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hazbin-writings-and-musings · 2 months

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Can I request reader x Lucifer, where she reassures him and tells him that she will always love and be there for him more than anything.

He deserves love, and Lilith deserves to go fuck herself.

I like to think that what's going on with Lilith is some kind of a misunderstanding or will otherwise be resolved, but our dear Lucy boy does indeed deserve comfort in the interim, so have this little ficlet!

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Hurt/Comfort

There were times when the King of Hell simply broke. The constant threats to his power, the atrocities committed by his subjects, the weight of all he'd done and his powerlessness to change anything for the better... it was too much, even for him. Once upon a time, he'd been able to share the weight of his crown, and to draw strength from the one he loved most on the days he couldn't think of a reason to get out of bed. Now, she was gone, and those dark days came for him all the more often in her absence. He'd survived, as he always had and always would, but his servants knew not to intrude when he sealed himself away to crumble behind closed doors. They'd learned no one could reach him when he fell into those dark thoughts.

You, unaware of these things, hadn't hesitated to seek him out when you didn't hear a word for over two days. His private wing of the castle had been unnaturally dim and dank when you'd arrived; the magical lights that usually kept it shimmering were mere flickers, and the golden walls seemed to sag, as if the structure itself was wilting under its own misery. A careful hand along the lifeless corridors had been needed to guide you through the darkness and to the King's private chambers.

When you'd opened the doors, you'd barely recognized the man on the bed at first glance. With his disheveled clothes, unkempt hair and lifeless red eyes, it had taken you a moment to recognize your beloved Lucifer, even with all six of his wings lying limp at his sides. You'd been across the room in a heartbeat once the pieces had connected.

Lucifer's surprise at your arrival had quickly turned to pleas for you to leave. He promised that he was fine, that he only needed to be alone, that you shouldn't bother yourself with such things, but of course you hadn't been convinced. The spread of shed feathers across the mattress and deep bags beneath his eyes told you he was in need of help, and you intended to provide it, however you could. Your steadfast refusal to leave finally brought the truth out of him.

"Alright, I'm not fine!" he confessed, sitting upright to face you. Seated on your heels, you gave him space instinctively, wanting him to continue so you might learn what was troubling the man you loved. Though your first guess would have been some unnatural, Hellish sickness, there was something about his movements that told you it was much deeper than that. Such a proud man would not let himself reach a state like this lightly. Grabbing a handful of his disheveled hair, he averted his eyes and took a shaky breath, wings crumpled around him in a ring of crimson feathers like a broken shield. Horns peaked from his forehead as he fought for his words.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry, but I just..." he trailed off as a wave of frustration passed through his features, expression pinching tight as he held his face in his hand. Though your heart ached at the sight, you held back still, knowing you needed the truth before you could do anything for him. A heavy sigh passed through his fingers before he raised his head to look out a nearby stained glass window. The mixed colors reflected deeply in his glassy eyes, and he let out a miserable laugh. "Sometimes, it's too much, you know? Hell, the Sinners, the endless misery, and old Lucy's got nobody to blame for any of it but himself."

"Lucy-"

"What am I even talking about? Nobody to blame? I've got nobody, period! I can't! Soon as someone gets attached, it all goes south! Either I've gotta push them away for their own good, or they end up leaving all on their own!" he continued, breaking into a bout of unhinged laughter. All six wings flexed without any kind of unison, sending a fresh shower of feathers over the both of you as he looked upwards and pointed an accusatory finger at the ceiling. "Top marks for the punishment, you Heavenly bastards! It's the gift that just won't stop giving!"

You'd have stopped him were you not shocked into silence by it all. There had always been hints of your beloved fallen angel's deeply buried suffering: smiles faltering without a word, sudden flashes of sadness in his eyes when he thought you couldn't see, the tightness with which he'd embrace you upon saying goodbye... There had just never been enough for you to act decisively, and he always brushed off even the most casual concern for his wellbeing. Now, with his sanity potentially hanging by a thread, you could almost feel the agony that was weighing him down.

"Gotta keep my daughter away for her own good, lost all my friends, lost my wife-!" he halted with an especially pained laugh, and clutched the fabric of his shirt as if wounded by the very word. Suddenly you understood his seclusion all too well. His beloved of the past ten millennia, the woman he'd crossed Heaven for, the mother of his child... Lilith had been his rock, and without her, how could he shoulder it all? The man before you was collapsing under a kind of pressure few could imagine.

Burying his face in his hands, he spoke next as if you weren't present, sinking into himself and the pit of misery he likely thought he deserved. "And sooner or later I'll lose you too! Can't I get a damned-!?"

"Lucifer!" you interrupted at last, grabbing his shoulders in tandem with the shout. He lifted his head in surprise, having never heard you raise your voice with him and likely quite unaccustomed to the sound to begin with. Emboldened by the success, you continued with all the confidence you could pack into every syllable, needing him to hear you and know you spoke the truth.

"You haven't lost me, and you won't!" you insisted, sure enough in yourself that you'd have challenged every Exorcist in Heaven to prove you meant it. Lucifer, still caught off guard by your initial yell, remained briefly unresponsive. Blinking suddenly, he shifted to an expression of apathy before taking hold of your wrists and gently pulling them off his shoulders.

"I want to believe that..." he replied softly, slightly more grounded now. Breath hitching, he slid his thumbs over the backs of your palms, taking a moment just to feel your presence before abruptly letting go. You could sense how hard he was resisting the urge to pull you in. "But there's so much that can happen. My position, my enemies... it's more than I can ask of anyone, and eventually... Well, everyone has a limit, and I can't blame them for leaving when they hit it."

In the short time you'd known him, you'd seen a great deal of the hardships he spoke of, and knew that many would indeed find the constant weight of his position too much to endure. Since being at his side inevitably meant shouldering some of that weight by proxy, you understood why many would find themselves unable to endure. It was indeed too much to ask of anyone...

Thankfully, you didn't need to be asked. You were offering.

"I don't have a limit. Not so long as I'm with you." you said more firmly, taking his hands back in your own. Once more, you looked into his eyes, and spoke with all the conviction your voice could possibly muster. "I don't care about Heaven, or the rest of Hell, or anything. If I'm with you, I can handle it."

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." Lucifer replied quickly, almost mechanical in his dismissal. Though he was still deep in his thoughts and deeper still in his grief, you didn't fail to notice how he let his hands remain in your grip. Despite it all, he wanted you, but just wasn't yet strong enough to face the pain of wanting. You didn't mind. He needed time to heal, and you'd shoulder as much of the load as possible for as long as it took for him to do so.

"Well, good luck trying to stop me." you said, ever more defiant. A small but far more genuine chuckle passed his lips, and you pulled him closer, encouraging the exhausts angel to lean on you for an embrace. When his head met your chest, you held him tightly, fingers brushing through his hair just the way he liked it. As his exhausted body eased against your own, you knew you spoke only the truth. "I love you, and I'm going to keep loving you. Nothing is ever going to change that."

He laughed again, sounding like he still believed his luck wouldn't change, but was daring to hope regardless.

"I love you too."

As you held him on the bed in silence, you vowed to every being from the highest peaks of Heaven to the lowest depths of Hell that he wouldn't regret this.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel x y/n #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer imagine #hurt/comfort #fanfic

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 months

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The Dangers of Hope Ch. 5

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major.

Word Count: 5,402

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Sorry, this chapter is a bit longer than usual, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. 😘

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Over the next two weeks, Dean did whatever he could to avoid being around Y/N. He was determined that the morning at the river was simply going to be a weird one off. It was some kind of reaction to Y/N’s unfamiliar presence. Her emotions and her rose-colored outlook on the world had contaminated him somehow.

He didn’t know why, but there was something about her that always made him question his decisions, constantly rework his plans. She just brought something out in him, so he stayed the hell away from her as much as possible.

He knew she’d set up the school and begun teaching. But there again, she’d made him change his plans. The plan had been to use the sheds behind the cabin for storage; that was the whole reason for building them!

But apparently Y/N had worked her magic with Brandy and before he knew it the sensible, practical woman had him convinced to let Y/N and the kids take up one of their very limited storage spaces, just to sit around doing algebra and reading poetry - or whatever she was teaching them.

It was ridiculous.

But even though he avoided her during the day, there was no turning off his brain at night, when he closed his eyes and visions of her soft curves and the memory of her silky skin beneath his fingers plagued his thoughts. He told himself to smarten up, that he had so many more important things to be thinking about.

He decided he just needed sex; it had been too long. So one night he showed up in Risa’s tent after midnight and she opened her arms to him the way she always did.

But as he kissed her and moved his hands over her body, her gentle sighs and soft moans weren’t doing what he needed them to, and he realized he was being an asshole trying to replace one woman with another. Risa was a good soldier and she’d been a soft place for him to land too many times to just use her as a distraction.

So he got up and left, giving her a lame excuse, “I forgot I have to be up early tomorrow to…go over things with Johnston.” He tried not to notice Risa’s frown. He couldn't tell if she was mad or sad, and he didn't really want to stick around to find out.

As the days moved on, he realized it was next to impossible to completely avoid Y/N, whether day or night. Because no matter how he tried to ignore her, he saw her influence everywhere. He could sense a shift in the air, he swore people were smiling more and every once in a while, he could hear kids laughing loudly.

That was a foreign sound nowadays, and it unnerved him. And smiling seemed foolish. What was there to smile about? Being happy just invited tragedy. He knew in the old days he would have been called a pessimist. But he was simply being a realist as he'd always been. He called things as they were, and he wasn't about to let a pretty smile and a bouncy attitude change that.

One evening, about a month after Y/N arrived at the camp, Dean was headed to the storage shed to take a thorough inventory before they left the next day on a raid - one of their last before the snows came in mid November. He knew they were gonna need more propane than what they had stored in order to run the generator over the winter. The generator ran the fridge and freezer where they kept their food stored.

It could also power the electricity in the big cabin for a little while if needed. There had been nearly a week last winter that had been so piercingly cold that they’d all needed to jam themselves into the cabin and run the electric heat as much as possible. It had simply been too cold for the little camp stoves in the tents; the wood-burning stoves just couldn’t generate enough heat to combat the intense cold that seeped through the thick canvas walls.

So their generator had saved them, and it ran on propane, which meant they needed more than enough to last through another possible cold snap.

Dean had deliberately waited to start the task until it was nearly sundown since the school would be empty by then and he could avoid running into the teacher that worked there.

But as he approached the small building he could see a wavering light in the window - a lamp moving towards him. Before he could turn and leave (he wasn’t going to call it running away) Y/N stepped out into the semi-darkness and gasped as she saw him standing there.

She put the hand not holding the kerosene lamp to her chest. “Oh my lord!” She breathed out raggedly. “You scared me half to death.” But she was chuckling as she said it and walked closer to him.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I uh…I thought you’d be gone.” He knew he sounded slightly accusatory. “Why are you still here? Haven’t the kids been gone for hours?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. I came back to put up the gift we got from Tom Richardson.” She waved him towards the building behind her. “You should come see the school.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’ve got…I have to -”

She cut him off with wide, pleading eyes. “Please?” She added a bright, imploring smile and Dean shook his head. Why was he even bothering to say no to her at this point? He gestured for her to lead the way into the little building and he followed at a distance.

They walked in and she set the lamp on the small table in the corner and turned it up full so that it completely lit up the tiny room. She held her arms out to the sides, showing off her little schoolroom with pride.

“What do you think?”

He shook his head. “It’s uh…pretty empty.” He said looking around.

Y/N shrugged and seemed a little deflated. “It’s a work in progress.”

Dean grunted his acknowledgement and continued his sweep of the room. On the floor against the back, Northern, wall were a couple of piles of wool blankets, and right above them was a mural of multicolored leaves stuck to the wall.

When she saw him looking at it and frowning, Y/N explained. “I got the kids to find a bunch of pretty, fallen leaves, and then we used some tree sap as glue to stick them up. I got to teach them a little bit about trees and ecosystems, and we also made something pretty to hang on the wall.”

He nodded at the blankets. “Is that where the kids sit?”

“Yeah.” She said with another shrug. “We’re a little packed in, but it keeps us warm. The blankets just take the chill out of the floor and make it a bit softer to sit on.”

Dean nodded absently and looked left, his eye catching on the only other object in the room. It was a paper map hanging on the western wall, held in place by two small nails.

Dean frowned again. “Is that a map of America?”

Y/N nodded excitedly. “Yeah, that was the gift from Tom Richardson. It was so kind of him. His son, Jonah is a sweet little guy, but I guess he’s been pretty quiet over the last year or so. He lost his mom just before he and Tom got to Chitaqua?” She said, clearly using the words as a question to see if he knew who she was talking about.

Dean nodded, a vague recollection coming to his mind of a big burly guy and a scrawny little kid. He remembered thinking the guy would be a hard worker, and the kid probably wasn’t gonna make it. He’d looked pretty sick.

Y/N continued. “Well, I guess since he started school he’s been talking more in the evenings, even asking Tom questions about The Knights of the Round Table. I’ve been sharing some of the legends with them this week. So, Tom was grateful and as a thank you, he gave us this map that he’d kept tucked away in his backpack all this time. Said it made him feel peaceful to look at it and remember better times. But he thought we could use it more.”

She smiled wistfully and gazed at the slightly ratty map.

“Why?” Dean asked with a slight jolt in his gut. He waved at the map. “It’s not like this anymore.”

Y/N nodded and lowered her gaze to the ground. “Yeah, I know, but the general shape of the country is still the same, and I can use it as half geography, half history.”

When she looked back up at him, her face was set in lines of disappointment. She waved her hand to encompass the whole hundred and fifty square feet. “You don’t like it?” She asked with a weak chuckle.

Dean shrugged. “No it's, I mean, it’s fine. You know, work in progress, like you said.”

Y/N nodded and smiled, looking a little bolstered. “Yeah, slow but sure. And you know,” her smile turned shy, “I’ve really wanted to thank you for giving up the space for the school, I know this wasn’t what the shed was earmarked for.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, Brandy made sense. Can’t have the kids wandering around outside after the cold comes.”

Y/N frowned. “I’ve wanted to thank you, but every time I’ve looked for you, I seem to have just missed you.”

Dean scowled defensively. “Just busy.”

Y/N nodded.

“Well look,” Dean said, backing away, “I gotta get to…stuff.” He shook his head. “I mean, we’re leaving on a raid tomorrow and I gotta prepare for it.”

“Oh, be careful.” Y/N said, biting her lip in concern.

It was far too hard for Dean to rip his eyes away from where her teeth sunk into the satiny sweep of her bottom lip. But he jerked his head up and then spun away as he answered her. “Always am.”

***

The raid was successful; in fact it was one of the most successful ones they’d ever had. They’d traveled all the way to St. Louis, hoping to find some gas stations there that hadn’t been picked clean. But they had no luck. Since going home empty-handed wasn’t an option, they went North to Springfield and hit the jackpot.

They found an old Costco on the outskirts of the city that had barely been hit. They filled and loaded up enough propane tanks to see them through the winter and then some.

They also loaded up as much food as they could, and even found some usable meds left in the pharmacy there. They grabbed clothes and kitchen things like plates and pots, utensils, also managing to find a few things that had become rare and quite precious, like eyeglasses and sunglasses. They also found spare tires and car parts, and a few simple pieces of practical furniture. They took as much as they could load into the back of two trucks and a Jeep.

Dean packed up one more big box, setting it on top of the others; it was just something he thought might come in handy. He refused to think too long about why he’d gathered together the things in the box.

They made it back to camp less than two days after they left, a record for a raid. They usually took a week or more because they had to scavenge through a bunch of different cities, and fight off masses of Croats. But this time, they didn't see any Croats at all, and they'd scored an incredible haul quickly, which meant that, barring some kind of catastrophe, they wouldn't have to go out again until the snow melted.

They pulled into the camp around noon and Dean spent a few hours helping to unload the trucks and organize where everything went. When the campers saw the piles of booty in the trucks, people actually started clapping. An air of joviality pervaded as they all worked together to put things away until the next day. At which point they'd begin accounting for it all, sharing what was needed immediately, and then safely storing away the rest.

Y/N and her students left their little schoolroom to come help as well and the kid’s eyes were wide and excited, looking at everything that had been brought back as though it was Christmas Eve.

When everything was unloaded, Dean grabbed the box he’d put aside and brought it to Y/N who’d returned to the school to drop off the two folding chairs she’d claimed for the classroom.

He knocked on the open door, grateful for the hard wood beneath his knuckles this time. Y/N turned to face him and her eyes were almost as bright and excited as the kids’.

“Hi!” She said enthusiastically. “Wow, you guys sure brought home the bacon on this raid!”

Dean shook his head. “No bacon. It was fairly rancid.”

Y/N chuckled lightly and scrunched up her nose. “Yeah, wise decision to leave that behind.”

Dean nodded and set the big box on the plywood floor with a heavy thump. “This is for you. For the school.” He amended.

Y/N looked a bit dumbfounded for a moment and her eyes got even rounder before she dropped to her knees and pulled open the flaps of the box.

When she saw what was inside her gasp was deep and her hands flew to her mouth. She looked up at him in complete shock before reaching reverently into the box to take out one of the books that sat inside.

“Books.” She whispered, as she stared at the paperback in her hands. She reached into the box again and pulled out another book and then another and another until her arms were full of them.

She looked up at him, tears falling and her gaze rapturous. “Oh my god, Dean.”

Dean felt his face flush and he looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just figured the classroom could use ‘em and they were just sitting there on the shelves. There’s a bunch of kids books underneath,” he said pointing inside the box. “And paper and pencils and some crayons, a few coloring books. There weren’t many of them so-”

He was interrupted as Y/N dropped the books back into the box and launched herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tight. He stood stock still for a minute before he patted her back awkwardly and dropped his arms back to his side.

She pulled back and brushed away her happy tears, sniffling loudly. “Sorry. I just…” She knelt down again and picked up another book, holding it tight to her chest. She shook her head. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed books. It’s been years since I’ve even seen one let alone had the chance to read one.”

She reached in for one of the children’s books and laughed. “Oh my gosh, the kids are gonna be ecstatic.”

Dean shrugged, thoroughly embarrassed by Y/N’s joy and gratitude. He cleared his throat before speaking. “There’s a limited supply of paper and pencils, and I have no idea how long it will be before we find more, if we ever do, so…”

He trailed off and Y/N put the books back into the box and folded the flaps closed again. “So, we’ll be sure to write very tiny, erase a lot, and wear the pencils down to little nubs.” She said as she stood and bent to heft the box up from the floor. Dean stepped forward to grab it from her as she staggered slightly beneath its weight.

“You’ll break your back.” Dean barked at her as he reached for the box.

But she just shook her head and turned away with the box still in her arms. “N’ah I’m stronger than I look.” She said, huffing and puffing as she dropped it onto the table.

Dean shook his head. Yeah, I bet you are. He thought.

After a moment Y/N turned and walked slowly back towards him. “So, I can’t exactly buy you dinner as a thank you. But if you bring your rations over to our tent, I can cook them all up for us.”

She smiled at him, friendly and sweet, but Dean was backing away. “No, that’s not necessary.”

“I know it isn’t, but it will make me feel good to do this one small favor for you in return for this amazingness.” She said with a wave towards the box.

Dean planned to say no, had it on the tip of his tongue but when he opened his mouth what came out was, “Okay.”

So barely an hour later he found himself sitting at her table with dinner laid out in front of him. It was a sufficiently celebratory meal of salted venison from an eight point buck the camp hunters had taken down in early summer, boiled potatoes, and a can of green beans that was older than Emma.

It was the best meal Dean had eaten in a long time.

After the food was finished and the dishes were washed, Y/N made them a cup of coffee and he sat drinking it as she settled Emma into bed with a kiss. His stomach was full of decent food, the coffee smelled old but still strong, and the sound of Y/N’s soft voice as she tucked her daughter in, was incredibly soothing. He found himself relaxing into his chair in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. His muscles lost some of their rigidity and he breathed out a long sigh, as though he’d been holding his breath for too long.

After a few minutes Y/N came back to the table and sat down with her own soft exhale. She took a sip of her coffee and then looked at Dean over the rim of her tin cup. “You know, I don’t think you really understand what you’ve done here.”

Dean cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, questioning her. She smiled and set down her cup, shifting slightly in her chair.

“Since all of this started, we’ve been on the move, Emma and I. In the beginning, when Emma was still a baby, I’d come across different groups of people and we’d travel together for a while or we’d manage to hole up somewhere for the winter and wait out the cold together. But inevitably the groups always fell away; sometimes we’d just decide to go in separate directions, but sometimes animosity or greed would take over and violence would erupt. People would fight over who was in charge and they’d fight over resources.” Y/N shook her head. “It almost always ended up a disaster.”

She shrugged. “So after a while, I just lit out on my own with Emma. It was scary as hell, of course - no back up, no partners, all on my own with a four year old. But it also meant no one stealing my stuff, or throwing me to the wolves at the first sign of trouble.”

She took another sip of coffee and Dean wondered at the shadows in her usually bright eyes. What stories in her past had created them?

Her voice was soft when she continued. “It’s been incredibly hard and there’s been,” her eyelashes fluttered and closed, “there's been a lot of bad.”

She set down her cup and sat back in her chair, rubbing at her eyes with her fingers like she was scratching out the images behind her eyelids.

When she looked at him again, her eyes were soft and warm. “So, to come here, to see what you’ve accomplished in just a few years?” Her voice was full of wonder. “Dean, it’s like a miracle. I mean you’ve made it safe here, at least a hell of a lot safer than anywhere else out there - there are guards protecting us! People work together, contribute their skills and strengths for the benefit of the group as well as themselves.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen anything like it in a very long time. What you’ve created here is an oasis.”

Dean snorted at that. “Oasis?” He asked incredulously. Her praise and wonderment made him feel an itchy kind of awkwardness. He didn’t deserve it.

But Y/N was nodding solemnly. “Yes. It’s a safe haven in a world filled with evil. What would you call it?”

Dean took a gulp of coffee and then licked his lips, looking at her for a moment before speaking. “Y/N this is only an oasis in the sense that it’s a mirage in a desert; it’s an illusion. We’re managing to get by through lucky choices and good timing. We push through from day to day, but I’m telling you this whole place could fall apart in an instant. One long, bad, winter, or one coordinated attack from another camp or a pack of Croats, and we’re done.”

He paused to try and let that sink in before continuing. “And the survivors here work together because it’s beneficial to them. But if things get desperate again,” he looked at her pointedly, “don’t think for one second that they'll hesitate to throw you to the wolves like all the others.” He shrugged. “It’s human nature, survival of the fittest, and anyone who thinks otherwise is gonna get trampled.”

He said it as a warning, still determined to dislodge the Pollyanna ideal of good and virtuous humanity from her mind.

But Y/N just smiled and leaned across the table to squeeze his hand. “Guess we’ll see. But in the meantime, you should be proud. No matter what happens, you’ve done good.”

Dean swallowed down the rest of his coffee in one gulp and stood up, pulling his hand away from her warm touch. He was desperate to get away from the softness and understanding in her gaze. He thanked her for cooking dinner and left quickly, promising himself as he walked back to his tent that he wasn’t going to do that again.

But as with most things to do with Y/N that decision didn’t last long, and soon enough that one evening turned into a bit of a ritual. Every few days or so Dean would show up with some of his rations and Y/N would combine them with what they had, and they’d all eat together at their tiny table.

Every time he left her tent, he told himself he’d had his last meal there with Y/N and Emma. Yet within a few days, he’d be back again. He told himself it was just something to break the monotony of camp life, just something a little different from the ordinary.

But the truth was he was beginning to crave the evenings spent across from Y/N, listening to her rattle on about her students and their achievements, or else answering her seemingly endless questions about the camp and how it had come to be. He even enjoyed listening to her talk to Emma, telling her stories before she tucked her in for the night.

Once the little girl was asleep, Dean usually hightailed it out of there, because without the kid as a buffer it became much harder to ignore Y/N’s inviting lips and tempting curves.

But one night, three weeks after returning home from the raid, Y/N followed him outside as he abruptly left the tent.

“Dean.” She called after him.

The sun had set almost an hour before and the night was dark and cold; Dean returned to her side and admonished her. “It’s freezing out here, go back inside.”

Y/N just rubbed her hands up and down her arms and shrugged. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head at her stubbornness, and then waited silently. When she didn’t say anything right away he spread his arms wide.

“What?” He asked impatiently.

“I just…” Y/N stuttered for a moment. “I just wanted to say that I really like when you come for dinner.”

Dean clenched his jaw as she looked up at him with heat in her gaze, an invitation in her eyes, plain as day. He told himself to walk away but instead, he raised his hand to trail his fingers down her cheek.

“You should go inside.” He warned her again, even as he lowered his head towards her. “S’cold.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m very warm.” She smiled and licked her lips and it was his undoing.

He yanked her up against him and crushed her lips with his own. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, inhaling her sweet scent and hardening at the way she clutched the front of his jacket and whimpered softly. He moved his hands so that one clutched at her waist and the other one grabbed hold of the back of her head so he could keep her pressed to him tightly.

He didn't know how long he would have continued kissing her, or whether he might have taken things even further. But luckily there was a loud noise of something crashing somewhere in camp, followed by laughter.

The sound was like a bucket of cold water being poured on him and Dean ripped himself away from Y/N's mouth. They were both breathing heavily, panting really.

“Fuck.” Dean swore roughly before he turned abruptly and left. He fully admitted to himself that this time, he was definitely running away.

***

Dean barely slept and woke up the next day berating himself for the night before. For fuck’s sake he’d been making out with Y/N with her kid just on the other side of a canvas wall - kissing her in the wide open, where any other camper might have walked by. He didn’t need things to be more complicated than they were already.

As the morning wore on, he made up his mind to talk to Y/N that very afternoon. He'd just tell her straight out that what happened between them just couldn't happen again. It was only going to confuse things and make everything harder than it needed to be.

He nodded; he could do this. He was practical and he didn't hem and haw or tiptoe around things. He'd just tell her straight out how things were going to be.

He knew she'd be in the big cabin as the school day ended, so he walked over and stepped inside the door, hoping she'd be almost done for the day.

Ever since he brought her the books, she'd been reading to the kids at the end of every school day. Parents had started swinging by the school, ostensibly to meet their kids, but really, they wanted to watch their kids' faces and listen to their giggles as Y/N read the stories in funny voices and occasionally got the kids to join her in acting out silliness from the books.

But the crowd of parents and kids had gotten a bit too big for the tiny schoolroom, so on the last day of every week, Y/N had taken to reading to the kids and parents together in the big cabin. The adults usually sat on the floor behind the kids, keeping their hands busy with mending clothes or knitting, or else they stood at a table and worked on something like repairing holes in tents or making snares for the hunters. The work allowed them to justify their enjoyment of the stories.

As Dean walked inside now, Y/N was finishing up the storybook in her hand. He could see it was The Paper Bag Princess and Y/N was on the last page.

“‘Ronald’, said Elizabeth, ‘your clothes are really pretty and your hair is very neat.” Y/N read aloud in Elizabeth’s decisive voice.

“You look like a real prince. But you,” Y/N paused for effect, “are a bum.’”

All the kids were giggling as she read the last line.

“They didn't get married after all.”

The kids clapped and even the parents were chuckling at the way the paper bag princess had put the snooty prince in his place.

“I love that story!!” A little redheaded girl in the front gushed.

“It's my mommy's favorite story.” Emma said loudly. “Right Mommy?”

Y/N nodded. “When I was your age for sure.”

Dean pushed away from the wall he was leaning on, trying to signal Y/N so she'd hurry up and finish. But the little girl in the front demanded her full attention as she bounced up to lean against Y/N's knees where she sat in the chair.

“Cause your mommy read it to you?”

Dean was seriously considering ordering everyone out. He wanted to get this over with.

But Y/N's next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

She was shaking her head as she tucked the little girl's red hair behind her ear. “No, my mommy passed away a long time ago when I was just a baby. So she never really got to read me stories.”

Y/N kept talking, but Dean only heard a hot, pulsing, rushing sound in his ears. A million thoughts were slamming through his mind at once as he felt a cold shiver run through him.

He yelled over the sound of the people around him beginning to chatter and get ready to leave.

“How?”

Y/N looked up at his bellow, her face shocked. “What?”

Dean was aware of his surroundings only just enough to brusquely order everyone out of the cabin.

“Now!” He barked and the mood in the room shifted quickly as parents grabbed up their children and gave The Boss a wide berth as his eyes burned at Y/N like green fire.

Everyone disappeared and it was just Y/N, Dean and Emma left.

Dean felt his heart hammering in his chest as he took a step back from where she stood.

Y/N's face was completely confused and clearly perplexed. “Dean what-”

He cut her off. “How?” He bellowed again before swallowing and asking in a slightly quieter tone. “How did your mother die when you were a baby?”

Y/N shook her head. “Why? What are you-”

“Answer me.” Dean's voice wasn't loud, but his words were clipped and he could hear the steel behind his words, feel the cold seeping into his bones as the tumblers in his mind fell into place, opening the lock concealing the reason behind Y/N’s miraculous survival of the virus.

Y/N blinked rapidly for a moment before exhaling slowly. “It was a - a fire. Some kind of electrical short or something.”

“In your nursery.” Dean said softly.

Y/N shrugged, her face scrunched up in confusion. “I'm not sure. My dad didn't really like to talk about it.”

As he stood staring at the woman with the bloodshot eyes, a moment from so long ago, once again from that first time they'd faced the Croatoan virus, materialized in his memory.

Again his brother's face bloomed in his mind, and he heard his own voice speaking.

“I swear I'm gonna lose sleep over this one. I mean why here, why now?”

And Sam's bewildered reply. “And why was I immune?”

Well now he knew why his brother had been immune. Because Yellow Eyes had wanted him to be, to make him a better soldier, a better, more powerful psychic to lead his demon army. And of course, he’d needed to be sure Lucifer's true vessel was strong and able enough to withstand the demon germ warfare he planned to release upon the world as a way to kickstart the apocalypse.

Dean stared at Y/N, angry beyond belief. Angry at her and what she really was, angry at himself for taking so long to figure it out and for falling for her game, and unbelievably angry at the universe for proving once again that it was laughing at him.

His voice was ice when he spoke. “What kind of psychic are you? What can you do?” He shook his head. “What have you done already?"

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@akshi8278

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

@slamminmine

@zepskies

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

@k-slla

@leigh70

@eevvvaa

@kickingitwithkirk

@foxyjwls007

@notinthislife50

@roseblue373

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

@hobby27

#dean winchester x reader #endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean winchester fan fic #endverse #endverse series #endverse!dean series #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff

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sculkapologist · 7 months

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Was suddenly possessed with the desire for a lil set of profiles for everyone in the Corrupted World minecraft AU!! you can probably tell by their names that these guys started life in the Bendy fandom, but then we got really carried away with MINECRAFT LORE...

the Basic Premise of Corrupted World AU is that when a bit of code gets corrupted, or degrades over time, the world replaces that code with something similar -- a corrupted bit of grassland will be overwritten by the code of nearby grassland. This works fine for most things, but there's nothing else like a Player in the world of Minecraft.................... these little bits of encroaching mob data have been mostly benign, until Joey's curiosity stretches the world to its limits, and the world's corruption becomes more aggressive.

Some basic notes on everyone under the cut!

Jack is an old player whose code changed so slowly that he honestly can't remember a time when he wasn't a little sheepy. A peaceful, friendly guy who loves to explore and makes contacts wherever he goes -- moving from village to village, build to build, to bring items he's found in his travels to trade and sell, sounding his own broken goat horn to announce his wares. Thanks to Jack, the world's far-flung players might be able to start to connect again...

(design by Mochi and Shazz, character by Mochi)

Sammy is a grumpy and strangely cautious player who keeps to himself ever since he escaped from an Ancient City..... changed. He was once an adventurous builder with an exacting sense of aesthetics, but now he's just trying to survive quietly with his sheep. Afflicted with painfully sensitive hearing and infected with sculk, he hides in an underground, wool-insulated home out in the hills and lives the most pacifist life he can manage, avoiding any death that could spread the sculk in his body.

(design and character by Shazz (me!))

Henry was always driven to look out for others, and when he died defending a village from attack, the grateful villagers helped to revive him the only way they knew how. He kind of wishes they'd just let him respawn... not realising some glitching armour had scrambled his health too badly to come back normally. In any case, Henry's gotten attached to the village... becoming more protective of the people there... almost unwilling to leave.

(design by Maf and Shazz, character by Maf)

A bit of a loner with a strange sense of humour, Norman often lingered near the ocean and didn't notice the little changes like not needing air when his water-breathing potions should've run out... until the corruption of his code made it sort of impossible for him to return to land. That's alright; he's perfectly happy to hassle the others when they wander into his territory.

(design by Shazz and Boo, character by Thren)

Wickedly clever with a knack for experimentation, Susie was left stranded in the Nether a long time ago and was determined to thrive even in that hellish domain -- and thrive she did. Now she's gotten a bit of reputation even on the Overworld, both for a mastery of potions and magic, and a cruel willingness to take what she wants.

(design by Boo and Thren, character by Thren)

Ever since Joey defeated the Ender Dragon and heard that conversation between two mysterious voices, he hasn't been able to let go of the idea that there is something more beyond this world of blocks and code -- but this charismatic dreamer has been prying at the world's secrets well before that. He convinced Susie to join him as the first to explore the Nether, talked Sammy into delving into an Ancient City with him, and tried to get Henry to join him in his quest for the End, gifting him code-modified armour that was better than anything his old friend could get. For some reason, though, they all lost contact, and Joey found himself alone in the End, where more code experiments in a land where only one mob is really prevalent had... an effect on him....

(design and character by Boo)

Pete isn't a player at all, he's a villager... but one day he found himself outside of his village, suddenly realised how big the world is, and couldn't resist the urge to explore. He's close with Jack, and has joined up with him on some expeditions to aid his own work as a cartographer. Without the ability to respawn, though, it's significantly more dangerous for him, and the two of them MAY have poked into some evoker magic looking for an alternative...

(design and character by Thren and Mochi)

Linda is deeply interested in the world's history, curious what sort of people or ancient players must've once populated the ruins, and she's also an experienced crafter with a penchant for metalworking. While the world of Minecraft has no real concept of monogamous relationships, she's settled with Henry as her one-and-only... which works out now that he's partially made of metal. Linda hadn't experienced any code corruption until data replacement became more aggressive, and it's still subtle for now. But it's handy to be able to touch things that are burning hot without taking damage!

(design by Shazz, character by Thren and Maf)

Fixing Sammy should be easy enough, Joey thought. Some of his data was corrupted by sculk -- if they can find that lost data in the code somewhere, it just needs to be reintegrated with Sammy. Attach it to an eye of ender, replace one of Sammy's eyes with the eye of ender -- simple! A complete Sammy! ...the lost data itself had other ideas. This strange construct that collected around the eye Joey provided is a mix of Sammy's lost data, garbled junk data, and -- he claims -- the remnants of an Ancient Player from the days when end cities were populated, before everything went so wrong and Minecraft's world became so lonely. His speech is glitchy and garbled, struggling to describe a Game and Code and a True Player that he believes must reset a world that has been "running too long." In lieu of a username, this apocalyptic anomaly goes by "the Prophet".

(design and character by Shazz)

#corrupted world au #minecraft au #block game art tag #minecraft #minecraft oc #trader jack #sculk sammy #iron henry #ender joey #guardian norman #ghast susie #villager pete #blaze linda #masked prophet

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sidekick-hero · 1 year

Text

hold me close (I’m shaking apart)

(steddie / explicit / part 1 / 6k / AO3 Link at the bottom)

Inspired by this amazing, mind-blowing piece of fanart by @dreaminginpencil (please give the artist and art some love)

Your perspective on a lot of things changes when you save the world and almost die in the process. Like how important high school hierarchies are, or what kind of people you want to spend your time with.

Eddie, for example, never thought he would be hanging out with the likes of Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, or even Robin Buckley, even though she was as much of a social misfit as he was. Not to mention the bunch of fifteen-year-olds, although, to be fair, he had hung out with some of them back in Hellfire. Not that there was anything wrong with those people, far from it. But without the Upside Down, he probably never would have known.

The whole experience taught him a lot, too. Mostly not to judge a book by its cover, a lesson Eddie thought he'd learned a long time ago. In fact, he had prided himself on applying it to his ways in high school, adopting little lost sheep who did not fit in with the crowd.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

Because he also ended up spending more and more time with the former King of Hawkins High himself and that was a book he would have wrinkled his nose at before but found himself addicted to now.

But Eddie was not the only one who had come back from his brush with another dimension, a hellish dimension, a changed man. No one goes through the things they’ve been through unscathed. Eddie was no expert in those matters, but he had the impression that more than anyone else, Steve was the one who had embraced the change that brought the most. It seemed to Eddie like Steve was almost thankful to have left the days of 'King Steve' behind. For one thing, the guy seemed more at ease, more relaxed, than Eddie had ever seen him at school. Steve had stopped holding himself so rigidly all the time, no longer coiled up like a snake ready to strike. Instead, he was goofing off with Dustin or bickering with Robin, acting like a total dork without regard to his reputation.

Eddie knew Steve still regretted a lot of the things he'd done, a truth spilled from Steve’s mouth in the hours between midnight and dawn, but Steve had begun to make peace with his past mistakes.

Leaving 'King Steve' behind also meant that Steve had stopped caring about high school etiquette and social ladders, just like Eddie had. Steve didn't seem to have any problems calling a band geek his platonic soul mate or hanging out with 15-year-olds on a regular basis.

Of all the unlikely friendships Eddie had formed during the literal apocalypse, the one with Steve felt the most unlikely. Hawkins High's freak and king. But those titles had stopped meaning anything, they were just names and had nothing to do with him or with Steve.

It all came down to one simple truth: Steve Harrington was not at all what Eddie expected him to be, and it was confusing him to no end.

Spending time with Steve made Eddie feel unsteady, something he wasn't used to.

Thing is, Eddie’s not blind. He knows what Steve looks like. Even back in high school there had been an awareness of Steve and the way he moved and talked and commanded a room just by walking into it. Eddie had been denying it, of course, willing to believe it was contempt, disdain he felt for the guy, and that was why his eyes would find Steve in any room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Although at night, in his dreams, he knew the truth.

Back then it hadn't really been a problem. They existed in different social circles, Steve on top and Eddie on the bottom of the ladder. Steve probably hadn't even been aware of Eddie's existence, and that had been fine with him. It had made it easier to ignore the heat that pooled in his stomach when he had to watch Steve in his little gym shorts throwing balls into laundry baskets, or to forget the dreams he woke up from, all sticky and embarrassed.

Their newfound friendship makes dealing with his whatever better and worse. Better, because now that he got to know Steve, the real Steve and not the bastardized version he knew from high school, he realizes what a great guy he is. Steve’s funny without meaning to be, goofy in a way that's endearing and silly at the same time. He could be a bit of a bitch, but when it isn't meant to hurt, it is actually pretty funny to watch him being a petty mean girl.

Steve Harrington also has a depth to him that Eddie didn't expect at all. Isn't it enough that the guy is gorgeous and athletic and charming? No, he has to be sincere and caring as well. That's where things started to get worse for Eddie. Because lusting after Steve Harrington? Old news. Expected, really — how could Eddie be better than at least half the population of Hawkins his age?

It's the feelings underneath the lust that are dangerous, that could get him into trouble.

Steve doesn't help his situation at all, of course. Instead of being aloof and prickly or arrogant, he has to be sweet to Eddie. Seeks him out to ask his opinion on things, like he really cares what Eddie thinks. Asks him to spend time with him, to come over, to watch a movie or just go for a ride to get out of this shitshow of a town. Laughs at Eddie's jokes and listens to his stories, asking questions and looking at him with big, warm eyes.

When they're in the same room, Steve keeps moving closer and closer to him, invading his space as if trying to carve out his own little corner in it. He keeps touching Eddie, brushing against him, breathing against his skin when he leans over his shoulder or whispers in his ear, and Eddie knows it doesn't mean anything, feels bad about the way all these innocent touches make heat build in his stomach, how they make his balls draw tight and his skin feel too small for his body. He doesn't want to feel that way, wants to be normal for once, because Steve is his friend and it feels dirtybadwrong to look at him and think about all the things he wants to do to him.

Like when they celebrated Robin's birthday last month, and everyone had gathered at Steve's big empty house to party. There had been an assortment of drinks, more than a house full of 15-year-olds probably needed, because the only guests of (almost) legal drinking age were Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Steve and himself. Eddie had found himself standing in front of the various bottles, marveling at the sheer potential for alcohol poisoning, when Steve came up behind him and peered over his shoulder.

"Are you expecting a whole fraternity to show up or are you trying to get us all pissed?"

Steve was humming behind him, so close that Eddie could have sworn he could feel the vibration through his back. Eddie was acutely aware of the heat Steve was giving off, goosebumps breaking out all over his body as the electricity of Steve's closeness continued to crackle under his skin. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to stay upright at that point, how he hadn't let out the whimper rising in his throat.

So of course Steve went ahead and made it worse.

He took another step forward and pressed his front fully against Eddie's back, trapping Eddie between the counter and his solid body. He inhaled sharply as he felt the heat through his thin shirt and was hit with Steve's intoxicating scent; musky from the sweat glistening on his flushed skin, mixed with the expensive cologne Steve always wore and the beer he had earlier. Underneath it all was something pure Steve. Eddie's head was spinning from the way Steve was overwhelming his senses.

And then Steve put his mouth right next to Eddie's ear and whispered, "Maybe I just want you to loosen up a little. You seem super tense, dude." Steve's hot breath had hit the sensitive skin of his ear and Eddie couldn't help the shiver that ran through him nor the strangled sound escaping his mouth. He shuffled forward to press himself up against the counter to hide the growing evidence of what Steve was doing to him, and poured himself a drink.

Fuck that shit, he needed it.

A few days later, Steve, Robin and Eddie had gotten together after Robin and Steve's shifts at the Family Video Store to go to the local diner for fries and milkshakes, as they often did. Nothing fancy, just friends hanging out.

Everything had started out pretty normal too, relaxed and easy, joking around, Robin and Steve bickering like an old married couple and Eddie adding fuel to all their playful arguments. They all shared a huge order of fries, but each ordered their own milkshake. Robin chose strawberry, Eddie chose chocolate, and Steve chose vanilla. This, of course, made Eddie grin mischievously at Steve.

"I'm trying so hard not to make a joke right now, Harrington. I hope you appreciate the effort."

All Eddie got for his trouble was a puzzled blink from Steve's hazel eyes. For someone with Steve's reputation, he was surprisingly bad at picking up on innuendo. Eddie was embarrassed at how damn endearing he found it.

Just as Eddie decided it was a lost cause, Steve suddenly leaned forward from where he was sitting across from Eddie, right into his space. Eddie wanted to back away, but was glued to the spot by the intense look in Steve's eyes as his hand came up and moved toward Eddie's face in what seemed like slow motion. Eddie marveled at how big it looked, as if it could easily cradle his entire face in its palm. Of course it didn't. Cradle it, that was. It did, however, touch his face, soft as a butterfly's wing.

Eddie had to squint to see what it was doing so close to his face, but it was gone in an instant, leaving Eddie wondering if he was dreaming the sensation of warm, dry skin touching his cheek just below his left eye.

When he looked back up, Steve was holding up his index finger to him, still leaning in close and looking straight into his eyes with a smile that crinkled their corners. "Make a wish."

There were so many things Eddie could have wished for. A new amp for his sweetheart, a raise at his job at the music store, hell, even world peace. But Eddie is a weak, weak man. And so he wished for something he could never have and felt bad at the sight of Steve's devastating smile as he blew away the eyelash.

It was killing Eddie, and Steve just kept doing shit like that. The more Eddie tried to stay away, to put space between them to protect his fragile heart, the more Steve seemed to seek him out. It was the sweetest kind of torture Eddie had ever felt, and he was sure he was going to lose his fucking mind over it, and soon.

It was not enough to keep him away for good, though.

Like just a few days ago when they had all been over to use Steve's pool and the promise of a nice dip was too much for Eddie to resist. Or so he kept telling himself.

The hot mid-summer sun was beating down on him as he found himself face to face with a group of roughhousing teenagers in the pool. Eddie had no desire to join them while they were still acting like the half-wild gremlins they really were, so he decided to stay by the side of the pool, sprawled out on a towel as small drops of water kept hitting his heated skin and a light breeze caressed him.

He still had his jeans on, but his upper body was bare. It was not easy for him to show off his scarred body like that, he was still self-conscious about the damage he had suffered from being almost torn to shreds by the Demobats, but these were his friends and if he was ever going to reclaim his own body and feel comfortable in his own skin, he had to start somewhere.

However, it was not part of his plan to let anyone touch his body just yet. Even Eddie could hardly bring himself to do it most days, too weirded out by the numbness of some of his scars, too afraid of the pain of touching others. So when Steve approached him with a bottle of sunscreen, he sat up abruptly and tried to get away as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention to himself.

Steve was having none of it.

"Don’t even think about it, Eddie, you look like a lobster. You need to put on some sunscreen before you blister, man."

Fucker was fast, too because before Eddie could even think about reaching for his shirt, muttering about putting it back on, maybe going inside, Steve slid in behind him, his legs bracketing Eddie's and his front to Eddie's back.

So Eddie found himself once again trapped by the most beautiful Venus flytrap and there was no escaping its sweet but deadly embrace.

"Let me give you a hand."

There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say with all the words stuck in his throat, so Eddie just... took it. Just let Steve do whatever the hell he wanted to him. The only thing Eddie did was pray to the heavens to send him the strength he needed to not crumble under Steve's capable hands as they began to spread the cool lotion over the too-hot skin of his back. He shivered at the difference in temperature, his back arching under Steve's hands as he couldn't decide if he wanted them closer or if he wanted to get away from them, unable to stop a small, embarrassing sound from escaping his lips. It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

Steve's hands worked methodically, in broad strokes that once again reminded Eddie how big Steve's hands were, spanning his entire shoulder blade, the thumbs digging in here in there in an almost massage. Steve kept his touch gentle but sure. He didn't linger, exactly, but he wasn't in a hurry either, taking his took his time, making sure to touch every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Eddie could swear Steve's fingerprints were burned into his skin like a brand and he was glad Steve couldn't see his face, couldn't see the way he kept biting his lips to stifle the moans that clawed their way up his throat, or the way his eyes were pressed together so tightly he could see stars. It felt like Steve’s touch lasted forever, time a useless construct that bent to Steve's will like everything else.

It was over much too quickly.

Eddie mourned the loss of those hands on his skin the moment they were gone as Steve pulled them away, wiping his hands on the towel and standing up, handing Eddie the bottle of sunscreen. "For your front. Let me know if you need me, 'kay?" And then he had the audacity to wink at Eddie.

Eddie looked up at him, blinded by the way the sun lit Steve from behind, hitting his mousy brown hair at an angle that made it look like golden whiskey, his skin sun-kissed and freckled. All those moles splattered all over his body in stark contrast to the caramel color of his skin, inviting Eddie to put his mouth all over them, to worship each and every one of them until he could identify them by the feel against his lips and tongue.

Steve had smiled down at him, happy and carefree, and Eddie thought he'd let himself be torn apart by bats any day if it meant being worthy of a look like that.

What he’s trying to say with all of this: He’s so fucked.

But it's fine. Eddie's fine. He really is.

It's fine that his mind keeps losing track of things when he's around Steve, that he keeps spacing out while staring at his lips or the moles on his neck or those goddamn paws Steve calls hands. It's fine that his dreams lately all seem to involve sweeping brown hair and hazel eyes, and that he wakes up from most of them horny and desperately rutting in his mattress. He's a healthy 21-year-old whose only company lately has been his right hand. A stiff breeze could set him off.

He blames that for giving in so easily.

It's early August, and the heat has grown oppressive, stifling. It's unbearable outside, and even in Steve's room, with all the shades drawn and the air conditioning on, it's barely tolerable. But the trailer is so much worse, so Eddie spends most of his days at Steve's.

Which is fine. He's fine.

He's fine when Steve takes off his jeans after a lot of complaining about them sticking to his thighs, and just wears his boxers and one of those stupid polo shirts he's so fond of, showing off his strong, hairy thighs.

Being fine gets harder (pun intended, Eddie thinks) when Steve doesn't sit back down at the foot of the bed, where he had started before his impromptu striptease, but right next to Eddie, his back to the headboard.

They're sitting close together, shoulder to shoulder, thighs almost touching and Eddie can feel the heat of Steve's leg even through his jeans. It makes very aware of his own layers; a long-sleeved Hellfire shirt and ripped jeans. After the sunscreen incident (as he calls it in his head) he couldn't stand the thought of his bare skin anywhere near Steve.

Steve does not seem to have any such reservations. As he settles more comfortably on the bed, his bare forearm presses against Eddie's clothed one, just a thoughtless, careless touch, but Eddie's heart stutters at the contact, missing several beats. It tries to make up for it with rapid thundering. This awareness of Steve has been growing steadily, building and building, for weeks and Eddie feels it's about to reach its crescendo. The air around them seems to crackle with energy, causing the leg resting next to Steve's to bounce.

The heavy weight of Steve's hand as it comes to rest on his thigh to stop his restless movement almost makes him jump, his muscles tense from the effort to hold still when all he wants to do is vibrate right out of his skin. The heat of Steve's palm sears his skin even through the layer of clothing between them and Eddie feels as if it will forever be marked by Steve Harrington. Thinks he wouldn't mind wearing some visible proof of it, something that said 'Property of Steve', like wearing his letterman jacket or his class ring. Eddie thought he left those silly dreams behind a long time ago, but teenage dreams die harder than you think.

"Hey, man, are you okay?" Steve asks with a hint of worry in his voice, his eyes serious as they look at Eddie, as if he's trying to say You can tell me and I want to make it better. But Eddie can't and Steve won't.

But it's fine, he can be fine.

"Nah, all good. Sorry. The heat's getting to me, making me a little crazy, I guess."

"Might be you’re wearing so many fucking layers, dude.” He says it teasingly, tongue-in-cheek and Eddie forces a chuckle, hopes Steve will drop it if he makes a joke out of it.

He must not be very convincing because Steve just keeps looking at him and Eddie can hardly stand it, this all-consuming focus on him. Not because it's too much, but because now that he has it, he knows he'll crave it even more. He already wants Steve's eyes on him all the time, wants to be the center of Steve's attention as much as Steve is his; the axis around which his days revolve.

Eddie has always been greedy.

"You ever fooled around with another guy?"

Steve's words are like a bucket of cold water poured over his head, like the needle jumping on the record and making that scratchy sound. Has he ever…What the fuck, Harrington?

Eddie’s frozen in shock, breath caught and heart no longer beating, suspended in the air and afraid of the drop. Finds himself at a loss for words, something that doesn't happen very often in his life, thinks that he must be dreaming, one of those dreams where he's going to have to change his sheets again.

"Have I ever - " He swallows, but it goes down the wrong pipe and he coughs instead, has to lean forward with his fist to his mouth, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Steve tries to help and puts a hand on his back, rubbing it in soothing circles as if he hadn't just dropped a fucking bomb in Eddie's lap. You ever fooled around with another guy?

When the coughing subsides, he takes a shuddering breath, hoping Steve will drop the subject, move on as if Eddie won't lie awake tonight repeating those words over and over again in his head.

He should have known better by now — Steve Harrington isn't one to let things go.

"So have you? You can tell me, I won't tell anyone, promise."

Jesus Christ.

"Can't say I have, Stevie.” Eddie tells him the truth, but keeps to himself how much he wishes he had. “What about you? Those communal showers after basketball practice ever get," he pauses for effect, "steamy?"

There's a fine dusting of red on Steve's cheeks and his eyes have gotten bigger, glassy. He bites his lip, and Eddie's eyes immediately fall to them, mouth watering as he thinks about replacing Steve’s teeth with his own.

"No, we— I didn't— But." Another pause, another bite, as Steve's eyes drop to Eddie's mouth as well. Eddie licks over them compulsively and sees Steve's eyes follow the movement with eyes that are more black than hazel.

"But?" He almost whispers, too afraid to startle Steve and break whatever spell he's under.

"But I always wondered. How it would feel. If it's as good. Better." His breathing speeds up and Eddie matches it, feeling as if he's already been around the football field a few times.

That tension keeps on building, and Eddie has no idea what will happen when it reaches its breaking point.

If he even wants to find out.

If he can take any more.

If he'll survive whatever comes next.

But Eddie has already proven that his survival instincts are all fucked up, so instead of backing off, instead of ending the madness here once and for all, Eddie jumps right in.

"Why didn't you try it? Don't tell me King Steve couldn't have pulled a hot piece of ass if he wanted to."

He’s playing with fire, he knows that, but no one could have prepared him for the smoldering heat in Steve's eyes as he looks up at Eddie. "Maybe. If I'd asked, Tommy would have, I think. I didn't though." His hand reaches across their bodies and slides up Eddie's arm, settling on his shoulder as if it belonged there. "But I'm asking now."

Eddie's stomach clenches with how much he wants this, wants it so bad he can taste it on his tongue, his skin tingling at the mere thought of getting his hands on Steve's skin. But he has to be sure, he has to know. "What are you asking?”

"I'm asking if you want to experiment. See what it's like."

"You want to —" And here he thought Steve would want to — stupid. Eddie is so stupid.

"Experiment, man, it doesn't have to mean anything, right?"

Right. It doesn't have to mean anything. He can have the former King of Hawkins High in his bed, gets to have Steve in his bed, and it won't mean anything. Can't mean anything.

There’s never even been a question what Eddie’s answer would be.

It'll be fine. Eddie can be fine with this.

"Okay, man. Yeah. Whatever. We can, y'know, experiment. What do you want to do?"

A long breath leaves Steve in something close to a sigh, as if he had been nervous, holding his breath in anticipation of Eddie's reaction. As if Eddie's answer meant something to him. As if Eddie would ever be able to say anything to him but yes.

It's probably just horniness, Eddie thinks. He knows Steve hasn't had a date in months, hasn't slept with anyone since before the whole Vecna and Apocalypse thing happened. He knows this because Steve told him, unprompted, unwanted, but listening with bated breath. Eddie was a glutton for punishment because he never stopped Steve from talking about the girls he dated, the kisses and the sex he missed, but apparently not enough to go out and get it. He's probably just tired of his own right hand.

Steve leans forward, using the hand still on Eddie's thigh for leverage while the hand on Eddie’s shoulder pulls him in before it slides up to Eddie’s neck. His mouth is inches from Eddie's as he whispers, "Touch me, Eddie.” before pressing them against Eddie’s.

It's everything he's dreamed of, everything he's wanted since Steve Harrington stumbled into his life and turned it upside down. Well, more upside down. But it's also too much, overwhelming in its suddenness, so he finds himself frozen like a deer in the headlights, not even pressing back, just staring at the beautiful boy in front of him like he's having an out of body experience. This was not supposed to happen, not outside of his dreams.

Steve whines against his unresponsive lips and bites the plush shape of his lower lip. "Eddie, please. Touch me."

It’s the please, sounding almost broken as it falls out of Steve’s mough, that breaks the spell like some kind of counter-curse. Eddie lurches forward and catches Steve's lips in a clumsy kiss. It's not like he really knows what he's doing, because while he's never made out with another guy, he's never made out with a girl either. It's not exactly his first kiss, but close enough. It's certainly the first one that means something, the first one he cares about making good.

Steve doesn't seem to care, only pressing harder against Eddie, sliding his tongue across Eddie's lips and grinning at the startled gasp that falls from Eddie's mouth. Steve takes the opportunity to deepen their kiss and Eddie can't help but moan at the wet heat of Steve's tongue sliding past his parted lips and into his mouth. The sensation is foreign, but so damn good. His hand finds its way to the back of Steve's neck, sliding up his nape and grasping the fine hair there. Tugging on it purely on instinct, earning himself a broken whimper.

Touch me, Eddie.

Your wish is my command, Eddie thinks as his other hand pushes up Steve's shirt and finds the thick patch of chest hair that keeps taunting him from the neckline of Steve’s goddamn polo shirt. It's maddening to have it right in front of him every day and not be able to bury his face in it like he wants to. He still doesn't dare, but he lets his nails scratch at the skin underneath and his fingers play with the coarse hair as they begin to wander and explore Steve's chest.

It's hard to keep track of things when Steve keeps kissing him like he's trying to take Eddie apart with just his mouth. He's currently luring Eddie's tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it like he's starving and Eddie's tongue is the only thing that can save him. It's a fuckin' distraction, but it's also the best thing he’s ever felt, has him already so hard it hurts where his dick presses against the stiff material of his jeans.

He shouldn't have gone commando, but it's laundry day.

In school, he's always had trouble prioritizing things. Everything was equally important — band practice, Hellfire, and technically schoolwork. It's the same here. He wants to focus on kissing Steve silly, but he also really, really wants to find out how much skin he can get away with touching before Steve ends their little experiment.

It's the thought that this might be his only chance to find out how Steve feels under his hands that decides it. He slows his own kisses, letting Steve take over for now, while he continues to wander his fingers, letting them find Steve's nipple and give it an experimental stroke with his thumb. It pebbles underneath, a hard bundle of nerves begging to be played with.

His heavy lidded eyes lift to Steve's face to gauge his reaction, and finding Steve biting his lower lip, pupils dilated and eyelids at half-mast, Eddie takes that as a good sign.

So he does it again, harder. Hears Steve's breathing quicken, so he licks his thumb and adds some spit to make the glide easier. And that? That elicits a throaty moan from Steve, a sound he's never heard before, and it goes straight to his dick. If he's not careful, this will be over embarrassingly fast.

Eddie has always been a curious guy. He likes to just try shit out and see what happens. It's an approach that seems to extend to the bedroom because he has no idea what he's doing here, but that doesn't stop him — if anything, it makes him bolder, more daring. Hungrier.

He's fascinated by how sensitive Steve's nipples seem to be, how responsive Steve is to having them played with, so he pinches one of them between his thumb and forefinger next, and the result will be featured in so many wet dreams to come. Steve arches his back as if he's being electrocuted, choking out a broken moan so needy and raw that it makes Eddie squeeze his legs together in a desperate attempt to stave off his own orgasm.

"You're a wet dream, Harrington, moaning like a fucking whore for it. Anyone ever tell you that?" Eddie can't help but ask, his mouth running away from him as it tends to do. All that blood rushing south from his brain makes him stupid.

How did he ever get so lucky? If this is his reward for being willing to sacrifice himself to save the world, he feels like he's being royally rewarded. Another pun fully intended.

"Shut up, fuck, just shut up." Steve says, begs really, no heat behind his words. He almost sounds — desperately turned on by Eddie’s words. Huh. Eddie squirrels the thought away for later, when he can dissect it in peace while touching himself to the memory of Steve's sounds.

They both stop kissing, at least for now, so Eddie leans his forehead against Steve's and they both watch as Eddie's hand moves down, inch by agonizing inch, following the inviting trail of dark hair that runs from Steve's chest to where it disappears under the waistband of his boxers. As if a flimsy barrier of cotton could keep Eddie from where he so desperately wants to go.

Dipping his fingers under the material, he's delighted to find more coarse hair and the leaky head of Steve's cock, straining against its confines. The second his ring finger touches the hot flesh, it jerks and Eddie licks his lips in anticipation, transfixed by the sight through the almost see-through, soaked material covering the tip of Steve's dick.

The movement of Eddie's tongue seems to jolt Steve out of his own reverie, his eyes tearing away from Eddie's hand as he moves back in to capture Eddie's lips once more in a searing kiss, this one slower, deeper. Eddie would be lying if he said he has never thought about what King Steve is like in bed, what turns him on, what he likes to do to his partners. He doesn't know about King Steve, but this Steve? This Steve loves to kiss. It honestly surprises Eddie, in the best way possible.

Eddie's hand dips further, pushing away the offensive material and freeing Steve's cock. He wishes he could see it, see his hand grasp the shaft and slide along the silky smooth skin, but his current position doesn’t allow for it and he can’t bring himself to part with Steve’s lips, not even for this. Maybe it's better that he can't. It keeps him from overthinking it — this way it's almost like jerking off, only with a bigger dick, because goddamn, all those rumors about King Steve's royal rod? Absolutely true.

But he can't get a good rhythm. It's too dry, making the slide bumpy and uncomfortable. Steve seems to agree, because his hand leaves Eddie's neck to reach behind him, rummaging blindly through his bedside table drawer while still kissing Eddie, pulling him along with the magnetism of his eager mouth until he finds what he's looking for.

A bottle of lube.

Steve opens the cap with one hand while the other is still on Eddie's thigh, where it has moved higher, gently stroking along the inseam of his jeans. It has already wandered dangerously close to the hard outline of Eddie's dick, and Eddie knows that once it reaches its target, the game is over. Game, set and match.

That's why he moves to tuck Steve's boxers under his balls and reaches for some lube with his other hand. Eddie doesn't want to hurry, wants to draw this out as long as Steve will allow Eddie to touch him. But even more than that, he wants Steve to come first, to hide from Steve how hot and bothered Steve's own pleasure is making Eddie. He can't let Steve know how the breathy little moans and whimpers, the ragged breathing against his spit-slicked lips, are enough to drive Eddie crazy and make him come untouched any minute now.

Thank God they're on the same page here. Steve squirts some lube on Eddie's outstretched palm and he reaches for Steve's hard dick again, spreading the lube over it, enjoying the smooth glide, the wet squelching sounds as his hand picks up speed. They've stopped kissing to deal with the lube issue, but now that it's done, Steve finds his lips once more and they continue to lick into each other's mouths as Eddie strokes Steve in earnest. His mouth has begun to ache in the best way, as has his wrist.

He welcomes the pain as proof that this is really happening.

"Eddie." His name falls from Steve's lips in a tone that comes straight from Eddie's wettest dreams. Needy. Breathless. In awe of how Eddie makes him feel, and it goes to Eddie's head. Goes to his dick, too, makes his balls tighten. "Eddie, I'm close. I'm so close."

"It's okay, Steve, you can come. It's fine." It isn't. It will be over after that. The end of their experiment. But that's what they agreed to. It's Eddie's own goddamn fault if he's not fine.

"Nuh-uh." Steve starts to shake his head, and it spreads to the rest of his body, which starts to tremble with his efforts to hold himself back. He almost looks in pain and Eddie can’t have that, only ever wants Steve to feel good.

"What do you need, what is it, tell me. Let me give it to you." Too much, he thinks. You always give too much, Eddie.

But Steve had carried him out of hell, literally out of hell. He would give Steve everything. Everything, and it still wouldn't be enough.

"I need you to come too, Eddie. Come on. Want to feel it." And his treacherous hand finally reaches for Eddie's aching dick where it strains against his jeans to eagerly meet Steve's hand. "Please, Eddie. Together." Steve presses the heel of his hand against the hot flesh, rubbing up and down exactly twice before Eddie comes in his fucking pants like the virgin he is.

He whines deep in his throat, then grunts. The sound shouldn't be sexy, but it's what pushes Steve over the edge, spurts of cum landing on his belly and getting caught in his treasure trail. Good thing I pulled up his shirt, Eddie thinks to himself as he keeps pumping Steve's dick, milking the release from it, unable to stop touching Steve. Steve whines when it gets to be too much, nerve endings too sensitive for any kind of touch, so Eddie lets him go, even if he doesn’t want to.

Exhausted, Steve's head comes to rest in the crook of Eddie's neck as he tries to catch his breath. His breath tickles him and cools his overheated skin even more quickly.

Eddie has come all over his hands and, lacking anything to wipe them with, wipes them on Steve's sheets. It's a testament to how out of it Steve is that he doesn't even bitch at Eddie about it, just continues to huff against his skin.

Steve's ragged breathing slows after a minute or two, but his head stays where it is on Eddie's shoulder, Steve's nose pressed against the sweaty skin between Eddie's neck and collarbone. Eddie has never felt closer to another person in his entire life and it terrifies him.

"So. Are you satisfied with our experiment? Did you sate your curiosity?" Eddie is a masochist, it seems, presenting his stomach and inviting Steve to stick the blade where it hurts.

Steve sighs, contented.

"Yeah, man, that was good. Still a few questions though." His speech is slurred and Eddie suspects that Steve is one of those guys who is too out of it after an orgasm to do much else but sleep.

He's proven right when he feels Steve's body sagging against his and little snuffling sounds coming from Steve. He's fallen asleep, leaving Eddie to freak out in peace.

How considerate.

Also on AO3.

My undying thanks and love to my partners in crime, @yournowheregirl and @legitcookie for cheering me on and being the absolute joys that they are 💜

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #my writing #nsft #there are two more parts planned but this can stand alone just fine #thank you Jen and Alice for polishing those dicks with me lol #I don't even know how to write without you anymore #💜💜💜

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bellysoupset · 1 month

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The New Guy

It was the first day of class and Vince felt like a toddler in kindergarten. Although he didn't actually remember going to kindergarten back in Italy, but his mom made a point of telling him he had wailed every time they dropped him off, so this was how Vince felt.

Except he wasn't the student today, he was the teacher.

He still wasn't fully back on his feet after such a hellish bout of flu and the emotional stress, but Vince felt steady enough he could at least fake it. Besides, he had wanted to be a teacher his whole life, so even if he felt like crying from the nerves, he was also incredibly excited.

This was his old school and it was weird, to say the least, to walk the halls as a teacher, not a student. Not much had changed - better flooring, a classroom had a smartboard instead of a white one, new teachers.

His old ones were still there, though, and Vince nearly jumped out of his skin upon entering the teacher's hall and having his name shouted, "Vincenzo! Oh look at you!" as if he was the chubby kid who grew up over summer. Which yeah, he sort of was.

The literature teacher was still the same woman, Ms. Lobdell. She had been already been an ancient faculty member back when he was at school and time had done her no favors, but she was sharp as a knife.

His old history teacher had retired, the spot Vince had occupied, and the biology and chemistry teacher, a horrible man whom Vin had hated back then, had also left the school.

He was told all this by Ms. Lobdell, who dragged him around by the arm despite the first class starting at 8 AM and it already being 7:55.

Finally Vince was released from the claws of that sweet wrinkly woman to his class of snotty 10 year old, whom he was already very partial to.

Because moving had been such a huge thing, from his relationship with Wendy and his friends, to quitting his solid job and getting an entirely new place, Vince had been more than a little insecure about the whole thing.

Suddenly it wasn't just "getting a new job", it was "getting a new life" and he felt a gigantic pressure for this to be as good as he had imagined it to be, otherwise... Otherwise he would have gone through all this trouble for nothing.

It was a relief so strong when teaching his first class ended up being everything he had imagined and more, that Vince was teary eyed by lunch break.

"So how was it?" Wendy asked, her voice breathless as she moved around. Vince checked his watch again, noticing his hands were shaking with how nervous he had been. 1:30 PM, she was probably leaving her hot yoga class to get dressed for her evening shifts.

"It was amazing," he confessed, smiling, keeping his voice low, "the kids were great, the teaching plan went smoothly... They keep calling me mister Monacelli, though, which is very weird... It was just great."

"I'm glad," Wendy answered and he could tell she was smiling and meant it, "what now?"

"Now I get my teenagers," Vince scratched at his cheeks, suddenly wishing he hadn't shaved in the morning. He felt too baby faced to handle the teens, doubting they'd respect him, "they're going to eat me alive."

"Yes, but not in the way you think," Wendy teased him, "you're going to be the class crush, just watch it."

He grinned, smoothing his shirt and looking around the empty classroom. Vince had been much too nervous to join the remaining staff in the cafeteria and had had lunch inside his classroom, like a loser. Just a veggie roll too, which normally wouldn't sustain him even for two hours, let alone the rest of the day.

"Now you're just egging me on," he rolled his eyes, "how's your day?"

"Great," Wendy huffed and her voice got distant as if she had left her phone in a surface, "I have far too much free time now that you're not around, so I'm gonna start taking classes."

"Classes on what?" he balled up the paper napkin and grabbed his tooth brushing kit, walking out of the classroom, holding the cellphone to his ear.

"Anything," Wendy sighed, "I just need to occupy myself a bit, it'll help."

"I think you should take interior design classes," he entered the bathroom, "you're always fiddling with things in the apartment."

"Uhm, maybe," she sighed and then he heard a noise and Wendy cursing, "a stupid pigeon just hit my window, I gotta go. Love you, break a leg, Mr. Pussy Magnet!"

"Love you as well, honey," Vince rolled his eyes, hanging up.

His first class after lunch actually went a lot smoother than Vince was expecting, but the second one... He had no idea where his students were.

After fifteen minutes of sitting there without a single soul appearing, Vince peeked at the hallway and frowned. He was half expecting the kids to be pranking him by sitting in the hallway, but nada. Not a single student.

He sighed, locking the classroom and walking back to the teacher's hall to see if anyone else would have an inkling of where his kids had disappeared to.

An older teacher, whom Vince remembered as the trigonometry teacher and who, thankfully, did not remember Vin, was leaning against the window, with his head poking out, smoking.

"Mr. Turella, hi," Vince smiled and the older man smiled back.

"You're the new teacher, right? History?"

"Yeah," Vince crossed the room to shake his hand and the man let out a huff.

"You're looking more like the P.E teacher, son," he teased lightly, "are you lost?"

"No, not really," Vince grimaced, "but I think I lost my kids? No one showed for my class..."

Mr. Turella let out a snort, carefully resting his cigarette on the windowsill and walking across the room to the big schedule that was plastered to the wall, "oh yeah," he shook his head, "Daniels stole your kids."

"Excuse me," Vince frowned, crossing the room so he could look at the schedule as well. Mr. Turella planted a wrinkled finger over the sophomore's schedule and dragged it down.

The class before Vince's was Chemistry, with Mr. Daniels.

"Uh... That's just great," Vince wrinkled his nose in distaste, "I don't suppose I should go over and tell him to release my kids?"

"Bad move for a rookie," Mr. Turella patted his arm, "just wait for them to show and you can chew out Daniels after class. Not that it's going to help much, it never did in my case."

"He does this a lot?" Vince scoffed and the other man nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yeah, get used to it," the man sighed and walked back to the window, "take the win, it's a break in your schedule."

"It's time they're not learning the curriculum," Vince corrected, groaning as he imagine the headache this would be down the line, when he inevitably fell behind if he didn't have enough time to teach, "alright, thanks Mr. Turella."

"It's John," the man waved him off, continuing to smoke.

Vince returned to his classroom, chewing at his lip since it was still empty. He paced nervously, until his students finally showed, thirty minutes late and chatting loudly.

"We're having P.E now?" a boy asked, causing his friends to giggle and Vince to sigh. It was going to be a long evening.

Mr. Daniels fucking haunted him. His senior students, whom he was dreading already, were also late thanks to the biology classes. Unlike the previous kids, though, they walked in quietly and seemed very interested in Vince, if only because he was new and shiny.

"You cannot be serious-" a girl blurted out, when Vince announced he was holding them for ten more minutes, since they had arrived twenty past the time of class, "sir. You cannot be serious, Mr. Monacelli," she corrected herself quickly.

Vince raised his eyebrows, not the outburst, but at the correction. It was so weird to be treated like that.

"Well, I- Alright, today you can leave, but next time this happens I'll have to hold you until we're done. You can't fall behind so close to SATs," he sighed, gesturing to the whiteboard, "and remember homework."

"Yesssir," there was a chorus of voices, making him cringe. Sir, that didn't sit right.

"I'll see you Wednesday," Vince waved to the door and then sat down, waiting for the kids to leave. As soon as he was alone, he let out a groan and rubbed at his neck.

As Vince walked to the parking lot, he paused as he saw a man leaning heavily against the wall, just outside the view of the buses leaving.

The man had his back pressed to the wall and his hands on his knees, as if catching his breath after running a marathon.

Curiosity got the best of him and Vince stepped closer, wondering if this was a senior student who had been held back - he didn't look seventeen, for sure, but not old enough to be a parent either - and if so, why he hadn't been in his class just now.

"Hey," Vince said, realizing the guy was actually older than he expected as he stepped closer, "hey, you alright?"

The guy shook his head, lips pressed in a thin line, "not feeling too hot..." he let out a soft burp, unashamed, and grimaced, "you're the new guy, the new teacher."

"Uh- It's Vince..." Vince frowned, inspecting the other man. He was a blonde, with most of his hair pulled up in a man bun, showcasing an undercut. He was wearing a buttoned up shirt, but with short sleeves - which should be a crime, in Vin's opinion, - and he could see his left arm was completely tattooed.

Definitely not a teacher, Vince thought, crouching slightly. The guy wasn't short, but compared to Vin he was. He also looked incredibly, terribly familiar.

"I'm Max," the man grimaced and spread his feet apart, "I'm gonna hurl, you should step back."

So casual about the whole deal, as if it wasn't mortifying. Vince frowned even more, "are you waiting for your kid, Max? Can I get someone for you?"

"My kid?" Max let out a little chuckle, which quickly turned into a groan and he wrapped an arm around his stomach, "no, I'm fine. Lunch was just too heavy, the cafeteria food fucking sucks."

"You're a staff member?" Vince frowned, even more confused. He wanted to get a decent look at the man's face, but he was sort of bent over, with a couple hair strands falling in front.

"Bio-" Max cut himself off with a gag and groaned loudly. He panted, back heaving and a couple of belches bubbled up, low in volume, but terrible wet. He cleared his throat, but it morphed into a cough and then Vince jumped back as a splatter of puke hit the pavement, sinking in the gravel.

He made a face, reaching out and planting a hand on Max's shoulders, keeping him swaying, and looked around, hoping there was anyone better equipped to help.

"Fuck-" Max groaned, pressing his stomach with a hand and heaving again. An empty, painful and loud, heave, followed by another cough and more vomit, this time a much larger amount. He let out a little moan, hanging over the puddle with an arm wrapped around his middle and panting.

"Done...?" Vince grimaced and the man nodded, wiping his lips on the back of his hand and then making a face at it, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"Urgh, that was gross..." he straightened up, taking a steady breath and sidestepped the mess on the ground, "sorry. I didn't catch your name?"

"Vince," he repeated, studying the man's face. They were about the same age, now Vince realized, but Max looked younger. Blonde with brown eyes and a tanned complexion, he looked like a surfer who had gotten lost on his way to California, "I'm the new history teacher."

"I'm the biology and chemistry teacher," Max shook his hand, following Vince further into the parking lot and Vin nearly stopped on his tracks.

"You're Mr. Daniels?"

"Uhhh yeah man, the one and only," the guy opened a little smirk, looking amused, "you heard about me?"

"You're the prick who held my kids," Vince glared at him, "twice. Thirty minutes each."

"I had to wrap up the subject," Max shrugged, "and they were interested. You know how hard it is to get these gremlins interested in anything, no hard feelings."

Vince scoffed, rolling his eyes, "quit doing that then," he said, finally arriving at his bike, "...Are you sure you alright?"

"I'm fine," Max smiled, smoothing his shirt and undoing the top buttons, "see you around, Mr. Monacelli."

#mywriting #sickfic #vince monacelli #max daniels #stomachache #indigestion #hehehe finally

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alhaithamhabibi · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐈'𝐃!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄

ᴍᴇᴇɴᴀ ɴᴏᴛᴇs : didn't expect the nanny!reader to blow up so without further ado, i present you the prequel! idc if lante is ooc in it but it's an alternative timeline and there's always a butterfly effect even if one doesn't want to change a story with their presence. also once again, another long post.

part one is here

❥ honestly, you were nearly done with the novel, with a couple or so pages left. you wanted to reach the ending as soon as possible but perhaps reading the entire novel in one night wasn't a smart idea. and eventually, you just gave into your body's exhaustion and slept.

❥ but when you woke up again, you could hear a woman humming and someone playing with your hair. normally you would wake up and freak out. but the presence was so calming and soothing, you ended up snuggling up to them.

❥ though a scream woke you up completely as you shot up from the bed yet you were held against the woman, clutching you tightly as she whispered words of reassurance. and as you frantically look around, you noticed this wasn't your home and that your body was smaller than it used to be.

❥ clearly, you weren't in your world, and despite your surroundings not showing much, it also showed that. especially with the screams and weapons being used outside the door. not to mention, you're so small. where in the world are you??

❥ so you did as your body naturally reacted to its next scream. hold the woman, assuming she's your mother, tightly and pretend it's a dream. cause it is. right? eventually, you fell back to sleep. but the next time you woke up, you were wrong. ( big surprise )

❥ though you were still confused, you were able to figure out some things quickly enough. the woman that held you was indeed your mother in this world. she's a nanny to one of the many endless children here and your father is probably dead or something. oh well.

❥ as for yourself, you knew you were seven years old and currently a mess on the inside. after that night you won't up into this world, your mother had you stay in your shared room. she would bring meals but it was evident she was scared of what would happen to you if you left.

"mother, i feel rather tired staying here all day. can't i go to work with you?" the question left your lips before you can take it back. you didn't want to seem like a whiny child who only knew how to complain. especially when she overworked herself to provide for both of you.

your mother was too sweet and good for this world so obviously you wanted to protect her. especially in this strange hellish household. but how could you when you don't know the world well enough?

"my little light," your mother brought you closer to her embrace which you eagerly accepted. you looked up at her as she gazed down at you so affectionately and so softly. "just for a few more days. till he leaves alright?"

you didn't know who your mother was referencing but you took it, knowing she would evade the subject. certain subjects seem to be taboo even with the slightest whispers. but you nuzzled into her embrace anyway, "whatever you want, mother, i'll listen to you."

❥ still, it's fine, right? you could try to figure out more about the world you were in despite being unable to leave and find a way out of there. hopefully. wrong once again. because the day your mother deemed it was safe, she took you to her workplace.

❥ well, a room but that counts! only for you to meet certain crimson eyes that belong to a boy who seems to be a few years older than you. and then your mother addressed his full name. lante fucking agriche. why is the female lead's father of the novel you read right in front of you?

❥ is it considered too early to write wills at this age? it is? how unfortunate. new goal! find a way out of this mansion. yet it was thwarted by your mother who told you both that lante's mother chose her to become his nanny at her deathbed and she promised to.

❥ so yeah, the plan isn't it. for now. all you could do is help your mother and make sure that both of you survive. lante can take care of himself, you were sure of it. but the novel never really mentioned lante's backstory since it was more focused on his daughter.

"young master, this is my daughter y/n. she will be joining me to learn as well," your mother dutifully bowed down in respect to the curly-haired boy with scarlet eyes while you just straight up stared at him, dumbfounded.

fuck.

"your daughter doesn't seem to be the bright one, nanny " he coldly remarked as he eyed - no, glared at you. you fumbled a bit before also bowing down to him as your mother gave your age as an excuse.

with a scoff, he only turned back to his book and went back to reading.

"i only wish for you to get along, that's all," your mother attempted to reason with you both. but you were sure that there was nothing that could bond you both together. especially when he was one of the villains in the novel.

"at the very least, both of you stay together so my heart will rest at ease." with just one glance at lante who briefly looked at you before your mother, you both knew it was better to listen to her. maybe you could use him to escape.

❥ but the settings were no different. the black agriche ruled the underworld, his father had many mistresses and wives as he drowned himself in indulgence and treated his kids like crap. even having one of them killed just because they minorly inconvenienced him as you witness. it was utterly horrifying.

❥ and you could see the signs of abuse emerging whenever lante came back from his father's office. the way his half-siblings tried to kill him one way or the other. the lack of health he had just to stay on top. the bruises, cuts, and broken bones that your mother had to attend to, quietly and secretly, into the night.

❥ you felt sorry for him. he was a bastard of a father but no children should ever be placed in this situation. and you could see the small slips of genuine care he held for your mother and occasionally you. well, you weren't exactly affectionate as your mother but you still followed her lead.

❥ lante always did like to show off his intelligence when it came to you and his mother. a brat in some ways, occasionally telling you what he knows. but as much as you hate to admit it, you learned a lot more about the world and the settings from him rather than your own experience.

"such childish handwriting. how will the others ever understand this? a hopeless one, truly," lante criticized as you wrote on the paper the foreign language your small body as acquired.

"perhaps it's because i'm still a child?" you scoffed at him yet you went back to your words and tried to them neatly as possible. don't let him get to you, you reasoned yourself to not strangle him, it's for mother's sanity that i can deal with him.

"and yet when i was your age, my writing brought others down to their knees," he smirked as you glared at him openly now. with your focus on him now, he was able to snatch your papers with one hand and push you at arm's length with the other.

"since you will be a future servant, writing is essential as you become your master's tool. use this," lante muttered as gave the papers back after writing something on it. "the next time i catch you, i expect your writing to be adequate."

you widened your eyes as the writing became easier and you started to understand the words. so carried away, you ended up completing the papers and looked up to see the spot lante took empty. he must have left, you thought as you begin to rush to your mother to show your hard work.

❥ to be honest, you didn't think he held you in high regard as he would for his father and your mother. it was that night you heard a knock in your room and you cautiously opened it, finding lante limping and bleeding. your mother was out, helping the maids with the night shift. so it was just you.

❥ you ushered him quickly into your bed as you clumsily applied the medicine to his wounds. of course, you knew who was the caused of the wounds in which you began to curse out lante's father, absolutely sleep-deprived at this point.

❥ it took lante by surprise but it's not like he disagreed or anything. he just quietly listened to your rambling, not finding you a nuisance for once. after you finished the treatment, you hesitantly offered to escort him back to his room which he haughtily refused.

❥ but you were still stubborn enough to ignore his words and go with him regardless. he called you an idiot but at this point, anyone who didn't listen to him was an idiot and not worth his time to dirty his hands with. it must be your mother's blessing he still let your off the hook.

❥ by the time you got to his room, you entered the room and fixed up his bed for him as he changed in the bathroom. by the time he got out, you were sitting down on the chair beside his bed with a book in your hands.

"you're only twelve, y/n. do you plan on reading me to sleep?" lante grumbled as he tried to get himself comfortable on the bed. the wounds still burn and the crazed eyes of his father haven't left his mind.

"don't be ridiculous," you scoffed as you moved the book from your hands to adjust the blanket as your mother did for you. "i'm reading so it can help me stay up. and so you don't bleed to death if your wounds open up." just as you finished, his hand shot out to catch your small wrist.

"why? why do your curse as my father? why do you act as if you care for me? why bother?" and for a moment, you didn't look lante as the female lead's father but at him as a person. as another kid trying to survive in this cursed household. really...what was the author thinking when creating this sort of setting?

"because," you sighed, "mother cares for you. i see how much you risk for mother and you have my gratitude for that. because if something happens to me or i die, i know mother will be taken care of." it was rather amusing to see that rare shocked expression on his face but you paid no mind to it as you continued, gently prying his hand off your wrist.

"and your father is a bastard who deserves to be stabbed. don't look at me like that, lante, we both know he is one. but it's ridiculous the way he makes the children of the house fight like enemies for his sick pleasure. i never want that on anyone. especially you."

you squeezed his hand softly, yet there was not a smile on your face but a firm look of resolution. it wasn't like your mother's soft look when she gazed at him, he thought, but somehow it still feels like it. like mother, like daughter.

❥ after that, your relationship with him gets better. he's still an insufferable bastard who likes to boast his knowledge and his strength. but if you were curious about something or needed help ( not that you would ever ask ), he'll answer your questions and help you.

❥ in some ways, you were also able to help out lante whether you helps with his wounds or gave a distraction to keep his father's negative attention away from him or provide him information about his other half siblings. and he never said it verbally but you knew he was glad to have someone on his side as well.

❥ it made your mother delightful that the two of you were able to get along despite the occasional bickers. she always told you both you resembled more of actual siblings to which the both of you expressed your disdain for each other much to her amusement.

❥ if anything, it was her who brought you both closer together, and wanted to protect her. simply for lante who never experience familial love, and wanted to monopolize her for himself, and for you who wanted this saintly loving figure to get the hell out of here so she can be happy.

❥ but despite the constant torment and death lingering in the household, you were naive to believe that it wouldn't touch your mother or yourself. until the night your mother's bloody figure was held in your arms the night of your fifteenth birthday.

"mother," you croaked, a lump in your throat preventing you to speak any further. the once lively eyes filled with love and warmth dulled as she struggled to keep living.

you didn't know how it all began as you were quietly celebrating your birthday with your mother and lante. next thing you knew, there were screams about assassins and such. lante went off first, followed by your mother and then you. and all you could see was people running, blood, and dead bodies.

you were separated from your mother in all this chaos only to be reunited with her as lante good you both to stay put in his room as he led them away and fended them off.

and it was a good idea at first only for you to realize the assassins would kill you regardless of status. and you knew it the moment that you saw the assassin head for your way, it was over for you. till your mother stepped in the way and cleanly sliced off his head with a sword she took from the floor.

you marveled at your mother's work but as she staggered forward, you realize only then that she was injured as well. severely. so you could only hold her and uttered the words she wanted to hear the most. all you could do is keep the wound from bleeding. you may have your medical knowledge but you knew there was no way she could live longer with such a deep stab. you were...helpless.

the door slammed open revealing lante, bloody and sweaty, as rushed by your side, to hold your mother's hand. "nanny..." he quietly whispered. it broke your heart, even more, when lante displayed his vulnerability before her. begging her to stay and not leave him alone. you wished you could say the same but your throat remained clogged and the tears you desperately tried to hide ran down your cheeks and onto your mother's.

"lante...y/n...my precious children..." and she breathed one last time with a smile.

❥ the next day, the workers who were still alive took the bodies and had them eaten by the monsters the house had raised. but somehow lante was able to send your mother's body to be cleaned and buried properly with a headstone. and you were beyond grateful for that.

❥ that day, both of you remained passive and stoic under others' watchful eyes only to break down behind closed doors. well, moreso of you than lante. he could only hold you and let his silence comfort you through your trembling body. there was no denying he changed after watching mother pass. but so had you.

❥ no one knew who the enemy was but the duke was evident in not caring whose lives the assassins took other than wanting to teach the assassin caught alive a lesson. and hours later, he was drinking and sleeping with other women again. it was a brutal slap to your face that you had to remember this was the world.

❥ though now you officially served under lante, you were his trusted right hand and confidante despite being a maid. you told him of what you knew from the servants who gossip and in turn, he taught you how to handle business in the household.

❥ the more you learned, the more the ache of wanting to leave the house as years passed by. this placed was filled with memories of both good and bad. and it was painful enough. not only that, lante's change became more evident to that in the novel. he was even more possessive of you but you thought it was because of your mother's death.

❥ eventually, you gained the courage to ask him to resign quietly from the black agriche and live quietly once again. much to your surprise, lante rejected it and left you with that. he kept himself busy with missions and such. but you were still a stubborn one. slowly, you got yourself ready to leave the place. with or without his permission.

❥ the night before your departure, you were violently woken from your bed with screams and wails. blood stained the walls and the floors as servants attempted to run away. with every hallway you turned, you noticed an agriche child on the ground, dead.

❥ you couldn't find lante in his room so you headed to the duke's office instead, not caring if you get killed on the spot. as you opened the door slowly, you held back your screams as you watched lante knock his father down to the ground with a powerful blow.

not trusting your voice, you quietly attempted to leave the room without lante noticing. but it failed as his father groaned in your direction in which lante's head snapped up. he didn't even look bothered at all which shouldn't surprise you. but you were taken aback by that crazy expression on his face.

"it's alright, y/n., come on over," lante extended his hand to you. against the rational side of your mind, you hesitantly walked over to them and took lante's hand. to which he placed the bloodied sword in yours. it was surprisingly heavy and if lante wasn't still holding your hand, you were sure it would be dropped.

"...lante?" you asked, as you turned your head to face him before looking down at the half-unconscious man below you both.

"it was because of him we lost someone we cherished. it was because of this bastard she's not here with us right now. we deserve this. it's only right we take everything away from him and end this. so you and i will do this together."

before you could ask further, lante raised his and your hand that held the sword.

your senses more heightened than ever. the stench of blood and iron clouding this mansion, the rage of the man beneath you for being the main problem for the household, sleepless nights that left you exhausted, the screams that occurred daily as one was dragged to their death, your mother's dead body in your arms, the bloody chaos surrounding this house, the tension between the residents, and realizing this place was no longer home if mother wasn't here.

and you both strike the sword straight into the older man's chest.

it took a while for you to register what you just did and you stepped back from the corpse, only to collapse on your knees. you were gonna get killed for this when the others find out. everything you worked for is gone. and you couldn't...

"y/n," lante kneeled on one knee as he placed bloody hands on either side of your face. there was some sort of maniac glint in his eyes as he proudly smiled at you. it was terrifying. "you can't leave me. not now. not ever. you are to stay by my side."

as you weakly protested, his next words sealed the deal as he held you close. "this is what mother wished for"

#— meena writes #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #lante agriche x reader #platonic ig but you can perceive it as you wish #lante agriche

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matchibee · 10 months

Text

Dreaming of You

for whatever reason tumblr kept deleting everything I wrote for this chapter so its a work of frustration, my mind is numb.

barely proofread, closure.

Enchanted, Sparks

He knew it was a mistake as soon as it happened. As soon as his hands wandered your skin just as he’d dreamed, walking on clouds. As soon as your lips danced as one, souls merging as a love divined by the heavens was consummated. He didn't want to release you, parting lips to look into your eyes, peer into the very soul that had him ridden with anguish. Everything he'd yearned for nestled up to him between the sheets that evening. A family he'd believed himself chastened from reaching entirely his for the taking.

But you weren't Miguel's to have, not really.

Miguel wasn’t from here, not this dimension, but another. He simply wanted another chance at being a father, yearned to hear his darling daughter's voice one last time, a final time. He promised himself he wouldn't do it again, refused to subject himself to such anguish in the midst of his sorrows.

It was supposed to be in and out, peering at the life he could've had, then confining himself to his desk for the rest of eternity

Yet when Miguel found a variant of himself laid out in the darkness of Nueva York, passed on as the result of a violent altercation, he couldn't help it. The perfect opportunity, the only opportunity he'd have to find closure. In his desperation there was a glimmer of hope, an opportunity to overcome anguish.

He would've been a fool to pass up an opportunity handed out to him on a silver platter.

Miguel could learn to love again.

And then you came into the picture, confounding his rationality, blurring what little prospect of pulling away he had left. His past self, whoever he was, had obviously had a deep connection with you — deep enough your lips curled into a smile during his newfound walk to Alchemax, footfall falling in sync. Deep enough you held out a donut and coffee between your fingers, greeting him in a voice so smooth he believed it to be crafted with honey, sickeningly saccharine.

You invaded the deepest trenches of his self, implementing your very essence into his molecular structure, a single entity. In your entirety, you belonged to Miguel. I’m his entirety, he belonged to you.

But it was so fucking wrong.

Miguel knew the risks, understood what could've occurred if he submersed his entirety into this universe, a dive so deep he feared he'd never come up for air. Lyla tried to talk him out of it, her eyes widening as she saw something in Miguel shift upon seeing his body laid out, watched as he concealed any evidence that could jeopardize his position.

Lyla couldn't watch, her programming rejecting Miguel's actions. But in his actions there was love for a daughter, and love for someone he'd yet to know. Miguel was driven with passion, aflame.

there wasn't a soul that could deter him, pull him away from everything he deserved. This was his life, in some form, and he deserved to live it.

That’s exactly why he was avoiding you, avoiding the situation, his feelings. He couldn’t stand to drag you down with him, drag you into this hellish existence that dominated his being — Spider-Man, one not meant to persist, taking the mantle upon himself in an effort to preserve the one thing he had left.

Miguel was destined to a reality of solitude and suffering, and you were destined to a fate without him by your side, a life where Gabri was nothing more than an orphaned child.

He could change fate if you'd just indulge him, mend what had been ruptured. Create an existence entirely devoid of isolated mania. Miguel knew he was strong, ridiculously. He had the will to burden this universe upon his shoulders if it only meant to hold you close, or to love a daughter.

Miguel wanted so much more than any universe could provide him. Wanted you, everything that encompassed you.

But he couldn’t, he knew that. Not when your life would be on the line, not when it endangered Gabri, knowing his overstayed welcome wouldn't persist without consequence. Miguel couldn't save his previous existence, bound to destitution. But if you'd just let him, indulge him, there was a chance he could save you.

Save you from his gluttonous desire for you.

Miguel held his head as your voice lingered down the halls of the office, mind overwhelmed with everything you. Sometimes he was unsure if it was truly your voice he was hearing, believing himself to hallucinate your very presence, a ghost of your touch where your self was absent. He looked for you at every waking moment, reaching out to find an apparition he'd fooled himself into believing tangible. Miguel was a man ridden with desperation, yearning for your touch.

So why the fuck was he avoiding you? You couldn't understand it, couldn't understand what had gone wrong. In the midst of everything, the climax of a prospective relationship, there was stagnancy.

Everything, you could only rationalized. Perhaps the entire situation had thrown him in for a loop, mind fuzzed with responsibility and desire — where they met, intersected. And how they differed, diverged.

Perhaps your souls weren't as entwined as you'd believed. His lips had done the talking, body sculpted in stone influencing your decisions.

Yet you knew in your heart that simply wasn't true.

You'd felt the repercussions like a wound to the chest, noticing damn near instantly as Miguel seemed to drift away from you. Lingering touches nothing more than brief. Yearning gazes nothing more than polite regards. There was something more, and you knew that, but he seemed to reject it just as incessantly as he craved to give in. Despite everything that had occurred between the both of you, despite a silent profession of longing that burned just to exist. But Miguel seemed to interpret things different.

An overwhelming annoying game of cat and mouse — one where neither party knew where they stood. But you didn't have time to play these games, play into these fantasies you'd construed in the depths of an evening speckled in stars.

So when your supervisor entered your office with a proposition, you were unsure how to respond.

"We'd like to offer you a higher-up position at one of our sister locations."

To say the offer was abrupt was the understatement of the century, your mind fogged as the man drawled on about the position, what it would entail. Never did you believe something like this would happen, unsure of your abilities. But obviously they’d take notice of your diligent work, obviously they saw greatness where it persisted. "You will oversee project management off-site, entirely in charge of operations occurring within the facility."

Definitely a change from what you were used to. Since you’d begun your journey at Alchemax you’d only know what it meant to be on the receiving end of instruction, bound to a lab that had nearly taken your head once or twice. To be the one calling the shots, leading projects and their goals, would be an entirely new experience.

You nodded your head in understanding, astounded, though the smallest bit apprehensive. "When can I start?"

Your supervisor hummed in amusement, evidently pleased with your response, "Always the eager one, precisely why I endorsed you. How soon can you relocate ?"

Your lips parted, brows furrowing as you registered what he’d asked you. "Pardon?"

"The location you'll be tending to is one in Boston. As such, Alchemax will assist you in finding the proper accommodations—"

Boston. Hours away from where you currently resided, a generous trip, one you'd never taken, not particularly keen on travelling. Your entire life revolved around Nueva York. Education, friendships, memories. Your being belonged to this city and its people, belonged to this job you'd broken your back tending to. To just decide up and leave everything you’d achieved, everything you’d cultivated...

You weren’t sure if you could do it, weren’t sure it was the proper option for you at the moment.

"Can I..." You failed to find the proper words, mind running at a million miles a minutes, "Can I have time to think about this?"

"I’ve been allotted 48 hours to relay your response."

With that you excused yourself from your own office, a minute to get some fresh air, shoes clacking down the ungodly length of the hallway in contemplative silence.

The world was crumbling around you as you fought to keep it together, bits and pieces falling from the seems, and you were fruitless in remedying it.

And Miguel? He’d been heartbroken when he heard the news, enhanced senses meaning he'd known the decision far before you'd ever heard of it. His heart was clenching, feeling as though he might faint. You wouldn’t take the position, would you?

Then again, what purpose was there in staying?

The world seemed to stand still despite time continuing forward, Miguel carrying out the rest of the day in a blur, feeling as though everything he'd built was coming to a halt.

And you? It was as though your world was shattering into a million fragments, refractions of light reflecting memories lived seemingly since the dawn of time. You were unsure, pacing back and forth in an attempt to clear your mind, praying the universe would place you on the correct path.

But nobody’s world felt as shattered as Miguel’s.

He heard your footsteps down the hall, your path determined, Miguel's heart-rate quickening. You were there alongside him before he could even register what was happening, before he could even ponder how this truly made him feel.

Your voice called his name, Miguel turning to you with a look of longing, wanting nothing more than to hold you in his embrace, wanting nothing more than to have you to himself.

Miguel didn't want you to go, didn't want to have to watch as you left his life forever, couldn't bare the thought of never being able to hold you in his arms again.

But he also knew, rationally, it would be unfair of him to ask that of you. To stay, be his, when your life seemed to be improving for the better. Miguel couldn't ask you to be his, couldn't ask you abandon reason for him and his little family.

He couldn't harm the spiderverse because he was lovesick.

“They offered me a promotion.”

Those words, five words that Miguel dreaded hearing — fearing hearing them fall from your lips only brought the situation closer to reality, difficult to deny. Five abhorrent words he wished never to hear. The sound of your voice felt so surreal, impossibly painful.

Miguel hummed, throat clenching, fighting the urge to unveil his knowledge. His enhanced senses proved a blessing and a curse, one he would relinquish if only it meant to belong to you in mind, body and spirit. “Congratulations.”

No. No. He wasn't happy. This was the furthest from happy he could've possibly been. His commendation fell from his lips before his mind could catch up, reflexes hindered by your presence, by reality. Despite his hindered response it appeared his head continued to run rampant with thought, fueling a mouth that yearned for nothing to more than to connect with yours. "When do you start your new position?"

He knew the answer, god he knew the answer, dreaded it. But he needed to hear it from your lips, even if he inwardly refused, even if he wanted to deny it for all of eternity.

“It's complicated..." You were unsure of how to properly express yourself, realizing this was the first time you'd spoken to Miguel since he'd left your apartment all those mornings ago. "I still haven't made a decision, since I’d have to move… But I’d be a Project Manager at an Alchemax sister location.”

“Where to?” Miguel spoke with passivity, keeping himself composed. He was fortunate you missed the way his hands dug into the arms of his swivel chair, claws presenting themselves to deepen his grip. Within himself Miguel prayed for someone to heed his call, to see through this facade, to call him out on his bullshit so he could claim you in your entirety -- worship you, adore you.

You cleared your throat, finding your words. “Boston.”

“Massachusetts?”

You nodded your head, anticipating his reaction, turning up incorrect in your deduction. He wasn't someone you could register, fickle in his entirety, alternating between someone you loved unconditionally and a stranger.

“Impressive.”

Ouch. You couldn’t rationalize why he was acting like this, why his emotions seemed to flicker as though being tampered with. He was once so gentle, so warm in his approach, a man who enveloped you at the drop of a hat.

But Miguel knew he couldn’t hurt you, not like this. Too many factors, far too many factors. If he inserted himself into your life he feared it would spell an end for everything you'd built — everything the people of this universe had built. Miguel's heart called your name, his mind pushing it away.

But when you spoke again, leaving him seeing stars, Miguel only realized he’d end up hurting you either way.

“Do you not care?”

Care? of course he cared. Miguel cared more than he could ever hope to admit, cared more than the stars yearned for their moon, than the clouds for their sun. Miguel cared so much he couldn't stand the thought of collapsing your home, couldn't stand the image of your person being lost to the universe. At least in this way, in a reality of his own divination, Miguel knew you were unharmed. He could love you in a way unique to his personal language.

He simply had an interesting way of showing it.

“Care? What does it matter to me, it’s your decision.”

“Oh” He could hear the pain in your voice, loathed that he'd been the one to place it there. "I just assumed that since we..."

“We what?”

The nail in the coffin.

Hot tears pricked in the corners of your eyes, sniffles falling from your nose. Miguel sensed it, all of it. He looked to your watery eyes and legs that seemed to wobble as though you'd tumble.

Perhaps if he created his own canon event, one that harmed him in the process, it would even out the events he'd altered — fathering a child, assuming the mantle of a vigilante who hadn't persisted in this universe. So much had changed since he'd seized the opportunity to live the life he'd lost.

Another loss might level what he'd redesigned in his favor.

If Miguel could just do this, fight his feelings to alter your life, then maybe that would be enough.

"I think..." Your voice erupted in a tremble, Miguel retracting his claws, hands resting on his knees, the closest he'd come to reaching out to you. "I think I made my decision... It's not like there's anything keeping me in Nueva York, not that I can think of."

An eye for an eye, a shot in Miguel's frigid heart.

He watched you leave, conceded to watching your figure retreat out that door. He wanted to call your name, craved the feeling of your body against his. Miguel imagined he'd grip your wrist, free hand cupping your cheek as he whispered his feelings into the open. You'd know how he felt, a vocalized confirmation. And in return, Miguel would have you.

But that's not what happened.

Not as Miguel turned in his swivel, elbows against his desk, vision blurred through salty tears.

And then he wept.

Brick by agonizingly boring brick you brought down everything you'd built. After relaying your acceptance, supervisor ecstatic, you'd retreated to your apartment to pack away everything you could carry, luggage upon luggage resting at your doorway.

Perhaps it was a spur of the moment, entirely conscious you weren't in any hurry to retreat. But your supervisor had informed you they'd get to immediate work in accommodating you, a hotel room with your name on it awaiting your arrival, entirely yours until you found a permanent establishment.

Tired, out of breath, you allowed yourself to rest on your bed. Your ceiling had never seemed so foreign, so flawed. You found you discovered a newly placed distaste to your life here, what it had become in the blink of an eye.

Truly, your existence these past months had been one through rose-tinted lenses.

Rising, falling, your chest yearned for the sensation of Miguel slotted against you. You wanted his warmth, the rumble of his voice in his chest as he whispered praises, reminded you of your worth in his eyes.

What had gone wrong?

Frustration fueled you, drove you absolutely mad. No matter where your mind wandered it returned to Miguel, your thoughts belonging to him. A painful existence for your mind, body and soul. A cruel reminder of how everything came crashing down.

Would he be there to say his final goodbyes? Or had Miguel simply conceded himself to complacence?

You groaned, gritting your teeth as you stood to your feet. Back to cleaning, back to packing. The victim of your chosen desire was your drawers, nightstands that stood on either sides of your bed.

Glasses, knickknacks and medications rattled as you decided what to do with them — discard, keep. A simple process, one that didn't take much effort, until you arrived at the depths of the drawer closest to where you slept.

A scrunchy bathed in the colors of Gabri's soccer uniform, the one you'd removed from her hair in the midst of her exhaustion. You hadn't even realized that was where you'd placed it, could hardly remember what had occurred through your own sleepless delirium.

Gabri.

You hadn't taken her into consideration, hadn't thought to her as you argued with Miguel and stomped to your supervisor's office in a huff.

What would she think, what would she say? This was uncharted territory for you, unsure of how you could explain to her why you'd suddenly been absent, would continue to be absent until the universe fated your paths to cross once more.

Poor girl.

She had this spark, something nobody could take away from her. In your mind you knew she would do great things, reach unachievable feats, accomplishing everything she set her mind to. A truly glorious child, Miguel having done well in raising her all on his own.

Fuck. How were you going to explain this?

Then you halted, fist tightening around the scrunchy. Would Miguel even give you the right?

How would he explain your absence? Would he? Was it even something Gabri took into consideration?

You stretched the fabric around your wrist, caressing it under the pads of your fingers, sighing a deep sigh.

Were you making the right decision?

"Quiero mirar un pelicula."

Miguel was diligent in washing the dishes that had — subjectively — piled high in the sink. A stray spoon and glittering princess cup desecrating his kitchen sink, the source of his frustrations. He was doing everything in his power to distract himself, keeping you out of his mind. But he couldn't help the way his mind wandered to the times you'd stood beside him in this very kitchen, drying dishes, Gabri putting them away. The three of you were an unstoppable force, a group of three who fit perfectly like a well-oiled mechanism of your own creation.

But being a father came first.

"Qual?"

Gabri broke into an impossibly wicked smile, Miguel conscious of what was coming, the movie one that frequented their household on an impossibly daily basis — songs and dialogues memorized by heart, Miguel having a good majority of their movements down, as well.

"No," Miguel groaned, "Anything but--"

"Frozen!"

As if this day could get any worse.

Of course, Miguel couldn't deny his daughter of her simplest request, a mere attendant to her regal existence. Sometimes he feared she knew it. He scrolled for what felt like an eternity, watching with a smile as Gabri bounced in her seat, suddenly halting Miguel's attempt at pressing play with a "Wait!"

"Que paso?"

"I wanna invite someone to watch with us."

Miguel's brows furrowed, figuring she'd bound down the halls in search of her stuffies, organizing them on the couch just as she'd done countless times before.

But then she spoke your name.

And oh how Miguel loved the way your name fell from Gabri's lips, so natural, another indication of your perfection, the way you fit so seamlessly into his life. But then Miguel had a moment of realization, one that formed in his mind as he reached for his phone, as he clicked on your messages, finding a million left unread waiting for him.

And he realized he'd fucked up.

"No, mija." Miguel was confined to a fate of disappointment, voice lingering on a syllable unspoken, trying to find words that refused to manifest. "Not now, not for a while."

Gabri didn't like that, not one bit. "Why not?"

Always a question that followed an answer when it came to children, something that frustrated Miguel to no end, patience running infinitely thin. "Just not now, it's too late."

"They always come late!"

If this little girl didn't become a lawyer when she got older...

"It just can't happen, not right now."

Miguel's phone chimed, eyes flickering to the screen, pupils darkening. You'd sent him a message, asking if he had time to discuss something, but there was nothing the two of you needed to discuss, not that he could think of. Miguel didn't need to talk to you, and you didn't need to talk to him. At least, that's what he had convinced himself, confined himself to believing.

Gabri whined, "Is that them? Tell them I wanna talk to them!"

Gabri called your name at an impossible speed, clambering over Miguel's arms, making an attempt at reaching for his phone.

He held her away with a single arm, Miguel unable to tear his eyes away from the message, formulating what he had to say in is mind, coming up with nothing.

And when he finally looked up from the screen, Gabri had long since fallen asleep, the end of the film playing onward. Miguel watched, arms crossed over his mighty chest, as love reigned supreme and lovers united as one.

Then he realized he truly was making a mistake.

Your coworkers decided to throw you a going away party, a final homage to everything you’d done for Alchemax, the diligent work you’d done in cultivating the facility to be the best it could possibly prove.

Treats, games and beverages were sprawled about the cafeteria as everyone — even those outside of your department — gathered to wish you farewell. You hugged those closest to you, shook hands with people you'd only just met. It truly seemed as though anyone who was anyone arrived to see you out.

Everyone except Miguel.

“It’s gonna be hard being long-distance,” one of your coworkers blabbed about in the midst of their slice of cake, brows furrowing as you opted to listen, see where this was headed. “Hopefully you and Miguel work it out, you’re such a sweet couple.”

You blinked rapidly, opting to simply nod your head in silence. There wasn't anything hat could prepare you for that, not a single entity in this world that would have convinced you those would be the words to fall from their lips.

Silently, on wobbled feet, you excused yourself from the celebration, wandering down the halls. Halls that had been the home of your greatest achievements, accomplishing experiments you hadn't believed yourself ever capable of achieving.

But against all odds, you'd done it, and now you were moving forward.

Miguel's office was dim, devoid of any form of life. It was as though he hadn’t resided there in millennia, and if he was there recently there was no indication, figuring he'd called out when he discovered your celebration.

Was he truly that intent on avoiding you?

Slowly, as though the very fabric of the universe would shatter if you weren’t cautious, you slid into Miguel’s chair. It was a foreign feeling, one you welcomed with open arms. The chill leather enveloped you, a sigh leaving your lips as you closed your eyes and allowed yourself a moment, just one.

It wasn’t fair.

But what is life if not fair?

That didn't make it right.

But did anything feel right anymore?

You figured not. Not when Miguel was no longer a member of your life, not when you were about to leave behind everything you'd built, a flight scheduled for the morning that followed.

Your eyes opened, half-lidded, a wave of exhaustion overwhelming you. Then they widened impossibly.

You’d never noticed it before, the frame decorated in crayon and glitter glue, resting comfortably on his desk. It had collected a thin layer of dust, untouched. Slowly, carefully, you allowed the frame to slot into your hands.

How long had this been there?

“You shouldn’t be in here.” There was that voice, that irritatingly perfect voice that left you seeing stars. “You should probably be preparing for your flight.”

“How hadn’t I seen this before?” Your fingertips brushed over the image of Gabri, smiling as though life couldn’t be any better than that very moment. Forgiving the grievances between you, the past then for a reason. “Why didn’t you tell me you had this?”

“I didn't realize I had to.”

You rolled your eyes, returning the frame from whence it came, rising from your seat, walking towards the door where Miguel stood. "Good to see you again, Miguel." You brushed your hand with his palm, urging him to the side, away from he only exit. "Glad I got to say goodbye before I left." Your fingers ran over the the scrunchy fashioned upon your wrist. "Let Gabri know I lo--" You hesitated, rethinking, adapting. "Let Gabri know I'll miss her."

You made your way out the doorway, your warmth traveling with you, Miguel relishing in the feeling before it dissipated.

More. He needed more, so much more. More than you could ever know.

His hand fashioned around your wrist, keeping you in place, yearning to pull you towards him. He conceded to just this moment, that spark erupting between you, enchanting him. "I--" Miguel was at a loss for words, everything he yearned to say caught in his throat.

"Do you have something to say?" Your tone was snappy, rightfully so. Miguel hadn't given you any reason to extend kindness lately.

"No," Miguel replied, "No, I just..."

Of course he had something to say, he had everything to say. he yearned for your touch, for the way his heart fluttered whenever you were near. He wanted to hear your voice ridden with sleep, your soft breathing as you lay yourself down to rest for the evening. Miguel wanted you, everything that encompassed you. From your good days to your worst, your tears and your laughter, Miguel wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of eternity with you in his arms.

But he couldn't say that, could he?

"It's nothing."

Then he dropped your hand, dropped every hope of seeing you again, never knowing what it meant to love you without condition.

Far too many times he'd had to watch you walk away from them, too many minutes spent wondering if there was a hope to fix this.

But there was no fixing this, not this time, he realized.

Not as he watched you walk down that hallway one final time.

An alarm sounded off, notifying you of the time — the time.

In only a few hours you’d prove well on your way to Boston, abandoning this life you'd built for yourself, a newly formed person.

From the ashes of grief would emerge a phoenix of unstoppable force, your will burning like an ember in the midst of defeat. But there was no defeating you, nothing holding you back, nothing to remain for.

An empty apartment, keys on the island, ones you'd no longer need. An empty heart, but your luggage was full, at the very least. Suppose in that right you were complete.

The trip to the airport was unbearable, insufferable. Traffic was backed up corner to corner, streets tight with bodies.

Something you wouldn't miss, you told yourself, no matter how used to it you'd grown.

And then you arrived at the airport, broke past the barriers, found your gate. It was only a matter of time before they called your flight, called you to board, and then life would persist even when it felt as though it was coming to an end.

Because as much as you tried to convince yourself he wasn't, Miguel had become an irreplaceable part of your life, his name etched into your heart, your soul.

In everything Miguel existed. In your heart, beat his own. Between your fingers, Miguel’s were woven, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together. In your eyes his face was reflected, confined to memory, unforgettable. Miguel was your ailment, your remedy.

The call of your name, hands loosening from around your luggage, looking every which way in an effort to find where the source of the noise had persisted. Bodies flooded the airport despite the early morning hours, everyone busting themselves with their own responsibilities, unaware of your presence despite the space that persisted.

Your turned away, your name called by a voice in a much higher pitch. Brows furrowing, your turned once more, trying to determine whether they called out to someone else.

“Gabri?” Her name fell from your lips before you could prevent it, pressing your fingers to your lips.

The small girl stood atop Miguel’s shoulders, calling out to you in excitement, a hint of desperation. She was obviously aware you’d be boarding soon, leaving in only a matter of moments.

“Now Boarding Flight 242.”

You looked back, watching as the attendant called out to those who had been waiting diligently, rows of bodies already gathering. Looking between the unenthusiastic woman and the pair of bodies bounding towards you, squeezing past various bodies, you rationalized a few seconds wouldn't hurt.

“What are you doing here, Mija!” You called out as Gabri hopped off Miguel’s shoulders and into your arms, wrapping herself around you, unrelenting in her hold.

“Papá told me you were gonna leave without saying goodbye!” Her voice was laced in hurt, fighting the urge to cry, keeping a strong will. “We wanted to see you!”

We.

You rubbed her back, cuddling into her. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know, mamás.”

Gabri didn’t like that answer, holding you impossibly tighter. “Will you visit?”

The same answer, though you didn’t wanna voice it, mind overtaken with everything that encompassed her. She was such a kind soul, one you didn’t deserve, deserving so much more than anything you could ever provide.

That’s what you told yourself.

“I don’t want you to go!” Gabri whined, holding you in her unrelenting grip, taking after her father. Your eyes flickered to Miguel, his face filled with nothing less than adoration, the faintest tint persisting against bronze skin. “You can sleep in my room, I promise!”

Tears brimmed in your eyes, holding you tighter, deeper. It seemed as though just when you thought the two of you were close you found a way to become closer, embracing each other as though you never would again.

Perhaps you wouldn’t.

“Gabri,” The source of the voice belonged to Miguel, “C’mon, mija.” His hands latched around her waist, making an attempt to pull her towards him, finding he struggled in doing so.

“Now boarding Flight 242.”

“No!” Gabri was borderline screaming, Miguel’s face contorting to one of nerve, suddenly regretting his decision to bring her here — his own eyes filled with tears you were too preoccupied to witness.

Eventually, Miguel found his strength, Gabri sobbing into his neck, your hands covering your face in an attempt to conceal your tears, push the emotions that burned across your features back from whence they came.

Miguel didn’t need to see you like this, didn’t need to see you. He’d made that abundantly clear.

“Are you…” Miguel was hesitant, as he always was, hesitating in placing his hovering hand upon your shoulder, feeling that spark he’d come to know so deeply, entirely. “Are you alright?”

Of course you weren’t alright, what a ridiculous question. You were about to abandon everything you’d created, leaving Miguel in the dust when you yearned for him more than anything. You didn’t care. Didn’t care that you’d fought, that he’d pulled away just when you believed there to be something there. You’d suffer a million times again, live a thousand lives before conceding. In every universe you would return to him, and in every universe he would be yours.

But they called your flight again, the plane boarding, accommodations already set.

You couldn’t even begin to express the words stuck in your throat.

“I’m fine.”

Miguel hummed, “Nervous?”

“Terrified.”

He embraced you then, the action making freshly dried tears slip from your eyes once more. A trickle became a waterfall, Miguel’s love reflected in the waters of your irises.

“I’m not very good with… Words.” Gabri was still crying in his arms, Miguel doing his best to profess the feelings begging to release themselves before you departed, before he hadn’t the faintest idea when he’d get to see you once more.

Miguel wasn’t good without words but in his heart he spoke a million. In the sunrise he saw you smile, in the sunset he saw your eyes. He yearned for your warmth, searched for it, couldn’t survive without it. Your voice like a melody to a tune he couldn’t name, hearing it in every love song, thinking of you at every moment. In the most intimate parts of his being there you were to shield him from pain, and in your flaws he saw inconceivable beauty.

In everything, he saw you. Your life together, with him. In love there was you. With you, Miguel was complete.

But he remained wordless, didn’t continue his words, simply looked to you as though you were the rarest oddity this side of the world — perhaps it’s entirety.

And to Miguel, no matter how many universes he traveled, no matter where he ran, he knew he would never find you.

He couldn’t push away what fought to exist, not this love, not yours.

“Miguel,” Your throat clenched, finding the words, searching for something to say. “I can’t keep chasing a fantasy. I have a life to live, places I want to explore.”

You weren’t bluffing when you said you wanted to live your life. Young, so young. So much to do, infinity to experience. There was no telling where this adventure would take you, what you would become.

But you didn’t feel complete, did you?

Miguel surely didn’t.

“Then live your life with me.”

He spoke with a flame that blossomed from an ember, igniting in a fury. Miguel meant every word, allowing impulse to do the talking, something he was good at.

“Miguel?”

“Last call: now boarding Flight 242.”

“Live your life with me — with us — and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make it…” Miguel searched for the word, the only word to describe a life shared between you. “Perfect.”

To hear him voice his thoughts, the deepest parts of himself that he kept concealed beneath layers of thickness, left you seeing stars.

“All I want…” Miguel cleared his throat, remedying his words, “All we want is you.”

In life, in death. In this universe and the universes of eternity, Miguel would find his way back to you. Your heart filled the gaps of his broken self, a remedy where he’d once believed there was no hope.

Your hands fell from around his neck, brushing against his chest, Gabri having gone silent.

“I want you too…” You leaned closer, impossibly, brushing your lips against his. A quick kiss. You turned to Gabri, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, watching as she blossomed into herself, into the little girl you’d come to adore. “I want both of you.”

Miguel pulled you close, the three of you embraced in a deep hug. Miguel watched as the gate to your flight closed, a smile gracing his lips, peppering kisses to the top of your head.

“I love you.” You whispered the words without a second thought, Miguel fearing he’d misheard you as the bustle of the airport rose in volume.

“You…” Miguel held your face in his free hand. “You what…?”

“I love you, Miguel.” You spoke much clearer this time, slower, with far more confidence than you’d believed you’d utter these words. “I love you more than anything.”

A tear, so finite you’d nearly missed it, a silent oath between you. “I love you, too.” Oh, how long it’d been since he’d uttered those words, since he truly meant them, felt them to his core. “I love you in every universe.”

And he would, he truly would. Enchanted with your being, sparks flying as another kiss was shared between you, Miguel was glad he’d finally found peace.

He had everything he’d ever dreamed of.

taglist: @scaleniusrm @urmotherswhor3 @arcticmonkeyshasmyheart @beetlejuicesupremacy @mmeerraa

little bonus scene:

"I hate you," You jested through fits of laughter. "I had to wake up early to get here, they already took my luggage!"

It was only a long while after you’d departed from the airport that you’d realized your mistake, a happy one, but a mistake nonetheless. Your flight had long since taken off one you and Miguel pulled away from each other, exiting the airport hand-in-hand, Gabri babbling happily between you.

Miguel's face contorted, cringing, realizing he might’ve fucked up. “Nobody told you to leave without saying goodbye.” He shrugged off his words as though they were fact, law. Conjured without a second thought.

You whined at his response, passing Gabri her soft drink as you strolled down the streets of Nueva York, lunch in hand -- courtesy of Miguel and the realization of what had just occurred between the two of you invading your minds. And for that, you required a beverage, a proper breakfast. “You were upset!”

“Upset you were leaving.”

You scoffed, knocking Miguel's side with your elbow. “So emotional.”

Miguel huffed, snatching a fry from between your fingers, plopping the salty shaft of potato against his tongue. “Behave.”

“Do you really think I won’t get that?”

Miguel shook his head “Not if you have a shred of decency.”

“Bold assumption.”

#across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderverse x reader #miguel o’hara

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see-arcane · 3 months

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With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. [...] I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him. [...] Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circumscription to the moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite. [...] Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last moment?

All of this comes together to provide the most interesting part of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The battle between perceptions of just who and what Edward Hyde is.

Is he solely the primordial selfishly reckless id of an otherwise upstanding and deeply repressed man? If so, Jekyll's constant attempts at disconnection must be read as a sinner attempting to paint the self he becomes while intoxicated as another awful entity, a thing that delighted in cruelty while it could be gotten away with and is now an excuse to point fingers at the mirror or the Devil to keep Jekyll's own hands clean, if only in his mind.

Is Edward Hyde simply Henry Jekyll as he might have been in another life? One sans repression but still loaded with Jekyll's intelligence and most basic wants. If so, then he is not an impulse given flesh, but a doppelganger in all but appearance. The Self, made Other. He is not an imbecile or an inorganic flaw, just Jekyll himself pulled through a sieve until only the untethered Wants and Hates remain.

What if Edward Hyde began as inorganic, as no more than a bleak reflection of Jekyll, but eventually coalesced into an entirely separate thinking identity? A new soul that budded from the original like a branch? A mind-son or a conjoined twin revealed decades too late. If this is the case, only then might half of Jekyll's excuses and reasonings hold water--but only half.

Because Jekyll himself either cannot grasp or refuses to fully accept all of what Edward Hyde is. The amount of contradiction in Hyde's actions and Jekyll's attempts at defining him go in too many directions. He's a clump of wicked and delightful impulse who wears Jekyll as a costume. He's artificial. He's real. He's an it. He's a he. He is Jekyll. He is himself.

Even at the end, Jekyll fumbles with his initial estimate of Hyde's state. A coward who hides in him and the lab to avoid the death penalty! Yet in the last lines he admits to the possibility that Hyde will decide to end himself rather than risk further pursuit or a trip to the gallows.

He claims to fear Hyde ripping up the letter in a fury, assuming the document would only be spared because of Hyde's feverish focus on the moment-at-hand. But there was no doubt time to destroy it before chugging the poison. Hyde could have done both. He didn't. Implying the little imp of impulse felt no desire to.

Think back on Hyde's last moments alive. Right before the door was broken down. Pure despondency. Pure wretchedness. Pure grief.

“Utterson,” said the voice, “for God’s sake, have mercy!”

The far end of a fretting frantic animal of a man, trying desperately to save himself. Well, selves. There is no safety for Hyde without them both. ...But also no freedom. To save the beloved man who is the bandit's cave also means retreating into that cave permanently.

And if Edward Hyde is his own man? If Hyde is a man at all, whose core is impulse itself? Imagine the hell of such a life. A sentient tumor. Forever.

Of course he chose oblivion. But to do that last courtesy--to not spoil or destroy Jekyll's parting words to his friend--I have to wonder what it means.

Did it simply slip his attention as Jekyll assumed?

Did he relish in a last mote of bitter joy at the reputation due to be ruined by its reading?

Or was the impulse in him not all unvarnished evil after all? A callous, a brutal, a vicious character; but even the sinner cannot hold to sin as a constant. No villain genuinely dedicates every second of their life to committing cruelty outside of a comedy. Hyde didn't either. He was only ever impulse in its entirety; blunt and greedy as a brattish child. And the stamp of it was obvious! Enough to inspire hate at a glance. Just as we can sneer at strangers in the news when we know what loathsome acts they've been up to, inflicting pain on others for their own gain.

But they too are human.

In the end, I think Jekyll was happier going to his end without admitting Hyde was as much a human soul as he was.

And he left the letter untouched to make sure Utterson knew it.

#anyway #having thoughts about this awful horrid gremlin man #edward hyde #henry jekyll #jekyll and hyde weekly #the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde

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chuuwtoy · 5 months

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i remember discussing with my friend if rebecca was really the blushing virgin that everyone in the fandom makes her out to be. at the time i just shrugged it off and said yes, because i didn't know much about her character (not that there is much anyway.) but after thinking about it, my opinion's changed a bit. so here's my random opinions about rebecca.

incoming airstrike: incoherent rambling.

initially i felt like rebecca was only really put into the first game to be jill's opposite, and also i guess to make it even and put a girl on the other team.

i haven't played RE 0 (and with the complaints i probably won't..) but she isn't exactly squealing and blushing whenever billy looks her way - if anything, billy is more of a flirt. maybe him giving her all these cute nicknames is just in his nature? or perhaps he just really likes her. who knows!

you could argue that everyone on her team died and she's going through this hellish nightmare on her first mission - so why on earth would she have goo-goo eyes over some inmate who supposedly slaughtered 23 people?! haha, i love analyzing these guys.

rebecca isn't afraid to put anyone in their place, she demands respect, "but that's officer chambers to you", "and dont call me little girl!" one thing i love about these lines is how it's delivered, she isn't stomping her feet and throwing a tantrum. she keeps her soft tone and says it sharply! i wish people saw her as spunkier and dominant, rather than an innocent, helpless baby.

suprisingly, she doesn't fall for chris either. i mean can you blame me for expecting her to? he's protecting her throughout the game and vice versa. she's tired and scared but atleast she has chris to lean onto. that's the perfect set up for a predictable (one-sided) romance. the same arguement could be made - she's tired, and got thrusted into another nightmare, she doesn't have time to be flustered over chris..

something that's a little odd but rebecca has respect for chris in the sense that she refers to him as "sir", when she doesn't even do that for enrico. though, im sure its because she's familiar with enrico, but not chris.

she's oddly professional for her age, but no one in the fandom gives her credit for it— and yes i know it's probably because she's a child prodigy, so perhaps she had to grow up quicker? i assume she was around adults much older than herself. ( ≧ᗜ≦) !!!

i know it's common for people to call her a tomboy because "girl + short hair = tomboy" (sarcasm). though, if i'm being honest, i never saw her as one. rebecca (and jill) are just girls, they can't really be placed into boxes - they're not clichés. you see the duality with rebecca loving basketball but also being a chemist? i LOVE that so much. she's in this male-dominated field with an age that still end in -teen.

rebecca is described as "androgynous" in her uniform and while i agree to some extent i don't really like that word too much, because it implies that jill's uniform isnt androgynous when i think that it is.. so what because jill's chest is prominent she can't be androgynous too? hmph, it always left a bitter taste in my mouth.

also i really love that she's wearing makeup in 0, it's her first mission and she's all dolled up 笑笑笑笑笑 but they stopped using ayumi's model and i guess wanted to rework her face.

this isn't meant to disprove or bash that very popular ship "rebilly" by the way! do i ship it? not quite, sorry but i dont ship anything besides myself and a certain bioterrorist えへへへへへへへへ

the novel, caliban cove, portrays her as your typical teenage girl. she gets embarrassed a lot, blushes at the slightest contact, etc etc. it's not canon though, so i didnt bother to mention it.

i haven't discussed this either but i'd like to see discussions about her sexuality, nothing is confirmed but options are always open (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

#resident evil #rebecca chambers #jill valentine #billy coen #chris redfield

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lifeontoast · 5 months

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A Christmas Carol

9th Doctor x reader

SUMMARY: For day 1 of Advent, here’s something for my Whovians… hope you enjoy. 9 and the reader travel back in time for a very Dickensian Christmas…

Trigger warnings: none, I don’t think.

…

That oh-so-familiar thworp of the TARDIS told you that you had arrived. Christmas 1843. The Doctor had chosen it after your previous adventure in the year 5487 - you wouldn’t be going back there in a hurry. He wanted something a bit… calmer for once. Not that he didn't love adventure, of course.

‘Okay, Y/N. It’s the 20th December 1843. Now tell me, what is special about this day?’ he quizzed you.

‘It’s… the day after A Christmas Carol was published!’ you loved that book a lot, and you knew that the Doctor did too. Where he was planning to take you, you couldn’t guess, but you were glad he’d chosen this date for your next little adventure.

‘And change out of those clothes please, you’ll show me up.’ he added with a sarky look in your direction. You rolled your eyes, but made your way to the huge wardrobe in the TARDIS to oblige. He held back a laugh as you left, and hearing this, you couldn’t help but smile. You never knew what you might find in there, it truly was an amalgamation of every type of clothing you could possibly imagine… mini-dresses, togas, suits and ties, and that one really weird fashion trend from the 7140s where everyone wore Scooby Doo onesies. However, you looked past all this to unearth exactly what you needed to find. You see, that was the thing about the TARDIS. She always knew just what you needed. You changed out of the clothes that had offended the Doctor so, and into these new ones. Looking in the mirror, you were pleasantly surprised. Never before had you thought it possible to look so good whilst wearing Victorian clothes. Still, everyday is a school day.

Making your way back to the main console, you found the Doctor wearing exactly the same outfit, except he had changed his jumper. You rolled your eyes, this was so typical of him! Oh well. It was always fun to play dress up with the Doctor, even if he always declined to participate. You’d get him out of that leather jacket one day if it killed you.

You’d brought yourself a scarf from the wardrobe, but decided that he was clearly more in need of it than you were. You walked up to him and carefully put the soft wool around his neck. He feigned annoyance but you could tell he was pleased that you’d been thinking about him again, something he was convinced you did far too much of. He gave you a genuine smile, which you reciprocated gladly.

On the cobbled streets of Victorian London, the snow was falling. Already there was a carpet of white on the stones, and it glowed under the light of the street lamps which lit your way. The sky was steel grey, polluted with the industrial smog of hellish factories lining the roads not far from here. Trying desperately to ignore the lingering, acrid smell of the blacksmiths next to where you had landed, you and the Doctor stepped out smartly, marvelling at every person who walked past. How little they knew of the future, that those factories that were the very lifeblood of the city would soon be nothing but a whisper sometimes talked about in history lessons.

You were confused about your destination, but the Doctor seemed to know where he was going. There was little decoration around the streets or in shop windows, but you remembered that people only started celebrating Christmas again because of A Christmas Carol, and that had only been published the day before. One shop stood out to you though; you saw it on the corner just ahead. It was decked out, even by modern standards. Golden and scarlet ribbons hung on every surface, and there was even a tree outside. Candles lit up the windows, revealing the large number of customers inside. The Doctor gave you a knowing look, and then you realised. That was your destination.

Inside the shop, there were what felt like thousands of people milling about everywhere, books in hand. Even though the shop was actually quite large, there was hardly room to breathe. However, no history lesson could have prepared you for what, or rather who, you were about to see. Coming into the main area of the shop, you saw Charles Dickens, sat at a table, talking to a lady in the most fabulous hat you’d ever seen. You felt your jaw drop in shock, whilst the Doctor just looked at you, laughing to himself. You turned to him and smiled. He was so clever, and he very well knew it.

He made his way to the front of the queue, much to the chagrin of everyone else, and proudly introduced you to Dickens. Apparently, Dickens and the Doctor were “very dear friends”! Well, trust him to hide a secret like that from you. A book had somehow found its way into your hands, and you gave it to Dickens to sign. He wrote this message inside it:

Dear Y/N,

Any friend of the Doctor is a friend of mine! I do hope you enjoy my little book.

Charles Dickens, Christmas 1843

You couldn’t believe it. A first edition of A Christmas Carol, signed by Charles Dickens? Now that was something you’d treasure forever.

Outside the bookshop, it has just started to snow. As the delicate flakes flew down from the sky, the Doctor offered you his arm, and you slowly wound your way down the cobbled street, amazed at all that was happening around you. You had a tremendous sense of foreboding, feeling satisfied that these people would very soon be rediscovering the joy of Christmas, and you were so glad to be able to share it with the Doctor.

This would be an adventure you wouldn’t forget any time soon.

…

Hope you enjoyed :)

#lifeontoast #doctor who #9th doctor #9 x reader #christopher eccleston

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odysseywritings · 25 days

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Descent into Traffic

@flashfictionfridayofficial

(prev)

The moth-headed Christian rambled on in this subconscious world where his house was. The plain veneer clearly looked like home yet everything looked tidy and polished unlike the last memory of it. He tried opening his mouth to talk to his lounging father but nothing came out of his buggy mouth but chittering sounds that glued to his jaw.

Christian tried opening the back door but it was locked, and he went around to try the front door yet it was also locked. He knocked as he could hear others inside but no one heard. He looked around for something, anything to do while in this odd place.

The car was outside, and while he didn't have a license despite years of practice, he might have confidence in this anything goes world. He knew enough to start the car and head on into town where it was familiar enough territory. The roads looked decent if awfully quiet with no one on the streets while the sidewalks vanished from sight leaving only houses.

After the intersection, fog obscured every direction, and his brain short circuited with this decision. He decided to go right since there was more to do and he could use the extra nudge out of his comfort zone. An awkward turn later and he headed into traffic with cars appearing all around.

More foggy lanes opened up and he froze up on where to go. Dark clouds formed and his already impaired vision blurred everything. He looked around waiting to move yet every car disappeared except for a rapid head light blocking or following. Every move seemed deadly if he changed course or slowed down for a second.

He felt strange, thinking how dreamlike this is, yet his limbs were cold and numb. Christian saw a car to his right accelerate and checked behind to see if it was clear. It looked good and turned on the turn signal finally relieved. He sneezed and the impulse stopped his turning for a moment. By the time he proceeded, the right path was overtaken by a semi blasting forward. His body shook and his fingers trembled. Dream or not, he almost died.

The dark cloud rolled over the horizon until everything was black as night. Every light was a smear as the highway grew longer and narrowed. Streaks of blue, orange, and white shot past him against the dark eternity. His stomach tensed up and he felt sick as the road closed in on his sides.

All he could see ahead was a downhill slope sharp as a roller coaster. The decline shook his eyesight into delirium and he saw things moving in spirals and his mind leaving his body. He couldn't break or stop. Christian steered futilely to gain some control but the now singular lane were tight enough to scratch and destroy the car if he budged a little.

His mind and body were in autopilot awaiting some release, his heart pumping almost out of his chest, and anything felt better than living with this fear. Christian removed his hands and let the wheel move and adjust itself and soon the rest of his body loosened up. The hellish drop of a roller coaster receded as the road evened out and he closed his eyes.

Bang!

Fog and clouds broke away and his racing heart lost steam as he gained the courage to open his eyes. The car was totaled but he was alive. With the highway cutting him off and his adrenaline taking its toll, he had no chance to escape and simply collapsed on a patch of earth separate from the road.

(next)

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #magical realism #coming of age #thriller #mywriting #njm

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rayadraws · 21 days

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Cirrus childhood ideas:

- (Working class family consisting of him and his parents. Lived in the Docks area of Baldur's Gate, parents sell fish/seafood)

- First year or so of his life he was mostly at home with his parents, they'd take turns watching him while the other worked. Some babysitting help from the neighbours as well, a couple friends. I don't get the feeling they had many relatives helping them, not sure why. Maybe one of them is not in contact with their family for some reason or other?

- When he was old enough to bring outside they'd take him to the nearby harbour to look at the boats and ships, he enjoyed that a lot; "boat" was one of his first words.

- He was outgoing at home with his parents but at first he was very shy when taken outside, so much going on around him, noises, smells etc. He wanted to be carried all the time, arms around mom or dad's neck and tail securely wrapped around their arm. He was too little to yet notice the stares and comments about 'the hellspawn'.

- By the time he was about 6 years old he loved to explore on his own, he'd investigate everything he found around the harbour, often putting his hands where he shouldn't (hasn't changed, he's the same as an adult). Aware of people not liking him, had begun to avoid crowds and older children, especially in groups as they'd pick on him. He knew his parents wanted him to be happy and have friends, he'd hide the fact that he didn't from them.

- When he was around 12 he was well known by the sailors and fishers around the harbour, sometimes doing odd jobs for them in exchange of a few silvers. There were lots of different people there and they didn't care about your looks, this helped Cirrus' confidence grow, as did his developing magic skills, but he still avoided crowds in the city. The other children no longer tried to physically fight him after the hellish rebuke incident, but he was still an outcast and blamed for all sorts of things.

- When he was around 14 he made his first real friends in his city, he was found and "adopted" by Caden and their friend Bella. I haven't really ironed them out yet but Caden I think is a human with short light brown hair, clever and kind but very no-nonsense. Bella I think is half-drow and a rogue's daughter, she can come across as pretty intimidating but she's more bark than bite.

I've spent the last couple of days thinking about what toys he had/loved growing up. I think when very little he had carven wooden blocks; they ended up with a lot of scratches on them when he was teething and his fangs grew in but I think his parents still have them.

He had a horse on wheels pulled by a string that he loved to walk around with. He also had some carved boats that he loved to play with in the bath - his parents had a tub and would heat water and put him there and he'd entertain himself for a long time. When he was slightly older he, against their warnings, took his boats to the real harbour and lost one after it floated away, he was very upset by this.

Later he had a kite painted like a bird or maybe a dragon? That he loved to play with. It unknowingly helped him develop his storm magic, he would move/create winds so it could fly even on still days.

Additionally he was a stick kid - always appreciated a Good Stick, always seemed to find one, always poking stuff with it. Another habit that stuck with him into adulthood, he just exchanged the stick for a quarterstaff. He doesn't need it for his magic but can use it as a focal point... and to poke weird things.

#cirrus #bg3

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 12 days

Text

The Dangers of Hope Epilogue

Chapter Warnings: None.

Word Count: 5,849

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So this is it, the epilogue, the end. I'm so sad to say goodbye to this series. I've really loved writing it, even if it kicked my ass a couple of times. I know I've said this already, but it definitely bears repeating - I'm so unbelievably grateful for the love and support you've all shown this series. Thanks so much - and I hope you enjoy this little peak into Dean and Y/N's lives a decade later. This ended up about twice as long as I'd planned. Lol! Enjoy! ❤️

Main Master List || Series Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Spring, 10 Years Later

The rumbling engine of the Impala was silenced as Dean pulled into the garage and parked Baby in her spot. The camp had eight cars now, so they'd had to expand the garage two summers before. The cars got shuffled around all the time, but Baby always kept her spot on the end. Everyone knew it was her spot.

The late afternoon sun shone in through the garage windows as Dean removed the keys from the ignition and pushed them back into his black, denim jacket pocket.

Sam was sitting beside him and shot him a questioning look when Dean didn't immediately jump out. “Dean?”

Dean nodded and then looked over at his little brother. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

Sam sighed. He'd already answered this question from his brother, in various forms, three or four times.

The Deerling Survivors Camp, a small camp located almost seventy miles away, had sent a message to Dean a week earlier, requesting a face-to-face meeting. Dean had asked Sam to come along and they'd stayed overnight at the fledgling camp. The pseudo-leader there, just a young kid who’d been thrust into the role, had asked them to let Deerling join Camp Chitaqua, and after seeing the shape of the camp, Dean had agreed on the spot.

Years earlier the four smaller camps surrounding Chitaqua had joined them, expanding the camp by miles and miles and raising the population by more than two hundred people. It had been a big decision, and Dean had consulted with the council for a couple days before agreeing to the expansion.

It was a very good decision in the end, since they now had enough land to plant six, four acre farm plots. They made sure to rotate crops, leaving one field fallow every season and using it for grazing pasture. But all that fertile land meant that the campers all had plenty of fresh vegetables. Their expanded size also allowed them to enlarge their barn, so they could now house and care for four cows and a bull, two horses, dozens of chickens, a rooster, two pigs, and eight sheep.

They'd bartered and traded with other camps for most of their animals or found them wandering around alone and unclaimed. But they bought their sheep from a farmer living in what used to be Iowa. A lot of farmers had started over there, scratching out a new life from the soil, now that the world had started turning once again.

Seven years ago they'd finally succeeded in producing a vaccine. It had taken a lot of hard work. For three years, every single person that worked on it did so with nothing more than a promise of a better tomorrow.

It had taken another two plus years to get the word and the vaccine out to people, but now most of the population was vaccinated. The vaccine had also been carried overseas. They couldn't be sure how things were going across the pond because communication was still very limited. But they'd heard rumors that it was going well.

Some infrastructure was up and running again; they had electricity in some places, and some cities had running water again. There were even some places that had phone lines connected - in and around the bigger cities where people were beginning to congregate.

Things seemed to be progressing quickly out west in the former California, where they'd reportedly started broadcasting some form of Television again. Not very many people had TVs anymore to watch, but it seemed comforting to people just to know something resembling their former lives was returning.

Not everything was perfect, of course. There was no centralized government, or structured, widespread laws. Most areas had variations of camps like Chitaqua with leaders in charge, or occasionally small, internally elected governments that ran the camp. Lawlessness still existed in a lot of places, but it was being beaten further back every day as groups banded together.

There were also still some areas that were uninhabitable because massive groups of Croats still roamed there. The researchers that had created the vaccine were working on a cure for those who’d already been infected, but thus far they’d proved unsuccessful. Croat attacks still happened sometimes, but the vaccine meant that people just had to deal with the bite itself, making sure it was healing properly - something that was becoming easier as medical stations were springing up in and around larger populations as well, as doctors went back to healing people as they’d been trained to do.

Chitaqua had a physician, Dr. Turner, who lived in the camp. The Medical Tent was no more and instead the doctor’s office and their cache of medical supplies were now housed in a big log structure that had been tiled inside to keep it as clean and sanitary as possible. Patrick was happy to be rid of guard duties these days, working alongside Dr. Turner to watch over the health and well-being of the campers.

There weren’t many tents left nowadays either. They had a bunch stored away in case the camp ended up with a big influx of new campers and temporary housing was needed. But most people lived in log cabins of varying sizes, dotted over the two and a half square miles of the camp. There were well over five hundred people in the camp now, since amalgamating the four other camps. They also had a reputation for being a prosperous, strong community, so people tended to migrate there as well - which continued to add to their numbers.

Now, after the meeting with the Deerling camp, they’d be adding another ninety-six people to their ranks, inflating their population to nearly seven hundred people. Dean was worried about the fact that he’d made the decision to absorb the smaller camp without consulting the council this time.

The council was a group made up of eight other people besides Dean. Sam and Y/N were on it, as well as Brandy, Risa, Dr. Turner, and three other campers who were there representing the hunters, the farmers and the builders.

Day-to day decisions were still handled by Dean, but he relied on the council for other bigger decisions - taking their thoughts, ideas and opinions into account before he ultimately made a decision. Agreeing to take in another flock of people and develop another thirty acres of land was definitely one of those big decisions he’d normally take to the council, which was why, Sam knew, Dean had been second guessing his unilateral decision to say yes to Deerling’s request.

Sam shook his head at his brother as he answered Dean’s worry again. “Dean, you acted out of generosity, the council will understand. I can vouch for the fact that those campers need a lot of help very quickly. Those kids were starving, you could see that.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know, but I just brought the camp more strain on resources with no benefits.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, there’s the land.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, unfarmable land that’s separated from us by almost eighty miles. And Brisbane camp sits between us and Deerling, and they already think we’re trying to take them over. Joining with a group on the other side of them is gonna make them even more suspicious and possibly turn them unfriendly.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I should have consulted the council.”

“Dean, there’s no way the council would have opted to just let a bunch of kids and sick people die. They’re definitely going to agree with your decision, and this way you’ve simply ensured that we can get food and medicine out to them by tomorrow instead of making them wait days for it. Trust me, you made the right decision.”

Dean grunted his response, still unsure.

Sam slapped the back of his hand against Dean’s shoulder. “Now, I’m gonna go talk with the Doc about getting supplies together and coming out there with me tomorrow. Will you talk with Brandy later about food?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.” A smile finally lit his face. “And then I’m goin’ home.”

Sam smiled and opened his door to climb out of the Impala. “Good plan. Give Y/N and the kids a kiss for me.”

Dean climbed out too and slammed his door behind him. He called Sam back as his brother began to walk away.

“We should also figure out a time and day to have a sit down with the new leader from Brisbane, talk with her about our intentions regarding Deerling. She’s tough, but she seems more approachable and level-headed than their last leader. Maybe we can convince her we’re not looking to take anything over.”

Sam nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Dean frowned. “What’s her name again?”

“Eileen Leahy.”

Dean noticed his brother’s cheeks turn pink and he immediately turned back into an annoying big brother, his grin wide.

“Right, right, you met with her alone last time. She’s cute, huh? Something we should know? Maybe you should invite her over to our place for dinner next week. We can have our little sit down conversation then. What do you think?”

Sam had already turned and started walking away. “You’re an idiot!” He called back over his shoulder. But Dean made a mental note to tell Y/N all about it later.

With Y/N firmly in mind he started out across the camp. Their cabin was situated on top of a low hill in the Southwest section of the camp, not all that far from where their old red tent used to sit.

They’d built their cabin when they came back to Chitaqua eight years ago after helping to set up the research facility. The vaccine was still a year away, but they’d done all they could do and they were ecstatic that after two years of traveling back and forth from camp, gathering doctors, researchers and searching for other psychic kids, (they’d only found two others) and after Y/N had given gallons of her blood to science, they could finally come home for good.

Not long after returning home, Y/N realized she was pregnant and Dean became obsessed with building them a beautiful home. It was around that time that the camps had all joined together and building homes for everyone became a priority of the camp.

The builders grew in numbers as they took on apprentices and taught them the trade so that more people in the camp could join in the work. It took almost four years of constant building, but eventually all five hundred plus campers had permanent homes.

Gotta pull the tents out for the Deerling folks, Dean thought as he walked, his mind immediately occupied with figuring out the logistics of where the new campers could stay, and how they could join in the life of the camp, once they were all healthy.

He stopped by Food Storage and spoke with Brandy as Sam had requested. And just as his brother had suspected, when he explained the situation, Brandy was one council member who was very glad he’d made the decision he had. He felt more sure now that the others would feel the same.

As Dean wound his way through camp he got stopped quite a few times, people wanting to talk with him about one concern or another. He generally pointed them in the direction of the person or group in the camp that could help them. But he also got stopped by friends wanting to say hi and talk for a moment or two.

He was happy to talk, but anxious to get home to Y/N.

He looked out towards the large school building where Y/N still taught every day. The new building had been built on the site where the main cabin had been burned down. It was even bigger than the old cabin, with six rooms for the seven teachers that worked there now.

Y/N was also the principal of the school for all intents and purposes; she and the other teachers taught over two hundred kids from ages five to sixteen. Theresa had finished school and immediately joined the staff as a teacher, working with Y/N every day and loving it. Brandy was so proud.

But Dean wasn’t surprised to see the building empty now, however; he knew it was a day off. He picked up his pace, weaving through the buildings that resided where the old tents had taken up space.

They’d greatly expanded the food storage, and had an entirely different rations system now that fresh vegetables, fruit, fish and game made up the vast majority of their diet. Brandy was still in charge and was constantly innovating to make things easier and to stretch their food as far as they could in order to feed everyone.

The former tent area also housed three large storage sheds, a small building that worked as an office/meeting space for whatever group needed to use it, and a small mill where they processed the wheat they grew - that process had included a steep learning curve, but they’d eventually made it work.

There was also a small, open area where a kind of market had popped up organically as the campers traded amongst themselves for things like homemade jewelry, homemade clothes, and other non-essentials.

He walked behind the buildings and began climbing the gently rising path that led to their cabin at the top of the hill. About halfway home he heard loud barking and looked up to see their seven year old Bernese-Husky cross, Clifford, bounding towards him, the way he usually did when any of the family came home.

“Hey, boy.” Dean said softly, scratching him behind the ears. “Miss me?”

Clifford barked happily in answer and ran ahead and then back to where Dean stood, obviously urging him on towards home. Dean laughed and sped up, chasing after the big dog who sometimes still acted like a puppy.

As the path through the trees ended, opening up into their wide front yard, Dean sighed deeply. “Home sweet home.” He murmured.

Even though he'd been away less than two days, he was still so happy to be home. He felt the peace that filled him up every time he stepped around the last bend in the path and caught sight of their home in the distance.

The way smoke curled lazily from the chimney and the scent of something delicious wafted through the half open Dutch door, never failed to make him ache to get his arms around his wife and bask in her light. Dean shook his head at his sentimental thoughts, but hurried his pace to get inside.

As he drew closer however, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head to see his son walking East, coming out from behind the house. Dean figured he was heading over to his friend Freddie's, and he was about to continue on into the cabin, but then he noticed what his eight-year-old was holding in his hand.

“Gabriel Eric Winchester!”

Dean's voice bellowed out, freezing the young boy where he stood. Dean strode towards him, anger clear on his face. To the boy's credit, even when he turned and saw his father's anger, he still walked forward slowly, until he was standing directly in front of him.

The gun he held, however, was tucked just behind his back, as though he was hoping Dean hadn't noticed it.

Dean held his hand out. “Give that to me this second.”

Gabe's face fell and he brought the gun forward reluctantly, dropping it onto Dean's palm.

Dean immediately checked to make sure the small, .38 caliber, Smith and Wesson revolver was unloaded and when he saw it was, he held it in his fist, directly in front of Gabe's eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing with this?”

His son's eyes were wide and they got watery quickly.

He shrugged. “I was just gonna bring it to Freddie's. Josh said he could teach us to shoot.” He said, referring to his friend’s older brother. “Just cans on a fence.” He was quick to reassure Dean.

“And did you ask your mother if you could remove a gun from the weapons chest?” Dean asked, already well aware of the answer.

Gabe shook his head. “No.” He said quietly.

“How did you get it?” Dean asked brusquely.

Gabriel’s voice was still soft as he admitted what he’d done. “I grabbed it yesterday when mom took out a rifle to scare away some raccoons that were trying to get into the compost. Josh said he could teach us if we had guns. So when I saw it last night I just…” He trailed off as he looked up at Dean's face.

“So what you're telling me,” Dean said quietly, “is that while your mother's back was turned you STOLE a gun and planned to use it without asking either of us for permission.”

Gabe's tears spilled down his cheek at his father's disappointed tone and accurate words. He nodded and then sniffed.

“I'm sorry.” He said thickly.

Dean crouched down so he could look his son in the eye. “Gabe, a gun is not a toy. I thought you knew this. It's not something to mess around with or use on a whim. It is a weapon. It's incredibly dangerous. If you'd gone off and started shooting, even just at cans, you could have seriously hurt or killed yourself or your friends. Do you understand me?”

Gabe nodded but bit his lip. “But you carry a gun.” He said, pointing to the ever present gun strapped to Dean’s thigh. “And you started using guns when you were even younger than me. I heard you talking about it to mom before. And I…” He sniffled again. “I just wanted to be like you.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Oh, buddy, I want you to be so much more than me. Your mom and I, we've worked really hard to make things better for you guys, to make the world safer so that when you grow up, hopefully you won’t have to walk around with a gun strapped to you at all times. It’s my job to protect the people in this camp. That’s why I carry a gun, and why I sometimes carry a rifle. But that’s not your job. Your job is to just be a little boy.”

Dean saw Gabriel pout a bit about being called a little boy. He smiled gently and squeezed his son’s shoulders. “Trust me, buddy, you should enjoy being a kid, don’t try to grow up too quickly.”

Gabe nodded begrudgingly and Dean pulled his son in for a hug. After a moment, he pulled back from him and stood up straight again, before nodding towards the cabin. “Go to your room now until supper, and when you come out, you’ll owe your mother an apology for going behind her back. Also, nothing but school and home for a week, do you understand?”

Gabe looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it when Dean gave him a stern look. “Yes, sir.” He said in acceptance and turned to run into the cabin.

“Gabriel!” Dean called. When his son turned back, the tear tracks on his grubby cheeks still visible, Dean spoke quietly but with conviction. “I love you and that’s why I know you can do better.”

Gabe’s face lost some of its forlorn look and he gave Dean a slightly awkward smile, lightly banging his fist against the side of his leg. “Love you too, Dad.” He said quickly before bolting for the house.

Dean shook his head and slipped the gun into his inside jacket pocket. He’d have to have a few more conversations with his son about gun safety and responsibility, but he was confident he could drill the dangers into him.

He walked up the stairs to the front door, more than ready to see Y/N and his girls. When he walked inside, however, he could hear voices coming from behind the kitchen door, and they didn’t sound very happy.

He pushed open the swinging door and saw Y/N and Emma inside. Y/N’s face lit up. “Dean!” She said happily as she saw him and crossed to the door to pull him down for a kiss.

“Ew.” Emma said.

It was the standard reaction from all of their kids when they kissed in front of them. Emma had a hand over her eyes as Dean finished the kiss and looked over to where she stood by the sideboard that held all their plates, cups and glasses.

“You can look now, kiddo, we’re all finished.” Dean told her with a grin. “For the moment.”

Emma rolled her eyes and made Dean chuckle. Y/N frowned up at him. “Did I hear you yelling at Gabe?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, gotta talk to you about that, but you guys sounded angry when I came in. Anything wrong?”

Y/N looked at Emma and shrugged. “I’ve been telling Emma that she needs to invite her new friend for dinner.”

Dean’s brow wrinkled as he looked at Emma. “You don’t want to bring your friend over for dinner?”

Emma looked at Y/N with frustration, clearly annoyed that she’d told Dean anything.

Dean tried again. “What’s going on kiddo, since when don’t you want us to meet your friends? Who is it, by the way? Didn’t realize any new kids had started at the school.”

Y/N shook her head. “Jeffrey’s not a new student, he’s just a new…friend.” She said meaningfully.

Dean caught on and his face immediately dissolved into a scowl. “Oh.” He said without enthusiasm, crossing his arms over his chest.

“See?” Emma barked out, pointing at Dean, but talking to Y/N. “I told you this is how he’d be!!”

“What?” Dean asked defensively. “What are you talking about?”

Emma folded her arms, her posture and scowl mirroring Dean’s. “You get like this every time I bring a boy home, even when he’s absolutely just a friend. You scare the shit out of them!”

“Emma!” Y/N said, reprimanding her for her language..

But Dean just scoffed. “I don’t know what you mean. How do I scare them?”

Emma glared at him. “You interrogate them, Daddy, you know you do.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, if they’re too freaked out to answer a few simple questions then-”

“Simple questions?” Emma interrupted with a humorless laugh. “When I invited Timothy Sutherland over here you forced him to sit down and answer a thousand questions about his family, his background, where he grew up, what his plans were when we finished school. He ran out of here and never looked back.”

Dean threw his arms out. “Do you really wanna date a loser like that anyway? Who can’t even answer a couple questions?”

“Ugh!” Emma stomped her foot and stormed out the back door.

Silence reigned for a moment when Emma left before Y/N turned towards Dean, giving him a tilted smile. “So, welcome home!” She said in a would-be cheerful voice..

Dean sighed as he pulled her back into his arms and kissed the top of her head. They enjoyed the simple peace of each other’s embrace for a few minutes before Y/N spoke.

“What happened with Gabe?” She asked.

“He stole a gun and was gonna go shoot cans with Josh and Freddie Young.”

“What?” Y/N shouted, pulling back to look into Dean’s face.

He nodded. “Yeah, but don’t worry, I handled it. He’s in his room till supper and he’s grounded for a week. And I talked to him about how dangerous guns were. I have more conversations planned around the subject for the near future.”

Y/N shook her head before laying it back on Dean’s chest. “Good lord.”

After a couple minutes Y/N pulled away and poured them each a cup of coffee. They settled beside each other at the wooden table and instinctively linked fingers.

Dean took a sip of coffee and sighed. “I don’t really interrogate all her boyfriends, do I?”

Y/N pursed her lips. “Well, she’s never actually had a real boyfriend. And I don’t think that's because boys don’t want to date her. She’s smart and kind, beautiful and well-liked. So…” She shrugged. “It seems probable that the boys who like her are just too intimidated by her father - you know, the legend who fought monsters, Croats, angels, and WON - the soldier that leads the camp, wears a gun, and asks scary questions, all while donning a very good mean-face.”

Dean exhaled loudly, but before he could respond, their youngest child came bouncing into the room. She was just six years old, and looked so much like Emma at that age that it sometimes caught Dean off guard.

But she was definitely her own little bundle of energy. Having never known hunger or hardship, she was all bright smiles and busy excitement. It seemed as though she’d been born smiling and simply hadn't stopped. Very little bothered her, and she was absolutely spoiled by the entire family, including their found family members in the camp.

Everyone loved Hope.

“Daddy, you’re home!” Hope shouted as she jumped into his lap.

“Oof.” He grunted as she landed hard on some sensitive places. “Hey sweetheart!” He said, slightly out of breath.

“I missed you. Mommy said you might not come home until tomorrow, but I said that you would come home quick because you like to be home and you don’t like to stay away. Right?”

He nodded, trying to keep up with her racing words. “Yeah, baby, I love to be home.”

Before his sentence was ended Hope was on to her next thought. “I saw Emmie running out the back door and I tried to talk to her, but she looked mad. She was sitting on the tree swing in the back and I wanted a turn, so I told her to push me, but she just helped me on the swing and then she left to walk through the front yard and leave. And when I tried to follow her, she told me not to leave the yard and to go inside and see you cause you were back. So, I did.” She paused for breath before asking, “Why was Emmie mad?”

Y/N answered. “It’s nothing sweet pea. Why don’t you help me make supper? You can shuck the corn.”

Hope clapped her hands. “Yes, I want to pull all the strings off.”

Y/N held her daughter’s hand as she hopped off of Dean’s lap, and then leaned forward to kiss Dean slowly.

“Ew.” Hope said, shielding her eyes as her sister had.

Y/N smiled against Dean’s lips and whispered to him. “Go talk to your daughter.”

Dean nodded and stood up, bending to kiss Hope’s shiny chestnut curls on the crown of her head. “Hey, promise me something short one.” He said, continuing when she looked up at him. “Promise you’ll take a really long time to grow up, okay?”

She smiled at him, cheeks round and rosy. “Okay, daddy.”

He winked at Y/N who smiled indulgently. “She promises.”

***

Dean instinctively knew where he’d find his oldest child. She coped with stress and frustration the same way he did, the way he’d taught her to.

He walked through the door of the garage and sure enough, there was Emma, wearing old, blue coveralls that were too big for her, and bent over the hood of the little Chevy hatchback that sat next to the Impala. He knew she heard him come in, but she didn’t say anything, just kept working.

Dean hopped up on Baby’s hood and waited for her to be ready to talk. Eventually, she caved and looked over at him, her face slightly shuttered and a little hard to read. “Hi.” She said simply.

He smiled at her. “Hey kiddo.” He nodded at the open hood she was under. “How are things looking? Still need a new oil pan?”

Emma shook her head. “No, I replaced that last week. Risa found me one in the back of the storage shed.”

“Good.” Dean said. They were both quiet as Emma leaned back in and continued working.

After a moment she cleared her throat. “Looks like I’m gonna need new brake pads though. Think we could go to Lowry’s and see what he’s got.” She asked, referring to a guy in Brisbane who collected car parts and often traded with them.

“Sure. I’ll be busy for the next day or so. But we can go after that. One day after school?” He asked.

Emma nodded and stood up, wiping her hands on the rag she had stuffed in her pocket. She was quiet as she slammed the hood closed and then stepped out of the coveralls and hung them up on the hook beside the door.

She wandered over to Baby and hoisted herself up beside Dean on the hood. After a moment she leaned her head onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Dad. I’m glad you’re home.”

Dean lifted his arm so she could snuggle closer, and then wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, squeezing her into his side.

“No, you don’t have to apologize, baby. Apparently I’ve been unconsciously scaring away the tons of boys who would otherwise be beating down our door. Though, if I’m being completely truthful, it probably wasn’t entirely unconscious. Cause I just know not a one of them is gonna be good enough for you.”

Emma chuckled. “I don’t think it’s tons of boys, Daddy. And I’m not interested in a bunch of boys. I’m interested in Jeffery. And I really do want you to meet him. I think if you give him a chance you’d like him. He’s really sweet and funny and just…” She sighed. “I just like him.”

Dean squeezed her again and felt his chest constrict with love and bittersweet memories, remembering how she used to crawl into his lap and let him read her to sleep. Those days were long gone, but she was still that little girl to him and she probably always would be. But he knew she was growing up and he needed to loosen his grip, at least a little.

So he sighed now and nodded. “Okay, kiddo. If you like him, I’m sure I’ll like him too. So, invite him over for dinner one evening and I swear to keep my questions to a minimum and be perfectly cordial.”

Emma laughed. “I don’t know if cordial is ever a word I’d use to describe you, Dad. Let’s just try to leave out the death stares.”

***

That evening after dinner, it was Gabe and Hope’s turn to do dishes. Gabriel washed and Hope dried with some assistance from Dean. As they were finishing up, Keisha and Julianne showed up on their doorstep asking if Emma was free to go for a walk around camp.

Y/N nodded when Emma looked to her for permission. “That’s fine. Be home before dark. Oh, here.” She said to the twins, grabbing a bag and passing it to them. “Take these home to your mom, it's the dress patterns she loaned me.”

Keisha went to take it, but Y/N pulled it back. “On second thought, nevermind. I’ll bring it to her tomorrow afternoon. Gives me a reason to visit and gossip.”

The girls all laughed and then waved as they headed out the door. Dean had to smile as they walked away, their high pitched voices and giggles floating back to them on a breeze. Some things hadn’t changed and he was grateful.

Gabe went to his room to read, since he was housebound for the next while. Hope played with some well loved and worn out dolls for a little bit before they took her to her room and put her to bed. They tucked Gabe in not long after, and then took their coffee cups out onto their little front porch and sat in one of the big Adirondack chairs that Dean and Sam had built three years ago.

Y/N settled happily into Dean’s lap, her hands cupped around her warm mug. The late spring air was soft and warm, and the sounds of the camp drifted up the hill towards them. They listened contentedly for a little while as Clifford came out of the house and flopped down on Dean’s feet.

They talked about the kids and they talked about the Deerling camp; they talked about Sam, and Y/N admonished Dean for teasing him about Eileen.

“Be nice.” She scolded. “I hope he will bring her to dinner. If he likes her, I mean.”

They talked about anything and everything, and as the sun began to set, Emma came up the path and smiled as she saw her parents cuddled together in one chair. As much as she rolled her eyes and hid her face when they started getting kissy, she loved how much they loved each other. And she knew she’d never settle for anything less than what they had together.

She told them goodnight and went inside, Clifford rising slowly to follow her and sleep at the end of her bed as he did every night.

Soon the fireflies were buzzing loudly and the camp was getting quiet, so Dean stood up with Y/N still in his arms, leaving their coffee cups to sit on the porch until morning. She laughed as her husband carried her effortlessly into their bedroom.

He set her on her feet and locked the door before he buried his hands in her hair and pulled her to him, crushing her lips beneath his own. Y/N moaned softly and immediately pulled off his flannel shirt and yanked his t-shirt over his head so she could spread her hands across the wide expanse of his still beautifully muscled torso.

“God I missed you.” She breathed, even though it had only been one night. “I hate when you go away.”

He smiled against her skin as he stripped her down to her bra and panties. “Missed you too, sweetheart. Promise not to go anywhere ever again.”

Y/N laughed at his impossible promise as he lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He continued kissing her as he crossed the room and lowered her to the bed. She wouldn’t let go of him and pulled him down on top of her.

Dean chuckled at her hold on him and then mouthed his way down her body, licking and nipping at her skin. Ten years later she still had the ability to make him instantly hard and aching for her.

They spent most of the night making up for the one they’d been apart. In the darkest part of the night they found light and life in each other’s arms and fell asleep knowing tomorrow would dawn bright and busy - filled with responsibilities, joy, love and most of all…

…hope.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @alwaystiredandconfused @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

#endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #endverse!dean fan fic series #endverse

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gatzilksis-2 · 2 years

Text

Today's Holiday: The Intern Pt. 3

July 29: National Chicken Wing Day

The night before

18+

VRRRRMP! PLRRRRT!

He couldn't see it, but the ass in Donnie's face added two more big farts to his hot, dark prison. Donnie was sweating profusely, surrounded by the worst thing he'd ever smelled.

He wasn't sure how long it had been, but it had to be well after 2 a.m. Donnie was too disgusted to count the farts, but it was more than ten. His eyes were leaking with tears of aromatic irritation. Donnie feared he was going to smell the farts for weeks.

VRP-FSssshhhhh....

The heavy rush of air propelled a stink worse than most of the others. Donnie wiped sweat from his eyes and closed his mouth. He suppressed a groan: Michael would be pissed if he were awakened.

Donnie struggled to breathe. He wondered if just not breathing would be better. It was for the money, the vacation, the complete changing of his entire life...

He could do this.

Another extreme wave of stink joined him without a peep from the ass. Donnie covered his mouth and nose as his vision blurred with more tears. So much money just to smell this for a little bit.

Michael gave a great snore and moved around. His underwear touched Donnie's forehead. BWRROWRRR!

Donnie threw up in the back of his mouth. The sound was enough, but the Dutch oven was made even more hellish by the odor of it. Donnie needed a break. Everyone deserved a break.

Michael was snoring, fast asleep. Donnie slowly scooted to the edge of the bed and slipped out from under the bedclothes. Cool, almost fresh air greeted him, and Donnie knelt to take several silent lungfuls of it.

The clock read 3:46. Donnie couldn't believe it had been that long. He stared at Michael's bulky, sleeping form with a racing heartbeat. He would slip back in before his boss awakened. Right now, Donnie needed to take a piss.

He couldn't risk waking Michael by using this one, so Donnie put on his shoes and slipped out the door. His heartbeat echoed through his entire body, as if he had just committed some horrible crime and was trying to get away with it.

Donnie crossed the busy road to a 7-Eleven. The men in big white trucks started their mornings. Donnie felt Michael would fit in with them better than regular office people like him.

The restrooms were on the outside, so Donnie got the key and went into the men's bathroom to finally take his piss. He washed his hands and returned the key to the woman at the counter. "Do you have Benadryl?"

She pointed. "Across from the window."

"Perfect." Donnie walked to a display of travel-sized medicines and grabbed the 4 pack of Benadryl. It might help him sleep for the next few hours, in the place he very much didn't to return to.

A horrifying smell like sewage hit him all at once. Donnie froze, blushing as a strong, hairy arm fell over his shoulders. Michael squeezed Donnie against his side. "Hey, buddy! What are we looking at?"

Donnie turned to face his big, bearded boss. He had his office clothes on, but the shirt was left unbuttoned to show off his furry physique. "I--I just wanted to sleep. It was too bad!"

Michael pulled him to the door, and Donnie dropped the Benadryl. Michael opened the passenger seat of his car and pushed Donnie in. He ran to the driver's seat and got in. The car had already been stunk up, new farts joining the stale one's in Michael's seat.

"Since you woke me up early, I guess we'll go now." Michael turned out of the parking lot, heading away from the motel.

"Go?" Wherever it was, it couldn't be good. "Where?"

"It's a surprise. You can sleep if you want..." Michael purposely trailed off. There was a "but" coming, and it was going to stink. Michael patted his lap. "But only right here."

Donnie sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept at all. He didn't want to sleep in another man's lap, especially this man. But if it was his only option.

Think of the vacation, think of buying things you actually want instead of just need...

Donnie leaned over the center console and rested his head on Michael's legs. Sadly, it wasn't too uncomfortable.

Michael smiled down at him. "I'll try to keep 'em quiet for you."

A new fart smacked Donnie at once. He groaned and closed his eyes. "Lucky me."

Donnie woke to the same smell layered over itself a dozen times. He sat up from Michael's crotch. Michael smirked at him. "You lasted nearly two hours. We're almost there!"

Donnie tried his window, but of course, it was locked. He was trapped with the smells of sewage and rotten beef. Michael laughed evilly. "You think I'm an amateur?"

Donnie didn't answer, just watched whatever town they were driving through passby. It was a small town with a lot of locally-owned businesses.

Michael parked in front of a short, brick building. Donnie bent down to look at the sign: Harry's House of Wings. Michael winked. "Stay here."

Michael opened his door and stood, shoving his ass back inside. PHRRRT!

He shut the door. Donnie watched him walk inside and opened his door, letting the gas escape into a greater expanse of air. He guessed wings gave Michael bad gas, so he was going to load up and give the Donnie the results.

Donnie's stomach rumbled. He'd slept two hours, but he hadn't eaten yet.

Michael emerged with three Styrofoam containers squeezed into a plastic bag. He looked ecstatic as he opened the door. "Been coming here since I was a kid. When I found out it was National Wing Day, I had Tony make me the first ones of the day."

"Any for me?" Donnie hated to ask.

"Sure, if you wanna eat before this." Michael put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space. "These wings give me the worst gas ever. Not exaggerating."

Michael rubbed his crotch. If he was getting that excited, it was bad news for Donnie.

They entered the new motel room, a step up from the last. Michael stepped ahead of him with a trail of strong farts. He rested the wings on the table and opened the bag. "You just want a few for now?"

"Yeah." Donnie stepped forward as Michael opened all three boxes.

"Wait." Michael pressed a huge hand to Donnie's chest. "I can either sit on your face while I eat, or I lie on my stomach and your head goes right here."

Michael turned to display his big ass. BWRRRR! He waved the smell to Donnie with a grin. "What's it gonna be?"

"Not the face sitting, obviously." Donnie stared at the wings longingly, his stomach hungrily grumbling again. "Why can't you do this with your boyfriend? You understand this is cheating, right?"

A smirk slowly spread across the manly, bearded face. Michael suddenly grabbed Donnie's balls in one big hand and pulled him close. "Wow, your balls don't feel that big, but they must've gotten bigger for you to talk like that."

He released Donnie. Donnie caught his breath and unintentionally leaned into Michael. He was suddenly wrapped into a pair strong arms, and his boss squeezed him, constricted him. "Remember everything at stake, huh?"

Michael let him go again and shoved him backwards onto the bed. Donnie stared up, losing his breath again in worry. Michael grabbed a box of wings and set it on the edge of the bed, standing over it with a look Donnie couldn't immediately read. The big man pushed off his unbuttoned shirt, then his shoes. "Just for that, I'm going full nude. If you want to eat, you'll do it with your head on my thighs."

Donnie grabbed for the box of wings and pulled it to him. He tried to eat one before Michael could get in position.

Michael crawled across the bed with incredible speed. He moved the box to the end and lay on his stomach. Michael reached back and pushed his pants and underwear together. He kicked them off, left in nothing but a tan, hairy ass.

Donnie quickly took another bite, but Michael was done moving. His ass was right beside Donnie, waiting for him.

"Rest your head on my thighs and you get another wing."

Donnie slowly lowered his head. He was face-to-face with his boss's evil, bare ass.

The money, the vacation...

His head rested on the thighs, and Donnie swallowed his last bite of the first wing. At the end of the bed, past the mountainous booty, Michael was scarfing wings down as he watched TV. He handed one back.

Donnie took it and went to take a bite.

PRT! PWRRRR-BRRRRRRRR-BLRR-

PHWBLRRR!

Michael scooted his ass closer during the long fart. Donnie stopped chewing as he was met with a smell like rotting raw chicken on top of Michael's regular fart stink.

"Yes!" Michael proudly shouted. "Never takes long to kick in.

Donnie's stomach rumbled, again from hunger. It wanted more, but Donnie couldn't eat in these conditions. A long, fartless moment passed. Donnie took another bite even though the last fart hadn't cleared up at all.

PWRRRRP! VWAAMP!

Michael reached back to pull one ass cheek apart. Donnie quickly swallowed his bite as the smell became so much worse already.

BWERRRRT!

Donnie closed his eyes. He was so hungry but so disgusted. This was one place he never thought he would be, an inch from a farting man's ass.

Michael laughed at something on TV and held his breath. BRRWAAAHMP! PHHRRRB!

The sounds were so disgusting, like someone blowing big bubbles in mud. The smell was worse, increasing with its toxicity and poison every time Michael let rip.

Donnie took a big bite, chewed quickly, and swallowed.

VRRRR-ERRRR!

It was too loud for Donnie's taste. Every breath let the inhuman stink into his system. His eyes began to water again. "Whoa."

"How you doing back there?" Michael asked in a jokey manner. He didn't look back, glued to the television.

"It stinks," said Donnie shortly, so his mouth wouldn't be open too long.

"Duh. It's not gonna smell like roses."

PHBLRRRR! BWRRT!

Donnie groaned. His wing was gone, and he wanted another. Not now, though. Not like this. He closed his eyes and rested the full weight of his head on the thighs. "I'm done eating."

"I'm not," said Michael with his mouth full. He held his breath again and lifted his ass.

BWRRRRrrrrrROWRRRRRR-BLRPHBLRB!

The two measley wings came up in liquid form. Donnie bolted to the bathroom, but it wasn't coming out. He swallowed it back and looked over his shoulder.

Michael was standing in the doorway naked, his huge dong that Donnie never needed to see standing hard at an angle. Donnie turned on the faucet to splash his face. "You know, I can't do this if I'm dead."

"You're right." Michael walked to him, and Donnie found it extremely hard not to look at his penis. "I'll let you eat, but I'll still be laying right beside you farting."

"Better than in my face." Donnie stepped around his boss, back to the main hotel room.

Michael started shutting the door. "Go ahead and start eating. I gotta...ya know."

Donnie nodded, and the door closed. He wanted to run from the motel, but ironically, he didn't have much money to get home with. That was so close to changing forever. All he had to do was smell a few more farts.

Just one more day...

@gatzilksis-2 to buy my stories or videos or order a story of your own!

#eproctophilia #farts #eprocto #fart kink #flatulence #gatzilksis #fart fiction #fart stories #male fart fiction #male fart stories

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syruppina · 4 months

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BALDUR’S GATE - SECRET SANTA 2023

[GIFT #8]

Gifter: @confessionsofasexydilf

Giftee: @ghospar

Fanfic Title: On the Subject of Change

Amongst all the terrifying things stood one above all the rest--change.

Change, that fickle idea--promising riches and ruin, joy and despair, comfort and torture, all in one.

A godsdamned gamble that you're rigged to lose.

To Astarion, change was a familiar tormentor. He'd spent the first few decades of his life in relative stagnation--by all means, he grew, but he grew within the comfortable walls of the Upper City, in his cozy bedroom, surrounded by friends and family. He grew the way that a young elf is meant to grow, leisurely exploring the world and honing his skills. Starting off close to home with a role he played quite well (Astarion was notorious for arguing topics into the ground as a child--it felt only natural that he pursue something in law) was the logical choice, a chance to find his footing and make the city better before running off to spend his remaining centuries exploring Faerun.

But, even by age thirty, even after becoming a respected magistrate, even as a man who felt he had everything--Astarion had never truly experienced change.

His first brush with it more than made up for its earlier absence. There really was no stronger metaphor for change than death.

Overnight, everything Astarion knew was different. He was no longer a magistrate, rather a slave. He was no longer an elf, simply a reanimated corpse. He was no longer 'Astarion,' not really, because the ravenous hunger and consuming bloodlust and unimaginable terror were not things Astarion would have felt. The monster that wore his skin, gnawed with his sharpened teeth at the arteries of sewer rats, used his body to lure innocents to their deaths--that was something else entirely. And as time went on, what was left of Astarion shrunk further and further away into the recesses of his mind, allowing the cynical monster to endure the hellish torment.

For another two centuries, change made itself a stranger. The sparse moments that could be considered change were inconsequential in the end. A new 'sibling' once in a while. Hundreds of faceless servants coming and going. The implementation of some innovative torture.

Over two-hundred and thirty years of Astarion's life passed with only one true instance of change.

Now, within a month, everything he had grown accustomed to had been upended and thrown to the dogs. Here he was, sat playing the hero like he could ever deserve that, burdened with the lives of every godsdamned person in Faerun when all he ever wanted was to exist for himself. And he wasn't even getting something out of it! Even now, with their bloodthirsty drow companion, any little inkling of an idea to actually get power from this entire mess was shot down promptly and soothed with the image of a million adoring people whose lives they'll be saving.

With all that in mind, Astarion really didn't think his response to learning of a ritual that could make him the most powerful vampire to ever exist and get revenge on the bastard who look his life from him was something anybody could judge.

And yet, judge they did. As if any of these ignorant fools could even begin to comprehend the torment he had endured for fucking centuries--longer than most of them have even been alive--or understand how beautiful power is. The power to never fear another man again. Gods, he could have everything. And since his suggestions of controlling the cult weren't even humored, this was his only chance to finally get the life he wanted.

Following Raphael's grand entrance and subsequent exit, Astarion was pelted with queries and concerns and all these helpful little comments by everyone in the group, few of which were even leaning towards supportive.

It hurt, godsdamn it. The people who he was actually starting to believe cared for him crying out for 'the innocent souls'--as if, Astarion had lived with those so-called innocent souls for centuries and knew damn well they deserved what was coming for them--and how 'power corrupts,' and 'blah, blah, blah, Astarion, you villain'! Just more people trying to control every single thing he did, afraid of him having some power for once. Minthara had been supportive, at least. She understood more about what power really meant: safety. And by the Gods, she knew that power required sacrifice, ideally not of your own. But her approval did little to ease the sting of his other companions' words.

Gale's left the worst taste in his mouth. He displayed none of the outward objection the others did, but that little sad look in his eyes pierced him with an unexpected jab. Disappointment, as if the power-hungry wizard was in any position to be disappointed in him. Just because they had some nameless, confusing 'thing' going on didn't mean he had the right to police Astarion.

Just the same as his response to the ritual couldn't be judged, neither could his response to the pushback.

Call it a tantrum, outburst, whatever. Astarion knew damn well that he could've made a much bigger scene than the one he did, seethingly dismissing himself from the little gathering of saints and walking off into the safely lit but distant area beyond the camp proper. A small stream divided the haunting cluster of trees nearly in half, forming somewhat of a clearing in its wake. Astarion had come here to wash his linens early in their exploration of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and it consequently became his refuge when he just needed to be alone. A large rock rested on the edge of the stream, the perfect height to sit upon and kick through the water.

Astarion removed his shoes with what was perhaps an excessive amount of precision, some subconscious attempt to give himself a bit more control over this daunting situation, and dipped his feet into the stream.

The flowing waters rushing over him still felt quite novel after so long spent barred from it, and while a night sky was far from new, the blanket of stars and the glow of the moon cradled Astarion in a comforting familiarity. How could the others ever understand how much this ritual meant to him when they never lived without the sun, moving water, control of their own bodies? How could they act as if they had any idea what they were asking him to give up?

A stinging feeling prodded at his eyes. He wasn't quite sure who he was holding back the tears for, sat alone here on the riverbank. Nobody was there to indulge in his weakness, exploit his distress, give him something to really cry about. Cazador couldn't find him here. His companions knew better than to try and talk to him after their earlier transgressions. It wasn't impossible for some brainwashed goblin to stumble upon him here, but the chances of that were infinitesimally small.

Astarion was well and truly alone, yet he still maintained a practiced neutrality on his face and bit nails into his palm to get out some of the pent-up emotions. All of this, every moment of his disastrous life, was spent performing for some audience, sometimes real and sometimes imagined. That's what his naive companions just didn't understand--power would mean that Astarion never had to put on a show for anybody ever again. He would be above that, exist so high up in the aether that nobody could hurt him. Gods, he didn't want power to be the second coming of Cazador, he didn't need a congregation of lunatic devotees and unwilling spawn, he just wanted to be free.

The sound of footsteps cut off all Astarion's internal musings, replaced with wonderment of whoever the hells had the audacity to talk to him now.

It wasn't necessarily surprising that Gale was the one to clear his throat.

"I wanted to talk."

"Oh, lovely," Astarion replied, words dripping with bitterness. "What about, the weather? The night is ever so clear, after all."

A tired sigh.

Gale approached, gesturing to the empty space beside Astarion with a tilted head. "May I?"

"You will regardless of what I say, so-" his hand waved flippantly "-be my guest."

The self-righteous wizard sat heavily on the rock, leaving a small but pointed gap between the two of them. Astarion was tempted to tell him to fuck right off and leave him to sulk, but frankly? He was too interested in finding out what this man thought he could say to make anything better.

"When everything is said and done, this is your decision, Astarion."

"Really?! Gods, thank you so much for the reminder," he interjected while Gale took a breath, frustration saturating his sarcastic tone, and fixed his eyes on a leaf beating against a stone below him. "For a moment there, everyone's helpful little insights made me forget."

A silence fell over them, perhaps granting Gale a moment to figure out if he could speak without being cut off again. When he did, his words were proceeded by another sigh.

"It takes a lot of strength to face a decision like this, what with the stakes being so high," Gale continued, adopting that tone of voice he always used when telling his little stories. The thought of having to sit through some fable sourced from Gale's youth made Astarion dig his nails even deeper into his palm. "It isn't easy. I've been in this position before, and I understand-"

Astarion saw red. He shot up from the rock, turning to Gale with an incredulous look in his eyes. "You understand?!" He yelled, hopefully not loud enough for anyone at camp to hear, but that was the least of his concerns. "Perfect, o great 'Gale of Waterdeep,' then that makes everything so much damn easier! Gods- you don't understand fucking anything. You've never felt the hunger, you've never been forced to flay yourself for some sick bastard's amusement, you've never had to seduce innocent godsdamned people so you could lead them to their deaths, you've never had to live without the sun! You can't even begin to comprehend the horrors I've endured, and, fuck!

"You're lecturing me? You had a goddess in the palm of your hand and still wanted more! I know you were preparing some eloquent little speech about how you sought for power and now you have some world-destroying bomb in your chest and need to die for fucking whatever, as if that's even close to what I'm facing here."

Astarion stopped talking for a moment to take a dearly needed breath, but the pause allowed all those pent up feelings to break through.

"I have spent centuries suffering beyond belief and all freedom would cost me is seven measly lives," he spoke softer then, fighting through emerging tears. His voice broke as he continued. "Do I not deserve that?"

Gale sat before him with an unreadable look in those brown eyes. He felt awkward then, standing in front of the composed man with a heaving chest and red streaks running down his even redder face, and shifted his weight.

"You do," he replied after a few moments of reverent consideration, a solemn look overtaking his features and seeping into his voice. "And you're right--I don't understand. Honestly, I… Well, I doubt I ever will."

He trailed off at the end of his statement, a silent invitation for Astarion to speak that was met only by attempts to steady his breathing.

"What I do know is that power oft comes with pain in tandem. That isn't to say you should drop the matter entirely and never spare it a second glance, but just be cautious. These pacts are rarely without their share of strings, and who knows how much Raphael divulged to you."

Gale looked at Astarion with furrowed brows, face awash with unsettlingly sincere concern. "I don't want to see you get your hopes up only to have them swept out from under you, nor to see you set aside all other alternatives in favor of this one."

"What 'other alternatives' even are there?" Astarion posited, caught off guard by his own raspy voice. "Go back to slinking around the dark, feeding on rats?"

"That will not be your life again," he stated plainly with all the conviction of a man who had already seen it all play out. Astarion was prepared to meet such naive hope with cynicism, but something about the way Gale was holding himself, the look in his determined eyes as they met waterlogged red eyes in turn… it wasn't hope nor speculation, not for the wizard. And, Gods, should Astarion have expected anything but?

He well and truly hadn't, and that was when it hit him.

The cogs turning in Gale's brilliant mind were nearly audible, and Astarion recognized what all those little mannerisms represented: a plan. And far be it from Gale to concoct a plan without delicate care, but this was different. Gale's eyes seemed to rush across the pages of every book he'd studied, his ears flooding with every lecture he'd attended, his brain processing every moment of his life prior to now with the sole intent of gathering any sliver of information that would help him on his new mission.

Tears prodded at Astarion's eyes once more, but for a markedly different reason. Gale shook off a bit of that distant, analytical gaze and continued speaking as Astarion sat beside the man. Phrases about illusion magic and protective spells and amulets and this and that, but none of it truly registered.

He cared. Gods, Gale actually fucking cared about what kind of life Astarion would have to lead when all of this was said and done. And, sure! This could be a marvelous deception to be revealed once Gale abandons Astarion the moment their little parasites are taken care of and he is no longer of use. Or, of course, Gale still may be reduced to only a memory at Mystra's behest and thus incapable of doing anything whether he wanted to or not. To the hells with it all, he could deal with those hiccups if they came.

Hesitantly, undead heart nearly beating out of his chest, Astarion rested his head on Gale's shoulder, an act that felt leagues more intimate than any of the times they'd had sex. The arm that wrapped around his waist with hesitation to match pacified the roaring fear of rejection housed within his mind, Gale's speech adopting a new kind of tenderness as he kept describing the possibilities. Astarion still struggled to tune in and tried anchoring himself on the sound of Gale's voice and the steady beat of his heart, and those words gradually took form.

"-ther scholars have astronomically vast collections that make up for the gaps in mine, so it will be a non-issue to obtain the necessary literature, and then we-"

"Thank you," Astarion cut him off once more with a hushed comment.

"-can easily start getting into- oh!" Gale stumbled over his words as he processed that Astarion had spoken, his mouth and mind alike clearly in a realm of their own and simply visiting the same plane as the rest of them. "I- no thanks needed. Really."

Endless possibilities flitted across Astarion's mind like embers from a gluttonous inferno. Amongst the possibilities were all the little things he wanted to whisper and yell at the same time, yet his lips stayed shut despite it all. Truly, what was there to say when every word carried so much meaning?

'You're an idiot for committing yourself to this.'

'Why weren't you there when I godsdamned needed you?'

'Please don't waste your time on me when you can have so much.'

'I'm not some pet-project, and I certainly don't need your help.'

'Fuck, I love you.*'

But they remained unvoiced, making homes in the recesses of Astarion's psyche to hibernate until they could escape into the world. Silence had fallen over the both of them, but he couldn't tell if Gale's was the fault of the wizard's own contemplation or Astarion's interruption. Frankly, enough new information had been shoveled onto Astarion to last him a lifetime in this day alone, and he doubted more explanation from Gale would be any good with his tired mind. But this? Sitting next to Gale, the gap between them now a distant memory; the warmth of life and new beginnings and foolish, beautiful hope--the feeling that gods, maybe things won't always be so miserable--wrapped like a soft blanket around him; the quiet trickle of water and fluttering of leaves--it felt like a salve on the open wound that was his heart.

Nothing was guaranteed. It was a miracle whenever they survived an encounter, and things were only growing more and more dangerous as they trekked on. Gale was a painfully ambitious man who very well may just forget about Astarion as soon as they part. Gods, the ritual wasn't even off the table!

But in spite of all that, nearly in defiance of it, Astarion relaxed against Gale and shut his tired eyes. His eyes were kept shut even through a bit of wiggling on Gale's part that concluded in a gentle kiss amongst his snowy hair, and for the first time in a long while, he didn't flinch.

Perhaps not all change was so bad.

#BaldursGateSecretSanta2023

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