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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Just Another One

Sequel to: ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’

Corpse Husband x Actress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Angst, Heartbreak, Mention of bad past relationships, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: They keep proving each other right in the most wrong ways possible. They each want to be guarded even if that means the other will be hurt. Maybe that’s what they want - to hurt one another because they’ve already hurt each other once before.

Requested by the lovely readers who enjoyed the previous fic ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’. Sorry for the large time gap between the posting of the two fics but I still hope you guys will take the time to read it and if so I hope you enjoy it! Love you all with all my heart, Vy ❤

When you go out of your way to avoid leaving the house your options of entertainment are severely limited and you can’t blame anyone or anything but yourself for it. Today, I wouldn’t have gone out of my apartment even if I was one of those people who frequent the outdoors seeing as how the sky is trying to flood the Earth with all this nonstop rain. It does set a mood for a perfect night in but when you spend all your nights in doing the same thing over and over again, the atmosphere is practically meaningless. And so I ‘ve decided to resort to channel surfing as though I’ll find something interesting on TV that I haven’t yet seen on one of my social media timelines.

I pass several cooking channels on my journey, making a mental note of their individual numbers in case I don’t stumble across anything capable of better distracting me from my boredom and loneliness that’s slowly starting to creep in. I pass by a few movie channels showing teenage romcoms as if to celebrate the start of summer so you can imagine how quickly I moved on from those. Then come the celebrity channels which can often get a laugh out of me because of how pathetic and unbelievably ridiculous they are. And so, I stick around one where there’s a broadcast on a movie showing that’s happening tonight in LA. Oddly enough, despite my anxiety, going to a movie showing has always been on my list of things I’d want to do. This can be considered living vicariously or rubbing salt into the wound that I’ll probably never go because my anxiety and fear of being recognized is too severe. Either way I stick around to watch it.

And man do I regret it now looking at several different angels of a couple of actors entering the venue where they are to be photographed and asked questions by the mob of paparazzi that’s gathered due to the massive event. That in and of itself doesn’t sound - and really isn’t - so bad. However, it’s important to note that the actress in this duo is Y/N. Y/N L/N. My Y/N....shit, sorry, I mean my FRIEND Y/N, her arm linked with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is who is holding an umbrella above the both of them, shielding them from the downpour of rain that is also taking place in LA apparently.

“The two were seen entering the venue earlier this evening, looking particularly cozy in each other’s presence if I do say so myself. The rain probably worked nicely in their favor.“ The first reporter says, her teasing tone of voice sending chills of anger down my spine as I glare at the screen, hands balled in fists, jaw clenched - all my body’s instinctive reactions to what is being shown to me. I know I technically have no right to behave or feel this way, in fact I should be fucking happy for Y/N and her successful career and the progress in her love life. But damn it how can I?! I was so damn close to kissing this girl! I was so fucking close to falling in another trap, tripping and landing in the embrace of another liar and user, another girl who switches partners more often than shoes. How could I’ve been so reckless to get so close to her even platonically? How did we become close enough for me to 1) show her my face; 2) start inviting her over to my apartment regularly; and how didn’t I notice the kind of messed up person she was all that time.

She was all sweet and flirting and shit a week or so ago and now she’s doing the exact same thing with him! The cameras are capturing them perfectly: every laugh, every exchange of a knowing look or nod, ever smack to his arm when he tells a joke. But what bothers me most is the many times he’s wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer. Not just for pictures, but just because the fucker felt like it! And Y/N doesn’t seem to mind it at all.

“They have been the talk of the town recently, so while they could just be adding fuel to the fire, they could also have been caught by the flame and ‘caught feelings’ as they say. Regardless these two are a view we’d like to see more often.“ The other reporter says and that’s the final straw.

In one swift motion I turn the TV off and throw the remote across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the ground in several pieces, broken by the force of the impact. Just like I am broken by the force of the impact of these news. I don’t know which is worse: the fact that I fell for her and almost let her know it; the fact that she’s just another member of the club I don’t want anywhere near my life; or the fact that I can’t believe it.

Yeah that’s right - one foolish part of me refuses to believe that’s she’d do such a thing. I think that’s the same part which is still in awe of her so you can bet I ignore that part the majority of the time.

She is just another one. Not the one. Having been hurt before doesn’t mean she won’t hurt me or anyone else she’s gonna be with. Hurt people hurt people.

And damn has she hurt me, probably without knowing a damn thing. How selfish can you be, Y/N? How selfish can you really get? And how much am I going to allow you to hurt me?

* * *

“Thank you so much, Andrew. I would’ve died on the spot of anxiety if I was on my own.“ I say to my best friend who is currently sitting next to me on a park bench, in a tux, eating a cheeseburger. I too am still in my gown and am also gorging on a cheeseburger of my own.

“Don’t mention it. Us anxious people need to stick together.“ He bumps his shoulder against mine, stealing a small genuine smile from me, “Plus I couldn’t not come with you. You know how much I like a good rumor.“

I scoff, “Of course you do, but then again there was no need to add to what the media has already made a whole-ass ship out of.” I roll my eyes and take another bite. My appetite hasn’t been in its best condition so I’m only eating this under Andrew’s orders. I have no idea how people can ship us romantically, he’s the definition of an older - and very bossy - brother to me. I wish I could tell each and every single one of those girls who hate me because I’ve ‘stolen their man’ that I’d most likely be their sister in law rather than man snatcher, seeing as how my relationship with Andrew is so sibling-like.

That’s because we’re too alike, no one gets that. People play the ‘opposites attract’ car more often than I consider rational. But then again when they see a couple like Andrew and I - who are basically the same person in different bodies - they suddenly think we’re super compatible. Trust me, we’re not. And everyone who’s been on set with us will tell you the same.

“What can I say...“ he shrugs, smirking at me, “I like the fun. I bet Becca doesn’t though.“

I can’t help but huff. Andrew is the only one I’ve ever openly expressed my frustrations with Rebecca to. He was super helpful on the subject, seeing as how he can relate - many partners of his have tried to use him, some of which even succeeded. He’s more than qualified to school me on the topic but it turned more into sharing bad experiences. One of which was that instance back at Corpse’s apartment.

“And neither does Corpse I suppose.“ As though he’s read my mind, he pokes the hurt spot, pouring salt in the wound causing me to visibly cringe as though the pain was physical - because it was, I felt it in my chest and in my gut, a sharp stab of guilt and regret.

Why did I let it come to that? Why did I let us get so close? How did I not think of the consequences?

“I don’t care if he does or doesn’t.“ My hand automatically reaches for the pocket of the jeans I’m not even wearing in search of a cigarette. Not that I’d be able to light one even if I had them on me - Andrew would smack it out of my hand before I could even take a single puff.

He has the audacity to laugh, “You’re such a bad liar, Y/N.”

That’s all he needs to say really - that’s enough to make me feel seen and understood. Though that’s not always a good thing. I often times wish he couldn’t read me so well. Better said: I wish I didn’t let myself be so readable, you know. I’m just glad he’s the one who sees me because if it were anyone else they’d use this vulnerability of mine against me. I’m well aware that it’s a weakness, a really inconvenient one, but damn it I can’t get rid of it. I feel like I’ll be less human if I lose it. Everyone’s allowed to be vulnerable, some just are lucky enough to choose who they’ll be vulnerable around. I’m lucky enough to to have a choice, not so lucky in the people I choose to trust. Guess that’s not a luck thing, it’s just my inability to decipher whether a person is worth all the pain and torture of coming clean to them or not. So far many people have burnt me but two stick out in particular - Becca and Corpse. Corpse especially, which is the odd thing considering he hasn’t even wronged me in any way. At least not yet.

“Your phone’s vibrating.“ Andrew says, pulling me out of my overflowing head when he hands me my phone which I handed to him because of my dress’ lack of pockets.

“Thanks.“ I mutter through a sigh as I take it from him, checking the notification I’ve gotten.

My stomach drops: it’s a message from Corpse.

“Hey I saw you are in LA but we have a stream tomorrow, will you still be participating?“

Before I can reply, he sends me another message.

“I know you’re probably very busy but we get the most viewership on the streams when you’re in them so....“

I’ve probably been staring at my phone screen for longer than I thought since Andrew felt the need to make sure I was still breathing: “Hey, you ok? You look terribly pale.” I can barely hear him let alone reply. I can’t hear my own thoughts to know what to reply to him. “Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

I’m scaring myself too, Andrew. I’m scared too. I’m scared of how broken my picker has become. I almost kissed this guy! I almost entrusted all my thoughts, hopes, wishes and goals to him! What the fuck was I thinking?! Well, at least I know what he was thinking about - viewership. Likes, subs, views, publicity. The more eyes on the stream the better for him and everyone else. I genuinely want to applaud him, no one has been so direct about using me before. I was in a relationship with Becca for almost a year before I accidentally found out what she had been doing the whole time. No one’s ever smacked me in the face with this much honesty. It’s bittersweet really.

I want to laugh, I want to cry, slap myself across the face, slap him...I want to do so much, but all I can do now is sit in silence and think of how I could be so stupid.

He’s just another one, how did I not see that? How do I never see it until it’s too late? Why is one part of me still screaming: ‘He didn’t mean it like that!’

AND WHY THE FUCK DO I WANT TO BELIEVE IT?

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obeiii-mee · 4 years

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Hi there! Im back, tysm for doing my HC ;;/ it was super cute, i really liked Mammons and Satans!! If you dont mind if i ask for another? Hdjsks Recently, i slipped while walking home with some pals and scrapped my knee. It wasnt too bad, but it sure looked bad lmao If you can could you do HCs for the boys reacting to MC slipping and scrapping there knee while walking w them? Im sure Mammon would have a heart attack hfjd Tysm!! Keep up the good work♡

Thank you so much! I hope your knee gets better and that it wasn’t too painful! The brothers would all be panicking in their own way but I agree, Mammon would faint or something lmao.

Hope this was OK.

————————————

The Brothers with an MC who fell and scraped their knee:

Lucifer:

-It was a miracle you managed to convince him to come out on a walk with you at all

-The man doesn’t know when to take a break from his work

-He’s more likely to accept if it’s you asking tho, he has an obvious soft spot for you

-The others call him a suck up behind his back because of it

-You were so happy that you managed to pry Lucifer away from his desk, you were basically skipping alongside him

-Long story short, you tripped over your own two feet and fell

-Luckily, your knees and palms were the only things that got a bit scruffy

-Well, actually your right knee looked as if someone tried removing your entire knee cap with a scalpel, skin and all but adrenaline was kicking in and you couldn’t feel much

-You’ve never seen Lucifer freeze the way he did then

-His mind just drew a blank

-You were about to shrug it off and call it a day, get up and continue your walk but daddy Lucifer can’t have that

-He has six younger brothers (and a younger sister at some point) he is pretty experienced when it comes to treating injuries

-You aren’t walking for the rest of the day, let me make this clear

-He will carry you back to the House of Lamentation no matter how much you protest

-In case it wasn’t obvious already, Lucifer gives off massive dad vibes and now he’s bandaging your leg while you’re laying down on his bed

-While the rest of the brothers watch the two of you from behind the door frame because they are all equally worried

-Get ready for the three hour lecture coming your way

-He’s pissed and amused at the same time tbh

-Silly human, falling over like that and hurting themselves

-Lord Diavolo forbid you try to get out of that bed, he will drag you back and make sure you stay there until your knee is better (kinky)

Mammon:

-He was on his merry way to the casino to blow off all of Lucifer’s money and you tagged along solely for the purpose of making sure he didn’t spend all of Lucifer’s money

-You’d both be done for if he did

-But I guess fate really had it out for you on that day since your foot slipped on....something and you tripped

-Both of your knees looked bloody and damaged as hell but you were more irritated than anything

-Mammon on the other hand did a fucking double take and almost passed out

-He screeched his lungs out

-One look at your injured knees and he was ready to drag you all the way to the human realm on foot to find you a doctor

-“MC ARE YOU OK WHY THE FUCK IS THERE SO MUCH BLOO-HOLY SHIT STAY STILL DON’T MOVE! THE GREAT MAMMON WILL FIX THIS...SOMEHOW.”

-It was very dramatic, he cried

-You stood up to prove that you were alright because you thought he was going to have a seizure soon enough

-OK, that helped him calm down a little

-At least now he knew your legs weren’t about to get torn off and you weren’t on the verge of death

-Fuck the casino, you were going home

-Like Lucifer, don’t expect you will walk home by yourself

-He will carry you, a bit embarrassed by his initial freak out but still eyeing your wound, concerned

-As soon as you get home and the other brothers help you out because he’s shit at bandaging, he just sits in his own pool of misery and guilt

-Your poor knees wouldn’t be so jacked up if you hadn’t come along with him today

-He was so determined to make it up to you, he stayed by your bedside like a loyal puppy with a wagging tail (flashback to the animal event)

-Overall, he almost went into cardiac arrest and was too panicked to realise you were fine

-You thought he was smothering and overprotective before? Good luck for the rest of the week

Levi:

-“See, this is why I don’t like going out. There’s always some normie laying on the groun- OH MY LORD DIAVOLO, MC IS THAT YOU?? ARE YOU OK?”

-HIS HENRY ALMOST DIED ON THE NEWLY POLISHED FLOOR OF AN ANIME CONVENTION, HE HAS VERY MIXED EMOTIONS

-You fell knees first and hurt them quiet badly but you could stand, even if the pain made you twitch a little

-This confused Levi because you looked fine even though your knees certainly didn’t

-You told him you felt alright and it wasn’t that big of a deal and he absolutely rolled with it

-But you guys still went home after that

-He said it was because you bled all over your cosplay but that’s just him being a tsundere

-Levi is usually very shy when it comes to physical contact but he firmly insisted that he help you walk home

-I mean, he knows you said you were feeling OK and maybe humans just have a lot of tolerance for injuries like that

-But he still felt it was necessary that he took you home and checked out your injuries

-He kept the mood light while disinfecting you’re wound with some help from Satan by talking about how the convention went

-High low-key relieved seeing you walk around like normal two minutes after that

-He started bitching to you about how you made him miss his the event but he didn’t mean any of it

-“Stupid normie, making me miss my favourite Ruri-chan event. You’re lucky I love you and think you’re cute....did I just say that out loud??”

Satan:

-Oh dear, why would you go out for a walk in the middle of a rainstorm? What were you thinking?

-Actually, it was Satan’s idea

-He may be a demon and the prince of Wrath no less, but he is such a sappy, cheesy bastard at times

-He definitely thinks that walking and kissing in the rain is very romantic (bet he read something like that in an erotica)

-You know what’s not romantic blondie? Slipping on a very small puddle and potentially fracturing your leg

-It was just a scraped knee but you were frustrated enough to be extra

-He’s helping you up before you even have the chance to realise you fell in the first place

-Your knee was looking pretty bad so you guys went home just to avoid any further casualties

-He’s actually chuckling all the way back while you playfully glare at him because how dare he laugh at your misery?

-Date night was ruined but at least he got to take care of you

-He knew your knee must have hurt and he felt bad but he couldn’t help but giggle a bit to himself because your fall was so comical

-Ah but he does enjoy fussing over you for the rest of the night a bit too much

Asmo:

-You thought Mammon was melodramatic?

-Take a look at this fucking guy

-He actually screeches even louder than his brother and probably falls to his knees too (but not really because those pants were expensive)

-His screams definitely got the attention of at least 10 random passerbyers

-He’s actually on the verge of crying

-I mean, can you blame him?? Look at your beautiful knees!! They were ruined

-He felt so bad for you, he actually babied the hell out of you that day

-“Asmo, it’s fine. It’s just a scrap.”

-“A SCRAP, MC IT LOOKS LIKE YOUR KNEE IS ABOUT TO FALL OFF YOUR POOR SKIN-“

-It was just a scrap but Asmo’s secret talent is being extra as fuck

-He totally spilled all the tea to the rest of the brothers when he got home

-And then he ushered you into his room

-Funnily enough, he’s pretty good with injuries. Not as much as Satan and Lucifer but still

-He pampered you for the next few hours but that image of your skin being all grazed like that will forever haunt him

-How can you not be so bothered by it?? He’d die if he was in your place

-I love Asmo just because of how dramatic he is

Beel:

-Your shoelaces were undone and of course that meant a fun little trip to the floor of Hell’s Kitchen

-Beel didn’t notice you fell at first, he was concentrating on his food and assumed you were next to him

-But then he realised that you weren’t and for a moment he thought you disappeared or something

-Before he turned to find you laying on the floor, curled up because life was pain and you were suffering

-“Are you OK? Or are you just tired? Belphie does that a lot when he’s tired.” Or depressed one might say

-But for real, he’s good at identifying serious wounds and less serious wounds since he’s an athlete

-He can tell your knees were bleeding way more than they should have from just a simple scrap

-He slinged you over his shoulder and carried you, calmly, back home, with a burger still in his hand

-He’s actually really collective and talked to you while cleaning up your injury to take your mind off the pain

-He knows humans are a little more fragile than demons so even though he knows it’s not a big deal, he can’t help but worry

-It’s kinda hard falling around him tho because chances are, he will actually catch you even if he happens to hold something

-He’s sad if you’re sad so please don’t cry he will bandage your scraped knee do you want the last bit of his burger to make you feel better?

-Comfort hugs afterwards!

-Which is awesome because Beel gives out best hugs :)

Belphie:

-Ah yes, another beautiful day at RAD

-Walking alongside with your grumpy and sleepy boyfriend when a random demon bumps into you

-Wel not bumps, more like shoves you so hard you fall down and tear the fabric of your pants

-While the dude shrugs it off and speeds away

-You were a bit pissed off because rude

-But Belphie was fucking fuming

-He felt so offended on your part

-I mean, the nerve of him

-He was tired as shit but he wanted to chase after him and throw hands, possibly fill his pillow with rocks and hit him over the head with it

-He forced himself to focus on you first before hunting the moron down

-He was a bit concerned when he didn’t see you come back up after you fell

-Turns out, you scraped your knee pretty horribly and now you were bleeding all over the floor

-He’s even more quiet than usual as he helps you up and half carries you to your next class

-He starts taking care of your knee in the middle of DevilDom history he doesn’t give a flying fuck

-He’s still furious by the time he gets home and most of his brothers know to leave him be when he makes that scary ass face

-No talk to him

-He angy

-“Does your knee still hurt?”

-“A bit but it’s not-“

-“Come nap with me.”

-“Why?”

-“Naps shall cure your pain.”

-“...”

-“Nah but for real come take a nap with me.”

-Next day at school, the dude from yesterday walks by him and Belphie smashes his head against the wall

-Before walking away as if nothing happened

-I stan protective Belphie

These HCs are really bad but I love them anyway

Al~

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #⭐️ requests #☂️ demon brothers #🌸 comfort #💞 Protective Bois

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geeks-universe · 3 years

Text

& To All a Goodnight.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Request: For requests could you do a dean x reader where they spend Christmas together and it's a lot of fluff?😳😳

Requested by: Anonymous

Holidays were never really celebrated at the bunker.

If you were being honest, most of the time you weren’t even sure what day it was, let alone preparing for festivities regarding some day that was probably tied to some horrible historical event.

But, if you were being more honest, you really did love Christmas.

It wasn’t so much the religious connotations- which had grown considerably more complicated when you considered your relationship with angels- but more so the idea of holiday cheer, and an unexplainable magic in the air. As a kid, you had loved Christmas. You celebrated from the beginning of November, right up until the day itself, baking cookies, watching cheesy holiday movies, and decorating every square inch of the house.

After losing your parents, and the subsequent descent into the life of a hunter, you hadn’t really been able to celebrate. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, though it was considerably a difficult time for the first couple years, but you hadn’t had a chance. You were constantly on the go. The closest thing to a home you had was the warm embrace of Dean Winchester and the backseat of the Impala, which Sam had argued he was too big for. (He was, but you liked sitting shotgun.)

With the bunker though, you had an opportunity to celebrate like you hadn’t in years.

And you did.

Sam and Dean had left for the week. Well, five days maximum, if Dean were to be trusted, but you knew him well enough to know that meant seven days minimum. You had cracked a couple of ribs on the last hunt, and with Castiel MIA, you were stuck healing the old-fashioned way.

Never one to be cooped up for an excessive amount of time, you had gone all out with the decorations. Every room had an overwhelming amount of Christmas cheer, save Dean and Sam’s room.

And the tree!

Oh my goodness, the tree!

You had gone out and got a fresh tree, straight from a Christmas tree farm. Red and gold adorned the green needles, creating a homey atmosphere among the living room typically used to unwind after rough cases. You decided on a star to put atop the tree, as opposed to an angel. (It was bad enough you had them popping up in real time, you didn’t want them to ruin the Christmas cheer.)

You hadn’t stopped there, either. You bought and wrapped both Sam and Dean enough gifts to fill out the empty base of the tree. Dean had confided in you once that he couldn’t even remember what a normal Christmas was like, so you were determined to give the boys the best one yet.

And, when four whole days had passed of decorating, you moved onto baking. Chocolates, cookies, pies- you name it. You had gone slightly overboard, but the boys still weren’t back yet, and Christmas was slowly creeping closer.

Would they be back in time?

You certainly hoped so. They hadn’t given you an update in nearly a full day, but you had a 48 hour rule- 48 hours before any of you unleashed hell upon whatever case the one who hadn’t contacted was working on.

Though, after putting away all of the goodies, you’d snuggled up on the couch and put on a cheesy, and wholly predictable, Christmas romantic comedy while waiting for your boys. You were worried, and it took three and a half movies before you were able to fall asleep, but eventually, to the gentle lull of Christmas music, your eyes slipped shut on Christmas Eve.

Sam and Dean were practically dragging themselves into the bunker by the time they made it home. It was a long haul back, and they hadn’t even managed to check in with you.

Dean had been adamant about making it back before Christmas. He had been holding onto a special gift for you for months, and maybe it was a little cheesy, but he couldn’t wait to see your face when you opened it.

“Wow.”

Sam had been the first to step back into the bunker, and Dean couldn’t see over his giraffe of a younger brother, so he was left to wonder what “wow” meant. He wasn’t left waiting for long though, because as soon as he got through the door, he saw the decorations all placed precariously throughout the room, making the bunker feel a little more like a home.

“So much for rest,” Dean muttered, already preparing his worried, yet heartfelt speech about why injuries were not to be taken lightly.

“That’s exactly what I need,” Sam hid a yawn behind his hand. “I’m heading to bed, I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Dean waved him off, following the string of multi-colored lights to the living room. You had a habit of waiting on the couch for him when he was gone, like you thought you could stay awake a few extra hours just in case he made it home early. It brought a smile to his face.

As expected, you were stretched out of the couch, clothed in an old, oversized t-shirt of his. His blanket was wrapped snugly around your body, and the corner of your lips were pulled up like you were having a good dream.

Unable to help himself, he slipped his phone from his pocket and snapped a quick photo of you. He had an album in his camera roll, labeled with just a heart, that consisted solely of the photos that made him fall a little more in love with you.

It was created the day after he met you, and there were already several hundred photos in it.

“(Y/N),” Dean called softly, careful rousing you. As a hunter, you were sometimes a little too aggressive if you were suddenly woken up.

“Dean,” you whispered back, your eyes still shut, but the beginnings of consciousness seeping in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replied, dropping down onto his knees to get closer to you.

By the time you opened your eyes, he was right there, running his thumb along your cheek.

“How’d the hunt go?” You inquired, leaning into his touch.

His lips quirked up.

“A few bruises, Sammy’s hair got a little messed up, nothing serious.”

You breathed a laugh, reaching up to cradle his head with your hands. He kissed your wrist as you did so.

“Looks like Santa got here early,” Dean commented after a moment, nodding his head in the direction of the tree.

“Guess so,” you stated, failing to keep the smile off your lips. “Hope you’ve been good this year.”

His brows raised, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Darling,” he drawled, “You and I both know I haven’t.”

You giggled at his silly joke, moving to sit up so you could embrace him a little better. He took the sudden vacancy as an opportunity to slip into the spot beside you. His arms wrapped more firmly around your waist, tugging you onto his lap.

“I missed you,” you hummed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“Of course you did,” he teased, pressing his lips to your cheek. He stayed there for a moment, letting the warmth of your skin seep into the cold whispers the days without you had brought.

“I’ve got a present for you,” he said suddenly, shifting a bit to pull the gift from his pocket.

“I think you’re supposed to open gifts on Christmas,” you reminded him, listening to the strong beat of his heart against your head.

“I mean, it’s passed midnight,” he argued, holding a small box out in the palm of his hand.

It was made of wood, and had a symbol you didn’t quite understand carved into the smooth mahogany, but you took it with a smile nonetheless.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift,” you stated. You had meant for this Christmas to be all about him and Sam.

“Open it,” he urged, ignoring your objection without hesitation.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, popping the box open with a soft click.

It was a necklace. The chain and pendant were both a shiny silver, though the pendant was shaped like a compass. You gasped, reaching out to run a finger along the craftsmanship.

“It’s beautiful,” you told him. “Why the compass?”

Even in the dim light provided by the Christmas decorations, you could see the red on his cheeks.

“So you’ll always find your way home to me.”

It was very much an un-Dean thing to say. He had, in recent months, been exceedingly comfortable with you, and had allowed himself to say some of what he had hidden under his gruff, macho exterior.

It was endearing.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“It’s made from the knife you stabbed me with.”

While that sentence would sound totally bonkers from anyone else, and honestly make you question whether you should be in jail, the story wasn’t quite as cut and dry as Dean made it seem.

You and Sam had to perform a ritual to force the creature possessing Dean out of his body. In order to do so, you’d had to get some amount of blood. However, the creature had made it nearly impossible, and in the end you’d sent the blade through his hand.

Cas had been there to heal him up, but Dean hadn’t let you live that one down ever since. It had been used in one too many guilt trips.

“I was-”

“Saving my life, I know, I know,” he interrupted with a laugh.

You lightly pushed against his shoulder.

“You’re a jerk,” you claimed, admiring the gift. It was really pretty, and the details were immaculate.

“But you love me,” he sing-songed.

“I do,” you agreed, leaning up to kiss his jaw. His eyes slipped shut as you did so. “Somehow.”

“Funny,” he retorted dryly. “Now let’s get you to bed, since you obviously didn’t rest while we were gone.”

Yeah, you were definitely expecting some sort of a lecture on your inability to rest, despite being injured. At least he’d let you cuddle some before launching into it.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader

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lacrossepapi · 5 years

Text

Happiness is a Buttefly

This is set to Lana del Rey’s Happiness is a Butterfly

Words: 2428 Ao3: Link

This was insane. Stiles felt his heart racing as he thought over the last few weeks. He’d returned to Beacon Hills and discovered that it was possible to live a relatively quiet life now that the Nemeton was appeased. That had been a shock on its own, but the larger shock that hit Stiles on his first day home was that the Nemeton was appeased because Peter Hale bound himself to it. Peter, who had always said he only stuck around for Derek and Cora, was now the only pack member to reside there full time. Stiles’ return meant that there was now two pack members in Beacon Hills year round.

He had rushed to the rebuilt Hale House and discovered Peter sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, a soft gray cardigan around his shoulders and a steaming cup in his hands. Stiles had stumbled at the sight. Peter had always been hot, sexy, fierce, and Stiles had been attracted to that. This Peter on the other hand? Soft, warm, cozy Peter sent a pulse of want down Stiles’ spine too, in a different way but no less strong.

He had taunted the human for stumbling before welcoming him home with a hug, cheek rubbing affectionately against Stiles’, and a soft ‘I always did like you best Stiles.’ Something in the man had fundamentally changed in the years Stiles had been away, yet Peter was still Peter and Stiles still felt so drawn to him that he couldn’t stop the invitation to dinner from slipping out of his mouth.

The odd thing was, Peter declined the offer. Peter continued to decline his offers, even though every time Stiles visited the werewolf his actions spoke of a yearning to see and touch Stiles. Muttered things like ‘It is always a pleasure, Stiles.’ and bold statements made with heated eye contact like, ‘I don’t know why you gift me with your presence but I’m grateful.” left Stiles feeling like a ship out to sea. He was being rocked this way and that by Peter’s behavior and knew Peter well enough by now that he knew what the man was doing.

Stiles checked the time one more time before sending Peter his location, entering the bar, and praying to a god he didn’t believe in. Maybe he’ll be able to save the werewolf from himself.

Do you want me or do you not?

I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another

Dropped a pin to my parking spot

The bar was hot, it's 2 am, it feels like summer

Stiles nursed his vodka cranberry and pointedly did not look at his phone. If he couldn’t get Peter out of the house then Stiles would content himself to a life indoors. He’d been in love with Peter since he was seventeen. Stilinski’s fall in love fast and they stay there. They had both endured lives so dark, and Stiles had found a light, soothing solace in Peter long before the man had even looked at him twice. Peter did not deny himself simple pleasures, but he did deny himself the pleasures necessary to be healthy. Stiles had noticed it quickly, seeing past all the pompousness and sarcasm.

Stiles followed the thought process of ‘If I’m miserable all the time, why would I deny myself any happiness I found?” and lived his life accordingly. When he discovered he was falling in love with an older man, who had enough baggage and psychological land mines to bury them both, he didn’t hesitate for a moment. Contentment was so rare in Beacon Hills already and Stiles feel peaceful next to Peter. That’s all that mattered to him in the end. In those moments of peace with Peter, Stiles was able to learn more about the man’s life than he ever thought Peter would give up willingly.

Peter was a Scorpio, his favorite ice cream flavor was mint moose tracks, and he used to spend his days watching the pack’s children. He was the only teenager in a pack full of adults and babies, and looking at him in the light of Derek’s desk lamp Stiles could see the young man he’d been. Peter had loved taking care of his nephews, nieces, and cousins. He spoke fondly of his aunt Ruby who’d teach him about magic and the world around them while the younger kids slept. Peter had smiled then, the memory still brought butterflies to Stiles’ stomach six years later.

He was starting to get drunk on his nostalgia of a man he thought would love him back one day, and the alcohol burning his throat.

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It escapes from my hands into moonlight

Every day is a lullaby

I hum it on the phone like every night

And sing it for my babies on the tour life

Ah ah

His phone chimed, and Stiles couldn’t resist checking it.

Not very smart to send a murderer your location, Bambi.

Peter made jokes about being a villain, but he was no longer the half-mad man he once was. He’d more than paid for his crimes by now.

What could you possibly do to me that hasn’t already been done? Come drink with me.

Stiles sent the message off before he could rethink it. If Peter was the villain of this story, then Stiles would gladly get caught in his traps. Stiles has had his heart, mind, and body broken and come out the other side stronger. There’s nothing left for Peter to break, not that the werewolf would even try.

Peter had been alone for at least two years now, wrestling with his guilt and shame on his own. The man that Stiles found waiting at the Hale House was not the same man he’d left there four years ago. His trips back had been so brief the first two years, always full of fighting and fear. He hadn’t even questioned why they called him back less and less the last two years of his degree. Now, he knows though, knows that Peter sacrificed any chance at having a life outside the horrors and traumas he endured here to bring peace to his home land. Now, he knows that he isn’t going anywhere either. Stiles will stay with Peter no matter what.

The door chime made Stiles glance up, already telling himself there was no way it was Peter, and directly into a pair of sad blue eyes that spoke of grief and fear.

Peter had actually come to the bar.

For a moment they stared at each other, both surprised the werewolf was there, before Stiles smiled at Peter and patted the seat beside him.

If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst

That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

I'm already hurt

If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

The bar around them was once loud, now a quiet buzz as all of Stiles’ focus zoomed in on Peter and the wary look he had in that moment. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with the melancholy that clings to Peter, so he does the only thing he knows will work: distracting. Stiles is able to needle Peter until he relaxes and they converse as easily as they would’ve before Peter had been left in solitude with only his inner thoughts as company. Stiles talks of his dad, and Peter informs him that Derek is currently helping an associate of Deaton’s that recently took down a puppy mill.

They share a smile over a picture of Derek covered in fur and smiling with a freshly shaved poodle in his hands. They share a laugh over a picture of Cora hanging out the window of a jeep, her tongue out and her hair whipping wildly around head, in a jungle somewhere without consistent service. They share a kiss over a vodka cranberry.

Stiles hadn’t meant to do it, but Peter looked so handsome in the colored fluorescents he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned fully into the kiss, his arm going up onto the bar to support his weight.

He didn’t understand why Peter had jumped back so fast, breaking their kiss abruptly, until he looked down at his now sticky arm. Of course a complete klutz like Stiles would ruin his first kiss with Peter by spilling his drink. At least it didn’t get on either of their clothes.

When Stiles’ eyes found Peter’s again, the older man wasn’t making eye contact and seemed to be disappointed. Stiles hurriedly apologized for being an idiot and knocking over his drink, but Peter just admonished him for calling himself an idiot.

The werewolf decided it was time to go, no word of their kiss. Stiles was four vodka cranberries in and more than a little drunk, which meant a tantrum when they got outside.

Peter really started it by wrapping Stiles in his cardigan before ushering him into a taxi. He refused to let the other man shut the door and part ways. He demanded to know why he couldn’t ride home with Peter. When Peter pointed out that he drove his motorcycle, which Stiles hadn’t even known the man owned, Stiles protested that he wasn’t too drunk to ride on the back.

“What’s the real problem, Stiles? You’re not like this, even when you are drunk.” Peter’s worry was clear in his breathtaking eyes.

“I’m not that drunk.” He muttered petulantly, getting out of the taxi.

When Peter only stared at him, he sighed, “I just wanted to spend more time with you. We could go dancing if you won’t let me ride your motorcycle?”

Peter smiled sadly at him and shook his head before motioning for Stiles to follow him to Stiles’ Jeep.

I said, "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat

Ooh

I just wanna dance with you

Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue

I just wanna dance with you

Baby, I just wanna dance (dance)

With you (dance)

Baby, I just wanna dance (dance)

With you

Peter took them to downtown and parked across from Jungle, apprehension noticeable in his movements. A war was being fought in Peter’s mind, and Stiles could only hope things would come out in his favor. They entered the club hand in hand and made their way to the bar, one more shot before show time. Stiles nodded to himself before slipping his fingers between Peter’s and gently pulling the man onto the dance floor. Something in Peter had changed the minute he realized he wasn’t going to back out of this night with Stiles and the events unfolding between them. Gone was the soft, melancholy of a man twice abandoned and left to live with ghost, and in his place was the predator Stiles had first fallen in love with.

Peter smirked at him before he spun Stiles around and roughly pulled him against the werewolf’s chest.

“Dance for me, Stiles.”

The words went straight to Stiles groin, but also to the part of his brain that reveled in Peter’s aggressive behavior. The part of his brain that held tightly onto the memories of Peter’s aggression saving his life more than once.

The two of them danced until last call and lights up, shuffling out with the other stragglers, the embarrassed grins of new lovers on their faces.

They drove down the boulevard with their windows down and their hands intertwined.

Left the canyon, drove to the club

I was one thing, now I'm being another

Go down to Sunset in the truck

I'll pick you up if you're in town on the corner

Ah ah

They made it back to the Hale House and Stiles could see the doubt creeping back into Peter’s eyes. He left the werewolf to over think alone in the Jeep and made his way inside the restored pack house. When Peter finally came inside it seemed like he was about to apologize or something equally unwarranted, so Stiles rushed to inform him that he was indeed allowed to be happy.

Peter’s shoulders sagged as a breath whooshed out of him in defeat. He made his way over to the couch and sat heavily down next to Stiles. The older man tried to say that Stiles didn’t understand, but the human was more than equipped to understand and handle Peter’s grief.

“Peter look at me.” Stiles had to repeat himself twice before Peter finally made eye contact.

“You deserve to be happy. You have paid for your crimes tenfold. Do you honestly believe your family would want you to punish yourself this way?”

Peter could only choke out his niece’s name before sinking to his knees at Stiles’ feet. The human ran his finger slowly through the werewolf’s hair as he spoke with absolute certainty, “You made a mistake. You regret that night, and you weren’t in control. No, it doesn’t bring her back and it won’t take away your guilt. But Peter that doesn’t mean you should live with the ghosts of your mistakes. Laura wouldn’t want that.”

Peter’s breathing hitched as Stiles spoke.

He let the other man grieve in silence for a while before grasping his hand and standing.

“I think that’s enough for tonight. The Peter Hale I love would never kneel at anyone’s feet.” Peter’s head whipped up to face him, his eyes flashing supernaturally blue, “One last dance before we go to bed, zombiewolf.”

Stiles smiled at him before pulling out his phone and putting on the first classic slow song he saw.

He hummed along with Patsy Cline as he placed his hands on Peter’s shoulders and swayed them around the room gently.

Happiness is a butterfly

We should catch it while dancing

I lose myself in the music, baby

Every day is a lullaby

Try to catch it like lightning

I sing it into my music, I'm crazy

Things aren’t better in one day, but they’re starting the journey to ‘better’ together. And in the end that’s what matters right?

If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst

That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

I'm already hurt

If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

#steter #Peter Hale #peter/stiles #Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski #stiles stilinski #Stiles #song fic #happiness is a butterfly #kyla writes #kyla creates

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mollykittykat · 7 years

Text

The Cupboard Game Pt. 1

AU in which Splinter evaded the contents of the mutagen canister and ended up raising the turtles as a human. No real warnings apply. Mostly family fluff with a teeny hint of angst.

There was a knock on the door, signaling the next round of the cupboard game. There was barely a half second’s pause before the four children sprang into action, covering their tracks and scampering in separate directions.

Rule one: no leaving out toys or coloring books. The objects didn’t have to go where they belonged, they only needed to be out of sight; tucked under a couch or shoved between a mattress… whatever got rid of it quicker.

Rule two: remain absolutely silent. This was the second most important rule of the game. Speed and efficiency got you points, but if you tripped trying to get to you hiding spot or couldn’t sit still once you were hidden your chances of winning were practically null. Michelangelo struggled with this rule for a long time, and even now he had some problems refraining from readjusting his position after settling in the cramped storage chest.

Rule three: you have to wait for the signal before you can leave you hiding spot. The signal wasn’t the stranger’s goodbye or the footsteps disappearing down the hall, it was the sound of their father rapping on the wall with his knuckles when he was certain the coast was clear. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits. Then they all climbed out and abided by rule four: no talking for five minutes. They were permitted to read and draw, but no spoken words were allowed. Then, when time was up, Splinter decided on who won the cupboard game and the winner would get a piece of candy.

Half the time Leonardo won. Donnie was a close second, as he was very dutiful about putting his things away and always seemed to know the quickest most efficient route to the nearest hiding spot. Michelangelo, as aforementioned, had problems with fidgeting, but he was small and quick, good at fitting into small corners. Raphael was a tad bit more manic, his determination to outdo his siblings causing him behave recklessly every time the game started. Competition had always been a difficult subject for Raphael, as there was practically no grey area separating desperation from indifference. There was one instance when… after a long winning streak from Leonardo… the hotheaded child actually decided that he was no longer going to play The Cupboard Game. There was the knock at the door, and as his brothers began to scatter Raph stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, staring at his father in a challenging manner.

Splinter motioned for him to hide, and Raphael stomped his foot and screamed “no!” like only a four year old could.

This immediately proved to be a terrible, terrible decision. One hand was snapped violently over Raph’s mouth, remaining there even as the child bit at his father’s palm. Splinter’s other hand painfully gripped a pressure point in the defiant tot’s neck as he dragged him the final distance to the kitchen area and shut the tantruming child away in the cupboard.

The cupboard was never meant to be a place of punishment. Leonardo’s earliest memory was of him and his four siblings snug beneath blankets, dozing away in the comforting darkness of the space lit alone by the gentle red glow of the light on the baby monitor. That monitor served as Splinter’s only way of knowing if any of them started crying, because otherwise the cupboard was locked tight and completely soundproofed. It was technically their first hiding spot before any of them could properly comprehend the rules of the cupboard game. Now it served as sort of a “tantrum room.” If you couldn’t keep your voice down you’d go into the cupboard, which would then be locked for a set amount of time. Raphael of course slammed his tiny legs against the cabinet doors, but the light thumping and nearly inaudible screaming was soon drowned out by a radio Splinter turned on before answering the door.

It was only a package. The person who had delivered it was long gone, leaving the cardboard box filled with preschool-appropriate reading material on the stoop of the dingy apartment room. Splinter brought the package in, ignoring rule three of the game in order to drag Raphael out of the cupboard and scold him.

“When I tell you to hide, you hide!” he reprimanded, face flushed with anger as he clasped the tiny turtle by the shoulders and shook him “do you understand me?!” Raphael tried to answer, but he was crying too hard to form words, struggling to keep the volume of his own sobs down in order to avoid further punishment. “I said do you understand me!?” “It… it hurts Papa…”

Splinter suddenly stopped. Coming to his senses he realized the terrified expression on the four year old’s face. Raphael had acted like a child, but he was a child, a child who had not yet been told the severity of the situation. Even if the matter had been fully explained, however, it was no excuse for the bruises Splinter found that his clenched hands were leaving on the little creature’s shoulders. At once the fear and the anger was gone, and in it’s place was a suffocating sense of guilt. Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo crept out of their hiding spots, drawn out by the commotion, and were greeted by the sight of Raphael wrapped inside a firm embrace, their father on his knees on the tile floor sobbing out apologies.

Rule 5 of The Cupboard Game: There is no opting out of the cupboard game. This was the most single most important rule.

Soon after the incident Splinter sat his sons down for tea and a family meeting. There, he explained that if anyone found out there were four talking turtles living in the apartment, there was a chance someone would try and take them away. As far as he knew, the four of them were the only turtles in the world that could walk and grow and interact like humans, and such things often made people afraid. That was why they had to play the game. That was none of them were allowed to leave the apartment. Leonardo brought up the issue that their home was so small, with barely enough room for so much as a game of tag, and Splinter somberly agreed. He promised that one day he’d find a bigger home for them, although he failed to mention that such a thing was easier said than done when one has recently started their life over, working a janitorial job with not a penny to their name, which too had been changed over the course of the move. Of course Michelangelo, unaware of this, never refrained from using his crayons to draw big castles and bright green backyards, basing his idea of what their future home should look like off the cartoons that kept him quiet and satiated.

In the following weeks Splinter seemed to come home a good deal later than normal, acting far sleepier than before, often sore and suffering from bad headaches, falling short on household duties and phonics lessons much to his visible shame. “I can only get us a bigger home if I work harder” was the answer Donatello received after no small amount of prying, though the explanation made the lispy little knowitall fairly indignant. Eight hours of sleep and no more than forty hours of work per week was the healthy statistic, he declared, and here Splinter was pushing seventy hours per week while getting between five and six hours of sleep every night. Unfortunately, the preschooler’s wordy little lecture won him nothing more than a pat on the head and a promise that it wouldn’t last forever.

The knock came one more time, everyone and everything safely hidden away by the time Splinter gripped the handle of the door and pulled it open. Donnie was tucked in the cardboard box under the bed, Leo was buried in shredded newspaper in the wooden chest next to the couch, Raph was behind an ironing board in the coat closet, and Michelangelo was hugging a teddybear behind a wooden panel on the bottom book shelf, when they all overheard a strange high-pitched raspy voice speaking out in a sharp informal manner.

“Aye! if it isn’t ‘The Splinter!’ I was afraid I got the wrong address for a second there!”

“…. Daiki. Or ‘Mister Takara' if you’re trying to sell me something.” Leonardo noted the tone with which his father correct the stranger; the inflectionless mutter of annoyance he usually used when the old lady downstairs reminded him about the rent. “Look, I know what you want. I told you we’ll talk about it another time.”

“Oh don’t pull that stunt again Splints.” The door was jammed by the stranger’s foot, and all of a sudden there were footsteps making their way into the living area. The hiding children tensed, unnerved by this turn of events. Splinter didn’t let anyone into the apartment, not ever, and it was clear by the tone of their father’s voice that he was as uncomfortable as they were. “What do you think you’re-” “Getting your attention”

Despite knowing it would kill his chances at winning, Michelangelo gently shifted aside the wooden panel keeping him hidden, hoping to catch a much-needed peek of the ensuing conversation. He couldn’t see his father through the slit but he could see a stranger with big sunken eyes and the structure of a scarecrow, brightly colored tattoos all down his arm and along his face. Immediately he thought of some of the super villains in the Wingnut and Screwloose cartoons and hugged his teddybear a little tighter.

“Ha! Man, this place looks like a real hunk of garbage, and what’s with all the thrift shop furniture?” The intruder laughed, giving the couch a light kick of disdain “I guess this is what happens when you work in a profession you’re not made for, eh?”

“My job at Channel Six suites me just fine, Nezumi” Splinter returned, “and you need to leave.” He attempted to subtly herd the invader back to the doorway, but the goon saw through the attempt and sidestepped him.

“Yeah, on your knees scrubbing bathroom stalls. Sources say you just got yourself a part-time job loading crates down at the docks too. You’re obviously in need of funds, why didn’t you give me a call?” Nezumi’s insult followed up by the revelation that he’d been snooping left Splinter at a momentary loss for words. “The last time we worked together was three years ago” he eventually answered when he found his voice again, hands clenched at his sides “and I put our partnership to an end at the first opportunity. You know perfectly well that I have no intention of going back.”

“You beat Visioso’s best guy in thirty seconds flat! How am I supposed to let a powerhouse like that just walk away?”

“Listen” There was a light thump. Michelangelo could see Splinter’s hand grip the intruder’s shirt collar, loosely pinning him against the wall. Mikey instinctively flinched, then pressed his ear to the wooden panel, straining to make out his father’s nearly inaudible whisper

“You know what happened all those years ago? You caught me at a moment of desperation. I don’t like fighting for the sake of entertainment, especially dangerous and illegal entertainment, but I had no choice. Now I have a choice, so stop. Haunting. Me.”

Mikey didn’t understand what anyone was talking about, not because he couldn’t hear but because he simply hadn’t Donnie to explain the sentence’s meaning to him in layman’s terms. To him it just seemed like a jumble of standalone words, mashed into sentences that had no coherency. What he did know, however, was that his dad sounded frustrated, and Nezumi sounded like he didn’t care.

“They’ve raised a fifty thousand dollar purse for the final round” the intruder continued, speaking loudly and excitedly as he proceeded to ignore everything Splinter had just said “Some of the baddest of the bad are going to be pitted against each other, and I know you can beat every last one of them. Daiki, we can’t lose!” This time there was no holding back. A firm hand gripped the gangly stranger by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to move toward the doorway

“Thank you for the visit.”

“You- you can’t be content living like this!” Nezumi futilely struggled against the iron grip like a fish writhing on a hook “There’s got to be something that can get you fighting again!”

“Goodbye”

From his corner of the closet Raphael had to bite down on his hand to keep from laughing as he heard Nezumi thrown out into the hallway, stumbling into the apposing wall by the force of the shove, Splinter evicting him with minimal effort. Mikey found it funny too, so much so that he pushed the panel hiding him aside just a bit further to get a better glimpse of the action. The hideous sunken eyes of the man in the hallway glared daggers at Splinter, flicked around in thoughtful frustration, and then suddenly landed upon Michelangelo’s big blue orbs peering out of the gap in the bookshelf. The youngest turtle’s heart leapt as he met the stranger’s dark gaze, a newfound look of shock and confusion overtaking Nezumi’s face before suddenly their silent exchange was cut off by the shut door, which Splinter immediately locked.

Michelangelo scampered to push the panel back in place, his heart still stuck in his throat, stomach twisting as he thought about the ugly man and his startled expression. He didn’t care if Splinter knew that he had broken the rules of the game. As bad as his father’s scoldings were he was now certain that someone saw him. That meant someone was going to come and take him away, and he would never get to see his dad or his brothers ever again. That thought stayed with him, and the more he pondered it the harder he cried, small muffled sobs escaping him as he played out the worst possible outcome in his mind, every detail exaggerated and emphasized by his overactive imagination.

Soft heart shattered by the prospect of separation he stayed where he was even after Splinter knocked on the wall. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits. The final five minutes passed, then ten after that, but Michelangelo didn’t move.

Finally there was a knock on the wood panel of the book shelf, the hands of his elder brother shoving back the barrier before Mikey could so much as answer. Raph was wearing a smug smile, cheeks puffed up with an arcor strawberry cream candy, arms crossed over his chest as if he’d just defeated the king of the world. “I won! I won I won! Look!…” Raphael stuck out his tongue, the little hard candy balanced upon it, but the taunting gesture didn’t last long when Raphael noticed that Michelangelo was still crying, face pressed into his tear-soaked teddybear, shoulders heaving with every panicked sob.

Confused, then regretful, the hotheaded tot removed the partially eaten treat from his tongue and held it out to his little brother. “Hereyago. Shush okay? you’ can have it if you wannit…” But it was no use. Michelangelo was unresponsive to the offer, and if anything his sobs had only gotten louder since his brother invaded his hiding place. Knowing that the refusal of food was something serious, especially for a turtle like Michelangelo, Raphael backed off and raced to fetch his father, getting his attention with a few tugs on his pant leg. Now hearing Mikey’s sobs himself Splinter removed himself from dinner duty, kneeling down by the bookshelf to examine the situation while Leonardo hopped up on the kitchen counter to keep the ramen noodles stirred, Donatello rattling off the instructions on the cardboard box.

“Michelangelo?” Mikey looked up from his stuffed animal just in time to see familiar hands reach into the bookshelf, pulling him into the light of the living area. “Hush my son, it’s alright” The deep paternal voice was a million miles off from the sharp angry tone with which Splinter had addressed the stranger. Finding something to tether his emotions to Mikey abandoned his teddybear altogether and gripped the fabric of Splinter’s buttondown shirt like his life depended on it. He buried his face in his father’s chest, tears giving way to light hiccups as strong reassuring palms coarse with callouses rubbed up and down the turtle’s shell.

Splinter picked Mikey up and moved to the couch, cradling the sobbing four year old in his lap as he sat down. “What’s wrong?” Michelangelo found it a struggle to answer. Even though he knew what he wanted to say he was afraid to say it. He wasn’t going to just get in trouble, he was going to make everyone angry and scared, but deep down he knew it was better than them not knowing what had happened all, especially if this was going to put him and his brothers in danger. “…He looked a’me!” “Who?” “The.. the… Th’man!” Mikey hiccuped as his gaze moved to the door, breathing heavily as he was caught in the throes of a fresh crying fit. “I know I- I was s’posed to stay h-hidden but- *hic*… I- I… wanted t’see wh- who- what was… an’ I- *hic*…I… I peeked”

It took Splinter a few seconds to understand just what his son was going on about. Realizing what had happened he looked concerned himself, gaze moving toward the bookshelf briefly before returning to Michelangelo. “And you’re certain he saw you?” “I… I think so. He- *hic* he l-looked over at me th-then his face got all weird, then y’closed the door an… an… an…” Unable to finish his thought Michelangelo buried his face back into his fathers chest, a long sorrowful exhale wetting his parent’s work shirt with snot. Splinter gently rocked back in forth, working to soothe the distraught tot as his gaze coasted back and forth between the bookshelf and the door, a sense of dread building up in the pit of his stomach at the idea that someone had caught sight of one of the turtles. Especially someone like Nezumi.

“Well, he is more likely to think he was imagining things than assume that a talking turtle lives in my apartment” Splinter coaxed, working to reassure himself as well as the kid he clutched in his arms. “Is someone gonna take me away?” “I don’t think so” Splinter smiled pityingly at his son, picking him up and repositioning him on his lap so that he could look him in he eyes. “Now, I am disappointed that you let yourself be seen like that. You know that it would have been safer if you had stayed hidden… but I don’t think anyone’s going to try anything. After all, you’re safe here.”

“Yeah!” Raphael suddenly interjected, climbing up onto the couch next to his father, clasping an egg timer from the kitchen in his large green hands “An’ if he does try somethin’, Papa’s gonna kick him in the mouth so hard, that Noobzumi dork’s gonna poop teeth!” Despite the tears still running down his cheeks Michelangelo began to dissolve into giggles, the mere mention of the word ‘poop’ striking him as the epitome of comedy. Splinter, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows at the surprisingly violent statement coming out of his four year old son. Seeing he’d accomplished the job of cheering up his younger sibling while recognizing the threat of another oncoming scolding, Raphael quickly twisted the knob of the egg timer, forcing it to ring ten seconds early. “Eggs is done!” He tossed the timer onto his father’s lap and scampered back to the kitchen area, where Leonardo and Donatello were struggling to portion the steaming of noodles and the eggs, threatening to accidentally topple the large pots of boiling water in the process. “Boys, stop! let me handle that!” Splinter immediately put Mikey on the cushion next to him before rising to his feet and hurrying to the stove, leaving the youngest to ponder the conversation while he finished dinner preparations.

Mikey didn’t like that look on Nezumi’s face. In fact he was quite certain he didn’t like Nezumi at all, which was not a feeling he was accustomed to… disliking someone at first glance. However, his father seemed to be confident that this slip-up wouldn’t result in catastrophe. Reassured, Mikey wiped the last bit of snot away from his face with his elbow, then slipped down from the couch to retrieve his teddybear.

“It’s okay. ‘Aphie’s right” he soothed, picking up his stuffed animal and cradling it in his arms much like his own father had done with him just a few moment’s ago “Papa’s gonna make sure nothin' bad’s gonna happen.” “Now come on…” He looped the tear-soaked teddy around his shoulders, giving it a piggyback ride to the kitchen “it’s time for dinner. Not pizza this time, but chick’n ramen’s super good too, so no whining!”

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2k12 #the cupboard game #human splinter AU #((if you have any feedback let me know!#even if it's just pointing out a typo I'll be in you your debt))#turtle tots #hamato yoshi

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rainygalaxynerd · 7 years

Text

Brave New World - Chapter 52

Warnings: Canon typical stuff. You know, supernatural interference, codependency, guilt trips, ancient languages, stuff like that.

Word count: App 3.000

Summary: It’s time to open up.

This is part of a chapter story. Here is the link to the mobile friendly master list.

A/N: Sorry for keeping you guys waiting. I’ve been writing today as well. Had to deviate from my neat and perfect outline leading to the end of the story to beat a bit of writer’s block. No telling what will happen now, dangit.

Tagging: @kbrand0 @jotink78 @winchesterprincessbride @fangirling-instead-of-working @vibou25 @jencharlan @deandoesthingstome @mrsjohnsmith @littlegreenplasticsoldier @twenty-onepages

Charlie gave him a confused look. “Wouldn’t I be using the cot?”

Dean looked at her and the closed bathroom door. “She seems to like you, so I’ll just…”

Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “That girl is head over heels for you, you daft man-child.” She pointed toward the bathroom and continued: “She’s really awesome, dude, and if I had a snowball’s chance in Hell, I’d be all over her. But my gaydar works just fine. You’d take it up the ass from Star Trek Trench dude before she’d even consider having sex with me.”

Charlie left the room before Dean had time to close his open mouth. Sam followed her hurriedly, giving Dean a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him.

Dean was still analyzing all the ways Charlie’s words were dead wrong when Caitlin exited the bathroom.

“All yours,” she smiled and gestured behind her.

Dean stared at her. She didn’t notice, simply crawled into the bed and burrowed into the pillow, content. If she felt any disappointment that she’d be sharing the bed with him and not Charlie she hid it incredibly well. Dean rubbed his eyes one-handed and went to brush his teeth.

As soon as he lay down, Caitlin snuggled in close, throwing an arm across his stomach. She sighed and mmh’ed and pecked his cheek before closing her eyes and relaxing.

Despite his exhaustion, it was a long time before Dean fell asleep.

Chapter 52 - Dangerous Knowledge

Caitlin woke with her nose squished against Dean’s armpit. She sucked in a breath and scrunched her face. Super concentrated essence of Dean gone slightly sour was more of a stink than a scent. She untangled herself and paused before leaving the bed. Dean was snoring lightly; you’d think a man his size would make more noise. She watched him for a little while but for once, he seemed to sleep soundly without nightmares. She collected clean clothes from her bag and went for a shower.

Dean still slept when she came back; he hadn’t even moved. She crawled back into bed with him and nestled against him. She planted little kisses on his torso and shoulder and idly began to trace the tattoo over his heart with a finger.

Dean went instantly from sleeping deeply to fully alert. That wasn’t new. That it wasn’t an ominous sound preceding the need to fight for his life, to protect Sammy; that was new.

He blinked his eyes open against the fair amount of light streaming through the inadequate curtains. He met Caitlin’s soft gaze and swallowed hard. His enthusiastic morning wood throbbed at the sight of her, hair wet and disheveled from lying down after being combed, her nipples perked up under her clingy, white t-shirt. Fuck, I’m so in over my head.

“What time is it?” Dean got up on his elbows and looked for himself, clearing his throat against the dry raspiness left by hours of sleep.

“Almost noon. Ah,” Caitlin gasped at a loud banging on their door. There was a quick movement next to her and then Dean had his gun aimed at the unknown threat.

“Hey, sleepyheads.”

Caitlin and Dean both relaxed at Charlie’s teasing words.

“Let us in, we bring food.”

Caitlin shared a grin with Dean and bounced over to open the door while he tucked the gun away.

Charlie and Sam entered, arms laden with food.

Soon they were all seated, Dean and Caitlin on the edge of the bed, Charlie in the chair, and Sam cross-legged on the floor (“Dude, I can see the top of your head,” Charlie exclaimed to everyone’s amusement) eating. They didn’t speak much, all casting frequent glances at the mysterious suitcase from the airport.

“Okay,” Sam said, finally, unfolding himself and collecting food boxes and trash in a bag. “We’ve slept, we’ve eaten. It’s time.”

Dean nodded. “Right. Charlie, Caitlin, you should go into Sam’s room, redo the salt line at the door and lock it.”

“What?” “Why?”

The two women spoke in unison, glaring at Dean.

“Please. We don’t know what it is. It could be dangerous.” His words came out strained. “Sam and I, we’re used to this stuff. Caitlin, you’ve seen some shit by now, but nothing like this has the potential to be. I don’t want you in here.” Dean’s shoulders tensed as he glared right back at Caitlin. Then he tilted his head slightly in Charlie’s direction.

Caitlin’s eyes narrowed. Then she glanced at Charlie. When Dick Roman had been headed Charlie’s way last night, Caitlin’s heart had hammered its way halfway through her chest and she had barely been able to breathe.

Caitlin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “If we hear screaming we’ll come running anyway, Numbnuts.” She grabbed Charlie’s hand and dragged her toward the door. “Let’s leave the boys to their toys. Too bad we don’t have a hidden camera somewhere. I bet it’ll be better than an episode of Jackass.”

Charlie looked back at the brothers almost apologetically, as she was pulled out of the room. “You’re really letting him tell you what to do?” She asked Caitlin as she shut the door behind them.

“On the rare occasion that I understand his reasoning.” Caitlin hadn’t walked further away from the door, however. She put a finger to her lips, signaling Charlie to keep quiet.

Charlie nodded her understanding with a mischievous smile.

“Morgan speaking.”

“What, no greetings for your working girl?” Penelope’s teasing pout needed no video link to come through.

“Sorry, honey pants, you’re not the only one working.” If he could just believe that this was a social call, he might not have had to force himself to smile.

“Well, I have no doubts about that. I’m looking at some pretty impressive work right now, and I think I’m gonna have to hold you to your promise about an explanation. I trust you but this is… What the hell is going on?”

“Garcia… I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you are. You had me erase security footage of you with Sarah Mitchell before she was kidnapped. Then she’s rescued by mysterious vigilantes while you guys were in California and they contacted you. You tell me to dig deep on the Mitchells and their hideout and suddenly we’re hauling in human traffickers bordering on slave traders. And now? Now there’s a so-called CIA agent interested in the witness interrogation and the most impressive hack-job I’ve ever seen with a completely bizarre cover story for recent inexplicable events. Then I go and search the databases for this Agent Smith dude and guess who’s file shows up? Dean fucking Winchester’s, you hear? Only it’s Smith’s mugshot on it and not Winchester’s. And I can’t even find evidence that his file has been tampered with. We looked at it just last week, Morgan. We all know what the real Dean Winchester looks like so why has his picture been swapped out with Agent Smith’s? Who happens to be a Dean, by the way. You better tell me everything you know or my head will explode!”

“We can’t talk about this on the phone, Penelope!”

“Pff, I’m confused, not retarded. I’ve scrambled the hell out of this call, no one’s listening.”

“Didn’t expect anything less from you,” Morgan replied gruffly. “But I don’t want to have this conversation like this.”

“I figured. I’m heading up in a few hours. Gonna be helping with the pervs. So I’m giving you a heads up. Better be ready to spill everything tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Derek ended the call with a soft smile.

“Cas, you here?” Dean looked around the room, squaring his shoulders.

Sam shook his head and shrugged.

“Castiel, Angel of the Lord, would you honor us with your presence or whatever the fuck we’re supposed to say to get some celestial superpowers at our backs?”

Cas materialized in front of Dean, a mere foot away, squinting intensely at his friend.

Dean gave a violent start. “Goddammit, Cas. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I believe that would be counterproductive. What do you want me to do?”

“Just… just stand there and look pretty when we open this thing and if something iffy comes out, make sure the girls are safe. They’re -”

“-right outside the door, eavesdropping. I shall do my best to protect all of you, if necessary.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean squeezed Cas’ shoulder as he stepped around him to grab the suitcase.

“Yeah, thanks man,” Sam chimed in, patting Cas’ other shoulder as he positioned himself next to his brother.

Dean frowned at him. “Dude. It’s not a lightbulb and I’m not Polish.”

Sam merely raised an eyebrow. “Neither am I, you should stand back a little.”

“Screw that.” Dean scowled and then deftly picked the lock on the suitcase. “Ready?”

When both Sam and Cas nodded, he opened the lid. holding his breath. Inside was something vaguely rectangular wrapped in a white cloth.

Sam made a small protesting sound when Dean reached for the object and started unwrapping it.

Dean ignored his brother, too excited to worry about gloves. The last of the cloth fell away to reveal a red, clay square.

“The fuck is this?” Dean tapped it, testing the sound. “Sounds hollow.” Before Sam could stop him, he bashed the thing against the edge of the open suitcase. It shattered to reveal a stone the size of an Xbox. The surface was obsidian black, smooth and shiny, and every inch was covered in strange runes. Dean ran his hands over the stone, at once sleek and ridged. “This doesn’t look like much. Dammit.”

Behind him, Castiel dropped to the floor, unconscious.

XOXOX

Caitlin started guiltily at Castiel’s muffled declaration on the other side of the door. When the door wasn’t thrown open immediately, she sighed in relief.

She exchanged amused glances with Charlie at the brothers’ banter and then held her breath. When she heard the disappointment in Dean’s voice a bit later, she shook her head sadly.

Then there was the characteristic thump of a body hitting the floor (do I recognize it because of my medical training or because of this past month?) and Dean’s frantic shouts for Cas.

Without a second glance at Charlie, Caitlin burst into the room.

Dean kneeled next to Cas, patting his face repeatedly, Sam stopped his strides toward the door abruptly as Caitlin entered. She vaguely registered something black and heavy-looking in his hands, then she knelt across from Dean.

“What happened?”

“No idea, he just went lights out. We weren’t near him or anything.” Dean gave her a pleading look. “What’s wrong with him?”

Caitlin found a strong, regular pulse, somewhat faster than that of an average human being. The temperature was higher than normal but was that perhaps simply an angel thing? Castiel’s breathing was as normal and healthy as his pulse.

“Dean, do you happen to know if it’s normal for Cas to be warmer than humans? Do you know anything about angels’ heart rates? Because I don’t. I specialize in humans.” Her wide eyes and the tremor in her voice negated any hint of snark in her words.

Dean stared back at her, then down at his friend. “Come on, Cas.” He slapped Cas’ cheek slightly harder once, then fisted his hands in the trench coat above the angel’s shoulders and simply held on.

“Unbutton his shirt.”

Dean’s and Caitlin’s eyes shot up to Sam, a frown and a raised eyebrow mirrored their unvoiced questions. Dean’s gaze slid down to the black stone in Sam’s hands, widening at the sight of blood running across the inscriptions.

“Please, Dean.” Sam stood over them, impassive, ignoring the drops of blood splattering the floor underneath him.

The hairs on Caitlin’s arms and on the back of her neck stood. Bobby’s mirage flickered behind Sam, shoulders slumped and face stricken. Still, he nodded once as if approving Sam’s request. Caitlin opened the buttons, her hands shaking and clumsy.

Somewhere close to the door, Charlie whimpered softly and pressed her fist to her mouth to muffle the sound.

When Caitlin made room, Sam fell to his knees, hard. Clutching the stone in his left hand, he drew sigils on Cas’ chest and stomach with his bleeding right hand. Placing his palm in the middle of the scrawlings, he activated the sigil.

Castiel seized and coughed. He opened his eyes to find Sam’s bloody hand hovering over him, unblinking eyes staring but not really seeing.

“Sam,” Cas croaked. “Sam, what have you done?”

Sam’s vacant stare focused on Cas, a questioning frown wrinkling his forehead.

Cas pointed at the stone. “What did you do?”

“Bamesa, Castiel. Bamesa doalimni. Dooaip balatune, ciaosi canilu. Bamesa.” Sam’s words held a strange echo as if another voice spoke them simultaneously.

Cas made an agonized keening noise and hid his face in his hands. He stayed like that, half sitting, half lying on the floor, that heartbreaking sound from deep in his throat continuing.

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “I can’t hear you. Cas, I can’t hear you.”

Dean was on his feet instantly, catching Sam just as his knees gave out. “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” He half carried, half dragged Sam to the bed and got him to sit. Squeezing Sam’s shoulders, he repeated his promise. “We’ll fix it.”

Sam shut his eyes tightly then opened them again after only a few seconds, breathing fast. “I can’t hear anything. Just His voice. He drowns out everything else.”

Dean’s face fell, his entire body slumping. “Lucifer? You’re hearing Lucifer again?”

Sam frowned in concentration, eyes widening with recognition. “No.” He shook his head violently. “No, not Lucifer.” He screwed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears. “I know, I know, I know!” After a few harsh breaths, he opened his eyes again, taking in Dean’s shocked expression. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Yahweh.”

Sam’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the bed. A trickle of blood ran from his ears and stained the covers.

Dean stood frozen, eyes glued to Sam’s still form on the bed.

Bobby showed up next to him. “He’ll wake up. Probably.”

When Dean didn’t react, Caitlin spoke. “What happened?”

Bobby shook his head sadly. “Sam fucking Winchester happened. You boys,” he muttered darkly. “You always mess with things you don’t understand, never mind the consequences.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean turned to Bobby, eyes narrowed, his words more growled than spoken.

“Oh, he meant well. You always mean well. Idjits.”

Dean crossed his arms in front of him, the corners of his mouth turned down. “If you know what’s going on, then say it.”

“That thing you found? That’s the word of God.” Bobby pointed to the black stone that Sam still clutched to his chest even unconscious.

At the mention of God, Dean scoffed.

“It’s not written in Enochian or any other known language. Remember that movie we watched when you and Sam holed up after…” At the dangerous glint in Dean’s eyes, Bobby trailed off, the words ‘losing John’ unspoken. “The movie. Nerd and kickass hottie chasing after some biblical shit. The guy had that line, what was it.” Bobby rolled his eyes and made his voice higher. “I did it, I learned the language of the birds in two hours and I didn’t even use a Rosetta stone.” Bobby shook his head in disgust. “Worst bullcrap I ever heard. Your brother’s smart, Dean. He could’ve done it, too, deciphered the language on that thing. In a couple of decades, maybe.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest but Bobby cut him short. “You know the difference between fiction and reality, don’t make this about your brother. Besides, it’s irrelevant. Sam decided to take a shortcut.”

Caitlin had checked Sam’s vitals while Bobby spoke. The man might be dead but she agreed with his prediction - Sam would probably wake up, nothing seemed to be physically wrong, at least. Now, she went to Dean’s side and gently took his hand. She looked at Bobby expectantly. “How?”

“He used blood and power of will and prayer, I think. I’m not sure how it works or how the fuck he even thought of it.” Bobby eyed Sam’s unconscious form. “Now it’s bound to him. And he to it.”

Penelope Garcia stared at her friend and coworker open mouthed. “You bloody bastard! You teased the crap out of me for worrying that my new place was haunted.”

Derek ducked his head. “I’m sorry. But I did ask the Winchesters for help and we didn’t find anything.”

Garcia sputtered. “You... They… My home? You asked infamous criminals to break into my home?”

“They didn’t. I just borrowed their EMF-meter. And you gave me the key yourself, remember?”

Garcia opened her mouth again, index finger raised at Morgan but he cut her short.

“I had to look out for my girl, didn’t I?”

She sighed and shook her head sadly. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“If you had believed me, how many full nights of sleep would you have had since then?”

Garcia’s eyes widened in horror and she covered her open mouth with both her hands. “You’re right. Oh my God, you’re right. Christ, Morgan, why are you telling me now?”

He smiled softly and took her hands, gently removing them from her face. “We’ve both seen a lot since then, haven’t we? Been through too much shit to get scared of yet another boogeyman, dontcha think?”

“You’ve just insinuated that said boogeyman is real.”

“He is. But he is in no way scarier than the ones we deal with each and every day, Penny. Real monsters are dangerous because it’s their nature to kill but they’re no way near as frightening as humans choosing to become monsters.”

Garcia nodded solemnly. Then suddenly she started giggling. “I’m sorry,” she hiccuped. “But imagine Animal Planet covering monsters and their habits.” She made her voice a bit deeper and narrated. “Today we see the vampire Lestat, hunting the suburbs for easy prey. He ducks into the shadows as he spots a target meandering down the street.” She burst out laughing.

Derek merely responded with a pinched smile. “If Lestat had any brains, he’d eat the narrator and run off to another city.”

Penelope placed a hand over her heart and pouted. “You wound me, Derek. You wound me deeply.”

Derek shook his head at her antiques, smiling.

Penelope schooled her face back into seriousness. “Now, can you tell me how your statement that ghosts and monsters are real relates to the mess we’re in now?”

“Come on, Penny. You’ve seen the recording of Dean Winchester in Baltimore. You saw Gideon and Hotchner’s reactions to it. You’re smart. Figure it out.” Derek leaned back and waited.

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “The Winchesters aren’t delusional serial killers?”

“No, they’ve saved a lot of lives over the years. Mine included.”

“But what about all the times they’ve died?”

“It’s been impersonators that bought it while wearing their likenesses, like in St. Louis, when Dean got his first death certificate or this last time with all the black goo instead of blood. The serial killers earlier this year were shapeshifting monsters, too, not robots.”

“I want to believe you but it’s so farfetched…”

“I know. Do you want to meet them?”

“Meet them?” Garcia blinked and fidgeted a bit. “What if you’re wrong about them?”

“I’ve known them for a very long time, Penny. Longer than you and I’ve known each other. And some of the things they’re doing at the moment are way above my very limited hunting paygrade. I can’t explain things to you the way they can.”

He got to his feet and offered his hand to her. “Come on. They’re not far from here.”

Note: Sam’s weird words will be translated in the next chapter.

#spn fanfic #brave new world #dean winchester #sam winchester #criminal minds #dean winchester / ofc #slow burn #burning slower

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