were interrupted by none other than Y/N herself. Penelope quickly switched tabs, so that it now appeared she was just showing Luke a funny kitten video.

“Hey guys! What are you doing in here?” “Oh you know, just wasting time. . . What’s up?” said Luke.

“I was just checking to see if you wanted to go to lunch! If you have any opinions as to where that would be great too because no one out there can make a decision . . .”

“Of course I want lunch! I’ll be out there in just a sec,” Penelope smiled and started closing her work done as soon as Y/N left, almost forgetting Luke’s presence.

“Um, Penelope?”

“What is it Luke?”

“Do you think you’d ever do anything like what Y/N and Spencer are doing?” he asked.

“Like what? Keep a secret? You know I’m terrible at that stuff.”

“No, no I mean like . . .” he took a deep breath, “You know, like dating a coworker?”

“What does that have to do with anything? Now hurry up and come to lunch, we can keep working afterwards,” she replied.

Luke awkwardly smiled, and they both left.

Little did Luke and Penelope know that as they debated and pieced together aspects of Y/N and Spencer’s relationship, trying to uncover if they were dating, Y/N was doing the exact same thing.

Her and Spencer had been on three dates, each more boyfriend and girlfriend than the last. They got coffee one day, then went to a movie, then a nice restaurant for dinner. Tonight Spencer wanted to keep it a surprise, but that just made her even more confused.

Sometimes her and Spencer would sit next to each other at the round table, and now when they did that he would reach over, not to hold her hand, but just to link their pinkies together.

She didn’t know what that meant.

Sometimes Y/N would go on a tangent and realize she had been talking for almost an hour about nothing in particular, and when she realized Spencer was the only one still listening would apologize for wasting his time. To which he would reply, “Why would I be upset about spending time with you?” She didn’t know what that meant.

And one time, on her and Spencer’s first “date” they were about to part their separate directions, and Y/N had no idea what to do with her body or her hands, Spencer wrapped her into a hug, and she swore she felt his lips brushing against the top of her head.

She really didn’t know what that meant.

Which is why she continued to let Penelope and Luke have their fun trying to decipher her and Spencer’s social cues. She knew as soon as she was about to enter to ask about lunch, Penelope was not exactly quiet and Luke wasn’t any better, but she let them believe they were being sneaky.

Besides, maybe if they found the answer they could let her know.

When the team returned from lunch she couldn’t help but continue to contemplate this issue further, Spencer hadn’t really said anything to her at lunch. Were they still just friends? Were they dating but not telling anyone? Were they going to tell anyone?

“Y/N! Are you excited to hang out tonight?” Spencer asked.

Hang out. So it definitely was not a date. . .

“Of course! Right after work right? Your place?”

“Yep! It’s a date,” he smiled and walked away, leaving Y/N in a state of confused panic. What was this? For someone so logical and scientific, Y/N wished that Spencer Reid would just tell her the kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, and genus of their relationship.

Maybe then she could stop dissecting it to try and figure it out.

　♡　　♡　　♡　　♡　　♡　

As Y/N stood outside Spencer’s apartment building, she struggled to muster up courage to go inside. It’s not that she was nervous to hang out with Spencer, it was just Y/N knew she needed to have the “what are we” talk with him for her own personal sanity. And she just wasn’t sure yet what his answer would be.

She had made her way into the building and gotten to Spencer’s floor when she ran into the man of the hour himself.

“Oh there you are! I was about to come down and get you,” he said.

Y/N glanced at her phone, “I’m sorry, am I late?”

“No, no, no. You’re perfect, I just got excited.”

That confused Y/N even more, she couldn’t decide if that leaned more towards friend or date territory. However all of her anxieties were forgotten for a moment as soon as she entered Spencer’s apartment.

Almost all the lights were off, except for several strings of lights shaped like stars, strung in different directions across the room. In the corner were several folded up blankets and sheets, and pillows were spread out across the room.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, although if I’m being honest I don’t really know what it is . . .”

“13 months ago we were on a case, the one were the unsub was killing couples when they went out camping so that no one would look for them for days, and you said that you used to go camping all the time but you didn’t think you could go anymore. So I bought stuff so we could go camping together, right here.”

Y/N was left almost speechless, “I- I don’t even know what to say, Spencer this is incredible.”

He beamed, instantly satisfied with that answer. “I tried to find a tent, but all of the stores I went to said I should order one online . . . I figured it would be more fun to build a fort instead.”

Spencer brought over the supplies he had bought and gathered, various sheets and comforters, pillows, his leather couch cushions, sleeping bags, a large collection of clothes pins, and some more lights. Except Spencer left a single bag in the pile, the only one from a craft store.

“Do you want me to grab that one?” Y/N asked.

“Oh um, no don’t worry about that one. I saw something stupid on that site JJ and Garcia really like while I was passing JJ’s desk. . .  Pinterest? Yes that’s it. And I tried to make it but even though I memorized the instructions I couldn’t get it to work. . . I kind of just gave up and threw everything in there.”

“Can I try it?”

He nodded, and Y/N got up and glanced into the bag, in it was a push light, warm toned tissue paper and a couple empty paper towel rolls, all stuck together, but also somehow falling apart. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, “Were you trying to build me a campfire Dr. Reid?”

“Well you said that your family used to have this big bonfire every year, and that it used to be one of your favorite traditions until you couldn’t handle going anymore, so I thought I could make one that would be a little safer for you. Turns out that you actually need four PHDs to be good at crafts though.”                    

“Spencer this whole date is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me . . . Thank you.”

“Of course, I really want you to enjoy yourself when you're around me Y/N.”

“Spencer, I’ve never not enjoyed myself when I’m around you, and you were with me when I got shot. You’re my favorite person, you do know that right?”

He blushed, “You’re my favorite person too Y/N.”

So the two lovers built a blanket fort, draping sheets over string lights and shoving the inside full of pillows and blankets, giggling the entire time. Y/N taught Spencer the simplicity of DIY projects, and how sometimes the directions needed to be adjusted slightly based on personal preferences and ability. Soon the pair were cuddled up together on the ground, no other space to be except for right next to each other, as the rest of the fort was covered by snacks, pillows, their homemade campfire, and Spencer’s vinyl record player.

“Did you do this on purpose? Making me be so close to you?”

“No, I would never, it’s not my fault this area is so small . . . “

“Mhm, although I’m sure a genius like you could figure out how to make an adult sized fort, I’m very glad you didn’t,” she said, giggling and squishing herself closer to him. They smiled and kissed each other, before Spencer spoke.

“You make me so, unbelievably, happy. I never thought I could feel like this until we met Y/N.”

Y/N smiled even bigger, “Spencer I really, really like you,” she paused, it was now or never, “but um, what do you want to call this, like what we’re doing.”

“Well what do you want this to be? Because I want you to be my girlfriend.”

She smiled, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“Well then that’s what we’ll be,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

“Well you do know the team, particularly Penelope and Luke have the exact same question.”

“Well I think more than Luke wondering if we’re dating, I think he’s just wondering if Penelope will date him. . . So I say let them have their fun for a little while, before we tell everyone.”

She smiled, “Perfect. They’re profilers, they’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Well, I think we should watch a movie. . .  Although I mostly enjoy my cinema in Russian, tonight is about you and I don’t want to give you a headache. What’s your favorite?”

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

“I promise I will not laugh at you darling.”

“High School Musical 3.”

　♡　　♡　　♡　　♡　　♡　

So Y/N spent the rest of that night explaining the plot of the first two High School Musical movies, then explaining why the third one was the clear winner, and then finally showing Spencer the third one off of her phone, where she had it saved to her cloud for emergencies.

And although singing and dancing adults pretending to be teenagers was not exactly Spencer’s favorite genre, he loved how happy the series as a whole made Y/N. So he latched onto it, and learned as much as he could about it.

One particular scene however, in one of the earlier films, seemed to make Y/N extra excited, as she spent the longest amount of time talking about it. So Spencer decided he knew exactly what to do to prove to her he was in this relationship for the long haul.

Spencer could tell she was anxious before their date, and it didn’t take him long to guess that it was because she didn’t know how serious everything was to him. Yet, he didn’t want to be too obvious that he wanted her to be his, because if he had assessed wrong he would make a complete fool out of himself.

But when she asked him, she seemed so nervous, so small, he knew he had made a mistake in waiting, and now he wanted to make it up to her.

So as she was walking in the next day he caught her. “Y/N!”

“Hi Spencer! What’s up?”

“I have a present for you. . .” he said, handing her a small box wrapped in shiny gold paper.

“For me? Why?”

“Oh you know, just because. . .”

As Y/N unwrapped the box, Spencer got more and more nervous… What if she hated it? What if she thought it was stupid or too soon or didn’t get it or-

“Oh my god Spencer I-”

“You know what it’s stupid, I don’t even know why I got it for you. I can return it and find you something you’ll actually like-”

“I love it Spencer, it’s perfect. Will you put it on me?”

Spencer hooked the chain around his new girlfriend’s neck, the small “S” pendant shining in the light.

“It’s like Gabriella’s. . . I love it. I can’t believe you would care to remember something like that…”

“Of course I would remember that. I have an eidetic memory. Did you know that although the original purpose and origin of initial jewelry was largely unknown, they date back to the 14th century?”

“No, I just mean… It’s very thoughtful Spencer.”

He smiled, “Well I’m sorry to kill the mood, but I really have to go to the bathroom. I drank 3 cups of coffee this morning and I was standing here waiting for you for 18 minutes and 4 seconds before you came in.”

She laughed, and then hugged him, “Well don’t just stand here! Go!”

Spencer ran off, leaving Y/N to walk into the bullpen alone. As Y/N was making her way to her desk, she was stopped by none other than Penelope Garcia and Luke Alvez, Penelope up front, Luke standing a foot or so behind her, ready to back her up.

“Y/N! We know your secret, you and Spencer are secretly dating. . . We figured it out this morning. You can’t hide from us anymore,” Penelope said, Luke nodding behind her.

“Well yeah we’re dating, but it’s not a secret.”

“What? Excuse me? You haven’t told anyone!”

“Yeah but we haven’t really made any effort to hide it? We told everyone about the time we went to the movies?”

“Yeah but- Um, we just thought we were being sneaky. . .” Penelope said.

“You might wanna get a little better at that guys, the Bat Cave is not soundproof.”

“Dang it, I really need to work on that…” Penelope said. “Well Luke Alvez, I suppose our quest has been conquered.”

“See! We were right, I told you I’m great help,” Luke said.

“Oh don’t get it too twisted, this was almost all me.”

After a moment of playful banter, Y/N stopped them “So when are you two going to start “secretly” dating huh?”

“Uh hmph, I don’t know what you talking about. I would never,” Penelope said.

At that moment, Spencer returned from the bathroom, and came up upon Y/N hugging her from behind and leaning to rest his head on her shoulder. “What are we talking about?”

Penelope threw her head back in defeat, “Nothing, 187, we were just talking. . .”

“Don’t you think Luke and Penelope would make the cutest couple Spencer?” Y/N smirked.

“You know what? Yeah I do!” Spencer played along, “Have you guys ever thought about that?

Luke was beaming behind Penelope, while she looked like she was trying to hide her enthusiasm. “No actually I haven’t,” she said.

“Well you definitely should,” Y/N said, giggling as her and Spencer walked to his desk.

“Hey, wait come back here! What does your necklace have on it?” Penelope asked, half running after them, Luke closely behind her.

“Whatever you want Penelope, whatever you want.”

“I want to wear his initial On a chain round my neck, chain round my neck Not because he owns me But 'cause he really knows me”

Thank you so much for reading!! Please reblog and let me know what you think :)))

holly’s tiny taglist: @reidingmelodies @hercleverboy @rigatonireid @muffin-cup​ @takeyourleap-of-faith @wheelsup​ @s1utformgg​ @averyhotchner​ @widow-cevans​ @rotinireid​

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed :))

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Hi! Long time lurker, big fan of this blog. Can I request either a headcannon or a fic of Viv Tang?

Basically, it goes like this, it's an AU of some sort, where Viv and the Poppy leave MC. MC tried to hate them and forget them especially Viv, but couldn't do it. So out of spite and care, MC creates a whole organisation that revolves around protecting Viv and the others. (Making sure their heists go well, the police/government never finding them, making sure that their old enemies never get to them etc.) They've been doing this in private, but Viv and the others catch on, and that thought bothers them. Enough to make them distracted in their latest heist.

Their heist went down in shambles, leaving MC's crew to step in and made sure they're safe, leaving MC's mark to take the blame.

They were confused ofc, but MC's crew was just giddy and happy that they get to meet their leader's old crew.

Basically, they meet MC, MC makes them make it up to her.

And we know how in the original Viv route, we try really hard to pry her open and get her to trust us, well Viv does the same, trying to get MC to forgive her. And just angst ending with fluff please?

Lots of Love <3

This will contain both HC and story parts.

…

·         After Vivienne leaves MC poisoned in Paris, of course she’s pissed.

·         A talk with Jace (and some stress painting) later, MC feels like she has a pretty good grasp of Vivienne’s decision

“She was scared,” she muses, idly playing with one of her brushes, a thoughtful frown on her face as her mind wanders to the other members. “And they were… willing to give her a way out, I guess? Pretty messed up, considering they got me in this whole thing to begin with…”

Thing is, they hadn’t left her without something. Zoe had made sure MC could return to her normal life ‘after you lay low for a bit, probably two months’, advice left in a letter alongside some cash. Enough to buy a few plane tickets around the world. First class.

Even after their most recent decision, MC could recall how careful and welcoming everyone had been. Vivienne was always a mystery, of course, lingering at the edge while MC got to know Jett and Zoe in the Art Club they had formed, or as MC debated with Remy and Leon about a movie they had been watching. With Nikolai, it was mostly challenges Nikolai loved to issue and MC was too proud to deny. But she was always there, in the background. She had become a rather comforting presence, as MC had formed bonds with everyone.

“This was not the best course of action, but they took it anyway.” Vivienne’s choice had been driven by emotion, raw panic, but MC just couldn’t wrap her mind around Nikolai or Zoe, both logical to the bone, supporting it. “There must have been something else, there.”

·         With the anger slowly cooling off, MC thought she could almost begin to understand their reasons. The Poppy isn’t the sort of group to taint their hands with blood, not unless it’s absolute necessary.

·         Celine had pushed everyone, even if the heist ended on a positive note.

·         ‘I believe you have a place with us’, Nikolai had said. MC remembered the heist and how everything could have gone wrong.

·         Their talent and quick-thinking are the only reason they got out of that situation relatively unharmed.

·         No doubt the rest of their heists carried the same danger.

·         MC thought of Celine, gun aiming at her chest, eyes glinting in Vivienne’s direction and made a split-second decision.

·         There was no way, no way at all, that she was going to let anything happen to them.

…

·         When Vivienne had first noticed the sudden lack of danger in their heists, she was instantly suspicious.

·         She couldn’t afford to brush anything off in her line of work.

·         Zoe finds the source in no time.

·         To say they were confused as an understatement.

“I thought she was back in New York?”

“I don’t understand, why would she choose this?”

“We’re hardly so incompetent as to need a guard.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Couple months, so maybe they started operating around March?” Zoe throws them a withering look so they’ll shut up, and lets out a long sigh once they do. “Point is, we’ve gained a new stalker, even if it’s her. She got a whole organization going, she’s pretty dedicated.”

“Of course she is, it’s why we choose her in the first place.”

“Technically, Vivienne did.”

“Well, yeah. Still, this is insane. So little time, and yet…”

“MC was always a fighter,” Vivienne says, quietly. “It’s certainly an… interesting choice…”

“She seems to have very good intel,” Zoe continues, eyes glued to her laptop’s screen. “Too good. She knows our every movement.”

“Which means she will be lurking around this heist.” Nikolai drums his fingers against his armchair, a frown firmly in place. “That might be a problem.”

“She’s been doing this for months, but we’ve never caught a glimpse of her. It’s safe to say she won’t approach us, right?”

“We probably shouldn’t, either. Not for now. We need more info on this organization of hers.”

“We’ll proceed as planned.”

·         Except nothing goes as planned.

·         Jett’s bombs don’t go off when they should, providing no distraction and thus no way of escape for Vivienne and Nikolai.

·         No safe way, at any rate.

·         The guards get suspicious of their malfunctioning equipment remarkably quick, moving to search the place.

·         Remy gets found out first, though he stalls as much as he can.

·         It’s enough time for Leon and Nikolai to think for a way out, though Remy is still with the guards.

·         The bombs go off at that moment, and Vivienne is trapped.

·         It’s at that moment that MC’s crew intervene.

·         The guards are the most important issue, and so most of her crew go handle it.

·         MC takes care of Vivienne personally.

“Well, that went great.” MC says, flashing Vivienne a cheeky smile when she finds her. Vivienne looks up at her with wide eyes, brown eyes glinting under the light of the room.

“How did you…”

“Questions later, darling. Can you walk?”

Vivienne blinks, taking a deep breath. The motion helps her get rid of most of her surprise. She knows she doesn’t have time to lose, so she accepts MC hand and follows her out. The trip is quiet, of course. Vivienne keeps a carefully neutral expression on, eyes flickering from the woman in front of her to the rest of their escape route.

It’s hard, trying to compare this woman with the one she had kissed all those months ago. She remembers how her hands grasped at her robe, passionate, truthful, those sweet words MC had muttered against Vivienne’s mouth, before the poison had taken effect.

MC had said she would never hurt Vivienne. Vivienne had poisoned her, afraid she would hurt MC.

It didn’t feel like she could hurt the woman before her, though, standing tall and strong and confident, a leader, someone made out of stone. For a moment, Vivienne had the impression poison wouldn’t even work on her anymore.

·         MC had changed. It was as clear as the water glimmering outside the organization’s HQ.

·         She wasn’t the same bubbly, hopeful girl Vivienne had taken around Paris, teaching everything she could about thievery.

·         She wasn’t the same passionate, proud artist she had been, brush in hand, smiling in wonder and then frowning in concentration when she tried to capture something beautiful. Somehow, most of the time, the subject of her painting was Vivienne herself.

·         She was steely, snarky, commanding the room with her very presence. All eyes followed her as she went, speaking clear orders for the crew to follow.

·         In the beginning, they had stuck to the Gilded Poppy like glue, curious. No doubt they were trying to see why MC cared about them so much to go through this kind of trouble.

·         One look from MC was enough to get them to disperse.

·         This change… everything it entailed… Vivienne wanted to know more.

“So, how did it feel?” MC had asked her as soon as they got a moment alone. Vivienne shot her a glance, trying to decipher something in her expression.

“How did what feel?”

“Thinking you could force me out of this. You got me in this life.”

“I gave you a way out.”

“But I told you, didn’t I? I wanted this, and you…”

“I’ve lived all my life like this. I didn’t want you to face-”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have chosen me, then. Ever think of this little thing called consequences?”

Isadora flashes through her mind, quick, too quick. It leaves a trail of golden hair in the back on her mind, all too real when she closes her eyes. Vivienne presses her lips together, forces herself to focus.

“This organization…”

“Don’t let it get to your head, darling. It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“…The others, then.”

“Yes. Quid pro quo, and all that. I’ll see what I can ask in return later.”

“We didn’t ask you to intervene.”

“You didn’t ask before poisoning me, either. I feel like doing drastic things without asking for permission are common place around here.”

“That doesn’t even-”

“Ah, ah, ah. Did I save your lives, yes or no?”

Jett had said, before they got released from the medical ward, that the plan failing was entirely his fault, after getting too distracted thinking about MC to get his usual formulas right. Vivienne didn’t doubt him – Jett was, after all, very dedicated to his craft. A mistake was unthinkable, unless something of this magnitude managed to get to him.

He felt guilty and weirded out, probably, she thinks bitterly, despite everything being my fault, as per usual.

“…you did.”

The smile that stretches over MC’s face is almost predatory, brown eyes glinting with satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear.”

[crowdedimagines]

It’s Just PR - Harry Styles/Shawn Mendes (Part Seven)

SERIES LIST

Harry and I didn’t leave his penthouse for two and a half days, at least one whole day spent in bed together. I don’t know how I missed out on this with Harry for so long. It’s been perfect here with him. Our days blur together in the best way possible. I don’t feel a need to leave and go back out into the real world even slightly.

I ended up canceling my flight without booking another one. Harry never booked a returning flight, so we we’re free to stay as long as we want. I had my things delivered from my hotel.

Joan went back to Los Angeles. I didn’t tell her I was staying, she has been messaging me and calling nonstop, so that’s when Harry and I decided we didn’t need phones in our little bubble. We put them in a drawer, and if we’re being honest, we’ve both forgotten about them.

“Good morning.” I greet, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. My head peeking over to see him work at the piano. I woke up peacefully naked in his bed this morning, the sheets cold showing he’s been up for a while. The soft sounds of keys is what lulled me out here.

“Morning, love.” He takes his fingers off of the keys and holds me steady so I’m not going anywhere. The comforting feeling of someone holding you back.

“Sounds familiar.” I reach over him and play the melody that’s been stuck in his head for days now it would seem.

“I think I’ve done it.” He states.

“Done what?” I ask, not making the connection as I continue to just simply play what I can of his new song by ear.

“Finished the song.”

“With words and everything?” I turn to look at him. He hadn’t been working on it all that much. I haven’t seen him write down a single thing yet. Yesterday he was humming to himself, but between the words in my book and the soft voice he was using I could decipher much.

He nods to his journal sitting on top of the piano. I want to reach out and read the words that he’s graced this song with, but I know that if it were me in his position I would keep in under lock and key.

“I’m going to add it to the album. I had room for one more song, this is it.” Harry has talked about his album a little, mostly just talking about how much fun he had recording it. It’s scheduled to come out in a few weeks.

“Wow, that’s amazing! I peck a kiss to his jaw, “What’s it called?”

“Adore you.”

Harry and I spend our day similar to the past few. Either lounging around talking or one of us dragging the other to the bedroom. We both live such a busy life, it’s kind of nice to disappear for awhile.

I can hear Harry get in the shower, I just lay on his bed for a few minutes just basking in my happiness. Suddenly a loud buzzer sounds making me jump.

“Can you get that?” Harry yells from the bathroom.

I know it’s the intercom by the elevator door from us ordering food once or twice while we were here. I throw on Harry’s shirt from the floor and run over as it continues to buzz.

“Coming, coming!” I mutter more to myself than anyone else as I rush over, trying not to fall in my fuzzy socks.

“Hello?” I ask answering it, hoping that I’m pressing down the right button.

“Y/n? It’s Shawn.”

My heart drops suddenly. The bubble Harry and I have been living is successfully popped. He’s here?

“Shawn?” I ask.

“I need to see that you’re okay.”

Without another word I press the button to allow the elevator to go this floor. I know that there is no point in arguing with him. He’ll just draw more attention to us and get more annoying until he gets buzzed up anyway.

How did he get this address? How does he even know that I’m here? Why is he here?

It doesn’t take long for the elevator to ding that he’s arrived, I lean against one of the large chairs in the living room facing the doors. They open and Shawn looks up front he floor to make direct eye contact.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, my arms remain crossed over my chest. No signs of welcome are here.

“I just had to make sure that you’re okay! You haven’t been answering your phone! Not even just from me, Joan called me.”

“She what?” I ask. Ok so maybe locking our phones away wasn’t the best idea Harry and I have ever had.

“Yeah, she was worried about you and wanted to know if I knew where you were. She said that you missed your flight home and that you haven’t been seen or heard from since you were at Jimmy Fallon.”

“Shawn?” Harry asks, finally making an appearance. I was wondering how long it would take for him to come out. I didn’t however expect him to come out in only a towel hanging around his waist.

“What are you doing here? How did you get this address?” Harry asks walking over to stand next to me.

“I got it from your manager after badgering him for an entire flight. Y/n are you serious right now, what’s going on?” Shawn looks desperately between us.

“What do you mean what’s going on? I’m staying with my boyfriend. How does this affect you anymore?”

“Boyfriend?” Harry smirks, turning to look at me, completely changing the subject. He almost seems unaffected by Shawns presence.

“Not right now.” I hold up a hand to stop him from going any further down that road in front of Shawn. I’m not his biggest fan lately, but I don’t want to be mean without a purpose.

“Look, it wasn’t right for Joan to put this on you. I’m sorry that you came all the way to New York. I’ll talk to her today. You need to leave.”

Shawn doesn’t even flinch from his spot on the floor. His stubborn attitude that I used to find attractive at times is completely wiped away in this moment.

“I just need you to leave, please.”

“But-”

“I’m safe. I’m happy. Please go, Shawn.”

I hate that it still hurts my heart seeing his expression drop. I never want him to be hurt, I never want to be the one hurting him. I just want him out of my head, out of my life.

Is that too much to ask for?

Shawn takes a few steps back, nodding without a single word. He presses the button and thankfully there is no lag in the doors opening. Just as fast as he came, Shawn in gone.

“That was insane.” I mutter, staring down the closed doors.

“Are you okay?” Harry softly brushes my arm with his hand.

“Yeah, it was just unexpected.” I snap out of my trance and turn to look at him. I force a small smile.

“So, boyfriend?” Harry teases.

I knew he wasn’t going to let that one go. I’m not embarrassed really by it, it’s just that we had never discussed the official title on our relationship.

“Hmm, you caught that one did you?” I grin, I lean in and he takes the hint to wrap his arms around me. He still has droplets of water everywhere, his hair dipping every couple of seconds. I’m not even sure her dried off, he just came right here.

“I would love to be your boyfriend, Y/n.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“Really?” I grin.

“On one condition.” He puts on his very ‘serious’ face that he knows can always make me crack a smile.

“What would that be?” I bat my eyelashes, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but it’s fun.

“That you have to be my girlfriend.”

I don’t even fight the huge eye roll and the laughter that follows.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“It was pretty good though, wasn’t it? Had you going for a few seconds?” He leans for a few fast kisses.

“You might just be the cheesiest man I know.”

“Wow, you’re in a real treat. I only get stronger the deeper we get into the relationship.”

I bite back a laugh, I smile looking up at him admiring him. Somehow he would be able to make everything to light after drama and make me laugh until my stomach hurts.

“You shouldn’t have said that, maybe I’ll have to take back the whole boyfriend thing.” I tease, taking a few steps back out of his grip.

“Don’t you dare!” He starts to chase after me, “You’re stuck with me now.”

~

i hope yall are happy with how much i posted in one night! feed back plz

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 1

The new posters on the board in the break room had Tommy in stitches.

Who put this up here? They were huge sheets of paper, large enough to cover the rest of the flyers that were tacked on first. The printer’s settings were fucked, apparently, and it had rolled out three crisp eleven by seventeens of incomprehensible inky bullshit.

Tommy stood in front of the bulletin laughing for thirty straight seconds when he first walked in for his break. The fact that someone had printed out this garbage and still put in the effort to post them here was cracking him up. His coworkers, humorless as ever, were giving him strange looks for the fit of giggles he was in, so he popped the tab on a can of Sprite from the vending machine to try and calm down.

Distantly, he heard an unfamiliar, animated voice echo further down the hall. Right, the new guy was here today. The guy who was going to put on the fancy orange suit and risk his life for science. Tommy was supposed to be working on that project, too, making observations from behind a sheet of safety glass.

He wandered down the hall toward the voice, figuring he might as well be polite and introduce himself. Not a lot of folks around here liked to talk much, and he could hear the discouraged faltering in the man’s words as he tried and failed to make conversation. Maybe it would be nice to have a talker around. Keep things interesting.

When he rounded the corner, Tommy had to pause and regain his bearings. So the new guy was cute. He had dark curly hair, a beard that was neat-but-not-too-neat, and a charming smile that showed off his dimples. His face was framed by a tasteful pair of glasses and he walked like he had places to go, people to see. Friendly, but studious. Tommy wanted to derail him from his quest immediately.

“Hello,” he cast a greeting down the hall.

The new guy paused mid-stride, somewhat startled. “Hello.” What was his name again? Freeman? He was an MIT boy, if Tommy recalled correctly, a physicist who had published a thesis that was so long Tommy had stopped paying attention halfway through the title. A man of many words. A man of too many words, perhaps.

Oh, shit, he was walking over here.

“I’m new,” Tommy blurted, even though he wasn’t. Good job, idiot.

“You’re new here? Me, too, I think,” the new guy replied, brow wrinkled studiously as he approached.

I think? Maybe they were both idiots. Tommy gave the man a quick up-and-down look. He was a big guy, but well built. Athletic. Hard to believe he transferred from the education sector.

“What’s your name?” Tommy asked.

“Gordon Freeman.”

Right, that was it. Tommy remembered looking at his file now. “My name’s Tommy,” he told him, his grip tight on his Sprite can.

Gordon Freeman raised his eyebrows, like he was surprised someone had bothered to talk to him. “Tommy?” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Tommy,” he went on. “Are you - what department are you in? Where are you supposed to be right now? You headed to the break room?”

Wow, this guy asked a lot of questions. He looked adorably lost. Tommy could point him in the right direction, but his mention of the break room reminded him of the nonsense on the wall in there, and he fought down a snort of laughter. Maybe the new guy would appreciate the signs.

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “I like to read the billboards there.”

‘Billboards’ wasn’t right. It was a bulletin board; Tommy caught it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. But it made Gordon laugh in a puzzled sort of way, and it was such a lovely sound that Tommy left it.

“The - the billboards? In the break room?” he asked in bewilderment. “Are they - putting ads up in there?”

Tommy was fighting back another snicker. “Yeah,” he said, turning away to hide the grin on his face. “Follow me.”

He led the new guy down the hall and to the break room, passing the greasy microwave and the gaggle of disinterested coworkers. Man, those posters were even funnier the second time. Tommy wanted to find the person who had tacked them up and shake their hand.

“Oh, is this what you were talking about?” Gordon asked, realization dawning as he saw the bulletin. He cast Tommy a prompting look. “The billboards ?” He asked, politely giving him a chance to correct himself.

That was considerate of him, Tommy thought, but he stuck to his guns - he was already too far in the bit. “Yeah, tell me what it says,” he threw back.

He was going to pop a blood vessel trying not to laugh, and Gordon could clearly tell by now. Letting out a breathy chuckle, he glanced up at the bulletin and played along.

“Yeah, I can’t read it either, dude,” Gordon said, dark eyes passing over the nonsense in front of him. “Maybe he can?” He tossed the question to one of the scientists loitering nearby, who muttered something rude under his breath. Gordon turned an unflappable smile back to Tommy, ignoring his coworker. “Yeah, maybe.”

Oh, Tommy liked this one. He wanted to keep him for himself. Nobody around here appreciated his jokes, much less ran with them.

“I don’t know what it - can you read?” Gordon went on.

It took Tommy a half second to parse if he was serious or not, and realized the question was a continuation of the joke. He mimed a studious pose, taking a thoughtful sip from his Sprite as he pretended to decipher the clouds of ink.

“I’m trying, but it’s very - I -” He was breaking - he couldn’t help it - snorting out a laugh.  “The person who printed all these papers really fucked up.”

Gordon was grinning fully now, shading his eyes from a nonexistent sun as he glanced back at the notice board. “I think they used like, one DPI? Y’know - you know how a printer works? Like, dots per inch? I don’t think they got any - like - the right amount of dots - I can’t read any of this.” He gave another prompting glance to Tommy, clearly enjoying their little vignette. “What do you make of that?”

This man spoke like a machine gun, and it delighted Tommy. The words just came firing out of him with barely any comprehensive thread between them, a steady stream of consciousness straight from his brain to his mouth. It was wonderful. He shook his head in disbelief that someone so fun had just fallen into his lap.

“I don’t know,” was all he could reply.

Still chuckling, but still in a hurry, Gordon did his best to excuse himself politely. He had a test chamber to get to. “Are you staying here?” he asked.

Tommy wanted to follow him, but he had no real reason to outside of his attraction to the guy, so he nodded. “I’m on,” he faltered, glancing down at the Sprite in his hand, “lunch break.”

Gordon’s laughter staccatoed his farewell. “Okay, we’ll see - I’ll s- I’ll catch you later, Tommy.”

Tommy was grinning like a fool as he watched him leave the break room. Charming guy. Hilarious. Sharp as a tack, if a little scattered. His laugh sounded like bells ringing and he loved it.

“I drink soda for lunch,” he called down the hall after him, one last attempt to pull that laugh from him before he saw him again.

Gordon must not have heard him, because he didn’t reply. That was fine. They’d cross paths again. Tommy would be watching him very closely as they ran the test today.

---

The test chamber in the Anomalous Materials department wasn’t Tommy’s favorite place in the world. He thought the spectrometer was grandiose in a spooky sort of way, its rotating claw hanging menacingly from the ceiling. He was glad Gordon Freeman was the one going in the barrel instead of him.

Everyone who worked down here had a grim purpose about them, and it weirded Tommy out. There were many times during his research that he tried to lighten the mood, but most of his jokes sailed over his coworkers’ heads. Or they were rudely ignoring him. At this point, either option was plausible.

He stood behind the reinforced safety glass alongside the other members of the research team. All of them were older than he was, the majority born in the facility, which Tommy concluded was the only quality they really had in common. He was well qualified for the job with his range of experience and his Ph.D. in nuclear engineering, but whispers of nepotism still sometimes circulated.

Tommy ignored them for the most part. Everyone who worked for Black Mesa was stuck living in an underground bunker regardless of pay grade, so it wasn’t like he was any better off than his peers in that regard. He didn’t make anyone call him Dr. Coolatta, either, because that just sounded fucking stupid. Dr. Thomas Coolatta? Please. Tommy was fine.

He was zoning out, lost in his thoughts, when he noticed a blip in on the ground floor of the test chamber. The blip took the form of a short man in a blue uniform, and suddenly Tommy was very uneasy. He knew that guy.

Seconds later, the doors to the chamber whirred open, and Gordon Freeman strolled in. Tommy watched him gesticulate angrily at the security guard who had spontaneously manifested inside the spectrometer. He put two and two together and figured Benrey had been following Gordon for some time, riling the other man up as he was so wont to do to people. This could be bad. He reached over on the control panel and hit the broadcast button on the mic, ignoring the murmurs of indignation from his colleagues.

“Hello?”

Both of the men in the barrel whipped their heads up to the control room. Tommy raised a hand in a grim wave.

Benrey cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered back at him, voice grating in his ears, shivering down his spine. “Tommy!”

He had to handle this carefully. The entity in the chamber with Gordon was an anomaly that Tommy should have considered, but he hadn’t predicted Benrey would have latched himself onto the new guy so quickly. He darted a glance to his coworkers, who were all staring at Tommy expectantly, and then down to the scene below. There were things Tommy knew that the others weren’t allowed to know.

His hand was still on the intercom. “Gordon,” he began carefully.

“Tommy,” Benrey cut him off, a threat in his voice. The two of them stared one another down through the pane of glass, unspoken words passing between them. Finally, he sighed heavily. “Hi,” he muttered.

“Tommy, do you know this man?” the scientist beside him asked.

He was an older gentleman, the product of an experiment that probably had a name at one point, but had gone by ‘Bubby’ for as long as Tommy could remember. Tommy would have thought the nickname was a joke if Bubby had a single humorous bone in his body, which he didn’t. Well, unless he counted his humerus. Which he also didn’t.

Tommy killed the mic and fixed Bubby with a careful look. “He’s not a man,” he said without elaboration. He didn’t have to. Bubby could connect the dots well enough on his own.

On Tommy’s left, another colleague jockeyed beside him to hit the intercom button. He was a cheerful fellow, empty-eyed and cotton-headed. Tommy recalled that his name was Coomer. He also recalled that brawl in the dining facility a while back where he had knocked a fully grown man out with one punch.

“You know, he didn’t bring his passport,” Dr. Coomer informed the team brightly over the loudspeaker, even though they were all standing in the same room with him.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “I heard you don’t have your passport,” he said dryly down to Gordon.

But the new guy was occupied with the entity standing next to him, gesturing in agitation as he spoke with him, pointing to the chamber door. Probably was trying to get Benrey out of there. Worried about his safety. It would be a reasonable request made by any decent human, one that should have been backed up by the rest of the staff.

Several pairs of eyes were watching Tommy, knowing his security clearance, waiting for his decision. Benrey would be fine; he couldn’t be killed by any normal means. Tommy’s concern was for Gordon, bright orange and oblivious in his HEV suit below. If something went wrong, he would be paying for it.

He looked at Bubby again. “Standard procedure,” he told him.

If Benrey was up to no good, which he almost always was, Tommy could stop him. He could blink down there in an instant and kick him into another dimension for a while. Not fun, not easy, but he could do it. He moved closer to the glass, deciding to watch and wait.

The two figures dicked around in the test chamber for an insufferable amount of time, a fact that Tommy would find incredibly funny if it weren’t Benrey in there with Gordon. His colleagues were backing up Tommy’s decision, assuring Dr. Freeman that this was all normal and part of the process, while Gordon grew increasingly agitated. Poor guy. He had no idea what was going on.

Tommy decided to throw him a bone, leaning into the mic again. “Gordon?” he prompted. “Do you see the next step?”

The grinding of machinery in the room drowned out most of his response, but Tommy caught what he needed to. Push the shit into the thing. So easy an MIT grad could do it.

“Yes,” he affirmed.

“Very carefully,” Bubby said seriously over Tommy’s shoulder, miffed that he had been nudged away from the mic.

“Very carefully,” Tommy agreed. “Slower than molasses drips off a spoon,” he added, simply because he couldn’t help himself, ignoring the puzzled looks the other scientists passed in his direction.

He couldn’t really hear Gordon’s laughter, but he saw the man’s shoulders shake with mirth and his even teeth flashing that pretty smile. Tommy grinned. Worth it.

That was the only bright spot Tommy got to have before everything went to shit. Benrey was hassling Gordon mercilessly, Bubby was grinding insults into the mic, and Dr. Freeman was losing his mind. Tommy was standing there, taut like a mousetrap. Laser focused on Benrey. He was not paying attention to Gordon, or the glass shattering in front of him, or the error alarm blaring over the loudspeakers.

He did, however, catch the flashbang of light from the spectrometer. The ghost-white form of Bubby vaulting over the console and through the broken window. He tore his eyes away from his target for a second, and then there was electricity raising his hair and voltage shivering through the building and an acid-green shockwave flashing over all of them.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Benrey was nowhere to be seen. Tommy gripped the edge of the window, ignoring the slice of broken glass into his palms. Bubby looked… utterly dead, in a crumpled heap below him. Shock was forcing a waterfall of panicked words out of Gordon as he watched everything crash down around his head.

The machine groaned and surged outward. Tommy had seconds to choose: find where the fuck the entity went and snap him out of existence, or shield the new guy before he turned into a smoking crater on the ground.

Tommy made a decision. The world ripped apart.

---> Chapter 2

[littlesliceofmarvel]

Manipulating a God | chpt. five

Synopsis: Trying to break the information out of Loki during the attack of 2012 wasn’t exactly the easiest task, but it was a challenge you were willing to take head on. So, what happened when a master manipulator tried to get information from the God of Mischief?

Series warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence, blood, and gore

Pairings: Stark!Reader x Loki

A/N: I am so happy to be back writing on here. I apologize for the unannounced hiatus, I was dealing with personal issues and couldn’t find the motivation to write, but I am back and stronger than ever! I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays and may all of your 2020 wishes come true! Much love. xoxox

PS. There is a major storyline/timeline change here but don’t worry, it’ll match up with the movie timeline soon enough!

I know this chapter is shorter, but the next one will be a lot of fun!

-

For the millionth time that morning, Fury repeated the same question, “What did Loki say again? Give me the quote.”

Groaning and throwing your head back (also for the millionth time) you replied the same way you had all morning, “He said ‘the power I could find here on Earth is beyond anything your human brain can comprehend.’ Word for word - ish.” 

Fury placed the pencil under his chin as if he were contemplating the meaning of life and all existence, looking down at the notepad in front of him which only had that one exact quote written, no other details or clues or even doodles scribbled anywhere else on the small lined paper. For about half an hour, the two of you had been sitting here discussing what the God of Mischief had said, but nowhere nearer to deciphering anything. Thor, who was currently your best hope in this grand old mystery, was off paying his dear brother a visit in the meantime but hadn’t actually spoken to you all day so he was of no help thus far. 

In the half an hour you had been meeting with Fury, you had downed about eight coffees and your mind was having trouble staying focused on just the one quote, the meaning of it practically lost to you with the amount of caffeine flowing through your bloodstream. Your hands slightly shaking, eyes feeling fuzzy, you tried your best to keep focused and find any ideas flowing around your imaginative mind that could help out. But, in all honesty, you were blank.

Of course, you barely had any knowledge of ‘Outer Space’ in the first place, having only recently come in contact with your first-ever ‘aliens’ this week - and they were both nothing like you had expected from reading sci-fi and watching Star Trek. And that right there was the extent of your knowledge. 

“What if he’s looking for someone powerful? Instead of something,” Fury thought out loud, mumbling to himself as he started tapping the pencil to his chin. Mumbling a silent agreement, you let out a dramatic sigh as you continued sinking into your chair, bored of the endless circle of conversation that continued feeling pointless to you. No point had been proven and nothing could be confirmed or denied since Fury’s space knowledge didn’t seem to exceed your own.

“God, pick yourself up a little bit, Stark,” Fury spoke in disappointment at your slouched figure, “You’re worse than a seven-year old child after you’ve had your coffee.”

Chuckling at his comment, you sat properly in your chair, straightening your back like a stiff board and intertwining your fingers on the glass table like a posture-perfect model, “Is this better, Corporal Fury?”

“Y/N, I’m not messing around here, the fate of our planet is kind of resting in your hands.” 

Joking around was kind of your thing — you were a Stark after all. You knew that sometimes it got in the way when trying to hold a serious conversation (like right now), but there was nothing that could stop you from blurting out sarcastic or witty comments when people were relying on you for important answers.

You leaned towards him, a gentle smile on your lips, “I know, Fury, I’m just trying to bring some light to this dark situation.”

Fury nodded slowly, pointing down to the empty notepad in front of him, “Then try to shed some light on this.”

Dropping your smile, you pulled the notepad in front of you, staring blankly at the meaningless quote in front of you, “Have we ever considered that maybe Loki’s just messing with our minds? After all, that’s what he’s known for. This could just be an empty threat.”

“It’s not.”

Thor decided to make his entrance at the right time, arms crossed and a frown etched upon his bearded face — clearly, he had just come back from meeting Loki. He sauntered slowly over to the table and my eyes didn’t leave his figure. Something about the way he was standing gave me a feeling he was about to give us some information regarding what we’d been sitting in here discussing.

“Care to spill the beans, Thor?” 

“Sorry? Spill beans? I do not under—” 

“You don’t understand, yeah, I know. Just tell us what you think Loki means,” your patience was starting to wear thin with the Gods and their mysterious way of speaking. Still leaning over the table to direct your full attention to the blond hunk, you tensed your shoulders as you prepared for any kind of answer. 

“There’s this belief on Asgard, and most of the universe, really, that there are these things called the Infinity Stones,” Thor spoke, treading carefully as if detonating a bomb. The words meant nothing to you, and he seemed to notice this as he began to elaborate.

“There are six Infinity Stones, and they’re the most powerful things in existence. One is in Loki’s sceptre, and as you see, it’s been able to turn a few of your best men into what you have called ‘flying monkeys.’ They are dangerous and if in the wrong hands, can create catastrophic events throughout our knowable universe.”

Letting the knowledge sink in as if you were listening to science fiction theories, you pressed Thor to go on, “What’s that got to do with us?”

Thor grimaced, as if the answer tasted bitter rolling off his tongue, “He believes that they are here on Earth. If these stones got into Loki’s hands, it would be the end of your life here on this planet.”

You processed this sudden turn of events, sitting silently as you plotted a way to prevent Loki from getting these so-called Infinity Stones, even though you strongly doubted something so powerful would be casually sitting on your planet without your knowledge, “On Earth? Seriously? Out of all the planets and solar systems and shit, why would they be here? Don’t you think we’d know about them?”

“You only just found out about them, and you’re not a regular person. So, no, you wouldn’t know about them. Especially if they’re safe.” Although you had just met the rock-solid God, you could sniff the honesty coming off of him as if you’d known him for years.

Sitting back in your chair as if hit by a literal brick wall of information, you turned to Fury, “What the fuckin’ hell do we do now?”

Fury raised his eyebrow, thinking over the scenarios in his head, “We plan a meeting and discuss. I’m going to gather the team. We meet in fifteen minutes.”

And without another word, Fury left you in deafening silence with Thor.

- - -

Within fifteen minutes, Fury stuck true to his word, and the rest of the Avengers had groggily piled into the room. Thor explained the Infinity Stone situation and how they worked, even talking once more about Loki’s sceptre — which apparently homed the ‘Mind Stone.’ That explains the mind control.

“Has he mentioned the Infinity Stones to you, Y/N?” Tony asked, sarcasm laced in his voice almost in disbelief of the turn of events.

“Nope,” I replied casually, popping the P, “I haven’t really spoken to him much, so maybe next time I’ll try to bring it up, I dunno.”

“No — no, we can’t let Loki know that we know,” Thor’s eyes widened as if a lightbulb went off in his head, “If he finds out we’re onto him, he can very easily cause irreversible damage. I mean, I’ve never seen Loki willingly sit in a cage like this, it’s probably a part of his plan. So, we keep our mouths closed and let events unfold, I’d say.”

“Let events unfold?” Fury spoke up, “We are not letting that psychopath sit back and live his little life in that cage as if it were freakin’ Disneyland. Y/N, you’re going back in there for conversation. Find out the location of the Infinity Stones and his plan with them.”

I ran a hand through my hair, sitting upright with a tight smile, “Fury, I hate to disagree with you, but... I disagree with you. Look, Thor’s right, we can’t let him know we’re onto him about this because he can easily just... get out of here, or call his little backup boys or something. I’ll go talk to him and try my best to get everything that I can from him, but I doubt he’ll give in that easily,” I let out a sigh, trying my best to ignore the looks that everyone was giving me, “Just, give me a few days.”

And that’s exactly what Fury did.

-

Sitting face to face with Loki got less intimidating every time I did it. Probably because he looked sicker every time I saw him. Not that he was any less captivating — his blue eyes held numerous mysterious emotions and the smirk on his lips proved that he had secrets I wanted to know, but the fact that he looked as if his entire life was crumbling before his eyes made me feel like my job might just get a little easier.

“You’re back,” Loki smirked at me as I walked into the room. For the first time in about three days, I wasn’t wearing a tactical suit — meaning I didn’t feel as on edge, my body finally getting to experience comfort. My y/h/c hair flowed loosely down my shoulders and rested on my plain white t-shirt which was tucked into a tight pair of jeans.

“Yeah, hi,” I smiled, my mind replaying what Nat and I discussed this morning. 

Be kind to him. Understand him. Relate to him. 

Relating to Loki might be the toughest challenge out of the three, but my mind was witty enough to come up with something that made sense.

“I’ve persuaded them to let you eat if you want,” I smiled, looking down at the brown paper bag in my hand and held it out, “I’ve got a bagel and a hashbrown. I don’t know if you even eat, but this is good shit in my opinion.”

“I do not want it, but I appreciate the effort, Y/N.”

The way my name rolled off his tongue sent shivers down my spine, and I mentally smacked myself for focusing on it. He sat in the corner of the cell, leaning against the glass wall with his green cloak wrapped around him. His eyes looked more sunken in than last time I saw him and a part of me felt bad knowing he was probably losing his mind in here.

“If ever you do need anything, though, you can ask me — I know how to get my way with these people,” I smiled at him as kindly as I could, sitting down in the small chair in front of the glass.

He chuckled, eyes raking over my body quickly before locking back with mine, “Change of heart from our last conversation, wouldn’t you say?”

Now it was my turn to laugh slightly, remembering the last time I spoke to him and how different the encounter was, “Doesn’t change the fact that you will do as I say, but, I am human and I do have feelings. I’m not too good at the ‘being mean’ part. Even though I act like it.” That was totally a lie — I could slam and call out people in an instant — but I needed to play the role of a sweetheart if I wanted to get him to believe I had good intentions. 

“You don’t seem like someone who has trouble being mean,” Loki scoffed, shrugging his shoulders backwards.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” I raised an eyebrow at him, glaring him down as best as I could.

“Decipher it however you want,” he leaned his head backwards and gave me a weak smile. Something about him looked incredibly off and as much as it seemed like he was faking it for help, a tiny sliver of my mind told me he was being genuine and he needed help.

“Uh, so, how have you been?” I tried to strike up a casual conversation, still trying to figure out a way to pop the Infinity Stones in. 

He gave me a quizzical look, “Just peachy. What do you think? I’m bored.”

I smiled down at the ground, an idea popping into my head, “Well, what if we played a game? To get to know each other? Like, Never Have I Ever or 20 questions?” 

Loki rolled his eyes, “No, thank you. You seem incredibly boring.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” I scoffed, flicking a strand of my hair over my shoulder, “I’m bored too, this will give me something to do.”

Loki’s eyes flickered with an idea, and as he opened his mouth I knew I’d regret giving him the option to play.

“What do I get out of this?” He smirked coyly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rolling my eyes, I pointed to the brown bag on the floor, “Food, duh.” There was nothing else I could possibly offer Loki — nothing that was good, anyways. I knew he’d ask to set him free, but that was not an option in anyone’s books.

“Not good enough, princess,” he shook his eyes, eyes playfully tracing my figure.

“Well,” I began, “You also get me as a friend!” 

The playful smile disappeared from his face, “Oh, yeah, that’s totally what I want.”

“Stop being a bitch, Loki, and just ask me a question.”

He placed his fingers on his chin as if pondering the situation for a moment before his eyes lit up and he shot me a toothy grin, the dark ideas swirling around his mind ready to break free from their cages. Was I going to regret this? Yeah, probably. Was I going to back down? No.

“Fine, let’s play.”

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[novelnerdqueers]

Tell Me To Stay - Chapter 3

Summary :  Roman and Logan work on another case together, but this one doesn't seem so black and white. Roman begins to get a little more comfortable with Logan, throwing some friendly conversation his way and Logan isn't totally sure how to feel about it.

CW: talk of murder cases 

Previous chapter  Next chapter  From the beginning Read on ao3 

Chapter 3 - Personal Attachments 

The next morning Roman woke up early. He made some breakfast and as he ate, the theatrical man began to internally plan his day for himself. Today they were going down to the crime scene for a new case , which wasn't his favourite thing. They tended to always come back to haunt him, especially when the victim was young. He drove to work and was sitting in the office, however, Logan was nowhere to be seen. He thought it was strange and he was a little disappointed but he got to work, nonetheless.

Logan walked into the office and tried his best to offer a warm greeting. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized. "They needed me back in the archives, my old department, they just needed help organizing stuff that hadn’t been finalized from back before I left.” He sat down and looked at Roman, primed and ready for the day. "So what are we up to today?"

"We have to examine the crime scene. It's about a twenty-minute drive but I want to start early so let’s get going, hun," he smirked at Logan, throwing him an experimental wink. He then briskly and gracefully walked out of the office with a neat folder of notes and files under his arm. "You can look at these on the drive over, it's good intel."

Logan followed Roman feeling rather bewildered. Was Roman flirting with him or was that just his sense of humour? Logan couldn't tell and it made him slightly uneasy. Now they were alone in a small vehicle together and he could feel the faint whisper of gay panic™ in the back of his mind. Get a grip man, he thought to himself as he attempted to read through the file Roman had given him.

"It talks about the body in the file, mainly specific details, but they had to remove it from the scene. We are working on a 100-metre radius from where the body was found. We have to look for anything that seems suspicious or like it might help with the case or give us a potential lead," Roman explained as he drove. They arrived at the scene and got out of the car to join the others who had already started working. Early morning sun highlighted the more acute features on Roman's face, his long eyelashes, defined cheekbones and honey freckles.

Logan tried not to stare, he really did. But the breeze playing with Roman's hair in the soft morning light made it hard not to. They were on the side of a highway off-ramp and behind them, the city rose up high with buildings. Before them, down beyond the ramp, a path led to a small wooded area where the body had been found. Logan had never been on an actual crime scene yet, so this was new to him . "I'm thinking that those woods might hold some interesting information," he said as he headed slowly towards the trees, Roman following right behind.

Logan was quickly feeling more confident and even if he'd never admit it, Roman was happy he was adjusting so well. "The body was found near the woods, by the treeline. It was in pretty bad condition too. The cause of death was blunt force trauma and it was recorded to be on the temple, also marks and bruises on the arms and a few hits to the back and abdomen. We think it was a bat, but we haven't found the weapon yet."

Logan entered the forest path and wandered a bit, looking for anything that could be a clue. He stepped beyond the path and saw a tree that seemed oddly damaged. "You said you guys thought the weapon might have been a bat right?" Roman nodded to him, obviously curious to see where Logan was going with this. "The branches on this tree look like they supported a lot of unexpected weight. Kind of as if someone was trying to climb and then suddenly fell. A tumble from the top would definitely cause multiple contusions and the size of the branches could very well match our victim's injuries."

Roman gave a small thoughtful look in consideration. He walked around the tree, circling around the base as he scanned the bark. "You know? It does add up. It's definitely possible." Roman turned to where a few people were rushing about, busily scanning at places of interest. "Jane? I want forensics on this area, specifically the tree, we need to place where the victim was before she died," Roman yelled over at a smaller woman who quickly turned at hearing her name, then gave Roman a nod in acknowledgement. He then turned to Logan. "That's a pretty good theory, you want to keep looking?"

Logan hadn't heard that last comment, he was deep in thought, trying to connect the dots. "Why would she have climbed the tree though?" he mused out loud. "I mean sure to escape would be the immediate idea, but it's really not the best place to hide or getaway. There's nowhere to go from up there if she did end up getting caught." Logan approached the tree and looked up through the branches. "Is it just me or does it look like there might be a hole in the side of the trunk up there?"

Roman followed Logan's line of sight and saw that on the side of the tree there did seem to be a hollow compartment, just past the thick, brown bark.  "I think you're right, it seems almost hollow." He frowned, "Don't touch it, we need the forensic team." He jogged over to where the forensics team was and went to speak to Jane, leaving Logan briefly on his own.

Logan scanned the ground around the tree. He walked around a bit, still keeping his eyes on the forest floor. He suddenly stopped and knelt by a patch of leaves. Something was glinting on the ground. "Hey Roman," Logan called, pointing out the section of leaves. "What do you think that might be?" he asked once Roman was back next to him

Roman's face screwed up in confusion, "I'm not sure, Logan, but I bet you know." He smirked semi-sarcastically, waiting for Logan to continue.

"Well, it looks like some form of precious or semi-precious stone. My theory is that this is a remnant of whatever loot was stashed in that tree." Logan was really starting to enjoy himself. He was usually quite good at coming up with theories and having accurate conclusions. It was nice that for once his ideas were being taken seriously in a work-related environment.

"Could it also be shards of glass? Some form of metal, perhaps?" Roman suggested.

"I mean maybe... guess we'll have to see what forensic says." Logan felt like he was maybe getting a little too ahead of himself.

"Exactly, though it wasn't an outlandish theory, it was getting a little off track." Roman patted Logan's shoulder and then promptly refocused his attention on the case. "Do you want me to show you the area where the body was found? It's a lot of blood, just for the fair warning," he winced as he seemed to be thinking about it.

"Yeah if it's okay, I’d like to go see. This is my first crime scene so I'd like to take the full experience to see if I can actually handle it." Logan got back up and followed Roman to where it was obvious the girl's body was found. He felt a little queasy at the sight of it all, but mostly he was intrigued.

He was glad he wasn't too squeamish and didn't end up making a fool of himself in front of the others. It hadn't rained since the incident so the blood marks were still visible on the ground. Logan looked up and saw that Roman’s face held a pained expression. He couldn't help but wonder why. Roman had to be somewhat used to it at this point.

As Roman stood there, he couldn’t help but think about how no matter how many times he saw it, he would never get used to seeing bodies or blood. It was heart-breaking, she was so young too... He stood there for a while, quiet as he watched Logan observe the scene. It helped to have him there. Roman felt that little bit safer, which he definitely needed at a scene like this. He had stayed quiet as Logan walked around the scene, the usually boisterous man not making any kind of remark, his movements were anxious and delicate. He was acting the opposite of...well, Roman. Logan had never seen him freaked out like this. He wasn't sure why yet, he didn't know if he wanted to know either.

As Logan analyzed the scene, he made an effort to take in every detail. He had an eidetic memory so whatever he noticed now he knew he would be able to remember later if need be. He was ready to head back and update his notes on the case. He looked at Roman. "So are we done here? Are we heading back to the office or..?"

For a second, Roman didn't acknowledge that he'd said anything. He stared at the bloody floor, like it had a soul, and glared before he opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated as nothing came out. He tried again, "....Y-Yeah, we should, we can type up our...observations," he sighed, shakily turning to the car and walking in that direction.

Logan wondered if he should be worried about Roman. He wasn't all that good at deciphering emotions and his empathy wasn't the best. Still, he had the feeling something was off. Roman was quiet as they drove back. Even being generally one for silence, Logan suddenly couldn't help himself anymore. "Hey um... I don't know if you mind my asking but... are you okay?"

Roman blinked slightly, seemingly stuck between shocked and scared. He bit down on his lower lip and sighed, "I'm-...I'm fine, it's just with...those sorts of scenes...I've seen some shit, Logan...that doesn't mean it's any easier to look at. That was a person, one we failed to save, one I failed to save..."

"Woah where did that come from?" exclaimed Logan. He was shocked by what he had just heard. "You sound like you knew her... did... did you?" Logan was afraid he'd gone too far but the fire and pain burning in Roman's eyes concerned him greatly.

"Not...not properly, I mean, somewhat....she is-...was a regular at my brother's café. It's a youth café, a safe space for people to just relax, no pressure, she was there a lot. A few times I drove her home because she used to stay past closing time. God, Patton, my brother, was heartbroken. His boyfriend has barely gotten him to move this week, but Virgil is acting like practically a saint. So yes, I did know her. She was...a wonderful person."

Logan couldn't speak. He was flabbergasted by Roman's confession. He had really misjudged him that first morning. Roman now looked on the verge of tears. Logan felt a knot in his stomach as he tried to take it all in. "Wow...I.. just... wow..." There really wasn't much to be said after something like that.

"D-...Don't even think about pitying me... I don't want pity, I want justice, this girl was innocent, and now...she's gone. I need to put it right, to fix it." He rubbed at his face.

"Look I find it admirable what you're doing, but aren't you putting a lot on yourself?" Logan was genuinely concerned at this point. "Like you seem a bit too emotionally invested in this for it to be mentally healthy no?" He really hoped he wasn't overstepping his bounds, but he didn't like the way Roman seemed to blame himself for something that clearly was not his fault.

Roman's hands tightened slightly on the wheel and he tensed up, "I just want her to be given the justice she deserves. I'm sure I'll be fine, I've dealt with a lot more work and a lot of worse cases before. So what if this one just happens to be someone I know?" Why does he care so much? I just don't understand it, though it's nice to have someone care about me again, I don't really understand why he does. "I appreciate the concern, but I've been fine, aside from the occasional nightmare and feeling a little more stressed than usual."

Logan's eyes widened at this point. He wasn't sure if he should be telling anyone about this or not. He definitely didn't want to be the snitch to tattle but he didn't think this was following department code. Then again what did he know? He also didn't dare betray Roman's trust. "Okay then..." Logan replied, "You and I will do our very best to get to the bottom of this."

Roman seemed to relax ever so slightly at this. They sat in silence for the rest of the way. Logan tried to not let this bother him too much, but he had an odd suspicion about the case after what they had seen today. He didn't tell Roman, not after what he had just heard, but he had a feeling that the girl might not have been as completely innocent as Roman believed.

…...

They got back to the station, and Roman was regretting telling Logan about knowing her. He just needed to tell someone and Logan was, or at least seemed to be trustworthy. He sat at his desk and wrote up his notes, watching as Logan sat at his own desk and the steady tapping of keyboards slowly fell in time with one another. "Hey, Logan? I'm sorry if I put a lot on you, back in the car. I don't think this is my fault, I know it's not. But it's my job to find them, the people who did this..."

Logan nodded slowly at this. "I get that I guess." So Roman was at the very least partially disillusioned in regards to his personal investment in the case and his heart was in the right place. That comforted him a bit. "Well, sorry if I seemed insensitive earlier, I tend to do that unwillingly.." Logan really wanted this partnership to go well. Not only for the sake of his new job but because he genuinely was starting to enjoy working with Roman.

Roman stared for a second, seeming to be considering something. "No, it's fine, I understand. I wouldn't really know how to react to something like that either. The captain knows that I knew her and how I knew her, just not in detail." Roman smiled at Logan meaningfully, taking a deep breath and starting to speak again. "I don't usually talk about anything, especially to people I don’t know very well , but you seem...trustworthy. I like you, Logan, you aren't as...unpredictable as others can be. It feels safer." He smiled nervously and then went back to his typing.

"I... I think that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time." Logan immediately blushed at hearing himself. Out loud always sounded different than in his head. He turned to his own screen and tried to look busy, which wasn't too hard since he was trying to reorganize all their current information. But it was true. Logan was used to being teased for being so tame, so unspontaneous. It wasn't that his old coworkers didn't have nice things to say, but it was always about the job and the things he did. Who he was as a person always seemed to be the butt of every joke.

Roman looked up from his work, pushing his fears down as they bubbled fiercely in the pit of his stomach. "You don't get many compliments?" He asked, a slight smirk picking upon his face as he immediately took the opportunity presented to him "That's surprising. I would have thought you'd get compliments all the time, especially with a face like that."

Now Logan knew his face had to be bright red and for the sake of not being completely embarrassed, he ignored the second half of that compliment. "Well I mean I'd receive praise in regards to my work ethic, getting the job done and being able to deliver. But I don't really get... how can I say this... I'm not used to... personal compliments." He looked up at Roman, hoping he understood what he meant. "It's funny... with you, I realise I don't feel like I have to feel bad about being myself." Logan swallowed, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this honest with anyone.

"Well, they clearly didn't see what I see." Before he could even think about it, the words had already left his lips. Roman was internally freaking out, but on the outside, he looked at Logan with such care and honesty. Logan is getting flustered, maybe tone it down a bit, don't scare him off, he thought to himself. Watching as Logan stuttered and hesitated while trying to form a coherent response, he really doesn't get that many compliments.

Now Logan was in full panic mode. The kindness and sincerity in Roman's eyes were jarring to him. He desperately tried to answer something, but at the moment his thoughts just would not form sentences. Is this guy flirting with me or I am reading way too much into this? Logan thought nervously. "Well... I.. thank you.. it means a lot coming from someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Roman beamed, watching the other officer as he quickly got more and more flustered. He got up and walked over to Logan's desk, sitting on the desk chair next to him. "What do you mean by that?"

He looked annoyingly casual the whole time, not even slightly bothered, aside from the light blush against his freckled cheeks. Other than that, he looked slightly amused and still had the most infuriating and weirdly attractive smirk on his face.

Oh gosh, what did he mean by that? Logan felt cornered. He was afraid of what he might say or how it might be perceived. "It's just... you're experienced here... you've probably worked with a bunch of other people before so you know what you're talking about." Gosh, that sounded lame and impersonal. "I'd heard a lot about you before coming here. You're rather well known in the precinct. No one knows who I am unless they need me."

"Oh right, yes, of course. I've got quite the reputation, yes. Nonetheless, I appreciate the compliment, thank you." He got up and walked back over to his own desk, typing at his keyboard once again. He was rather disappointed. Of course, Logan was talking about his career and his reputation. He rubbed his hand across his face and sighed. "How long do you think you'll need to finish up  your notes?"

"Oh um I'm just about finished here. 2 more minutes and I think this should cover everything for now." Logan had thought he’d felt a shift in Roman's mood and he was pretty sure he’d somehow messed up . Maybe Roman had actually been flirting with him. But now it was too late and Logan didn't know how to fix his blunder. He just wanted to finish and go home where he could try to wrap his head around everything.

"Good, I'm just about done, so I'll see you tomorrow?" Roman picked up his bag and tried to hide his disappointment with a smile as he rushed out to get to his car. He knew his mind was probably being a little hard on him, he should think it over and not let it change anything. He liked Logan and a silly crush wouldn't get in the way of that. He drove home and collapsed on his couch, extremely tired and a little upset.

Logan finished up and headed home, his head was throbbing by the time he got back. What had just happened back there? Logan wasn’t entirely sure. Roman was unlike anyone he'd ever met. Sure he'd had the odd crush here and there, but he wasn’t exactly sure what this was, it felt different somehow.

** Tag list (let us know if you would like to be added or removed): @crossiantgay

[ghostspideys-moved]

All For The Best

Chapter Three

A/N: I’ve been trying to divide up the chapters well enough, so hopefully the cut-offs make sense for each one.

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairings: Steve Harrington x OC, Nancy Wheeler x Jonathan Byers x OC

Summary: River, Steve, and Dustin end up on a stake out. It’s just now occurring to River that Max might have been right.

How River ended up on a stakeout was unclear to her. In hindsight, it might have been smarter to stay behind with Robin, but she figured it would be better to give her some space to think. 

Even with her ability to confirm that their translation was correct, River didn’t know where to start with actually deciphering what it really meant. That felt like a task better left to Robin, anyways.

Which left her to sneak around the mall with Steve and Dustin. Which was fine, really. She didn’t mind. Except the fact that they had absolutely no clue what they were doing.

“Do you see anything?” Dustin crouched beside Steve, peeking out from behind the plant they’d chosen to hide behind. 

Steve scanned the area with the binoculars. “I guess I don’t totally know what I’m looking for.”

“Evil Russians.”

“Yeah, exactly. I don’t know what an evil Russian looks like.”

“Tall, blond, not smiling.”

River scoffed and turned to Dustin. “I’m beginning to think you guys don’t even know what a Russian looks like,” she said. 

Dustin stammered. “Well, that’s why you’re here.”

“I can guarantee you that no one here looks inherently ‘Russian’ without getting stereotypical.” 

“Well, that’s why we also have to look out for earpieces, camo, duffel bags, that sort of thing.”

Steve simply nodded along, and River could already sense how distracted he was. His train of thought was not remotely focused on spies or Russians. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mumbled.

“What?” Dustin perked up, hoping he might have spotted something suspicious.

“Anna Jacobi’s talking with that meathead Mark Lewinsky.”

River and Dustin groaned simultaneously. “Dude, if you’re not gonna focus, just give me the binoculars.”

“Jesus Christ, whatever happened to standards?” Steve was hardly even listening at that point, and Dustin had to yank the binoculars from his hands, the strap strangling him for a second.

“Besides, I don’t even know why You’re looking at girls. You have the perfect one right in front of you,” Dustin added. 

River couldn’t help perking up at his words, though she wasn’t sure why.

“Seriously, if you say Robin again-”

“Robin.”

Immediately, River’s hopes deflated. She couldn’t help thinking back to her conversation with Max from the day before. She’d been in such denial, but what if Max was right? And if she was, that meant she was just getting her hopes up for nothing. Because, for all she knew, maybe Steve really did like Robin, and the last thing she needed was to put herself through the pain of seeing Steve with someone else. 

Despite Dustin’s continued nagging, Steve shut him down quickly. “She’s not even my type.” For just a moment, River’s hope returned, but she pushed it down. If Robin wasn’t his type, there was no way she was either. 

“She’s not even in the ballpark of my type,” Steve insisted. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to tag along.

Dustin finally turned to him again. “What’s your type again? Not awesome?”

River sighed and listened to them argue, mostly tuning them out at this point. Max had been right, and now she had no idea what to do. She was stuck helping them, as she’d promised to do, while also battling with herself internally. 

“And she’s weird. She’s a weirdo. And she’s hyper. I don’t like that she’s hyper,” Steve continued, catching her attention again. “And she was in drama. That’’s a bad look. And she’s in band?” Steve shook his head. “No.”

“You have something against weirdos?” River chimed in, refusing to look at him. If she just kept her eyes ahead and tried to look like she was helping, maybe she could push down her feelings and ignore them.

Steve paused, seeming to understand what she was getting at. “Well, you’re...you’re different,” he insisted. 

“Different how?”

Steve stuttered, unable to come up with a proper response. “You just are. You’re my friend, and I’ve known you for a while now. You’re a cool kind of weird.”

His words were equally kind and frustrating all at once. Yes, they were friends, but now that she was having her epiphany, it almost hurt to hear him say it. 

Friends.

“Maybe instead of dating someone you think is gonna make you cooler, why don’t you date someone you actually enjoy being around,” Dustin cut in. “Like me and Suzie.”

It always amazed her how much smarter the kids could be than either of them. He was right, even if Steve didn’t seem to think he needed the advice.

“Right, Suzie. You mean, ‘hotter than Phoebe Cates.’ Yeah, that Suzie.” 

River let them go at it for now. She started to wonder if it was too late to go back with Robin, though that might hurt just as much right now.

It was a long while before anything happened. Far longer than she would have liked. She was already getting antsy every second they spent sitting in the same spot, and there was now an air of tension between her and Steve — though that might have been all in her head. It was hard to tell. 

“Target acquired.” River felt relieved when Dustin spoke up, but she was also curious who he found suspicious enough to look like his idea of an evil Russian.

Steve took the binoculars from him and searched until she assumed he’d found whoever Dustin was talking about. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. “Duffel bag.”

Steve and Dustin turned to each other. “Evil Russian.” 

Before she could comprehend what was happening, they were leaving their hiding spot and calling her over to follow them. River sighed and rolled her eyes before she got up as well.

The boys snuck around, possibly taking this whole spy thing way too seriously. It was funny — that much she could admit — but it was a miracle no one else in the mall had caught onto them. Calmly, and without making a fool of herself, she followed them, spotting the man they must be spying on. 

In a stereotypical sense, yeah, he fit the evil Russian profile. And he did have a duffel bag, which was weird, but she didn’t really see any other reason they’d singled him out. They’d been right before, though, so she went along in the hopes they were finally on to something.

They trailed behind, getting too close, according to Dustin. Both of them scrambled to look casual the moment the guy turned back. If anything, they looked just as suspicious as before, and she tried not to laugh, still refusing to follow their lead.

As soon as he kept walking, Steve dragged them ahead again to follow him. By this point, she’d had the bright idea to simply dig around the guy’s brain a little. Nothing too serious, mostly so he wouldn’t feel her presence in his head. And what she found made her almost laugh. Even more so when they stopped and watched him join the ladies getting read for Jazzercise, of all things.

There was a visible look of confusion on the boys’ faces, and she finally let out the laughter she’d been holding in. “Outstanding spy work, guys,” she teased.

Dustin seemed sorely disappointed, and a bit weirded out. And it wasn’t hard to notice Steve staring at all ladies, unfortunately. Except, she wasn’t doing much better, or she’d call him out for it. It was very possible she also caught herself staring for a little longer than she should have. She shook her head and cleared her throat.

“Hate to break it to you, but your stakeout plan didn’t really work,” she said.

Sighing in defeat, Dustin took Steve, dragging him away. “So, what now?” Dustin asked.

River shrugged and followed. “I guess we check on Robin’s progress. Hopefully, she might have fared better than us,” she said.

It was the best plan they had right now. Instead of finding her in the store, though, Robin was standing outside.

“Robin? What are you doing?” Steve asked.

Robin grinned and jumped down to join them. “I’ve cracked it.”

“Cracked what?” They looked at her curiously, hoping she’d done so much better than they had.

“I’ve cracked the code.” 

Stakeout number two was already proving much more successful. As soon as Steve and Robin were off the clock, the four of themselves headed out in raincoats, perched atop a roof overlooking the mall’s storage unit.

It was almost hard to hear anything over the thunder and the pitter-pattering of the rain against her hood. Dustin was in charge of the binoculars, upon his own insistence. 

“Look for Imperial Panda and Kaufman Shoes,” Robin said loud enough to be heard over the rain. 

Dustin kept a close eye on the truck where boxes were being unloaded. “There with that whistling guy, ten o’clock.”

“What do you think is in there?” Steve asked curiously. 

“Guns, bombs?”

“Chemical weapons?”

“Whatever it is, they’re armed to the teeth.”

Steve sighed. River could see his hair was flattened and wet by the rain, and he looked exasperated, not that she blamed him. “Great. Just great.”

From here, she could spot more boxes, and when Robin called it out Steve tried to get a better look. Of course, they boys fought over the binoculars, accidentally banging them against them against the rail. 

They ducked for cover, and River could feel her heart pounding. If they ended up being caught, that might just be the end for them. She stayed low, hoping the noise was written off as nothing suspicious. Perhaps she should have been more focused on that than the fact that she noticed Steve and Robin hold hands for just a split second. Not the kind of thing she should have been worried about, but she couldn’t help it. Assuming they got out of this just fine, she would have to find Max and tell her she was right. 

River didn’t have too much time to dwell on it before they were all rushing back inside. They couldn’t risk getting caught with no explanation for being on the roof this late in the rain.

“Well, I think we found your Russians,” Robin said.

//

Taglist: @charmedtenderness​ @jxnehxpper​ @musicalytrashpanda​

[team-free-will-oneshots]

No Through Road

Title: No Through Road (part eight of the ‘Buried Secrets’ series) Summary: When a new hunt crops up, you and the boys decide to put your feelings aside and prioritise the case. If only it were that simple... Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader Warnings: pining, angst, light swearing, canon-typical violence Word Count: 6,000ish (whoops)

note; merry christmas/happy holidays!!! i’m so sorry!! for the lack of updates !!!!! it’s been killing me too i swear!!!

while writing this i got rly deep into threads debating whether the impala is an automatic or a manual (it’s an automatic btw), just a fun fact. enjoy!

Buried Secrets Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Y/N - I wasn’t aware that you were home.”

Castiel’s voice dragged your attention away from the book in your lap, and you glanced up in surprise to see the angel in the doorway, throwing you a surprised smile that you hadn’t realised you’d missed during your time away.

“Hey, Cas. Yeah, I’m back,” you replied, offering a weak smile in return.

“I take it Dean has apologised?” Cas said sternly, his boots thudding on the timber floor as he stepped into your room. Sighing, you closed the book, tossing it to the side as you nodded glumly.

“Yeah, he has,” you informed him. “Things are… hopefully on their way back to normal.”

Cas beamed. “That’s wonderful,” he said sincerely, but his smile faltered as he recognised the despair etched into your features. He glanced to your bed, eyes darting to yours questioningly, and you nodded. He took a seat next to you. “You don’t seem pleased,” he observed, and you offered a weak smile.

“Things are complicated,” you mumbled, and Castiel’s wide eyes found yours, imploring you to continue. You leaned back against the bedrest, eyes dancing around the room as though, if you looked hard enough, you’d find the answers you so desperately sought hiding under the desk, or in the closet. But alas, the words you needed were nowhere to be found, and so you let your lips spill what they may.

“Before I left… Dean and I had a thing,” you began. “Like… romantically.” Cas nodded.

“Yes, he mentioned that while you were gone,” he affirmed, and you raised an eyebrow in interest. 

“He talked to you about me?”

“Yes, of course,” Cas said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “On several occasions, in fact. He was very upset - mostly about hurting you, I believe.”

It took a few moments for this new information to settle, but once it did, you put it aside to dwell on later. “Oh,” you said. “Well, when I left, Sam and I kind of… developed a thing as well,” you said slowly. “But I hadn’t sorted things out with Dean yet, and now… now I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m meant to do. I feel like I’ve hit a dead end - like I’m trapped. I could never be with Sam if I don’t get closure with Dean, but if I get closure with Dean, I don’t know where that would leave Sam and I. I just- I’ve hit a wall,” you grumbled. Cas frowned, observing you thoughtfully as he mulled over your words.

“Who do you want to be with?” he asked, and you sighed loudly.

“I don’t know, Cas, that’s the thing. A part of me thinks I should choose Sam, because he was there for me, y’know? He was so sweet, and- and I felt safe with him,” you said. “He’s practically the perfect guy.”

“Then there’s your answer,” Cas said, and you sighed, shaking your head.

“But Dean… Look, he has some shit to make up for, that’s for sure, but… I feel so drawn to him. Being with Dean, it just feels… right. Like… almost like we’re two sides of the same coin, y’know?”

Cas frowned.

“Oh. Well, that is a bit more complex,” he allowed. “But it seems to me, you already know what you want,” he added, and you bolted upright.

“And what’s that?” you asked. Cas hesitated, and you cast him a pleading expression. “C’mon, man, I’ll take any advice I can get.”

“Well-”

But before he could finish his sentence, Dean was at your door, laptop in hand as he rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. Castiel fell silent, whatever answers he might have bestowed fading out of your reach - at least for the moment.

“Hey, Y/N, we’ve got a case- oh, hi, Cas,” he greeted in surprise. You sighed.

“Raincheck?” you murmured to Cas, who nodded warmly. You walked to Dean, peering over his shoulder and frowning at the computer screen. “What are we looking at?” you asked. You were stood close enough to him that your chin was all but resting on his shoulder, and the warmth of his body next to yours sent a pleasant tingle of electricity down your spine that you forced yourself to ignore. Dean tensed at the slight brush of your body over his, taking half a step forward as he cleared his throat.

“Uh, three victims in the past month - corpses looked like they’d been ‘ravaged by an animal’, all missing hearts,” he said. You mulled over the information.

“Okay, what, we’re thinking a werewolf?” you checked, and Dean nodded.

“Seems like.”

“How far?”

“‘Bout three hours.”

“Great, I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” you said decisively. Dean’s eyes met yours and held your gaze a moment longer than necessary before he nodded, ducking his head and leaving the room. When you turned back to start packing, Cas shot you a pointed look that you couldn’t quite deconstruct with the scent of Dean still in your nostrils, the phantom warmth of his body still grazing over your own - you couldn’t get your own thoughts straight, let alone try to decipher someone else’s.

“What?” you challenged, and he shook his head, a small smile on his face.

“Nothing,” he said softly. “Be safe,” he told you, resting his hand on your shoulder for a moment as you nodded.

“Thanks,” you replied, and you finally managed to untangle your thoughts enough to recall the conversation the two of you had shared.

“Hey, wait, what were you gonna say befo-” you began, but when you span around, the angel was already gone. 

---

“So the next victim will either be Sara Aplin or Barry Smith, if we’re right about the co-workers thing,” you mused, exchanging glances with Sam and Dean. The motel room was cramped with the three of you, each bed littered with papers and research whilst the walls were adorned with a myriad of pins and criss-crossing red string. Your gut had been right about the werewolf - you’d narrowed it down to a twenty-seven year old male, Marshall Cooper, who’d had several public disagreements with his co-workers who all turned up dead only a few days later, minus their hearts. He’d had two such rows in the past few days - one with a girl, Sara, who was barely pushing twenty-five, and another with twenty-nine year old Barry.

“Looks like it,” Sam remarked, licking his finger as he leafed through a pile of pages in his hand. 

“Great, well at least it’s fifty-fifty,” you muttered, pinning both locations on the map you had stuck to the wall - they were on opposite ends of town. “It’d be handy if they were neighbours - three of us could stake ‘em out together. Why are things never easy?” you moaned, and Sam chuckled.

“Tell me about it,” he replied. You stared at the map a moment longer, smirking as you trailed your finger over the glossy paper.

“Hey, I might’ve found a shortcut between the houses,” you mused, and Dean raised an eyebrow as Sam snorted.

“No offense, Y/N, I’m not taking your directional advice. Remember what happened last time you thought you found a ‘shortcut’?” Sam teased, and you giggled at the memory.

“Yeah, pretty sure a branch hit you in the face - you shoulda seen yourself, you looked so shocked,” you laughed, exchanging knowing grins with the youngest Winchester as you elbowed him fondly. He shook his head, smile lingering on his lips as your skin brushed over his. He pressed closer to you, holding contact a moment longer than he should have.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he chuckled, shaking his head to himself as he watched you fondly, a sweet smile tilting the corners of his lips.

Dean stood, unable to tear his eyes from you as Sam brushed up against you, both of you so casually comfortable in one another’s presence as you rattled off inside jokes he could never hope to be a part of. Just how much had you and his brother shared during your time away? How could he ever compete with the easy conversation and affectionate gestures the two of you so readily exchanged? Maybe he should just give up - maybe he’d forced any hope of a relationship between you towards a dead end the moment he’d sent you packing. Maybe there was no coming back from this one.

Dean grimaced, forcing the thoughts away as his green eyes wandered over the faded newspaper clippings pinned to the walls.

“And if we’ve got the pattern right, he’ll strike tonight,” he interrupted. You and Sam mellowed, stepping apart and falling back into business mode as Dean took on the authoritative role. “Alright, Y/N and I will stake out Sara’s house, you handle Barry’s. We good?” Dean checked. Sam glanced to you, eyes questioning, and you cast him a reassuring smile.

“Yeah. Sounds good,” you replied firmly, and you saw Dean throw you a tentative half smile as his eyes met yours. He held your gaze for a moment before it quickly flickered away. The moment, however brief, held a level of intimacy that half-frightened you, but simultaneously sent a warm kaleidoscope of butterflies dancing in your stomach. Though intense, the feeling was familiar - and for a moment, things were almost back to normal.

You were jolted back to reality when Sam cleared his throat, the magic of the moment dissipating as the gravity of your situation crashed back down on you, an anvil weighing heavily on your shoulders. When you looked at the tall Winchester, his eyes betrayed a hint of jealousy that he quickly hid behind a smile. 

“Alright. You’re sure you wanna go with Dean, Y/N?” he checked. “I mean, we’ll probably be waiting awhile.” You nodded.

“Yeah - Dean and I probably have some catching up to do, anyways,” you conceded, casting Dean a half smile that brought a grin to his face.

“Besides, we’re practically the hunting dream team - no offense, Sammy,” he said with a chuckle, and you shook your head in amused exasperation.

“It’s Sam,” the younger Winchester corrected with a roll of his eyes. You ignored their bickering, glancing out the cramped motel window to see dusk rapidly descending over the small farming town.

“We should get going,” you interjected, snatching Baby’s keys from where they sat on the bed. You jingled them tauntingly. “I’m driving,” you added with a wink. Dean’s cocky grin dropped quicker than a bag of stones into water.

“Oh, hell no,” he objected, but you shot him a smirk, tucking your gun into your waistband as you left the motel, tossing an amused Sam a wave over your shoulder. Dean hastily followed, lunging for the keys that you quickly protected in your closed fist.

“Sorry, Dean!” you teased in a sing-song tone, and the eldest Winchester pouted.

“C’mon, Y/N! You always ride the curb!” he all but whined, and you grinned.

“Shoulda thought of that earlier, slowpoke,” you shot back, and though he rolled his eyes, there was no malice in his act.

“I’m so sorry, Baby,” he whispered, patting the roof once before slipping into the passenger seat. You cranked the engine the moment the door clicked shut, pulling out from the motel parking lot and merging onto the main road as the passing scenery faded into a vague green blur. 

“Hunting dream team, huh?” you remarked, and Dean shrugged, smiling wolfishly.

“Yeah, you know we work well together. Remember that wendigo case a couple years back?” he prompted, and you laughed.

“The one in Minnesota? When Sam had the flu, and we went in totally unprepared?”

“Yeah,” he said, face falling a little at the mention of Sam’s name. He brightened as he continued. “We mighta been unprepared, but we found that damn thing’s hideout in record time. Ganked that son of a bitch before it knew what hit it,” he reminded you, and you raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Really? I seem to remember you ‘finding the hideout’ by literally falling over into the cave, being attacked, and then I had to come save your ass,” you responded, and Dean shrugged.

“Potato, potahto… got it done, didn’t we?”

You smiled. “Yeah, we did. I guess you’re right… we are pretty awesome,” you said, winking at him and feeling a knot of butterflies rise in your stomach at his resounding chuckle.

“Yeah, we are,” he said, his eyes lingering on the smile curving your lips when you glanced back to the road. A comfortable silence settled over the car, and you felt your neck prickled as his gaze didn’t leave you. When you glanced over at him, of course, he jostled himself away from you, eyes glued a little too intently on his phone.

“Whatcha doing?” you asked, and his eyes darted over to you in surprise.

“Uh- looking at directions,” he stammered. You glanced at his phone screen - blank. 

“Right. Well, google maps is for losers who can’t read street signs,” you said firmly, and Dean rolled his eyes good naturedly.

“Ha, ha,” he said dryly, tucking his phone into the pocket of his jeans. The Winchester settled back into the passenger seat, folding his arms behind his head. “Fine then, I won’t tell you the street,” he said stubbornly. “I’ll bet ya five bucks that you’ll miss it.”

You snickered. “You’re on,” you replied. A few minutes later a smug grin was etched over Dean’s face, and you shot him a hard look.

“What?” you demanded, and he chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Nothing, nothing…”

“This is the right way!” you insisted, nodding to the road before you. Sure, it looked a little unfamiliar, but that was just because it wasn’t broad daylight, unlike your last visit to the house… right? Dean forced a straight face.

“Sure, this is the right way…” he allowed, before sniggering. “If you’re looking for a dead end,” he tacked on, nodding to the ‘No Through Road’ sign glinting in the fading light. You released a guttural noise of irritation - yet another dead end. You seemed to be hitting a lot of those lately. Dean released the laugh he’d been biting back.

“Good try, sweetheart. Street was two blocks back,” he said, and you scrunched your nose up at him.

“Thanks, Alexa,” you snapped back, though you couldn’t restrain the grin that split your face when you threw the car into a three-point-turn, “accidentally” reversing straight into the gutter. Dean’s mouth fell open in horror, and you feigned innocence.

“Oops!” you cried dramatically, tone ringing with exaggeration. “Sorry, Baby… this never would’ve happened if someone had told me when the turnoff was…” you continued, stroking the steering wheel and shooting Dean a sweet smile.

“Very funny,” he replied, his annoyed expression quickly melting into one of bemusement as his lips spread into a nostalgic smile. “Hey, remember that case with-”

“-the haunted maserati?” you finished easily, and he nodded, whistling.

“We really totalled it, didn’t we? Damn shame, too, did you hear her engine? Never heard a thing run smoother,” he remarked wistfully, and you bit back a laugh.

“Careful, Dean, Baby will hear you,” you taunted, swinging into the side street that Dean pointed out. “Shame that Sam missed that one, too. Where was he again?” you asked, brow furrowing as you thought back to the long-forgotten hunt. You saw Dean swallow at the mention of his name, and his wistful smile collapsed into a solemn expression as he tensed his jaw.

“Still dealing with that fractured ankle, wasn’t he?” he asked gruffly, and you nodded as the penny dropped.

“Oh, yeah, poor guy,” you tutted, and Dean grunted in agreement, busying himself with scanning the houses dotted evenly along the street.

“This one, right here,” he said suddenly, pointing to a nondescript white house with a garden that needed a little more love than it was receiving. Large bushes obscured much of the lawn, the shrubbery casting shadows that swiftly lengthened as the sun continued to dip below the horizon. You pulled in close to the curb, throwing the car into park and flipping off the engine.

“Well, now we wait, huh?” you remarked, glancing over at Dean. He sighed, nodding as his eyes fell to meet yours. He held your gaze for a moment longer than he ought to, and you couldn’t help but notice the flecks of amber embedded amongst the green of his irises, smouldering like tiny embers in the fading light. The orange sunset glowed on his skin, though dappled shadows danced over his face as the leafy trees overhanging the house swayed in the light breeze. Dean tried a small, crooked smile - just a curve of his full lips, there one moment and gone the next. You released a shaky breath as you flashed a smile in return. Dean tore away his stare, turning stiffly to observe the house once more. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Now we wait.”

---

Dean was bored.

The moment the Impala’s engine had cut out, the two of you fell into a semi-comfortable silence broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind and the steady beat of rain on the roof. The occasional stutter of a motor and the splashing of wheels across puddles pierced the quiet as cars rolled down the street, headlights beaming over the slick black tarmac. He’d busied himself at first by studying the leafy garden plants, before turning his gaze to the peeling white paint of the crumbling fence, counting each stripe of brown wood flickering between streaks of yellowing pigment. But as darkness descended the scenery fell into an indistinguishable grey blur, and Dean could no longer pick a distraction from the outside world.

He shifted in his seat, wincing at the stiffness of his legs. You glanced over at the sound of movement, raising an eyebrow at his evident discomfort. He flashed a sheepish smile, swallowing the lump in his throat spurred on by the glint of your eyes in the dim lighting, the warmth of your body so close to his in the cramped confines of his car.

“You got the time?” he asked weakly. You glanced at your phone.

“Nearly midnight,” you informed him, and he nodded slowly.

“Right. Great. Maybe this thing’ll end up on Sam’s end,” he mused, and you shrugged.

“Yeah, maybe - he hasn’t had anything on his end yet, either, though,” you replied offhandedly, turning back to your phone.

“Oh? You’ve- you’ve been talking to him, then?”

“Just a text here and there,” you said, smiling tightly as you nodded to the phone in your hand. Dean nodded slowly.

“Right. Of course. Good,” he said. Silence once again fell over the vehicle, and having come to a dead end as to alleviating his boredom, Dean spared another glance your way. His breath fell into an uneven patter as he admired the slanting of the low light over your cheek, illuminating the gentle flush of your skin, the gentle parting of your lips as you read something on the screen before you. When a small smile stretched over your lips as you read something amusing, Dean couldn’t help but mirror it as he found himself imagining being bestowed the honour of putting that smile on your face himsel-

You looked over at him, and Dean hastily flicked his eyes back to the house, shaking away the languishing thoughts that tormented his mind and ignoring the pit of yearning that burned in his stomach. You deserved far more than what he could give you. Although he would always be the first to admit such, it didn’t stop the pang of pain that hit his chest at the thought. He busied his mind with other ponderings.

“Hey, I… I don’t think I ever thanked you,” he said eventually, voice stammering and breathy with nerves. He pulled apart his twiddling thumbs, moving to grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. That seemed to surprise you - your eyebrows darted upwards as you shot him a questioning expression.

“For what?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “For- for trying to help me. With the hex bag, I mean. It… you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty clear,” you chuckled dryly, and Dean swallowed thickly as his yearning was overridden by guilt.

“I just mean… I appreciate the thought, is all,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you about it, I just… I’m used to dealing with that stuff on my own. It’s… easier that way.” He refused to meet your eyes, his jaw tight as he fixed his gaze on the empty road before him. You half smiled.

“I’ve noticed. Y’know, it’s okay to reach out when you need to. You’d be amazed how much easier it is to deal with things when you have someone to vent to,” you prodded, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow. He chuckled.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he replied. You lifted an inquiring eyebrow, and his smile melted into a somber line. He swallowed, biting back a smirk, a joke, anything to deflect his inner turmoil, and instead allowed his eyes to find your own. “I will. Promise.”

You nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer as you patted his knee once. The thoughtful action stoked the slow burning longing in his chest, but the comfort and safety your touch brought was gone as quickly as it came as you folded your arms into your chest and adjusted in your seat. Dean felt the cold air creep over the empty space you had occupied, the chill sinking into the hollowness in his heart, squeezing it in an icy grasp. He took a shaky breath, his clenched fist falling over the place your hand had occupied. Neither of you spoke.

“Hey, what day is it?” you asked suddenly, and Dean shot you a perplexed look.

“Uh, Monday, I think,” he said. “What, you got an appointment or something?”

You smirked. “No, just thought it’s fitting that we’re hunting a werewolf today.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “Why?”

You shot him a wolfish grin. “It’s Moon-day, Dean.”

The eldest Winchester closed his eyes, tongue in cheek as he fought back a laugh. “Y/N, that was pathetic.”

“Don’t you mean pack-hetic?” you challenged cheekily, and Dean snorted.

“C’mon, though, really? Moon-day? You could’ve at least somehow slipped Howl-a-ween in there, instead,” he shot back, and you smirked.

“Oh, I know, I just wanted to see you in pain at my terrible puns,” you said. Dean rolled his eyes fondly.

“At least you’re a-were that they’re bad,” he replied offhandedly, and you groaned, though you seemed unable to keep the grin off your face.

“Okay, truce,” you said. “I’m out of puns.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart, we can just hit paws on it for now.” He threw you a wink, and you chortled. Dean grinned at your laughter - carefree and genuine, woven with snorts that you futilely tried to disguise with a cough. The so-called ‘ugly’ laughter was music to his ears, a score perfectly composed by the delightful ringing of your voice. He couldn’t name a single melody he favoured over that which was your joy, a noise so pure it had him giddy on the idea that he was the lucky man who had invoked it.

Dean’s own laughter died as he recalled your similar exchange with Sam only hours prior, and he was crushed with the reminder that he wasn’t the only one with whom you had shared such buoyant moments. The cold heaviness crushed him again, and it was all he could do to force a tight half-smile in response to your wide grin. You didn’t seem to notice his dejection, however, as your eyes focussed on something over his shoulder.

“Well, I think our werewolf just turned into a there-wolf,” you remarked softly, cocking your gun and nodding towards the subtle movement in the darkness outside, followed by the rustling of the bushes. Dean snapped into solemnity, twisting around to squint into the darkness. Sure enough, you were right.

“Alright, follow my lead,” he whispered, loading his pistol with a round of silver bullets as he slowly creaked open the door of the Impala and let his boots crunch onto the footpath. You slipped out behind him, letting the door hang silently open as you readied your gun and crept into the overgrown garden. Ankle height grass brushed over Dean’s jeans, leaving tiny seeds clinging to the stiff fabric. He paid them no heed, every last drop of his attention focussed solely on the hunt as he kept downwind of the crouched wolf. He watched as you took position by it’s flank, exchanging nods as he carefully aimed - if all went well, one shot would end this hunt.

But then, when did things ever go well for Dean Winchester?

He cursed as he stepped on a twig, of all things, the thin brown stick hidden in the grass that couldn’t muffle the snap as it splintered under his heavy boot. The wolf shot around, snarling, it’s yellow eyes reflecting thin shards of light as it leapt towards him.

Dean shot - once, twice, three times, before the heavy body landed atop him, screeching and howling, it’s writhing claws digging into his arms before it finally slackened, weighing heavily on his chest. The gun flew from his hand, settling in the grass a few feet away, and he groaned as he shoved the body away. 

“Shit, are you okay?” you demanded, eyes branded with concern as you rushed over to help him to his feet. Dean nodded, wincing at his wounds but forcing a steely mask over his face - he’d had worse.

“Yeah, fine,” he grunted, hissing as you slipped off your jacket and held it against his wounded shoulder. He had half a mind to push you away, insist that he was fine, but something about the tenderness of your touch and the gentleness in your eyes had him putty in your hands. For once, Dean let himself relax into your warmth, the tension seeping from his muscles as you rested a hand on his chest and began to guide him back from the car. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but neither of you had mind to mention it - you let it ring out.

The two of you had almost made it through the gate when the other werewolf attacked.

It sprung up from behind, it’s body concealed amongst the large bushes so conveniently dotted around the yard. You felt it’s hot, reeking breath on the back of your neck as it slammed into you, dislodging Dean from your grip and sending him stumbling, dooming him only to watch with wide, helpless eyes as its claws dug into your side.

Dean’s hand shot for his gun only to grasp at empty air, and he felt his chest constrict in panic as you struggled against the wolf, unable to free your arms to defend yourself as it’s snapping jaws inched closer to your face. There was only one thing he could do.

“Hey, Fido!” he bellowed. The wolf hesitated, glancing up with a growl as it’s eyes locked on Dean. “Yeah, you fugly bitch! Come on - want a piece of this?” he roared, throwing open his arms despite the screaming in his shoulder. The wolf leapt at him, and Dean barked a curse as he threw himself to the side, a bush breaking his fall, the sharp twigs digging through his clothes as he rolled to the ground. He scrambled through the grass, catching sight of the glint of his gun a few feet away. The wolf was hot on his tail - he wasn’t going to make it, he realised. Shit - this was it…

That was when he heard a heavy thud and whimper as the wolf was slammed against a tree. Dean risked a glance, pausing with wide eyes and mouth half open as he saw you kneeling with your arms outstretched, pinning the wolf against the trunk with your magic. Your face was glistening with blood and sweat, hair matted and strewn with leaves after your tussle, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t the beautiful sight he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“Get the gun, idiot!” you snapped, visibly straining as you struggled to keep the wolf contained. Dean nodded, snapping back to the task at hand and quickly retrieving the gun, emptying the round of silver bullets into the wolf’s chest. It yowled and twitched, but finally stilled. You released a sharp breath as you let your arms fall, the wolf mirroring them as it thumped to the floor.

Dean sprinted to you, collapsing to his knees beside you as he frantically scanned your weary body for wounds. “Dammit, Y/N, are you okay?” he demanded, and you chuckled dryly as you nodded.

“Yeah, just some scrapes and bruises, same as you,” you muttered, wincing and pressing your hand against your blood-slickened side. Dean didn’t relax until he had examined your injuries firsthand, but once he realised you really were fine, he found himself frozen with his hands on your hips and your heaving chest only centimetres from his own. Your eyes met his, wide and sparkling and breathless from the fight, and maybe it was the adrenaline or the fact that you had both almost died, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from crushing his mouth to yours.

He could taste the salt of your sweat tinged with the metal of your blood as your lips met in a bruising kiss, his hands instinctively pulling you closer as you melted against him. Your hands were in his hair, scraping delectably against the nape of his neck as he poured every drop of passionate relief into the rough motion of his chapped lips over your own. His tongue found yours, hot and desperate as his arms caged around you, clutching you to his chest as though you’d never be safe anyplace else…

...and then he was pulling away with a start, detangling his limbs from your own as he guiltily ducked his head and cleared his throat. He didn’t meet your eyes, only allowed himself a sharp exhale as he pushed to his feet, eyes scanning his surroundings for any other threat as he silently berated himself for losing control in the way that he had.

You didn’t speak either, only huffed as the sound of your ringtone pierced the air once more. His gaze finally found yours as you tugged out your phone, and you offered him a tight smile as you held it to your ear. 

“Sam?”

The single syllable sent Dean’s stomach plummeting. What was he thinking, kissing you like that? What the hell was he doing? He’d seen the way you’d looked at Sam - the jokes, the coy smiles and flirty banter. He didn’t stand a chance - and yet there he’d gone, kissing you like there was no tomorrow, like none of the past week had ever happened.

God, what kind of a hole had he dug himself into now?

---

Your mind was still reeling from Dean’s kiss - it had been all too easy to lean into it, to lose yourself in the pressure of his lips, the heat of his skin as he held you like he’d never again have the honour. Your skin still burned from his touch, your lips still buzzed from the taste of him - he’d consumed all your senses, his presence wrapping itself around you even though the only thing against your skin now was the cold night air.

Your phone rang, and you snapped from your trance as you pulled it out with shaking hands and accepted the call, eyes skimming blindly over the ID as your thoughts were drenched with the press of Dean’s body over yours, so passionate and warm, but so right.

Dean’s eyes finally met yours, and the guilt so deeply set into his expression had your brow creasing in confusion as you sent him a tentative smile that he didn’t return. Did he… regret it?

“Y/N!” a breathless exclamation sounded on the other line. You blinked, flipping back to reality as you registered the owner of the voice.

“Sam?” you gasped.

“Yeah! Listen, I think there are two wolves - I can’t believe I didn’t see it before! I’ve been reading over the case, and Marshall had a roommate who seemed a little too closely involved in-”

“Yeah, we know,” you replied dryly, shaking your head once to clear yourself from the lingering traces of Dean’s affection. “We-uh- we got it. Them. Both of the- look, both werewolves are dead,” you stammered eventually, and you heard a sigh of relief on Sam’s end.

“Great - are you okay?” he asked, voice heavy with worry. 

“Fine,” you managed. “We’re both fine. Bit worse for wear, but fine.”

“Okay - okay, well, good. Let’s meet back at the motel, then.”

“Yeah - get the first aid kit ready if you beat us there,” you replied tiredly.

“Yeah, of course. See you soon,” Sam bid, and you sighed, tucking away your phone as he hung up. You glanced up at Dean, who was stubbornly avoiding your stare.

“It was Sam,” you told him, trying to coax his eyes back to you. They flashed to yours for a brief moment but left just as quickly. Dean grunted.

“Yeah? What’d he say?” 

“Just that there were two wolves.”

Dean snorted. “Better late than never, I guess,” he muttered, and you allowed a short laugh as you both limped back to the Impala, sliding into the seats and nursing your tender wounds as the adrenaline faded from your systems.

“Yep. Turns out Marshall had a roommate. Two man pack. Guess you could say he was a werewolf in sheep’s clothing,” you said cheekily. That pried a smile from the eldest Winchester, finally brought a hint of a gleam back to his green eyes.

“Good one,” he chuckled, cranking the engine and pulling away from the curb. You half-opened your mouth, ready to approach the subject of the adrenaline induced act you had shared, but the look in Dean’s eyes had you second-guessing yourself. His jaw was tense, his fists tenser as he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. 

He regrets it, you realised, feeling your heart sink as you released a sharp breath.

“Right,” you said eventually. “Let’s get patched up and get the hell outta this town, huh? I bet the cops’ll be here any second, after those gunshots,” you mused. Dean squeezed the wheel tighter.

“Right,” he said tersely, relaxing slightly as you leaned back into the seat and rested your head against the glass of the window. The car was stiff with tension that slowly dissolved as the scenery shifted and blurred outside, and you winced at the throbbing headache that had flared up behind your eyes. Of course your short reprieve from it had been too good to last - how fitting that it should spring up alongside the aching in your chest as you recalled the heat of Dean’s mouth on yours, and the downcast guilt etched into his expression afterwards.

You couldn’t erase the kiss from your mind - couldn’t forget his touch, his scent, his… everything. And it was then that you realised;

You hadn’t reached a dead end, not at all - just the opposite. You’d found a fork in the road, a crossroads, and now you were faced with a glaring choice.

Two paths, each just as tempting as the other - and now you had to do the impossible. For their sakes, for your own sake…

You had to decide.

__________

Part 9 coming soon !!!!!

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[h-styles-babes]

ONE

It had been a year since Anastasia had even been in the same room as him.

A year since he’d sat her down and told her that maybe them not being together anymore was for the best. His life was too crazy for him to even really handle, and he felt it was unfair to her to have such a strain on their relationship. Never mind that they’d been in said relationship for nearly two years already and had been friends for nearly a decade more. And at the time, she’d understood his want to not ruin their friendship with heartbreak and fights and nasty words that might come down the road. That didn’t mean her heart hadn’t broken when they’d said their final goodbyes to each other, sharing a last kiss before Harry left her flat. But it was the sort of heartbreak that she could live with because they’d agreed to still be there for each other when they needed it.

Of course, that hadn’t happened. She’d not heard a peep out of him since he walked out of her little home in the center of London.

She figured it wouldn’t have hurt so bad if she hadn’t seen the tabloids with his face splashed across them, his arms wrapped around a certain American model/reality TV star just a few months later. He’d not even told her of the hiatus the band was slated for, though there was no way he hadn’t known about it himself at that point. So, yeah, she was absolutely livid to see him having the time of his life on a yacht in St. Bart’s with the reality princess who thought she stood a chance in the modeling business because her family was famous for absolutely nothing and infamous for just about everything else.

If Harry had tried to get into contact with her after that, she wouldn’t have known, because she changed her number, and blocked him from her social media sites, and sent his emails straight to junk if he ever tried to reach her that way. She’d heard from her mum once around his birthday that he had been back to Holmes Chapel and was asking after her, but her mum knew how she felt about him. She’d been polite in saying that Sia was doing well, working in London and slated for a promotion. When he’d asked for her new number, her mother, bless her, had declined, citing that it wasn’t a good idea. She’d said he understood, but Sia wasn’t quite sure if that was the whole story. It didn’t matter, really.

Anastasia did end up with that promotion, which sent her to LA for at least a year. She’d panicked at first, knowing that Harry had a semi-permanent residence there, but she realized that the likelihood of them running into each other was just about as good as her meeting Elvis. LA was big and she was low man on the totem pole in her line of work—which just so happened to be pretty close to Harry’s—and she was sure she wouldn’t be trusted on projects with someone as big as Harry Styles, so there was no reason for their paths to ever cross.

Except they did, around late August. She’d had a blissful five months of living in LA without seeing hide nor hair of her ex-boyfriend/ex-best friend, and she had counted her lucky stars each day that she got by unscathed. But, when it finally came to the time where she saw him in a pub on a random Saturday night—the only respectable pub in a twenty mile radius of her home—she knew her luck had run out.

She froze as she entered the bar, seeing his recently shorn locks—which were a bit of a shock to her, since she’d avoided anything involving Harry Styles since she’d seen that God forsaken article about him on the yacht—tucked into a booth in the corner, surrounded by a few other lads who’s faces looked vaguely familiar. She had a feeling she knew one of them from a telly program she used to watch back in the UK, but she couldn’t be quite sure in the dim lighting of the room. She quickly contemplated walking right back out of the building and not looking back, but she’d be damned if she let him scare her from the one place she found solace on her weekends. She’d been coming here since she moved to America, and she’d drop dead before she let the likes of him run her off.

She shook herself out of it quickly, and made her way to the bar, slinking herself down into an empty stool, as far away from Harry as possible, not facing him, so on the off chance that he’d glance up, he’d not see her face. She ordered two shots of tequila right off the bat, the bartender, who she’d gotten to know pretty well over the last few months, raised an eyebrow at her request, but fulfilled it anyway. Sia was typically a pint sort of girl, from years of being around Harry’s bandmates and her own parents enjoying a pint on the weekends, but she needed something stronger to ease her nerves. Pints were for when she was ready to wind down from a long work week. Liquor was for trying to calm her nerves after seeing her ex for the first time in a year in a random pub in LA.

She threw back the two shots quickly, wiping the corners of her mouth where a little dribbled out. She pushed the two glasses back from her and the bartender shook a pint glass at her, asking silently if she’d like her regular now.

Suddenly hearing Harry’s boisterous laugh in the corner set her on edge all over again, her shoulders raising up protectively around her ears. She bore down on her teeth as she glanced over, seeing his head tossed back, mouth open in laughter. 

God, he’s still so fucking beautiful, she thought bitterly.

Turning back to the bartender, she shook her head. “Martini, please. Strong.”

“One of those nights, huh?” he asked, a sad little smile on her face as he poured the liquor in a tumbler.

“It wasn’t until about ten minutes ago,” she grumbled, throwing a pointed glare toward Harry’s table. They had quieted down again, but Harry was still grinning, that grin that used to set Anastasia’s heart into a tizzy and make her grin back at him, stupidly in love.

“You got a problem with those lads?” he asked, pouring Sia’s drink into a martini glass, spearing two olives into it. The bartender—Eric—was a Scotland native relocated to LA when his wife’s job called for it. He was the only person in LA who Sia had met that she could relate to when talking about home. Sure they weren’t from the same place, exactly, but he still held his roots, like Anastasia, as opposed to other people from the UK she’d met that would rather act like home no longer meant anything to them.

“Not all of ‘em, no,” she shook her head, offering him a wry smile as she accepted her drink. “Just the one at the end facin’ this way.”

“Old one night stand?” he guessed while pouring a beer for the customer next to her.

She shook her head with a scoff. “I wish. Best friend turned boyfriend, turned ex-boyfriend turned ex-best friend.”

“Ouch,” he hissed, making a wounded look with his face.

Anastasia gave a humorless chuckle as she sipped at the strong drink. “I know. Haven’t even seen his face in a year.”

“He’s that Styles lad, right? From that boyband?”

“The one and only,” she confirmed, nodding solemnly. “Told me it was better we weren’t together ‘cause him bein’ away wasn’t fair to me or our relationship. Few months later, I see his mug pasted all over mags lovin’ on that model girl. Proper kicked him out of my life after that.”

“Jesus, darlin’,” Eric whistled. “Surprised yeh stuck around after seein’ him when yeh walked in here.”

She sighed, pulling the speared olives out of her drink. “Me too, but this is my spot. He can’t have it.” She pulled one off and popped it in her mouth, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “Twat gets everything else he wants. This is mine, though. Long as he doesn’t see me, we’re good.”

Eric began nodding as Anastasia popped the second olive in her mouth. His eyes trailed over to the table her ex was sat at, only to see that the lad’s eyes were trained on her, brows furrowed and mouth popped open in some expression he couldn’t decipher. He didn’t want to burst her bubble, but he felt he owed it to her to warn her that there was a very real possibility that he’d be disrupting her peace.

“Hate to break it to yeh, love, but he’s looking right at yeh with this dumb expression on his face.” He watched from the corner of his eyes, pouring another mug of draught, as Harry craned his neck trying to get a better look at the woman sitting at the bar. “Think he’s tryin’ t’ decide if it’s actually you.”

Anastasia, against her better judgement, peeked over her shoulder, looking right into Harry’s searching eyes. She whipped her head back forward, hunching her shoulders again. “Fuck,” she spit, quickly picking up her glass and downing the rest of the drink. “Shouldn’t’ve done that.”

“He’s comin’ over here,” Eric warned, keeping his eyes on the glass he was drying in his hand.

“Bloody perfect,” she huffed under her breath. She fixed her gaze on the bar top, hoping that if she kept her head down, Harry’d get the hint and walk away without talking to her. She’d cut him out of her life for a reason, and he had to realise that. He was daft sometimes, but he wasn’t a fucking imbecile.

Anastasia felt when Harry dropped into the empty barstool next to her, the energy that he carried around with him washing over her and making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She could smell him, too, the same scent that always lingered on his skin—the same body wash he’d been using for years, the same laundry softener that she knew Anne had been washing his clothes with since they were kids, and the Tom Ford cologne he’d taken to around his nineteenth birthday. She hated that she knew so much about someone who felt like a perfect stranger to her now, but she couldn’t help all the innate knowledge she held about him. They’d known each other since primary, for crying out loud. She was bound to know all these things about him. It didn’t help the ache in her chest at being so close to him, though.

“Sia,” he breathed out, his deep voice startling her. She hadn’t heard his voice since this time last year, when he’d whispered one last goodbye against her mouth before walking out the front door of her flat.

“Styles,” she acknowledged with a single nod of her head, not looking up at him. She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for that. She used his last name in greeting to keep things impersonal. She’d called him H or Haz for most of their lives. He didn’t deserve the nickname. She was sort of upset that he’d even used her nickname, the one he’d given her long before Sia the musician had become known. The first time they’d met, he’d said that Anastasia was a mouthful, and when she’d expressed her disdain of the nickname Ana, he’d started calling her Sia. Now everyone called her Sia, even her parents.

“What are yeh doin’ here?” Harry asked, confusion clear in his voice.

Sia snorted at his question. She nodded her head in thanks when Eric placed a full pint in front of her, obviously sensing that she needed more alcohol. “I’m having a few drinks. What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t mean the bar,” he quickly amended. “I meant America. LA.”

“I live here,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her beer, swiping her tongue across her top lip where some of the head had stuck to her skin.

“Since when? Last time I saw your mum, she didn’t say anythin’ about it.”

Sia finally peeked a look at him from the corner of her eyes, watching as he dragged his hand through his hair. It was a habit he’d had for as long as she could remember, but it was strange seeing him do it when his hair was so short. For the last four years of their friendship, he’d been growing it out, and now it was the shortest she’d seen it since their early years of secondary.

“When’d yeh last see my mum?” she asked, curious since her mother hadn’t mentioned anything about Harry the last time they’d spoken just a few days ago.

“About a month ago. Was filming near home and stopped in for the weekend. She was round my parents’ house when I showed up.”

Sia was slightly affronted that her mother hadn’t mentioned anything, but then, she thought it was maybe for the best that she hadn’t. Even the mention of Harry’s name out of anyone’s mouths made her a little uneasy, and she was sure her mother knew that.

“Been living here since March,” she supplied. She took another sip of her beer. “Working with a producer that’s based here. Choice was easy.”

She saw Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, his eyes sparkling with an excitement. He knew how much that opportunity meant to her, to be able to work with a music producer, doing what she loved and what she’d gone to school for. Her mum hadn’t said anything to him about Sia getting a job in the industry, so this was amazing news for him.

“Yeah? That’s great! Who’s the producer?”

She rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm. As far as she was concerned, he didn’t get to be excited for her anymore. When she’d heard from Anne about him landing the role on the new Nolan film, she’d rolled her eyes in her head and sipped at her tea, offering his mum a hum that she hoped didn’t seem too rude. She loved Anne, but she knew her son had broken something inside of the girl, so she wasn’t too surprised by her lackluster reaction.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

Harry’s face dropped instantly, brows furrowing, lips frowning. “I mean…”

“Just stop,” she urged, pushing back her barely touched pint. She grabbed her purse from her lap and dug around for some bills to cover her tab. “This is weird. Stop acting like everythin’ is normal.” She stood and tossed the money on the bar top, sending a nod at Eric, who was at the other end of the bar, tending to someone else but keeping his eyes on Sia. He nodded back, acknowledging her thanks and goodbye.

“I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize, Styles,” she warned, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Little too late for that, don’t yeh think?” Sia turned to walk away from him, hating the way her heart squeezed in her chest. She clenched her teeth against the tears that were threatening to collect in her eyes. She’d been in his presence for two minutes, and a year’s worth of built defenses and hardened exteriors was crumbling. She hated him for making her feel like this.

“Wait, Sia,” he called, hopping up from his seat to follow after her. “Lemme walk yeh home. It’s dark out.”

“Don’t fuckin’ bother. Been gettin’ by fine on my own. Yeh don’t need to pretend to care now, Harry.”

The door to the bar slammed behind her before Harry could even open his mouth to form a rebuttal.

[drabblesnooneaskedfor]

@aiixen Here it is! Sorry it took me so long, I was stuck on mobile for a while, and I refuse to publish this without a read more!

1k words & 4 scene changes ahead!

Cyn manages to escape the party, finding refuge skirting the edge of the woods behind the stranger's house. Their jacket hangs from their shoulders, keeping off the night’s chill. Their D.D.D. vibrates once in their back pocket. They pull it out, swiping up to read the text.

It's from Belial, "Where are you?" Mammon, Asmo, and Solomon all came with them, but it's him who notices they're missing?

Whatever. They take a picture of the woods, and send it with "Come and find me." They continue their meander along the edge.

It doesn't take him long to find them. "No drink?"

"Left that inside." They look to his empty hands, raising a brow. "Shouldn't you be cradling a glass?" He usually is, white wine if they have to guess.

He shrugs, easy, like he isn't breaking a pattern. It shouldn't matter, but it sends their mind thinking. Usually he spends parties ignoring them, in favor of antagonizing Mammon and Asmo with his presence. Unless he's found a new way to do that, using them.

Well then.

They nod their head forward. "Walk with me." They could use the company.

He skips ahead a bit, walking backwards to face them. "With a demon who isn't part of your guard? How scandalous~"

Cyn' rolls their eyes, and let some of the smile slip through. How he does this, they don't know, but... Well... His attitude towards the brothers is refreshing. Too many demons care about how much time they spend with them, and, while he may as well, his way of showing it is different, instead of... Well, let's not think about that right now. After all, there's a clever devil with them right now, and he gets pouty if he doesn’t have attention.

Cyn's laugh comes easy in the cafe. "So what wine am I bribing you with next time?"

Belial hums. "How about a Barsac?"

Of course he asks for something they've never seen at the bar. They sip their decaf coffee.

He brings his cup to his lips. Great, he's thinking, or at least acting like he is to make them fret. "Why do you play this game with me?"

Huh, "explain."

He points his drink at them. "You're stalling."

They huff. Per the rules, calling one out on stalling means the one called out must answer, no explanation required.

Of course, they're the only one who obeys the rules. They take another sip, noticing the caramel, chocolate, and that one flavor they keep forgetting to ask about. How is he going to take their answer? Their rules say they either answer honestly, or risk getting called out again.

Fuck it. "Your answers still give me insight into what you think I'll believe, even if I'd be stupid to believe anything 'personal' you tell me." Their turn. Why not lighten the mood again? "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

His face makes them laugh again.

Cyn' sees Belial at the bar, probably flirting his way past last call. Let them guess, Asmo found someone to bring home, and asked Solomon to walk them home, but Solomon doesn't want to, so he's taking advantage of his 72 pacts to find someone willing to do the job for him. Given certain responsibilities the Brothers were given, showing up arm-in-arm with Belial of all demons was too good an opportunity to pass up.

They roll the comfort candy from one side of their mouth to the other. At least, that's what they've been assuming. They'd never ask though; better their guesses than another lie to try and decipher any meaning from.

They dry off another glass as the demon winks over the glass of what they now know is white wine. Did he go with a Riesling this time? Why's it matter, anyway?

Cyn' hands Belial the Chardonnay, places a glass on the end table next to the couch, then plops down on his other side. Having pacts with six out of, if you include the Demon King, ten of the Devildom's most powerful demons gets you some privilege, it appears. They're certain it has more to do with Solomon telling his demons to keep an eye out for them, though. Whatever. Who cares, really? They bring his arm around their shoulder, pulling out their cell to scroll through Facebook, of all things. It's the only way they've kept in contact with their family this whole time.

"Who pissed you off this time?”

They groan. He won't let up, he never does. He likes attention, and apparently can't appreciate silence.

"They all did," they put their phone away, it's what he wants. "I can't get a moment's peace with them!" If Mammon isn't tearing through the house running from Lucifer, then one of the brothers is trying to steal their alone time, or the Lucifer, you S*CK club is planning a new lame prank, or something! It's always something, they never have a moment to themselves any more!

He laughs! Really, at their misery! He turns them to face him, a finger under their chin. "And you thought being around me would get them to leave you alone?"

Well, he has a point there. They're always more clingy after they find him around them, in their own ways. "I..." Yeah, this really was a stupid decision. They shrug. Oh well, "I've already given you the wine, might as well make use of the bought time." Oh, that rhymes! Maybe they could make a poem-

His thumb traces the bottom of their lower lip. "You like the attention, don't you?"

They really don't. He should know this, he's mentioned how they can't keep their desires hidden around him-

There's a light pressure on their lip, from his nail. "The no-strings-attached facsimile of affection," oh, "the comfort of being honest with me." They swear there's some venom in his voice, but they brush it off. Why would it be there in the first place?

They shrug again, so what if they do? "You can always tell me to stop," if he wants them to.

They pride themself on catching the flash of emotion his crimson eyes give, even if they don't have a name for it. "Maybe I like having your attention too."

They scoff, resisting the urge to elbow him. They settle into his side again, keeping their devices put away. "You like making their lives difficult."

He chuckles this time, "you know me so well."

They roll their eyes, ignoring his hand under their shirt, so long as it stays at their waist. "Could you help me with this thing I'm writing?"

He hums, and the two fall into an easier conversation then feelings, and who they might be pining after.

[mimiplaysgames]

are you still there?

Terraqua Week Day 7: Quote

Summary: It’s time to sort through Eraqus’ things. There’s little they know of their late Master, but they find letters - addressed to them. @terraquaweek​

Notes: Based on Jim Hopper’s letter from the Stranger Things 3 finale: “There's something I've been wanting to talk to you both about. I know this is a difficult conversation, but I care about you both very much. And I know that you care about each other very much, and that's why it's important that we set these boundaries moving forward so we can build an environment where we all feel comfortable, trusted, and open to sharing our feelings. Jesus. The truth is, for so long I'd forgotten what those even were. I've been stuck in one place. In a cave, you might say. A deep, dark cave. And then I left some Eggos out in the woods and you came into my life. For the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again. I started to feel happy. But lately, I guess I've been feeling distant from you. Like you're pulling away from me or something. I miss playing board games every night, making triple decker Eggo extravaganzas at sunrise, watching Westerns together before we doze off.But I know you're getting older, growing, changing. I guess, if I'm being really honest, that's what scares me. I don't want things to change. So I think maybe that's why I came in here, to try and make stop that change. To turn back the clock. To make things go back to how they were. But I know that's naive. It's just not how life works. It's moving, always moving, whether you like it or not. And yeah, sometimes it's painful. Sometimes it's sad. And sometimes, it's surprising. Happy.

So you know what? Keep on growing up kid. Don't let me stop you. Make mistakes, learn from 'em. When life hurts you, because it will, remember the hurt. The hurt is good. It means you're out of that cave. But, please, if you don't mind, for the sake of your poor old dad, keep the door open three inches.”

Read on AO3

***

It is weird going back - it’s like they have their house again but not their home.

They clean up to find some closure - if they stall, if they leave the Master’s things alone, they’ll dread having to do it and there he will linger, like a one-ton weight that they’d have to drag by their ankles. It hurts but it’s necessary, like amputating a limb beyond help before the rest dies with it. They do it start a new chapter, to let the Master move on to the next life, so they can move on with theirs.

In Aqua’s opinion, it’s horrible, but she continues to sort through private books that he kept in his office to see if they’re of any use. Every time there’s an artifact that reminds her of a specific memory, she cries, and Terra wishes he could wipe them away. It makes him feel helpless - it’s been twelve years in darkness and he still hasn’t found the courage to let her know just how much he cares.

For Ventus, it’s a new wondrous adventure, like finding out the person he thought he knew for so long is actually someone different. For the years he thought that Eraqus was as stern and cold as a statue, he discovers an old stack of childish finger-paintings that prove him wrong. Why the Master was so secretive, they’ll never know, but it’s something Ven takes with pride. At least it distracts him from making snarky remarks about Terra’s feelings.

To Terra, he’s reliving an entire lifetime in a matter of minutes and where does life fly to when it flies by? It’s crazy to think that a living person used to have things until he’s forced to start claiming which he should take as his.

Of course, there have been a lot of shared tears, and they all agree to take a break for dinner when a loud thud - like a bookshelf falling over - makes Terra jump.

Ventus whips around first, a Keyblade in his anxious hand. “What happened?”

It was Aqua, the shelf right in front of her now opened - a secret panel in the wall.

Terra huddles close, a smirk threatening to take his face. “I shouldn’t be surprised the Master had secret stashes.”

Huddled in this cubby hole are journals, some in better condition whereas others are so old, their pages have been stained with exposure. 

“The Master kept diaries?” Ven asks. 

“He did,” Terra answers, letting Aqua take the first grab. “I remember writing in one of them actually… he only writes when he’s upset about something and wants to vent. I walked in on him one day and he let me sit on his lap and have at it.”

“When was that?” Aqua asks, quickly sifting through pages of one before going through another. “It looks like he had a lot to be upset about.”

“Definitely before you came along, but I don’t remember why he was sad that specific night. I don’t think he ever told me.”

“So…” Ventus dawdles, his hands in his pockets. “Do we read them or trash them?”

“Trashing them feels wrong,” she says.

“Reading them feels wrong, too,” Terra says. 

“But,” Aqua hesitates, taking another. “This is something he left behind, like a legacy.”

“Of his most secretive of secret thoughts,” Ventus agrees, nudging Terra on the elbow. 

Aqua holds up one of the newer journals. “His last one… there’s blank pages.” 

They all hold a pregnant breath. In their hands are the Master’s final concerns before he was taken forever, his last rites.

She flips through anyway, and Terra nearly objects because… well, why hurt himself by reading what the Master thought of him before the Mark of Mastery? He failed, after all. 

Some folded pages come out of the journal - she didn’t rip them out, they were already wedged in there. “And some extra,” she says. 

Ventus helps himself to the journal, opening to the first page. The Master always had such beautiful handwriting, as though calligraphy was his art of choice.

“They’re to us,” she says when she opens the folded pages, reading the dates. “Letters. He wrote them while he was waiting for us to come home.”

It suddenly hits them, and Ventus slams the journal tight like he’s violated a boundary. 

While he waited for them in those long months to come home, before the possession, the fall to darkness, the sleep...

They take turns looking at each other, two of them passing asking glances at Aqua to see if she would approve. And Aqua looks at Terra to see if he would approve.  

“If he was alive, he’d never show them to us,” Terra says, “but sure. Let’s.”

“He probably wouldn’t mind,” she shrugs. “The Master didn’t like to dwell on something trivial.”

Ventus is the first to jump onto the loveseat in the middle of the office, over a soft rug in front of the fireplace, leaving Terra and Aqua to take the couch across. 

“Aqua should read them out loud,” Ventus says, making himself comfortable, like he’s excited to find out more about his late father... like he’s not anticipating it’s going to make him cry. He’ll probably learn the hard way. “She’s a great storyteller.”

It’s not really fair to put that burden on Aqua, to read the Master’s words on behalf of all of them, but she smiles, accepting it. “Only if everyone is okay with it.”

She’s really talking about Terra in this case, looking over her shoulder to see if he’d object again. He doesn’t.

“Right.” She takes a deep breath. “The first one is for Ven.”

It’s Ven’s turn to take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Terra holds his own, his arms crossed. It may be for Ven, but… it’s like he’ll hear the Master’s voice again, even if it’s Aqua who’s reading it.

It takes a few more moments before Aqua prepares herself to read - she’s probably thinking the same thing. He holds her shoulder and it wakes her up from her stupor. Finally, she starts.

~

My cherished Ven,

I cannot deny the horror I felt when I watched you drift away into the sky, chasing a fate I know in my heart will do nothing but gravely harm you. I have always been aware that there is only so much I can do to protect you. I have always been aware that the life you have lived here was unfair to you, and I can only hope that you understand it was for your protection. If I may be true, I am frightened - of what you will discover, of whether you would survive it. Maybe even of your own power.

You must know, Ven, that darkness speaks. It will tell you stories meant to horrify you and meant to tempt you down a path where it will take advantage of your innocence. Part of me feels foolish, and here I realize what I could have done better to prepare you. You have a strong heart, Ven, and a brilliant soul, a powerful, ancient light that has many destinies intertwined with it. It is not something I fully comprehend, and there have been many precepts that I have researched into the matter, some that I cannot decipher. 

It is because of this that I do not have any answers that you seek, and thus I assume you will not come to me for them. I can vow there will be a time for you to learn about yourself, and I simply want you prepared with the proper knowledge to not only protect yourself, but to protect the worlds that you have the responsibility over, as Keyblade Wielder. You are practical and efficient, and you already know that your weapon is precious and cannot be misused. I can only pray that you come home and sleep safely.

~

There are sniffles, and they belong to Ven. She hands over the letter and he takes a readthrough, a small smile coming to his face.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he says, his voice shaking but he’s trying hard to find comfort. “The Master is kind of giving me the blessing to leave… without really doing it.”

They haven’t set a date for when he’ll leave - it’s clear there are many lingering questions about Ven’s past, with Chirithy’s sudden appearance only making it more necessary to answer them. He’s talked about traveling, seeking out answers, and while Terra and Aqua think Ven should become Master first before setting off on his own journey, the final decision ultimately lies with him. 

Either way, with Chirithy, he won’t be alone.

“So will you leave?” Aqua asks. There are silent tears traveling down her cheeks. It’s already so hard on her. 

When she notices Terra staring, she actually inches closer, looking for his hand. Immediately, without even thinking about it, Terra leans forward and wipes them off her face, his other hand on her back.

He chooses to ignore all the knowing glances Ven is throwing at him. 

“Maybe,” Ven says, like he hasn’t been thinking about making teases towards Terra. “I feel like this advice still sticks, you know?” He folds the page. “When I do, I want to take this with me. But… precepts? There are actually books that can help me?”

“You never know, there could be another hiding place with more stuff,” Terra says, asking Aqua with his eyes if she’s okay. She nods. 

“In here?” Ven looks around.

“Or somewhere in the castle.”

“That’s gonna take forever to find,” he whines. 

“We’ll help you find it. In the meantime,” Aqua says, holding up the next letter. “This one is for me.” Her voice cracks. “I’ll be okay though,” she says to Terra before he has a chance to ask.

~

My esteemed Aqua,

There is a certain cruelty to life about becoming older: with age comes conviction, and it is merely a defense against confusion, the flux of emotions that will all storm together when facing a difficult problem. I am speaking of the wave of mixed feelings that came with ordering you to chase after your friends, your closest comrades. I have conviction in my belief that it was the right thing to do - this entire ordeal was riddled of something terribly sinister that I have yet to solve. I fear for you, for my other students, for what is at stake.

At the same time, I know you. You are and will always be the element that holds this family together. I have always been impressed by your light, by your determination, and by your loyalty to your calling. And yet, you are the one most guided by the bond you share with your peers, and this is exactly why I know of no one else who has a light as powerful as yours. Your bond to them will be their saving grace, I must believe in that. But I feel I may have burdened you with a responsibility that would put these elements at war with each other, that I have asked you to put your beliefs at conflict.

I have named you Master because I believe you have the strength to see it through. I believe you have the wisdom to face darkness in its true essence and not break. Every day that passes by that I do not see either of you home yet, I get more worried. Still, I can find peace knowing you are there to look out for our family. You are still so young, the youngest Master in history, and there is a sense of guilt in knowing I have given you a burden when you should be experiencing more carefree days. I expect that you will not have to carry this burden all by yourself for long, and that you will be able to share the weight with Terra once he is ready. Until that happens, there is no one more suited to keep us safe. If you should ever falter, and I would be ignorant in assuming you would never, know to never lose faith. I have the utmost faith in you.

~

The letter shakes in her hands. 

“I need a moment,” she says, her voice cracking. Her tears get buried in her fingers as she covers her face to let it all go. 

Terra brings his arm around her, going through her hair with his fingers. He’s actually always wanted to do this, but not like this, not while she’s crying. 

“He’s right you know,” he whispers in her ear. “You are the glue that keeps us together.”

Ven goes to sit on her other side, his head leaning on her arm, his hands around her elbow. “Yeah, you’re the strongest person I know.” 

She nods to their words, sniffling her voice out. “I wish I had this with me that entire time,” she says, “when I walked the Realm of Darkness.” She smiles. “It would have been nice to read, k- keep me company.”

Aqua has suffered for so long and she’s still so hard on herself. “You did good,” Terra says. 

“Far better than either of us,” Ventus adds in.

Her fingers find themselves intertwined with Terra’s, and she rolls her lips inward to accept their words of encouragement. 

“Thank you.”

She’s saying it to them, and she’s saying it to the Master. They take a moment in silence for the Master, but mostly for her sake. Aqua deserves to be listened to.

Then she pats Terra’s lap. “Your turn,” she says with a little pep, like she’s grateful that she’s over the most harrowing experience ever.

“My turn,” he grumbles, instantly closing in, leaning into the backrest because he at least knows (unlike Ven) that he will definitely cry.

~

My dearest Terra,

I have never been truthful with you, and there are certain ethical boundaries as to why. Part of me wishes I was, to let you know why it is I expect so much out of you. You have saved my life - the moment I found you, I was still suffering certain experiences that have left me heavy and cold. Raising you had given me new purpose, and I took that responsibility as though it was breath. I am and will always be so proud of you, of how you have grown and of your gentle heart. You are meant to accomplish great things, and I believe you will go far. 

There have been times as of late where I felt I could not reach you, however, when I did not have the right words to guide you. I see in your eyes your desperate need to please, to succeed. I have been guilt-ridden with failing you on the Mark of Mastery, with making you feel like you are not worthy enough. You are worthy, and one day you will see your dream realized. But there are still things your joyful, ambitious heart needs to understand. You become solemn far too quickly, and with such a powerful weapon in your hands, you will need to still that crying heart when the worst comes to haunt you - and it will, in due time. Life will always find a way to challenge and harm you, and I need to see you prepared. I want you to succeed.

I meant what I said. You mustn’t be afraid of losing - -

~

Tears are trickling down his cheeks; they are warm before they get cold, like the exposure frightens them. The words are what he needs to hear and yet some of them he still has trouble accepting.

It’s silent now, though.

Aqua is biting her lip, a smile betraying her, and Ven looks over her shoulder when he realizes she’s not continuing.

“Are you not going to finish?” Terra asks, and he feels he has the right to be annoyed.

She brings the letter to her mouth. “You sure?”

“Why are you asking?”

She chuckles behind her hand. “Okay.”

~

I meant what I said. You mustn’t be afraid of losing, especially with the path I have seen you choose for yourself. I understand how devastating it is to lose to Aqua, how you hold her in such high esteem, and how terrifying it is to ponder the possibility of losing her as well. I understand more than you realize why you are obsessed with holding yourself up to her, and why you need her to do the same for you. It is not a conversation I take pride in holding with either of you - the path of the Keyblade leaves little in the way for partnerships, as it can be such a heavy strain. But if I had to give my honest opinion, I can agree that Aqua is a wonderful choice for a mate. If this dream of yours shall be realized, I offer two threads of advice: one, let her light guide you. A partnership is a mind of two, and when you find yourself struggling, you have to let her in. Two, it is now more vitally important that you understand the nature of your own light, so that you can do the same for her when she needs you. You will need to be her guardian in the worst of times, something I know you are more than capable of doing despite your failure in the exam.

I would only ask one favor: please do not exhibit any scandalous or inappropriate behavior in the hallways if something were to come about it.

~

Again, she brings the letter to her face to hide her sputtering chuckles.

Ven looks across her at Terra, his eyes wide like he’s just witnessed… well, a scandal.

“You just got outed,” he says.

Aqua scoffs, her tears still finding their way out and it’s amazing how she can express two different emotions at once. “So you knew about this.”

Terra wants to kill him.

Ven holds his hands up in surrender, getting up from the couch and walking to the door. “Whatever I say doesn’t matter. Terra’s still busted.”

“Ven,” Terra warns.

“Caught red-handed.”

“Ven.”

“B-U-S-T-E-D.” Now he’s at the door, giving a questioning smirk like he’s sorry, before storming out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

Terra doesn’t know what’s stronger now - the grief or the awkwardness making itself comfortable in the room.

“It was sweet,” Aqua says of the letter.

“Thanks…?”

She chortles, bringing a hand to her heart. 

Honestly, in normal times, they’d probably still be physically close. If he is to try now, though, there’s all sorts of implications that he doesn’t have an excuse for anymore.

She folds the letter for him before handing it over. “Here is your… um...”

“Love advice?” He’s just trying to be funny, to lighten the mood and now he’s probably made it worse.

At least she’s laughing, but she’s speechless. “Ah, yeah.”

Terra fiddles with it in his hands, careful not to crease it. This is why they shouldn’t pry into private thoughts. 

“How are you-?” he asks.

“Feeling?”

“Yeah.”

“Actually better.” She sighs. “I feel a huge load off my shoulders.”

“Really?” He feels like he’s been slapped by an avalanche, or he’s about to drown in one - it’s like someone has him by the throat, and he really hates not knowing what Aqua thinks of all this. 

She takes her own letter, gently folding it and he’s sure that she’ll keep it safe in a box in her room. “I do.” She stands up, hesitating with every step like there’s something she wants to say.

At least there aren’t any more tears. He never expected the Master of all people would put a stop to that.

“That’s good,” he says, ready for the worst.

“Terra,” she says, turning to face him when she gets to the door. “We should have dinner, just for the two of us.”

His heart skips a beat, and if it continues to do that, then this is the worst time to die. “I’d love that,” he says and immediately regrets it. That’s the second time he used “Love” and he really shouldn’t, not this early.

It makes her laugh nervously, and she bites her lip to control it but she’s doing a terrible job. “Good.” 

She walks backward into the door and then apologizes, extremely embarrassed. 

He’s never seen Master Aqua like this, and she rejects his help when he gets up and walks over to see if she’s okay. It makes him feel better knowing he’s not the only one this nervous.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?” she asks, her hand on the knob. 

He has to clear his throat, because his “Yes” is too scared to come out. “Count on it.”

She bites her lip again and he has to remember to tell her how cute it is. When it’s more appropriate. There’s still so much pain to go through, but maybe they can put a pause on that? 

“Okay,” she whispers, unsure of whether to say something else before she finally laughs again and goes through the door.

It’s quiet when she’s gone, and if he lingers for too long she’ll just come back to tell him that it’s unhealthy to be alone in the Master’s office. But it’s nice for now - he thinks of the letter, thinks of it in the Master's voice as if he is there, saying those words. It isn't quiet at all. It almost feels like he has a father again, rooting for him.

[artificialqueens]

Bring It On: All or Nothing pt 3 (Branjie) - Ashley

A/N: in our longest chapter yet we see Brooke get her first taste of life as an Amazon through both practising and partying with them. Thanks so much for all the lovely comments - make sure to keep the feedback coming. I made a playlist for the fic if anyone is interested. Again, I haven’t wrote in a long time so know this isn’t to the best standard but I hope I’m fulfilling everyone’s branjie cheerleading fantasy..xoxo Ashley.

A typical Saturday for Brooke Lynn Hytes started at 6:30 AM. She’d wake up, brush her teeth, clear any mess from her room and eat breakfast before going to ballet. After 30 minutes of stretching and basic Pilates, she’d start with a company class, improving her craft outside of choreo. Next comes rehearsal for an upcoming show, play, recital or audition. A quick break for lunch and school work then back to training. By 5PM she’d have the rest of the afternoon to meet friends or do more school work if needed.

The day following the fight was not a typical Saturday.

Waking at 11 AM, Brooke was initially surprised to find herself on the floor before remembering the events of the night before. Too ashamed to go home, Vanessa had accepted Brooke’s offer to stay at hers. Given the girl’s inconsistent nature, Brooke spent her shower nervous about how Vanessa would react to waking up at her home. She was suddenly self-conscious of her room - why were the walls green? Why hadn’t she unpacked everything yet? Too enthralled in her panicked inner monologue, she failed to even notice Vanessa had woken up when she walked back into her room, clad only in a towel.

“Hey,” the girl squinted at her, seemingly unsure of what to say, her eyes doing a once-over of Brooke’s body.

In contrast to the day they had brushed their teeth together, Vanessa looked more like the sea hag than a Disney princess upon waking - her black hair wild and matted around her, her eyes baggy and bloodshot. Yet to Brooke she still looked breathtaking.

“Hi,” Brooke responded before perching on the sofa built into the alcove of her window.

“Thanks for the t-shirt,” Vanessa looked down at herself then back at Brooke, “and the bed, and everything I guess.”

“You’d do the same if you thought someone was alone in the cold without anywhere to go,” Brooke responded, trying to act nonchalant and hide her blatant feelings for the girl.

“Hmm,” Vanessa responded, clearly unsure of whether or not she would.

“I’ll let you get yourself ready,” feel free to borrow anything Brooke said before grabbing some clothes and leaving to get ready herself.

***

“Come to practice tomorrow,” Vanessa stopped herself as she walked out of Brooke’s door, her guilt about the way she had treated the girl clearly playing on her mind.

“Why would I? I can’t cheer, remember?” Brooke watched the girl as she recited her dig from the night before, fascinated by the way her own jumper hung largely on Vanessa’s arms, just the tips of her fingers poking out the end.

“If we wanna do well we need the best people on our squad, and that just so happens to be you. I’ve had a bit of a reality check and it might not be in the way I’m familiar with but I can’t deny your talent,” Vanessa said. Although Brooke found it hard to read the girls face, she could tell in her tone that she meant it.

“I thought I was bankrupt,” Brooke grinned, her old competitive nature coming out of her as she played hard to get. “I’m sorry Vanessa but if you want me on your team you’re going to have to try a little bit harder than that.”

Clearly not used to that kind of reaction after offering someone a first class ticket to the popular table at R.A Charles, Vanessa stood still for a moment, processing what Brooke had said.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Brooke added, making sure to emphasise the day of the week before closing the door on Vanessa and making her way to the window to watch her leave, catching a glimpse of the girl shaking her head and smirking before stomping down the garden path in her usual manner.

***

“So how’re things with Vanessa?” Brooke asked Jovan as they made their way into school the following Monday. Knowing she was potentially rubbing salt into the wounds, she had tried to not bring the subject up for five minutes and failed miserably, her intrigue about the girl once again getting the better of her.

“I haven’t spoken to her,” he responded, “Were just two boats sailing past each other at the minute. If she can’t deal with me speaking honestly to her then I’d rather not speak to her at all.”

“Yeah,” Brooke acknowledged him. Although she had seen the sting of Jovan’s words first hand and knew how deep they had cut Vanessa, she found herself understanding where her friend had come from and seeing his side of the argument whilst still emphasising with his sister. Although his approach was faulted and she didn’t agree with all of what he said, part of her admired Jovan’s brutal honesty, the way he stayed true to his authentic self and didn’t feel the need to shy away from topics others would deem unapproachable.

“I’m glad you went and made sure she was okay though. I knew she’d been such a bitch to you so it was a pretty solid thing for you to do for me. Like I said you’re way too good for her and her squad.”

And as much as Brooke wanted to believe him, she found herself still wanting to take up Vanessa’s offer. Not only did she want to spend more time with the girl who absorbed so much of her thought process but her muscles ached with a longing to dance, the thought of having a stable practice, routine and competition a distant utopia in her mind. She craved the release of endorphins, the rush of performing. At her old school everyone understood each other, they were all there for the same unified reason, everyone adhering to each other’s needs and abilities. Nothing like the wilderness of R.A Charles where everything was disjointed and uneven - the girls hunted in packs whilst the stragglers tried their hardest to keep up, eventually getting left behind to scarper with the prey. A lipstick jungle of pretty cheerleaders and resident weirdos, Brooke found herself stuck floating in the middle unsure of what to pursue, lost in the wasteland of the hallways.

Continuing their conversation until Brooke reached her locker, she made plans to meet Jovan at lunch before twisting her code to retrieve her work. She laughed to herself as she opened her locker to find a pristinely folded royal blue Amazons uniform laying across her books, along with a pair of matching spandex briefs. Her cheeks flushing red at the sight of the briefs, she looked around swiftly to make sure Jovan hadn’t seen her reaction to opening the locker. Upon regaining composure and further examination she realised there was a note left alongside the uniform. Brooke found herself once again turning crimson as she read Vanessa’s haphazard and emphasised scroll: “You’re a size 12, right? I think you’ll suit blue. Come to practice so I can find out if I’m right (which I always am) -V ;)”

***

If Brooke had set Vanessa a challenge when she told her she’d have to try harder then it had clearly been accepted. First, she found the uniform in her locker. Then she was called to the student reception in third period to receive what she’d been told was a bag left by her mom containing her gym clothes, opening it to find two blue pompons and another note from Vanessa. The straw that broke the camel’s back, however, came at lunchtime when she felt something ping the back of her head as she sat and ate with Jovan, turning around to see one of the signature scrunchies that the Amazons adorned on the floor - Vanessa sitting at the table behind her with a poker face even Lady Gaga wouldn’t be able to decipher. Quickly picking up the scrunchie and putting it around her wrist, Brooke wondered how far Vanessa would go to try and get her on the team.

“She’ll do anything so she doesn’t seem jealous now,” Jovan rolled his eyes at his sister’s antics, “God, imagine being that conscious about what other people think of you.”

“I don’t know, I think she might have just realised she was wrong,” Brooke watched Jovan’s face drop at her response. If a picture could paint a thousand words.

“Brooke, you’re not being serious, are you? I thought you were better than falling for that bullshit. She doesn’t care, she just wants to look good after I called her out. Please don’t tell me you’re gonna go.”

“I don’t know,” she looked at her friend, torn between her loyalty to him, the only person who had welcomed her with open arms at her school, and her longing to be on the team with Vanessa. She wasn’t easy, she didn’t want to go running back to the squad after such painstaking rejection but a part of her knew that if she didn’t she’d be miserable - always thinking about the greener grass she could have been dancing across.

Before Jovan could preach to her further, Brooke’s phone pinged with a text from an unknown number: “I think it’d go better in your hair than on your wrist, don’t you?”

A combination of fascinated and annoyed at the girl’s tone, Brooke’s cool demeanour was thrown out the window when she responded: “how did you even get my number!”

Making heavy eye contact from across the tables, Brooke shook her head at Vanessa, who simply tapped the side of her nose and winked as a result.

***

Although she hadn’t consciously made a decision about whether or not she would take Vanessa’s offer, Brooke found herself making her way to the gym at the end of the day, almost as if her legs were being controlled by her heart and not her brain. She figured just watching the cheerleaders wouldn’t hurt as she stood in the doorway and saw the group congregated through the glass panes. She watched them warm up, Vanessa leading the squad through stretches and exercises around the hall before going straight into stunts and basket tosses. Watching the petite girl be thrown in the air by friends - not an ounce of fear on her face, Brooke could only describe her as fierce and determined. Surverying the way she treated the team, Brooke could see why it was so important to her and started to better understand the fight she had witnessed at the weekend. Vanessa being captain wasn’t just some superficial title, she was their leader, they were all hungry for her approval as they performed. From her short time of exposure to the squad, Brooke could clearly see the hard work that Vanessa put in, more and more layers of her personality unfolding. She was one of those jawbreakers that changed colour and flavour the longer you kept it in your mouth - one second she’s sweet and fruity the next she’s a hot fireball sizzling your tongue. Brooke was mesmerised, even seeing some of her old self in the girl as she watched her burn the candle at both ends, pushing herself to the limit in training till sweat dripped down her forehead.

“Anyone else want a refill?”

Panic suddenly flared up in Brooke as she saw Vanessa making her way towards the exit with her water bottle. Before she could attempt to move away from the door, she once again made dead eye contact with the girl. She watched Vanessa’s face turn from surprised to amused, laughing to herself at the sight of Brooke watching all whilst still holding her gaze. Brooke quickly broke away the eye contact and looked at the floor; knowing full well that if she looked at the sultry girl anymore it would be clear to Vanessa that she wouldn’t hold back any of her desires or intentions.

“You know in the time you’ve spent watching from this door you would have already learned how to be a base, Brooke Lynn.” Something about her abrupt nature and failure to be coy reeling Brooke into her spell even further. As someone who thought about everything she ever said before it came out, someone who took the time to edit herself to perfection, she found herself so captivated by the way in which Vanessa held nothing back.

“Just Brooke,” she responded, still unable to make a decision about the squad.

“Well Just Brooke, you don’t have to join my squad if you don’t want to, I know I might have missed my chance. But something tells me you’re not really the kind of girl who watches from the sidelines.”

“You don’t know me,” Brooke responded, repeating the words Vanessa had stated to her that night they sat together on the park bench.

Twigging on to what Brook had done, Vanessa smiled: “I know you’re a great tumbler. And I know that if you weren’t really interested you wouldn’t be here.”

Before she could comprehend what was happening, Vanessa had already grabbed her wrist and started running into the gym with her, Brooke otherwise too focused on the way her skin combusted where the girl’s hand touched her, too indulged in her fantasy, not fully comprehending how she was now making her way over to the squad.

“Vanessa,” she whispered, once again looking into the girls deep dark eyes. Brooke found herself amazed at how panicked she had found herself getting since moving to Florida. The old her would have waltzed into the room no issue yet now she found her brain going into standby as she entered the group. In fact, she found herself doing that a lot around Vanessa. She was starting to think that her new streaks of nerves were to do with the girl in the neighbourhood rather than the neighbourhood itself.

“Everyone this is Brooke. She’s never cheered so we’re gonna have to teach her some pep, movements and yells but she’s got moves and she’s a fast learner,” Vanessa addressed the group, looking back at Brooke at her last words. Surprised at how nice she was being compared to the day of her audition and even the night they spend together on the bench, Brooke heard Jovan’s voice ringing in the back of her head, telling her how Vanessa was using Brooke so she didn’t seem jealous in front of her squad. At that moment, even if she was, Brooke didn’t care in the slightest.

“Brooke, meet the Amazons: Akeria, Silky, Jaren,” she pointed at one of the taller guys Brooke had met previously at the auditions, “Jay,” moving to the other boy she had met before. Going through the other girls in the squad, Brooke struggled to keep up with the names but recognised a few of the girls from sitting with the Amazons around the school.

“I want to re-run that cupie we did earlier,” Vanessa announced to the group after she finished introducing Brooke to everyone. The two boys and a girl that Vanessa had introduced as Monet stepped up and began to get into a formation before being stopped by the coach.

“Actually, I want Brooke as a base,” Vanessa looked at the girl who pulled a face in response.

“I don’t know about that Vanjie..” the taller boy, Jaren, trailed off, clearly not wanting to undermine his captain.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to,” Brooke pleaded with the girl.

“I trust you,” Vanessa gave another one of her subtle winks to Brooke before making her way over to the group which Brooke now joined.

“Just keep eye-contact with Jay,” Vanessa touched the back of Brooke’s head, pointing her in the right direction. There it was again - the sizzle that came with her touch. Brooke couldn’t focus, despite how badly she knew she had to. “When Jaren lifts me, move your hands so they hold my shoes. Like this,” Brooke wondered how she would be able to throw and catch the girl in the air when the simple contact between their arms was making her skin tingle. “Jaren will count down before you straighten up, and he’ll help you support my ankles. It’s easy once I’m up there, just push my ankles together, like you watched before. Then just keep your arms straight ready to catch me.”

Brooke was astonished at how quickly she had gone from watching at the doorway to performing a stunt with the Amazons. With Vanessa. Everyone’s eyes on her, she thought back to when she used to lift the younger girls at the academy, helping them practice and erase their nerves before they had to do it for real with the boys.

“Oh, and Brooke,” Vanessa looked at her one last time before they started, her demeanour similar to that of the first day she’d met her, flipping in the cafeteria and smirking in the kitchen. “Don’t drop me, yeah?”

Brooke didn’t need telling twice.

Running through the steps the way Vanessa had shown her, Brooke was surprised at how light the girl felt when she held her foot. Gripping tightly, she pushed up and Vanessa was soaring through the sky before she knew it. Her arms raised high ready to catch her Brooke watched as she hit all of her counts perfectly. Her hair, of course, didn’t depart one bit from her perfect ponytail. God, Brooke thought to herself, that girl was superhuman. Falling back down gracefully yet quickly, Brooke had never felt more relieved than when she felt the girls back against her arms.

“Think we’ll call it a wrap for tonight,” Vanessa announced to the group upon standing back up before turning to Brooke, “Welcome to the Amazons, Brooke Lynn.”

***

Sitting at home alone in one of her dad’s shirts and a pair of old bike shorts, Brooke was contemplating how she should tell Jovan she was a cheerleader. She highly doubted he’d believe her story about it “just happening” and if he did he would only call her naïve. Cautious of losing her only loyal friend at her new school, she was even debating the idea of just letting him see her in the uniform so she wouldn’t have to have the awkward conversation when the doorbell rang. Scared it was him and she’d have to fess up, she answered the door apprehensively, only finding his step-sister on the opposing side instead.

If Brooke had thought before that the cobalt of the uniforms had gone perfectly with Vanessa’s colouring like nothing else would, then she was most definitely wrong. She hadn’t even thought about red. Dressed in a short scarlet fringed playsuit with her dark hair pin straight down her back, she was the epitome of a sultriness. The playsuit cut with a deep V, Brooke could see a dash of glitter on Vanessa’s chest, accentuating her collarbone just that tad more. Red lips and nails to match, she was fully coordinated but not in an overdone “matchy-matchy” type of way. Brooke wanted to be her. And be with her.

“Hi,” Brooke said to the girl, realising she’d been stood gawking for way longer than was socially acceptable

“Get in, we’re going out,” Vanessa responded, motioning to the car pulled up outside Brooke’s garden - Silky and Akeria watching and waiting inside.

“Out?” Brooke exclaimed, looking down at what she was wearing.

“Yep,” Vanessa replied, walking towards the car before Brooke could even respond.

Quickly throwing on a pair of flats and catching up with the other girl’s high heeled strut, she shouted; “But I’m not dressed.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Vanessa laughed and got into the back of the car, scooting over to make room for Brooke.

Before Brooke could protest further, Vanessa pulled a scarf out of the seat pocket and tied it around her eyes.

“Welcome to the Amazon’s” she heard Silky laughing from the front seat.

***

After what felt like forever but was probably only around 10 minutes, the car came to a stop and the girls started to get out. Her hand moving to take her blindfold off, Brooke was stopped by Vanessa, “Not just yet,” she cackled, giving Brooke a hand out of the car. It was safe to say Brooke was still not and would probably never get used to the lingering that followed on her skin every time Vanessa touched her.

“Here,” the girl said, grabbing the two ends of Brooke’s shirt and tying them in a knot at her waist, “It could be worse.”

After being guided through a few sets of doors, Brooke immediately heard loud dance music and general chitter-chatter, feeling the lighting dim from outside of the blindfold.

Before she could begin to question where they were, someone made their way behind her and took away her blindfold. Before her stood the whole squad in the foyer of what seemed to be a club, dressed to the 9s and making her look subpar in her baggy shirt and cycling shorts.

“You didn’t think we’d get a new member and not celebrate, did you?” Akeria laughed as she handed Brooke the ID of a similar looking blonde girl to herself. Amazed at how quickly the girl had managed to find it, Brooke thanked her without questioning - if her first few weeks at R.A. Charles had taught her anything it was that the Amazon’s always got their way.

“You’re not hazing me, are you?” Brooke looked around the team with nervousness.

“Don’t be silly, that was just our way of having some fun with you,“ Silky responded, “Think of it as your last night of being a cheer-virgin. Pretty soon you’ll be a full-time athlete and have our name on your shoulders - take tonight to get drunk, let loose, get with some boys and get to know your squad.”

Setting herself a mental note to text her dad to say she was working on a project at Jovan’s and wouldn’t be back till late when his mom could give her a ride home. A pang of guilt hit Brooke at the thought of her friend being blissfully unaware he was being used as a cover for partying with the cheerleaders - god, he’d hate it.

“Don’t be worrying about school tomorrow, we’ve got that covered,” Vanessa winked, reminding Brooke of how she’d managed to not only get into her locker but call her to the principal’s office that day. What was ideation before was now as good as fact in Brooke’s mind - the girl was superhuman. “C’mon Brooke, first drinks on me.”

***

Although Silky had described the night as the last hurrah for Brooke, in reality, it was more of a first. So focused on ballet, she’d never really been out with her friends back home, but now that she had a glimpse into what she’d been missing she wondered why she hadn’t done this before.

The music was loud and reverberated in her ears as though it was inside of her - she let it take over her body as she swayed and swivelled to the beat, any reservations she’d had about her outfit and not fitting in out the window once she’d started to move. She was in her own element, abruptly knocked back to planet Earth when a boy she didn’t know came to talk to her.

“Wanna drink?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Brooke.

“I’m fine thanks,” she responded. Firm but not rude. Always firm but not rude.

“Come a little closer love, I can’t hear you,” he grinned, placing his hands on Brooke’s back and drawing her in towards him.

Unsure of how to react and not used to being in this type of situation, Brooke’s body went into lockdown as she felt his hands move further down towards the hem of her shorts. She was lost at sea, her body cruelly unaware of how to swim.

“Hey babe,” a familiar voice sounded. There was the lifeboat that would take her to shore. “Is this guy bothering you?” Vanessa plucked the boys arms away from Brooke and placed her own around her. She was fire warming her up after the cold dip in the water.

“I was just asking if your friend wanted a drink,” he looked Vanessa up and down.

Despite being twice her size and most likely intimidating to everyone else in the room - Vanessa’s flame was not one that was easily put out.

“Well, my girlfriend’s not thirsty,” she responded, emphasizing the “girl” before pressing her lips onto Brooke’s in a way that seemed so natural yet completely exceptional at the same time. The temperature had reached its peak. Closing her eyes, she felt the other girls mouth move ever-so-slightly, sending heat waves up and down every inch of Brooke’s body. Where she’d normally pass these type of sensations off to the light buzz of the alcohol - at that moment Brooke was fully sober and present. For once her mind was no longer forward planning, always one step ahead. She was fully there in the moment - ready to punch the clock, break the dawn and stay forever - just herself and Vanessa, in their own little ring of fire. Immediately thrown, it took Brooke sometime before her brain caught up with her body when Vanessa pulled away and turned back to the boy.

“Sorry,” he muttered insincerely before walking away.

Even if Brooke had held a script in front of her, telling her exactly what to say, she would still have been lost for words, staring dumbfoundedly at Vanessa.

“Close one!” Vanessa looked at Brooke, “Good job you’ve got friends like me to help you, eh? Let’s get you home.”

Silently following the other girls lead as they exited the club, that line kept running through Brooke’s head. Friends like me. Were they friends? Brooke had spent the past few weeks intimidated in her presence. Jovan had warned her, told her not to fall for Vanessa’s ploy. Yet here she was being protected by her, being kissed by her, only a matter of days after being rejected by her. Never in her life had she been so simultaneously uplifted and sole destroyed at someone calling her a friend. She was friends with Vanessa - the girl she’d spent the past two weeks trying to be around - she should have been happy. But something still played on her mind - she knew now for sure that she wanted to be more than friends with her. The feelings Brooke had tried to brush off as a school girl’s desire to be liked by the queen bee were now wholeheartedly and undoubtedly a crush - smacking her right in the face. Jovan’s cautions running around her head, Brooke knew at that moment that no matter how hard she got burned, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from playing with the fire in front of her.

[selenelavellan]

I wish you would write a fic where Dirthamen (due to his somewhat cryptic way of communicating with his followers and his association with Falon'din) gets labeled a demon lord and Selene (after turning Falon'din into a simple house cat bc that is ALWAYS hilarious) gets chosen to go deal with HIM too. Except hes really polite?? And he seems more relieved that his brother is incapable of murdering everyone in the room than bent on revenge. Also hes cute. Deal with him can mean... anything, right?

Accidental ‘Hero’ AU

Dirthamen and Falon’din are based on @feynites​ writings

Reports of Selene’s triumph overFalon'din are greatly exaggerated.

There was no great battle, no flash ofswords and magics being slung through the air like arrows. Only asingle spell had been cast- and misfired.

Her best kept secret these days is thatthe Lord of Death is not actually…dead. Only stuck in the form ofher new and largely ill-tempered cat.

Which was fine, she supposed. The worldwas far better without him holding any sort of power, in her opinion.

And also in the many, many, manyopinions of those who had served him.

None of this had been toomuch of an issue to begin with. Cat training has been a slow, uphillbattle, but once she had learned how to cap his claws and soothe histemper, Falon'din made an…adequate pet.

Still very weird, but do-able.

No, the real troubles had started whenpeople started treating her like some sort of great hero.

She has more political sway than sheactually knows what to do with now.

And people are starting to ask her to domore things for the good of the people.

She barely managed the firstthing.

But Falon'din had a brother; a twinsoul and Lord of Darkness and Demons (who doesn’t love some creepyalliteration between brothers, right?), Dirthamen.

Whose doorstep she is currentlystanding on, with a sword on her hip.

The sentries stare at herapprehensively as she scratches the back of her head and has many,many regrets.

He’s bad, right? They all are.Different degrees of terrible, but you don’t get the title of DemonLord for nothing, and she’s seen Falon'dins atrocities. Cut from thesame cloth, and all that.

Should she just…walk in?

“Excuse me,” She calls up to one ofthe sentries on the battlement.

They lean slightly over, and gesturefor her to continue.

“I’m here to-er-to see LordDirthamen. Is he uh…” this is the worst assassination attempt inthe world, what is she even doing here trying to walk right inthe front door of his castle, she bemoans before finally asking “Ishe home?”

The sentry pulls back and Selenementally prepares herself for a fight (like I could actually take onall of Lord Dirthamen’s sentries come on,we all know I’m just going to die whether you let me in or not).

Butthe large stone doors open inward, and Selene has to rein in hersurprise.

Well.

….rightthrough the front door then, she supposes, straightening her back andtrying to exude a sense of confidence she absolutely doesn’t feel.

Maybeshe could just turn Lord Dirthamen into a cat too. Maybe he’d even beamenable to it.

‘excuseme, I know I’m supposed to kill you but wouldn’t you rather just be acat for eternity? It’d be so much simpler for all of us, don’t youagree?’

Yeah.

Right.

But asshe’s lead to the throne room she finds…a strangely normal lookingroom. A bit poorly lit maybe, but…comparatively….

Thereare no fountains of blood (not even still pools), no lingeringessences of shattered spirits, no collared or leashed servants. Eventhe Lord Dirthamen himself is unembellished, sat in dark robesand a full face mask atop his geometric throne.

Lookinglike he is…waiting for something.

Selene’snot entirely sure what to doat this point. She hadn’t thought she’d actually make it this far.

“Hello,”She tries.

“Hello,”he returns with a slight nod.

“I’mSelene.”

“Yes,”He nods again. “I have heard of you.”

Sheshifts slightly on her feet.

Sheshould have…planned this better. The last month has all been a bitof a mess though, running from one disaster to the next. If she hadwaited, he likely would have killed her first.

Hestill might.

“Ikilled your brother,” She declares.

Whichis probably the most idiotic things she could have said, she beratesherself, because really, how else would he have heard of her?

But hedoesn’t outwardly acknowledge her statement. He pauses, and leansforward slightly in his throne. Feathers rustle overhead, as thesentries that had accompanied her inside are dismissed.

Andthen she is alone with him, in the empty, cavernous, cold throneroom.

Feelingvery, very small.

Shetries not to let her self-consciousness show.

“Didyou?” He asks in a tone that is very difficult to decipher.

“Thatis what the stories say,” She evades.

“Storiessay many things; that does not make them true.”

“Everystory has a grain of truth in its core,” She retorts.

Heleans back again, and the rustling grows louder above her.

“Heis alive,” Dirthamen declares. “I can still feel my brotherthrough our bond. However he has been weakened, whatever state he isin; he is alive.”

Seleneshand sits awkwardly on the hilt of her sword.

“Youalready know this,” He says without waiting for her response.

Shehesitates.

Andthen drags her hand down her face and lets the tension slip from hershoulders.

“Ididn’t-look-ok, it was an accident.I wasn’t trying to kill your brother-” She pauses. “Ok, I wastrying a little bit,but not-I used to be a Peacekeeper, you know? I didn’t know hewas-Someone needed help and I was trying to keep the peaceand being posted to Falon'dins lands has always been a shit positionbut I was trying to make amends for issues back home and-It was hisown fault, really. Who just grabs someone and-and-and he was anasshole, and quite frankly he deserved it! So…so there!”

Thereis stillness and silence in the wake of her outburst.

“Butyou did not kill him.” Dirthamen reiterates.

“No,”Selene admits, throwing her hands up in the air in internal defeat at being the actual worst assassin ever. “I didn’t. Ishould have, but I didn’t.”

“Whereis he now?”

“Lockedin my bathroom,” She sighs, wringing her hands together.“It’s…very well warded. And his magics are gone, so he can’t domuch damage.”

“Heis very physically capable,” he says, almost like a warning. Likehe’s concerned about her getting hurt. Which is very strange on awhole host of levels she’s not well rested enough to analyze rightnow.

“Yeahwell,” She laughs awkwardly, half terrified of saying it aloud.“Maybe he was when he was an elf, but now…”

“Now?”

“He’suh…” She licks her lip nervously. “He’s a cat. A small one,like a house cat…type…creature. I put a uh-a bell on him andeverything. One of his servants recommended it. Something about karmaand collars and…”

“Youturned my brother into…a house pet?”

Seleneswallows and nods, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Yeeeah…”

Anoise erupts from him that sounds almost like a laugh.

“That…mightexplain some things,” Is all he says though. “And you have cometo me for what purpose?”

“Ostensibly,to kill you.”

“Thatwould be quite a feat.”

“SoI’ve heard,” She says with a half-hearted grin. “Don’t supposeyou’d like to be a house cat instead?”

Hisfingers drum against the arm of his throne, and for a moment somesmall part of her thinks he might actually be considering it.

“WouldI also be cut off from my magic?”

“Ithink so.” 

She’s still figuring out how she managed that bit inparticular. The whole spell had been a blur of instinct andadrenaline, thrown together from several theories she had beenworking on in her spare time.

“ThenI am afraid I will have to decline.”

Selenesighs, and puts her hand back on the hilt of her sword. “I reallydon’t want to kill you.”

“Findingan alternative solution would be preferable,” He agrees. “Wecould discuss it over dinner if you would like.”

“I’mnot-” Selenes stomach lets out a loud rumbling noise before she canfinish turning down the invitation. “…I suppose a meal might notbe terrible.”

“Thankyou,” Dirthamen says, finally rising from his throne andapproaching her face to face. His hair is long and sleek and trailsbehind him, and the low rumble in his voice is more intense thisclose to him, sending a pleasant shiver through her as he bows hishead in a show of respect and says “I hope we will find an adequatearrangement that will please the both of us. I am willing to put inas much time to the project as you require of me.”

[cynicallystiles]

All I Wanted: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Gif originally posted by me.

Author: @cynicallystiles

Warning: The Vampire Diaries spoilers if you haven’t seen seasons 6-8. Cursing and a little angst.

Notes: I will be posting chapters every other Friday. But, yesterday I was so busy and tired that I forgot. So, here it is. Please comment or reblog if you enjoy! I like knowing when you guys want more!

Pairing: Kai Parker x Reader, Jeremy Gilbert x Reader

Masterlist 

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 Chapter3

Words: 2,511

I wake up with what feels like a hangover. But, I didn't drink last night. At least not that I remember? I came straight back to my dorm after classes and studied until I went to sleep. I check my laptop for emails as I do every morning. Nothing from myself, so I guess yesterday was pretty uneventful.

It's strange though. I don't remember what I was studying. I look through all of my school materials for any indication I was working on something last night. Nothing. I go through my files on the laptop to see if I was studying online. There is one assignment that was due last night at midnight. And I didn't turn it in.

If I was studying all night, wouldn't I have turned in my work? I always turn things in on time. Damnit. I got compelled last night, didn't I? Probably didn't even have time to send an email. I wonder what I saw that I wasn't supposed to. Or heard, maybe. Well, it's a Saturday. That means I don't have classes. Which also means I can retrace my steps to see what happened.

I change out of my PJs and head to where I would've gone first yesterday. Occult Studies. I take the same route as I always do; nothing stands out. I search around the desk that I use in the class. And nothing. I do the same with the rest of the classes that I would've had. Zip. After leaving the last class, I head in the direction of my dorm.

Glancing around, it's pretty scarce for people. Everyone always has big plans for the weekend. Parties and trips home. I, on the other hand, am stuck trying to figure out where my memory's gone. My head swivels past the parking lot with three or four cars in it. I stop in my tracks. As I look back at the cars, I notice my first actual clue.

My car. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. Of course; if I didn't study in my dorm, then I must've gone somewhere. I mean, there's no logical reason that I would've been compelled on campus. Listen to me. Logical? Like any of this is logical. I'm on a friggin scavenger hunt to try and find my lost memories that a vampire compelled out of me. Logic has gone out the window.

I make my way to my car and hop in the driver's seat. I check the glove compartment, the middle compartment, and above the sun visors. My car is as spotless as always. After thinking for a moment, I put my key in the ignition and turn the car on. Looking at the console behind the wheel, I try to decipher some kind of indication of where I went. My mileage is higher than I remember, but I couldn't tell you by how much.

I flip the total mileage to see the trip meter. It looks like I started it over before I went wherever. God, I'm a genius. If I divide the trip in half and look at a perimeter of those miles, I can find where I went. After doing the math and plotting, I notice that there are a few places I could've gone. One being just outside Mystic Falls. Which seems most likely. But, where outside Mystic Falls did I go? I drop my head down in frustration. When I open my eyes, I see mud. Mud on my clean carpets.

I went to the cemetery!

Without a second thought, I buckle my seatbelt and drive there as fast and safe as I possibly can. On the drive, I think about why I would've needed to be compelled at the cemetery. Hopefully, when I get there it won't be a repeat. Making all this investigating for nothing.

I step out onto the dirt trail, which is semi-dry now. I head toward the Salvatore Crypt since it's the only grave site I really know here. When I get there, there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. I head inside and see nothing particularly weird for a crypt. I can't believe I came all the way out here for nothing.

Disappointed, I slowly walk back outside. Only to be startled by a man leaning against a tree. I instantly tense, knowing better than to interact with a stranger in a cemetery. Damon taught me that. I try to pretend I didn't see him and head towards the trail to my car, clutching my keys tightly.

It's useless as he addresses me. "Fancy meeting you here," the man says fondly with a twinge of amusement.

"I'm sorry?" I ask stupidly. He acts like he knows me.

He cocks his head to the side with a surprised smile. He slowly steps closer to where I've frozen in place. "Why would you be sorry? Here I was thinking I'd never run into at Whitmore, and you run into me. Here in this cemetery that's miles and miles away from that college," he chuckles to himself as he's ten feet away now.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. You must have me confused with someone else," I try to explain as I take a few steps backward.

Hands in his pockets, he inches closer yet again. "No. No. I'm very good with faces. You take an Occult class at Whitmore?" He asks for confirmation. I nod timidly. As he continues to talk, I take in the details of his face. He's always smiling but there's something off about it. Something...sinister. Or maybe mischievous. Or both. His blue eyes shine when they look me up and down like I'm dinner or something. "See! I knew it. Yeah, your name is y/n."

"How...how do you know that?" I ask, fear starting to seep into my tone. I slowly reach into my purse and try to grab my phone.

He must've heard the change in my tone because he takes two bigger steps so that he's right in front of me. He has to look down at my small height. "Because we met yesterday!" He chuckles again. For a moment, I relax. He actually does seem familiar.

I decide to play along so he might let me go. "Oh...right! I'm really forgetful these days," I chuckle nervously as I tap my head with my palm.

"That's really funny," he begins, his tone slightly darker than before. I swallow hard. "You see, yesterday..." He's closed the distance and now he stands uncomfortably close to me. He lowers his head and licks his lips before continuing. "You said you'd definitely remember me."

I open my mouth, nothing comes out for a moment. Pulling on a fake smile, I reply, "Did I say that?" He bites his bottom lip and nods with a smirk. "I...I don't know why I said that. I have a terrible memory."

"Mhm," his throat hums in a low seductive tone. He shifts his head to the other side as his eyes stare into mine intensely. "I think it had something to do with my name," he suggests as his eyes flick down to my lips.

As he stares at my lips and I stare at his, I can feel the distance between us shrinking. Something very bad is about to happen. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. "What is it?"

"Kai Parker," he whispers as his eyes close and he moves to close the gap.

Something triggers in me and everything is slow motion. I immediately let go of my phone and position my hand around the pepper spray attached to my keys. Stepping back, I bring my hand up and spray him for a good amount of time. Then, I take off running toward my car as I finally grab my phone and call Damon. I don't know why, but he's the first name that popped into my head.

It begins to ring. Luckily, after two of them, he picks up. "Rugrat, what's up?"

"Damon!!" I scream into the phone as I run as fast as I can.

His voice shifts from nonchalant to protective in a millisecond. "Y/n? What's going on? Why do you sound like that?"

"I was...in the ceme...tery, and he approached...me," I say in between pants.

"Who approached you??"

"Kai...Parker. I don't know why... but you said..."

"Yeah, I know what I said. Where are you now?" He asks sternly.

"I'm trying to get...to my car. I used pepper-spray...to get away..."

"Listen to me, you keep running to your car and when you get in, you drive straight to Jeremy in Mystic Falls. Okay?"

Terror sets in and I begin to cry. "Okay. Damon, I'm scared..."

"I know, Rugrat. But, you're gonna be okay. Do you see your car?"

I swallow the burning sensation in my throat. "Yeah, I'll call you when I get to Jer."

"You better."

I hang up and skid to a stop at my door. Fumbling with my keys, I finally unlock my car and get in. Immediately locking the doors and starting it up. I throw the car in reverse and turn the car around in a rush. Dirt flies away from the tires as I put it in drive and step on the gas. Without looking back, I make it to the highway and head down it to Mystic Falls.

As soon as I pass the Mystic Falls sign, my head begins to sear with pain. My head throbs as I continue driving to the Lockwood estate where Jer is supposed to be. Flashes of pictures fill my head. Rapidly and all out of order. There are visions of everyone I know. Visions of unexplainable things. I clutch my head with one hand as I drive with the other, yelling in pain. I finally make it to the estate and jump out of my car.

I run tiredly towards the front doors as the visions begin to fade. All these things in my head are like puzzle pieces that have been crammed into the wrong space. My knees begin to wobble as I make it onto the porch. I bang on the door weakly with both of my fists. As soon as the door opens, I collapse from exhaustion and adrenaline. I fall unconscious into someone's arms.

Now that my body has nothing else to do but think, the pictures are reordering themselves. The visions are playing out like dreams. I'm watching them happen from my point of view but I can't control anything.

I know the man from the cemetery. Kai. I met him yesterday on campus. I wasn't afraid of him. I was attracted to him. I can't believe I pepper-sprayed him. When he touched my hand, I had these flashes before. Of Damon. And of Jeremy. The vision of Damon was him arguing with Elena about the first time they compelled me. The vision of Jeremy was of him and Tyler talking about werewolves. Damon was the last one to compel me. He compelled away meeting Kai. These are my compelled memories.

I remember everything.

As soon as the last memory comes back into focus, I stir awake. It feels like I'm in a bed, but my eyelids are so heavy. I hear whispering. It sounds like Jeremy is here.

"Yeah, she's here...no, she wasn't followed...collapsed on the porch...been out... several hours..."

I try to force myself to wake up fully, but it hurts. "Nngnn," I moan as my eyes adjust to the dim light.

"She's waking up...yeah...you later..."

The bed dips and a gentle hand caresses my forehead. "How are you feeling?" He sounds so far away even though he's touching me.

"So, it takes me getting attacked in a cemetery to warrant a visit from you, huh?" I mumble as I laugh. Then, I wince at the pain from laughing. I'm so sore.

He chuckles and finally my eyes come into focus to take him in. His hair is growing out yet again. But, his muscles are bigger than the last time I saw him. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I should've been there for you..." he trails off, his expression turning from sad to guilty.

"I'm just teasing, Gilbert," I smile faintly at him as I take his hand off of my cheek where it came to rest. I squeeze his hand and he looks at me. "You couldn't have known."

He just shakes his head. "Why were you in the cemetery by yourself?" He asks suddenly.

I shrug. "Figured it'd be a great place to make new friends," I chuckle and notice him reluctantly crack a smile. "There it is," I smile once again.

"There's what?" He asks amused.

I swallow saliva, and my throat aches with every sound that comes out. "My best friend's perfect smile..." I smile as my eyelids drift close. I'm so tired.

"You get some sleep. I'll take you back to Whitmore tomorrow," he says softly. He moves to get off the bed, but I tighten my grip on his hand. "What?"

I force my eyes open slightly and see his warm brown eyes looking down at me. "Stay with me. I've missed you..."

"I missed you too," he whispers as he kicks off his shoes and lays down on top of the covers next to me. He moves his arm behind me and rolls me into his chest. We used to fall asleep like this on movie nights at his house.

I nuzzle my head into his muscular chest and take in his cologne. His steady breathing starts to lull me back to sleep. "Jer?" I croak out a whisper.

I feel him shift his head to look at the top of mine. "Hm?" He hums soothingly into my hair.

"Please don't let me forget," I request in my delirium.

His heartbeat shifts as he answers. "What do you mean?"

"If you let them make me forget," I begin, "then, I won't remember this." My voice becomes watery, saddened by my own statement.

"It'll be okay, y/n," he says unconvincingly. Like he's just soothing a mad rambling person.

I shake my head into him. "I remember everything, Jer. But, if Elena compels me tomorrow, I'll forget seeing you and touching you," I whisper as tears fall from my eyes.

"They've been compelling you?" He asks sternly and his body tenses. Did he not know?

I nod my head against his chest. "For like four years," I laugh sadly. "They did it yesterday in the cemetery," I explain, my sleep starting to take me.

"You were there trying to remember?" He sounds far off and fuzzy. I nod. His pulse picks up and I can tell that he's angry.

I rest my hand on his chest soothingly. "They made me forget meeting Kai yesterday," I explain, my voice getting quieter. "Please don't let me forget this, Jer." At last, I fall asleep.

[goodsoldierandnothingelse]

Talk is Cheap || Sam and Dean (and Ry)

Adventures on Kik/Skype/Discord with alwaysaweapon (and a tad of occultamonstri) Blockquote: alwaysaweapon + italics: occultamonstri ; plain: me

Sam: She's been around Dean too long. She's starting to act like him.

Ry: Better than being a stuck-up, whiny little bitch who can't admit how he feels for a woman he so obviously has feelings for.

Sam: I will stab you.

Ry: Try me.

Dean: Alright, kids. Let's leave the toys out of this.

Ry: -hand hovering over the knife on her hip-

Sam: -standing with hands on the table, clearly pissed- You need to put a leash on her. -points at Dean, then Ry-

Dean: -scoffs- Yeah. I’d have better luck with a Hellhound. -walks further into the library- You two need some time apart. Sam, why don’t you go hit up your witch an’ get out an’ get some air?

Sam: Seriously? Why am I being sent out? She's the one that doesn't belong here.

Ry: Because even your brother knows you need to get laid.

Sam: No one asked for your input.

Dean: -gets angered at Sam’s comment- Whoa, hey. That’s totally uncalled for. -holds Sam’s gaze for a moment before lightening up a bit- Ry brings up a good point, though. Release all that obvious tension you’ve got built up.

Sam: Wow. -shakes his head and pushes back from the table- Sure, I'll go. Call me when she's gone. -slams Dean's shoulder as he passes him-

Ry: -watches quietly, brooding-

Dean: -closes his eyes momentarily before pointing at Ry- You, go beat down on an actual punching bag. I’ll be back. -goes after Sam, following him to the garage- Sam. Sammy. -waits for him to stop- What the Hell is goin’ with you?

Ry: -scoffs and goes to the range instead-

Sam: -stops, taking a deep breath and letting it out as a heavy sigh. He closes his eyes for a second before turning to face his brother- Nothing, just-- don't worry about it.

Dean: Oh, I’m sorry, did you forget who you were talking to? -points at the steps- Sit. You’re talkin’.

Sam: No. -shakes his head- Not this time, Dean. Talking isn't a good idea right now.

Dean: Not talking isn't a good idea. I know you. Bottling things up isn't you. Neither is having shouting matches with Ry. Like-- dude. Obviously somethin's eating at you. An' why you're gonna tell me.

Sam: No, talking will make it worse. -pleading- Let it go, Dean. Please. I will talk, but not to you. Not about this.

Dean: -confusion enters his expression, and maybe a hint of hurt- Not t’me... Well, then who? Hm? ‘Cause last time I checked our list of trustees was limited to the walls of this bunker.

"Dean," his gaze slipped past his brother before landing back on him. "Don't do this. You were right; I need to be the one to go for a while. I'll be fine. But talking-- it's just not an option at this point."

“Don’t do what?” All he was trying to do was figure out what was wrong with him cause his behavior had him worried. Sue him. “I wasn’t favoriting Ry over you when I told you t’get out. I figured that’s what you needed...but I didn’t realize how bad things were with you until now.” Dean frowned. “What’s so heavy that I can’t help with?”

Sam pressed his lips together and shook his head. "No, I know you weren't. Out of my state of anger, I know." He said quietly. "But the problem isn't with me. All right? And when you see that-- well, I just hope you see it."

As long as he knew that. He meant what he said, about how Dean had only been thinking about what was best for Sam and the situation. He’d figured some time with the witch would turn his mood around. But now he was just confused, trying to make sense of what Sam was saying and what he wasn’t. “Can we stop with the cryptic talk? If it’s not about you, then who? Ry? Is that why you two are at each other’s throats?”

He scoffed. "Yeah, it's about Ry. But no, it's not the reason. Not entirely. Just-- more like fueling things." He admitted. Things needed to be aired out, but that wasn't his place. Much as he wanted to say something, Dean needed to figure things out on his own.

Okay, now they were getting somewhere. Dean had deciphered the problem-- which apparently had been developing right under his nose. He knew things were rocky between them, Sam had expressed his distrust, but he thought bridges were in the process of being rebuilt... "You think she's dangerous," he acknowledged, just sort of stating. "Because of Crowley's power." He scratched at his forehead for a small moment before looking at Sam for answers. "Haven't we been over this? Or there something new you'd like t'bring t'the table?"

His lips twitched as words begged to escape. "I know she is. Maybe not right now, but--" he scowled. "I think you're better off stepping back and looking at things from a different perspective." He said finally, though knew the chances of it happening the way it needed were slim. "I know for a fact she hasn't been honest with us, not lately. "

Dean's lips jutted together as his arms crossed over his chest, slightly defensive and cynical but listening all the same. Sam's opinion and perspective on things mattered to him, of course-- the only problem was he was talking about the woman he loved. Briefly, he thought of the witch, and how Sam must have felt when he had expressed his own doubts, and wondered if their feelings were something akin. If so, then he could kind of understand now that their roles were reversed... "What're you talkin' about?" Dean queried.

Sam shook his head. "Not for me to say. Talk to her." He replied flatly. Mostly he knew Dean wouldn't believe it if it didn't come from Ry and would assume he was just being paranoid or something because of his distrust. "Dean, listen. I don't like feeling this way about her. She's family. But-- you know as well as I do that she's been going down a different path lately. One we might not be able to get her off from."

Dean looked up in a half eye roll, tiring real quick of Sam's evasiveness, but perhaps it was better for Sam's sake not to be so forthcoming when the subject at hand was obviously sensitive. His gaze refocused, however, as he continued, doing his best, Dean could tell, not to spark any negative reaction from his brother. And while his reaction wasn't a blow up aimed at the wrong person, Dean did frown and he looked away. "Let's say you're right. You wanna just give up on her?" He turned back, locking gazes with Sam as a bit of anger leaked onto his words. "Just send her out alone, let her succumb to the evil inside of her? Is that what you wish I would have done with you when you were choking down demon blood?"

Anger rose through him more quickly than he'd expected. Of course, that had been exactly what he had asked for at the time. While he was now grateful for the effort his brother had put forth then, at that time he had wanted nothing more than to be left to his devices so that no one he cared about would be harmed. He knew Ry had asked for the same-- as had Dean. Seemed she was not unlike them in more way than one.

"I never said give up on her. But having her under this roof, forcing her here-- it's going to backfire." He had already seen signs of that, knowing Dean had not. But, of course, that was not the biggest concern.

"I don't know what else to do, Sam!" Dean shouted, though it came out more like panic than anger and his eyes betrayed that. "Okay? If-if she's here, it's like we're sitting on two tickin' bombs, bettin' on who's gonna blow first. If she's out there..." He was already walking a tightrope as it was--though some days it felt more like he was barely holding on by his fingertips--and to add to that, having to worry about what would become of Ry? Well, he might just crack, and they'd all be even more screwed than they were now. "She's got no place t'go, Sam. No one to turn to. If she's out on her own... Then, yeah, I think you may be right about not bein' able to save her.--At least with her here, we can keep an eye on her; make sure she doesn't go off the deep end an' turn into someone she's not."

Sam pressed his lips together at Dean's outburst. He'd expected it, or something like it, but he hadn't expected the hint of panic behind his brother's words. A sigh escaped as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dean," his hand dropped to his side as he met Dean's gaze again. "I get it. I do. But-- I'm more concerned about what it's doing to you. Have you not noticed how much worse you get the worse she gets? You're destroying each other, mentally and emotionally. You're not helping her. Not like this. And she's not helping you. I need you to see that. No, letting her off on her own isn't ideal. But, unless you change something here, she'd be better off." He hated saying it. Hated throwing that truth in his face. But he had been watching things play out for too long to let it keep going. He'd hoped Dean would see, would change things for the better of them all. But he was too involved, too caught up in his own mind to see what Sam saw.

Sam took a beat, leaving Dean with time to try and control himself before the second wave. Ry had always been a touchy subject, but lately they could barely make it through a conversation without Dean losing his head. Of course the why part was simple enough to conclude, but that didn't exactly make things easier-- on either of them.    Curling and uncurling his fists, taking deep breaths, Dean impatiently awaited Sam's reply, and when it came, he was only slightly calmer. However, slightly calmer was practically him all the time now, so that might be as good as they were going to get.

Sam's response sounded familiar since it was basically what he had been saying the last time this subject was approached, that living together was only making everything worse, but being the stubborn asses they were, nothing really became of it. Both of them opted to leave but neither would allow the other to go. And around and around the conversation went, leading them only in a frustrating circle.    They had fallen into a rhythm of avoiding each other as much as possible, but that also gave them a kind of hurt that was almost as painful as when they were around each other. It was like they couldn't win, no matter the scenario, and Sam had seen the situation only go from bad to worse, giving validation to his concern.    Dean noticed, as Sam finished his speech, how tight his jaw had become and made a point to loosen it as he took a few steps off to the side. "Y'know, it's funny," he muttered before turning back to face Sam. "That when I brought this up a month ago, you were set against me trying to change things." Of course there lied a difference, as it was Dean who was to leave, letting Ry stay. "I know that you don't trust her, okay? That's not unwarranted. But-- You're the only shot she has. Without you, off God knows where, she'll... You made me a promise, Sam. That you weren't gonna let that happen. Not to her."

Sam's eyes narrowed the slightest bit as Dean tore into him. He could have said anything right then and it wouldn't have made a difference. Dean was angry and hurting. And his claims were those of a man who had given up on himself and put his entire focus into something else. Sam had seen his brother go through this before, and there was little hope of changing his course. He would need to go against Dean's will and find another way. If this problem with Ry got at least somewhat of a solution, he'd see about recruiting her, too.

A heavy sigh flowed out. He wasn't all Ry had, but if it would get Dean to stop-- "Fine, yeah." He said after a moment. "I'll keep my promise. But something needs to change here, Dean. She needs something different than what we're doing. A case, something so she stops acting like a damned trapped lioness. And you two need-- I don't know. Either to break things off completely-- and I mean wholly, Dean, no more strings because you're afraid to let go-- or repair things and get on with it while you can. The in between is killing you both faster." He knew he'd prefer seeing them repair things. Dean was better, then, and so was Ry. High emotions from whatever the hell they were doing now seemed to increase the problems for them both. "I'll keep my promise either way, but you both need to do something or we're going to have bigger problems."

Despite the loaded sigh, Sam abided his previous testimony as true, proclaiming that it will be upheld, and then the 'but' came as he redirected the course of their conversation back to its core: that something needed to be done now. "You don't think I don't know all this already?" Dean asked, looking at Sam like a man who was just so overwhelmed by all the weight on his shoulders that he just couldn't act. "I've tried stayin' away from her. I've tried t'isolate myself from her. To-- To cut her off, completely, but-- No matter what I do, or how hard I try, I always end up right back where I started... An' it ain't even bein' afraid of letting go anymore. I know that...we would both be better off apart...an' that you're right an' we're just speedin' up our demises." He chewed on his lip, looking away for a moment before admitting, "I just... Don't know what t'do anymore..."

By now, the anger Sam had felt had dissipated and was now replaced with sympathy. He could see, truly see what this was doing to Dean, finally. And while it should have made him more angry, he got it. He understood where Dean was coming from because, in a way, it was where Sam had been for too long. His brother was suffering and all he wanted to do was make it right. And that was how Dean felt with Ry, only that was on top of some clearly complicated emotions.

His lips pressed together in thought for a beat, then he sighed softly. "Listen. It's not easy, I know. But I honestly believe that, if we can switch things up and start helping her... you two can manage to get back to the good. Much as I hate seeing you both like this, if you can find a middle ground you can help each other through. I mean-- if this is the end for either of you-- wouldn't you rather go out knowing you had a better relationship than this? You and I both know how you feel about her, and she feels the same way." When did he turn into friggin Doctor Phil? But he knew this was a better way to approach things. "Maybe it's the better way we need to handle this. The more you push her away, the worse she gets. So, maybe...?" He let his words trail off, knowing the message was clear enough. Another angle, then, since his first attempt had caused so much turmoil.

Dean looked down, frowning heavily at the floor, as he could feel frustration rise from his incompetence at handling this situation. He usually excelled at the follow through when he knew what he had to do, but now he couldn't do anything right except kill. And apparently that didn't just stop with the monsters... He was grounding his teeth, his jaw clamping, ready to go off and do the only thing he could anymore, by the time Sam's sympathetic voice reached out to him. He talked a good game, he always did, but Dean wasn't buying it this time around and he was shaking his head by the end of it. "I can't," he said. "No." He looked back up then, meeting his brother's gaze to explain. "Every time I've let her near, I've hurt her. An' now it's not just emotional crap, but...physical pain. An' y'wanna know what's worse?" His expression quivered with a look of self-hatred, allowing Sam to see a hint of how destroyed he was inside. "I..like it. I like it, Sam. I like hurting Ry. That's how completely fucked up I am, okay. An' I know that's part of the reason I haven't been able t'keep my distance, because of this..thing," he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the Mark, "on my arm." Angrily he shoved the sleeve back down, almost tearing the fabric by doing so. "So unless your plan for helpin' her is havin' me kill her, then no, that ain't a better way."

Sympathy washed over the younger brother's features as he listened. He had been there, in a way, but never to the extent that Dean was obviously experiencing it. "I don't want you to kill her," he said softly. "And you won't, whether or not you believe that. But I do think we can-- figure something out. Something that'll help you both." He knew, in the moment, it was a desperate statement, but he did believe it could be achieved. He had plans, and if they worked out he'd be able to fix one problem and, hopefully, the other with it. "But, man, I need a break. I've got to get away from her, just for a little bit. I found an easy case to run, and then I'll be back. Okay?"

Sam confessed that he didn't want him to kill her, which had Dean rolling his eyes before saying perhaps a bit too harshly, "Well, I guess, at least there's that." He didn't mean to lash out, but his breathing had picked up, chest rising and falling at an amped pace, and his fists clenching, and it was all he could not to punch something. He definitely didn't want to end up punching Sam, as he knew, in the back of his mind, that he was only trying to help.    Thankfully, Sam had gone on and ignored the comment, telling him that he wouldn't actually kill Ry. Dean scoffed, his tongue swiping out to lick his lips, as he himself mistrusted his ability to control the bloodlust. It just about consumed him every day and took much of his strength to just to try to wrangle it. But he didn't say anything, and the younger Winchester then told the older that he believed they could manage something better then what they had going-- which was practically anything by this point, as Sam had addressed,-- but Dean of course had his doubts. Things between Ry and him had never been easy, and it was almost for certain that that wasn't about to change now. But again, he stayed quiet, focusing on an oil stain on the concrete of the garage, until Sam announced that he needed to get out, returning them back to what Dean had suggested when he found his two housemates arguing.    There was a small pause before Dean nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay," he agreed within a flow of breath and then cleared his throat quietly. "Keep me updated. An' call if ya need help." His face scrunched slightly but he forced himself out with it. "Maybe let the witch know, in case you can't reach Cas or me."

Sam waited patiently for Dean to cycle through his emotions. Finally his older brother spoke, saying what was the general response when either of them left on their own. Except the last part.

"Right, yeah. You know I will. And yeah, I'll let her know. Thanks, Dean. When I come back we'll work double time on things, all right?"

As much as he distrusted the little, British witch that seemed persistent in hanging around, he also knew through observation and circumstance that she cared for his brother. More than cared, as much as he hated to admit. But his point was he knew she wouldn't let anything happen to him and therefore trusted her in that aspect. And he'd rather him have someone watch his back if he couldn't.   Dean merely nodded at Sam's optimism to fix the epic shit storm they had gotten caught in, obviously not sharing in his enthusiasm. "Yeah," was all he said before he looked Sam in the eye. "Stay safe."

A tight smile, paired with a short nod was what he gave in response. Then, feeling like it wasn't quite enough, he sighed. "I will." He added, meeting his brother's gaze a moment before he climbed behind the wheel of the car he was taking, shutting the door between them and starting the engine.

Dean watched as Sam departed, a part of him wanting to go with him but also knowing that he couldn't for multiple reasons. He knew he would be okay, though, as Sam could handle himself; he just needed to hold onto that thought so he could deal with the other problems he was currently juggling.    However, he didn't move until well after Sam was gone from sight, unsure how to go about things now that his moral compass, and honestly, steadying lifeline, had hit the pavement. He felt like he should go seek out Ry and get to the bottom of what Sam had said about her not being honest with them, but also felt at the same time that he should give them both a chance to damp their fuses before they too landed in a shouting match. Especially since theirs could end a lot worse than a dramatic storm off...    The weary hunter sighed heavily as he finally shut the doors to the garage before forcing himself to leave the space and descend the stairs.

Wherever Ry had ended up to cool off, Dean let her be and instead made his way to his room, choosing to hang out there and get a hold of himself before his next encounter.