#cause he just had it be there so he could get coop into town

[rasticore]

i'm actually surprised people are complaining that "the hotel isn't important" cause i always felt like it was just a means to get the characters together and the plot going

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - six

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: domestic violence; blood; injuries; angst; smut;

word count: 7.6k

You saw it on the news before Sarah told you.

Ward was officially in police custody.

They were calling it the biggest crime operation in years, plastering his face on every corner of every newspaper in the country. You saw it first on your busted-up TV, the morning news anchor's serious tone making the gravity of the situation clear before Sarah had a chance to call.

He was stopped.

The man who caused so much pain to everyone you cared about was finally behind bars.

But your relief came with a bit of caution.

This was just the beginning. There was still a trial to face, and you knew how slippery Ward could be. He had enough money to buy whoever he wanted on the island if not the entire country, and the justice system wasn’t always as just as you hoped.

Trials could take months, even years before he was sentenced.

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope. You hadn’t seen him this ecstatic in years, the hallways of your home echoing with “let’s fucking go, baby!” as he made his way upstairs.

You were content.

Was there really anything to be happy about?

Sure, a bad guy was getting what he deserved, but the destruction he left behind was still very much there.

Months ago, when the police contacted you again, you had refused to testify. What Ward did to you was terrifying, but what he did to Sarah, John B, and Rafe? They were the true witnesses to his evil.

You barely got a taste of his wrath. You were lucky. You wanted to be there, of course. Every person Ward hurt deserved all the support they could get. But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

Rafe.

You hadn’t seen him since that day he dropped by, and it felt like he vanished into thin air. You didn’t see him around town, not at the beach, and he never stopped by your job. You started wondering if he’d been cooped up in that awful house all this time.

You couldn’t shake this feeling of worry, knowing he was stuck in the shadow of his dad’s mess. Did he feel abandoned by you?

The thought of him, alone in that house, haunted you. You knew you should’ve reached out, found him as the town buzzed with the details of Ward’s arrest. More stories came out, each more horrifying than the last.

You almost gave in.

One evening, you found yourself riding past the Cameron estate. You'd forgotten how huge it was, and with the light fading, it just looked like this dark outline in the distance You almost went in, stopping by the gigantic gate, but then you saw movement inside and sped away on your bike.

You couldn’t do it. 

Whatever was between you both just felt… impossible to cross.

The sound of the waves crashing—it’s always been your escape.

You've spent so much time in the water, it felt like second nature to you. Growing up, swimming and surfing were your ways to get away from your dad’s violence and your mom being, well, absent. The ocean became your sanctuary, where you could forget about the yelling, broken furniture, and bottles littering your house. Floating out there, everything bad just… melted away.

But as soon as you stepped back on the sand and headed home, all that peace would disappear. Both your parents were long gone now, but that dread? It never left. It was like the house still held onto those old memories—the shouting, the fights. Even though it was quiet now, the walls were stained with the past. The creaky floorboards, the dim light, chipped paint—You hated it all.

You've thought about leaving so many times, but something always held you back. JJ, mostly. And, well, money.

Tonight, as you got closer, something felt off. JJ’s truck wasn’t in its usual spot, which wasn’t unheard of, but it felt wrong. The windows were shut too, which You never did—You always keep them open to let in the ocean breeze.

You called out for JJ, expecting his usual shout back, but there was just… silence. You brushed it off. Maybe he was out on the boat or glued to his video games.

You dropped your bag by the door and walked inside, calling his name again. That’s when you saw him.

Luke.

He looked even worse than before—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, reeking of alcohol. He’d been gone for a year. No calls, no messages. JJ and you paid him off, made sure he left the island, but here he was, standing in your living room like he belonged.

“You shouldn’t be here,” You managed, trying to sound stronger than you felt.

He laughed, this dark, hollow sound that made your skin crawl. “Just came to see my kids. That so wrong?”

Liar. You knew what he really wanted. “You need to leave. Now.”

His face twisted, the smirk gone. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Watch me. Get out.”

He took a step back, hands up like he was surrendering. “I just need a little loan.”

You gripped the doorframe tighter. “No. You need to go. For good.”

He took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender, “I just need a little loan.”

You tightened your grip on the edge of the doorframe, “No. You need to go, for good.”

For a second, you thought he’d listen, but then he took a step forward, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I’m not leaving without what I came for.”

“I don’t care,” You snapped, “Get your ass out of my house before I call the cops.”

“This is my house!” He all but screamed, the veins in his neck visible.

“Not anymore,” Your heart pounded in your chest, and every fiber of your being screamed for JJ, wishing he was here, “I’m not afraid of you,” you said, more to convince yourself than him.

He took another step forward, his face twisted in anger. “You always were a stubborn little brat.”

“And you’re a piece of shit.”

He lunged.

You barely dodged him, stumbling back into the living room. “Stay away from me!” You shouted, frantically searching for something, anything to defend myself.

Luke laughed again, that same twisted, hollow sound, and came at you. This time, he grabbed your arm, his grip painfully tight. You raised your other arm to block him, instincts kicking in.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted, frantically searching for something, anything to defend yourself.

“You little bitch,” he snarled, shoving you against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of you, but you stayed focused.

You couldn’t let him win. Not again.

“You’re gonna give me what I want,” he hissed, his breath hot and disgusting.

“No, I’m not,” you spat back, summoning every ounce of courage you had.

With your free hand, you the grabbed the nearest thing—Mom’s old lamp—and swung it at him. The base cracked against his head, and he stumbled back, cursing.

“Bitch!” he roared, blood running down his face. It only made him angrier. He rushed you, knocking the lamp out of your hand, pinning you to the floor.

You were panicking, resorting to kicking and thrashing, doing anything to try to throw him off. “Get off me!” you screamed, clawing at his face.

His hand came down hard across your cheek, blurring your vision. “You really think you can fight me?”

He wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing. Gasping for air, you remembred that you’d been here too many times. Your hand groped blindly on the floor, finding a heavy candlestick.

With the last of your strength, you swung it with everything you had, hitting him square in the head.

His grip loosened, and you scrambled to your feet, panting as he slumped to the side, groaning in pain.He groaned, trying to get up, but you hit him again. Harder this time. He collapsed, blood pooling around him. You stood over him, breathing heavy, barely processing what you'd just done.

But then, he stirred. He reached for your ankle.

You stumbled back, “Stay down goddamit!” you shouted, raising the candlestick again.

Luke pushed himself up, eyes wild with rage. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he spat, lunging at you again.

This time, you were ready.

As he reached for you, you twisted to the side, driving your knee into his stomach. He grunted, doubling over, and you brought your elbow down on his nose. It cracked. He roared, grabbing blindly at you.

You ducked and shoved a chair between you both, but he kicked it aside. It bought you just enough time to reach the kitchen. You grabbed the first thing yousaw—a cast-iron skillet.

He staggered into the kitchen after you, blood and sweat on his face.

“You just had to put up a fight, huh? Just like her.”

“Stay back,” you warned, gripping the skillet like your life depended on it. “I’ll fucking do it.”

Luke laughed, this sick, deranged sound that made your stomach churn. Then he lunged. Without thinking, you swung the skillet as hard as you could, the impact vibrating through your whole arm as it connected with his shoulder. He staggered, but you didn’t stop. You swung again, this time aiming for his head. The sound of the skillet hitting his temple echoed through the room. He collapsed, finally still.

Oh fuck.

For a moment, the house was deathly silent.

You dropped the skillet, your hands trembling.

Kneeling down, you checked for a pulse. It was faint, but there. Relief and horror flooded through you simultaneously. You almost killed him. There was blood everywhere—on the carpet, on the candlestick, on your hands.

You stumbled back, your mind spinning out of control. What if he dies? What if you actually killed him? This wasn’t supposed to happen. You just wanted him gone. Out of your life. Forever.

Your hands were trembling as you fumbled for your phone. You couldn’t think straight, your heart racing as you scrolled through your contacts. The names blurred through your tears. You needed help, but you couldn’t call JJ—he wasn’t here. And you couldn’t call the cops. Not yet. You weren’t ready for all of this.

Without fully realizing it, your finger landed on a contact you hadn’t called ever before. Your hands moved on autopilot, and the phone was already ringing. You kept your eyes on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity.The phone rang, and you kept an eye on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. It rang for only ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

“Maybank?”

“Rafe?” Your voice broke, the word barely making it out before a sob tore through your chest.

There was a brief pause, and then his voice came through, “Hey, hey. What's wrong? Are you okay?”

But you couldn't speak. Hearing his voice after all this time, after everything that had happened, it was too much. The fear, the relief, the chaos, all of it came crashing down, and your breath hitched.

You couldn’t think.

“Hey! Are you there? Talk to me!” Rafe's voice grew more urgent.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. You could barely breathe.

“Where are you?!”

You focused on his words, trying to match your breath to his timbre.

In. Out. In. Out. It helped, if only a little. The shaking in your hands lessened, but the fear never disappeared.

“I think... I think I killed my dad.”

You looked at the bloodstained carpet, the unconscious body of your father still lying there. The words felt foreign on your tongue, like someone else was speaking for you.

“Are you home? Are you safe?”

“I’m home,” you whispered, “JJ’s not here. I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m coming,” Rafe said, no hesitation in his voice. “Stay there. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there soon.”

“Rafe—” You began, but he cut you off.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hang on, okay?”

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself staring at the door, willing Rafe to appear. This wasn’t you. You didn’t hurt people. You just wanted peace. Why did it always end like this? What were you going to do? How were you going to live with yourself if Luke died?

Why did things never work out the way you wanted them to?

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, you heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. Moments later, the door burst open, and there he was.

“Maybank?”

He called out for you as he stepped inside.

Seconds later, he was standing in front of you, scanning the room, analyzing the scene. He rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple as he guided you away from the scene, his eyes lingering briefly on your father’s motionless figure.

“What happened?” He asked softly, leading you to sit on the couch. 

“He just showed up out of nowhere. He wanted money. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He got violent, and I... “

“It’s okay.”

His warmth helped. But guilt? It stayed. The blood on your hands—it all felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

“Have you called 911?”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you tried not to cry.

“Do you want me to?”

The thought of police cars and paramedics filling the house, made your stomach churn. The fear of what might happen if Luke woke up, or if he didn't, paralyzed you. It took you a second to realize he already had his phone out, pressed to his ear.

"I need an ambulance.”

He stayed on the line with the dispatcher, giving them your address and the details. Your ears were ringing, unable to make out exactly what he was saying. 

"They're on their way," he reassured softly. "It’s gonna be okay."

You nodded, but you weren’t sure you believed it.

"They'll take him to the hospital," He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "He'll get the help he needs."

"I... I didn't mean to..." you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Rafe’s hands griped yours, despite the blood coating it, "I know.”

The minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You just wanted it to be over.

When the paramedics finally arrived, Rafe guided them to Luke's unconscious form while you sat numbly on the couch. They immediately went to work, assessing his condition and preparing him for transport. Police officers soon followed, asking questions, and taking statements. Rafe handled most of the interaction, protecting you from the brunt of their interrogations. After what felt like an eternity, they finally moved Luke onto a stretcher and carried him out of the house. He followed them to the door, speaking briefly with one of the paramedics before they loaded Luke into the ambulance and drove away.

He kneeled in front of you, “You can’t say here, okay? They called JJ, he’s on the mainland, but he’ll take the first ferry down here tomorrow.”

You nodded, feeling drained.

"Come on," Rafe urged, helping you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here."

He guided you out of the house and into his truck, the engine already running. The drive was quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you.

Rafe reached over, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You slumped back in the plush seat, eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing, too embarrassed to look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You didn't even register where you were headed until the truck pulled to a stop. When you finally opened your eyes, you realized you were at Rafe’s place.

Tanneyhill.

It felt odd, being there, and under such circumstances. He helped you out of the truck, guiding you inside with a protective arm around your waist.

"Sit down," he said gently, leading you to the living room. "I'll get you some water."

You sank into the expensive couch, feeling the soft cushions envelop you. It was weird sitting in his home after everything that had happened.

He returned quickly with a glass of water, pressing it into your trembling hands.

"Drink," he instructed, sitting beside you.

You took a small sip, the cool water soothing your dry throat. Rafe watched you closely.

"You need to rest," he said. "I’ll be right here."

"But I—"

"You need to rest," he repeated firmly, "We can talk more in the morning.”

There was a part of you that wanted to argue, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help. You’d done this for years, alone. And yet, here he was, offering you help. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe you just missed him, but for once in your life, you didn’t fight him. 

You nodded, letting him take you upstairs.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, noticing the blood still on your skin and clothes. "You can’t go to bed like this."

At this point, you were too tired to speak, simply following his instructions as he guided to the bathroom.

"Here," he turned on the shower and adjusting the temperature. "Take your time. I'll leave some clean clothes for you right outside the door."

You slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. The sound of the water running felt comforting, like a tiny slice of normalcy in the middle of this mess. Your hands shook a little as you peeled off your clothes, your shorts sticking to your skin. The sight of the dried blood on your hands and shirt almost broke you all over again. This couldn't be real.

You just stood there for a while, letting the heat work its way into your muscles. Eyes closed, you tried to block out the image of your dad lying there on the floor. Slowly, you started scrubbing your skin, trying to wash away every trace of what had just happened. The soap smelled like lavender, and for a split second, you smiled—this was Rafe’s scent. You recognized it from earlier when he hugged you. Somehow, that tiny detail grounded you, pulling you back to the present.

By the time you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, you felt slightly more like yourself.

Outside the door, Rafe had left you some clothes: his sweatpants, a t-shirt, and boxers—like he said he would. They were a little too big, but warm and soft, like a hug. And, well, they were Rafe’s. That felt oddly comforting.

You opened the bathroom door to find him waiting in the hallway. He seemed relieved to see you and you hated yourself for making him worry so bad.

"Feeling better?" 

"A little," you admitted. "Thank you."

He nodded, then motioned for you to follow. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

He led you to a guest room, the bed already made with fresh sheets. It looked so inviting, you almost forgot everything that happened tonight. Almost.

“Sit here,” he said, gesturing to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a second and came back with a first-aid kit. Kneeling in front of you, he gently took your hands in his. “Lemme see.”

Your hands were scratched up and bruised, still carrying the marks from your dad. You hesitated but then slowly extended them to Rafe.

“This might sting a little,” he said softly, wiping the cuts with antiseptic. You winced but didn’t make a sound. He noticed though, his brows furrowing in concern. “I’m sorry."

"’M used to it. It’s okay,” You nodded, biting your lip as he cleaned the wound. 

The antiseptic burned, but you focused on Rafe’s face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the softness in his eyes as he wrapped your hand with practiced care. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Rafe paused, his hands stilling for a moment.

“You’re not a mess.”

You let out a short, dry laugh. “Right.”

His fingers continued their work, securing the bandage with gentle precision. “I mean it.”

His tone was so final, like there wasn’t even room for doubt.

“Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”

“You know why.”

His answer made your heart hurt, the kind of hurt that came from months of trying to keep your distance. But he wasn’t budging, and that did something to you. When he finished wrapping your hands, he set them gently in your lap. “All done.”

You sank into the mattress as he pulled the blankets over you and ssomething about it felt so foreign and so… nice. No one ever took care of you like this.

“C-Can you stay here?”

He paused, adjusting the pillows, clearly debating with himself. “I don’t think—”

“Please.”

Without saying anything, Rafe slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed next to you. He pulled you into his arms, and instantly, everything felt a little less terrifying. His warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of lavender—it all made you feel safe, like maybe you could finally let go.

"It's okay. I'm here. You're safe."

You buried your face in his chest, tears finally spilling over, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from relief. From release. Rafe held you tighter, his hands gently rubbing your back in soothing circles. He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. He just held you, and that was enough. The minutes passed and your breathing synced with his, your body finally relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. The tension started to melt away, and before you knew it, your eyelids were getting heavy.

"Thank you," Your voice was muffled against his chest. "For everything."

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep.”

You snuggled closer to him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at home.

When you woke up the next morning, Rafe was gone. The bed next to you was cold, but the events of last night still pushed heavy on your chest. You sat up, your heart dropping to the floor as you realized the nightmare wasn’t over. The bloodstained clothes on the floor, the hollow feeling in your chest—it was all real.

You felt an immense amount of guilt as you remembered how you had leaned on him for support after you cut him out of your life. He had enough going on with his own family, his own problems. And now you’d dragged him into yours.

You rolled out of bed, Rafe's oversized sweatpants and t-shirt practically swallowing you whole. You had no idea where he went, so you headed toward the door, ears perked for any clue. As you walked down the hallway, you heard voices coming from the kitchen—well, Rafe’s voice, specifically, speaking in a low hushed tone.

You hesitated for a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. Slowly, you made your way towards the kitchen, the sound of his voice growing clearer with each step.

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

You froze mid-step. What?

He paused, listening intently. You took another step closer, peering around the corner to see him standing by the counter, his phone pressed to his ear.

“No, she’s fine,” he continued, “But I want to make sure she stays that way.”

You felt your breath hitch. Oh my god. He was talking about your dad. He was trying to protect you, even now.

“Rafe…” 

He turned around, his eyes widening as he saw you standing there.

“I’ll call you later.” He hung up fast, slipping his phone into his pocket, trying (and failing) to act casual. “Hey, you’re up.”

“What were you doing?” You asked, arms crossed. “Who were you talking to?”

“Hmm?”

“Rafe,” You warned, too tired to play games, “Who were you talking to?”

He sighed, looking impossibly uncomfortable as you sized him up.

“My lawyer. Getting a restraining order for you.”

The confirmation nearly made your brain split into two.

“What?”

Rafe hesitated, knowing he couldn't hide the truth from you. Not that he even tried lately. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, a gesture you recognized as a sign of his unease. 

"I'm trying to get a restraining order against your father."

"Why?"

“Why?”

His eyes met yours, so serious. “Because you need one.”

You stood there, completely thrown. He was really doing this—for you? He was going to bat for you, putting himself in the line of fire to protect you from the man who had haunted your life for so long. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you didn’t even try to stop them.

“I’m sorry.”

"Stop saying that," He rubbed his hand over his face like he didn’t know what else to do, "What happened last night… it’s not something you should ever have to deal with. I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve—"

“You couldn’t have known.”

Rafe shook his head, "I should've been here.”

You walked closer, closing the distance between you. "Rafe, you don't owe me anything."

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he gently cupped your cheek. His touch was familiar, comforting and you leaned into it, closing your eyes briefly.

"I owe you everything," he murmured. 

You let out a shaky breath, “Don’t say that.”

But he wouldn’t let it go. He tilted your face up, thumb brushing away a tear. “You think I’d be there if it wasn’t for you? Shit—Pretty, look around. It’s just me.”

Your heart pounded in your ribcage, the sincerity in his tone making it hard to breathe. You had spent so long building up walls around your heart, convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle everything on your own.

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” His hand on your cheek trembled slightly, “I’m okay, see?”

You covered his hand with yours. “I was so mad at you,” You admitted.

“Baby—”

“You don’t understand,” you explained, voice cracking slightly, “I just... I didn’t know what to do.”

He drew you closer, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. You melted into him instantly. 

"I deserved it,” Rafe muttered, trying to laugh but failing.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, "You told me you were getting clean, that you were seeing a psychologist, and I-I wasn’t there.”

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading with you to understand. “I was a train wreck, and I hurt you. You needed to protect yourself.”

“But I should’ve been there for you,” you insisted, your voice breaking. “You were trying to get better, and I just...walked away.”

“Jesus Christ Maybank” He let out a breathy laugh, almost like he didn’t know how to handle the conversation.. “Stop the waterfloods, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Shut up,” I sniffled, laughing through the tears. “I’m trying to apologize—”

“You don’t have to, baby,” He cut you off, shaking his head, “Not to me, or anyone else.”

His breath mingled with yours, his presence soothing you in a way you hadn’t felt in months.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

You felt yourself give in to him, your hands gripping his shirt to make sure he was real. You’d dreamed about him for too damn long to understand the difference. The kiss was slow, deliberate…loving.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Rafe rested his forehead against yours, breath ragged.

“Can’t believe you made me fall in love with a pogue.”

Oh.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“In love?”

He bit his lip, looking nervous all of a sudden. “Yeah.”

You could see the anxiety roaring inside him. The way his shoulders seemed to squeeze back in, eyes dropping to your lips. 

You smiled, brushing yours fingers against his cheek. “Never thought I’d fall for a kook.”

Rafe groaned, dropping his head onto your shoulder, teeth grazing against your skin, “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not,” You whispered, tilting his chin up so he had to look at you. “I mean it."

His eyes examined yours for a long moment as if confirming your words. Then, without even saying anything, he closed the distance between you again. This time, no hesitation. None of that uncertainty from before.

His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. The kiss was so different from the one before. You could feel the heat building between you, that undeniable chemistry pulling you together.

His hands slipped under your shirt, his shirt, the touch of his fingertips on your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Rafe’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing, making you dizzy with need.

“I need you,” your voice came out all breathless, your fingers clutching his shoulders.

He stopped for a second, lifting his head to look at you, those blue eyes dark with desire.

“You’re hurt,” he muttered, swallowing hard. “Last night—”

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

“That night was different. We were different.”

You nodded, the memory flashing in your mind. The urgency, the desperation, how you clung to each other like you were drowning.

He hesitated for a split second longer, his thumb brushing over the bruise on your cheek. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, pulling him back to you. “I trust you.”

That was all he needed. His restraint melted away, and he kissed you like he couldn’t help himself, lifting you easily and carrying you upstairs. When he laid you down on the bed, it was so gentle, like you were the most precious thing to him.

Rafe hovered over you, his eyes locked on yours as he stripped off his shirt. Your hands traced the lines of his muscles, loving the way they moved under your touch. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another kiss, hot and deep, as his hands started unbuttoning your shirt.

Everything blurred after that—clothes disappearing, just the two of you, skin to skin. His hands, his lips, everywhere.

“Do you know how much I missed you?” he murmured.

You smiled, cupping his face, “Tell me.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, “Every damn day. Every fucking minute. I’d close my eyes and all I could see was you.”

His voice faded, but his hands kept moving, tracing soft patterns along your sides. He was rediscovering you, like it had been forever.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. “I’m here now.”

Rafe smiled against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, holding you steady. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “More than okay. I want this. I want you.”

His kisses trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate. “I love the way you laugh,” he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone. “How your eyes light up when you talk about something you care about. How strong you are, even when you don’t see it.”

You shivered at his words, your heart swelling with love for the man holding you so tenderly. "Rafe..."

He kissed your lips softly, silencing you.

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, his touch.

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

Rafe's hands moved lower, teasing the waistband of your, his, boxers.

“I love how brave you are," he said, his voice husky, "How you face everything, even when it's terrifying." He slid them down, eyes never leaving yours. “Last night… I was terrified. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You reached for him, fingers tangling in his grown-out hair, pulling him closer. “I’m right here,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “Right here.”

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,  "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I do. I feel it."

He kissed you again, this time with an urgency that made your heart race against your ribs. His lips, his hands, everything about him was showing you just how much you meant to him. You could feel him holding back though, his body tense under your hands. You trailed your fingers down his back, feeling every inch of him, and it wasn’t long before he pressed against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this too.

His lips found your breasts, kissing and teasing, his hands caressing your sides, your hips. You moaned, arching into his touch, your body trembling with need. "Rafe..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, "I love the way you say my name. Like it's the only word that matters." He kissed his way down your stomach, his hands sliding lower, teasing you, driving you wild with anticipation. "I love the way you taste," he breathed, hot against your skin. "The way you feel."

You gasped, your body arching off the bed as his fingers found you, teasing, exploring. 

"Rafe, please..."

He kissed his way back up your body, "I've got you. I'm here. Tell me if you want me to stop."

You shook your head, urging him on. "Don't stop.”

He kissed your hip bones, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your breath catch. He moved lower, his lips trailing down your inner thigh, his fingers lightly caressing your other leg.

When his mouth finally reached your pussy, you gasped, your body arching off the bed. His tongue flicked out, teasing you, tasting you.The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Fuck you missed this. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place as he continued his slow, deliberate assault.

He explored you with his tongue, each movement precise,intentional. He found a rhythm that made your head spin, alternating between gentle flicks and firm strokes. You moaned, your fingers tightening in his short strands, pulling him closer, needing more.

Rafe responded to your silent plea, his tongue delving deeper, his hands gripping your thighs harder, fingernails digging into your skin.

The pressure built, an overwhelming pleasure that threatened to consume you whole. He groaned against you, the vibration sending you even higher.

"Mmm," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. "Don't stop. P-Please, don't stop."

He didn't.

He increased his pace, his tongue moving faster, his hands sliding under your hips, lifting you slightly to give him better access. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. Rafe’s mouth never left you, his tongue driving you to the brink. You cried out his name, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking rapidly, and that was all it took. You shattered, not a wave, but an entire fuckcking ocean of ecstasy crashing over you, your vision going white as the pleasure consumed you. He continued his ministrations, guiding you through your orgasm, his tongue and lips never slowing, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you finally came down, your body spent and trembling, Rafe kissed his way back up your body, his hands soothing the aftershocks with gentle caresses.

He hovered over you, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it making your heart swell.

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

Your bruised hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, he shifted, pressing his hips against yours, letting you feel his arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your hands moving lower, wanting to touch him, to feel him inside you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, teasing him.

“Are you sure?” he asked one more time, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you answered, and that was it.

He cared so much it nearly sent you into an emotional spiral again.

In one swift motion, he shed his boxers, and you took in the sight of him, hard and ready. He moved over you, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. He took his time, teasing you with his fingers, making sure you were ready for him.

You gasped at the feeling—God, you missed him. Every inch of him.

He paused, forehead resting against yours, giving you a moment to adjust. “Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, his voice strained.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to move. “Don’t hold back,” you whispered, almost begging. “I want all of you.”

Rafe didn't need further encouragement.

He started moving, slow at first, but each roll of his hips had you feeling like you were losing it. Every time he pushed deeper, you swore you could feel him in your bones. Your nails dug into his back, leaving marks that you knew would be there tomorrow, but right now? You didn’t care. You just needed to feel closer to him.

His kiss was intense—like he was pouring everything into it, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips, making your whole body shiver. His hands were all over you, one sliding under your back to pull you even closer, the other tangling in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. You moved with him, your bodies syncing up like you’d never been apart.

Rafe’s pace picked up, and you could tell he was losing control, his thrusts coming faster, harder. And then, his voice, low and rough, sent a chill straight through you.

“Don’t stop, baby. Fuck—don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he growled, his words barely audible between breaths. “Never.”

That was it—he completely let go, moving even harder, like he couldn’t get enough of you. The sound of your bodies crashing together, the moans and gasps—it was all so intense.

You didn’t understand the sudden urge, but suddenly, without even thinking, you pushed at his chest, flipping him onto his back.

“Your turn,” you whispered, climbing on top of him, straddling him. He looked up at you, a little surprised, but the way his hands landed on your hips made it clear he was all in. And God, you’d never seen him look so good.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts gently. “Every part of you."

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his stubbled jaw. That roughness on your skin sent a rush through you, especially when you felt him brushing against you just right. You let out a soft moan, then pulled back, grinding down on him. The way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers tightened on your hips, it was like you were driving him wild.

“You like that?” you teased, your voice low, your fingers running down his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, gripping you harder. “You feel incredible.”

You reached between you, guiding him back inside, both of you gasping at the sensation. You started moving, slow at first, taking your time with it, loving the way he filled you.

Rafe’s hands were everywhere, caressing you, teasing you, making you lose it a little more with every touch. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Ride me, baby. I wanna see you come again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, spurring you on. You increased your pace, rolling your hips, finding the angle that drove you both to the edge. Your hands braced against his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “You feel so good inside me.”

He groaned, “You can’t be real,” his hands guided your hips, urging you to move faster. “This can’t be real—Shit, keep doing that.”

The pleasure built with every movement, your bodies moving together like they never parted.

You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the tension building, ready to snap. Rafe’s hands slid up to your breasts, teasing your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“Come for me, baby,” Rafe urged, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words pushed you over. You cried out, your body arching, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed over you. Rafe groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours as he followed you, his release filling you, pretty hisses and groans filling your ears.

You collapsed on top of him, both of you completely spent, still trying to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and you buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by how intense everything felt.

When you looked up, the way he was staring at you caught you off guard. There was this softness, this disbelief in his expression, like he was seeing you for the first time.

"What?" you asked softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the slight confusion.

He blinked, like he was snapping out of it, then gently traced your cheekbone with his fingers.

“I just… I can’t believe you’re real.”

“Rafe…”

He silenced you with a soft kiss, his lips barely brushing yours, but it sent a wave of warmth through you.

“I love you, Pretty Maybank,” he whispered.

You smiled, heart full. “I love you too.”

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[rebelliousstories]

Rock A Bye Baby

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Infirtility, Violence, Strong Language

Word Count: 1,937

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: Two hundred years seems like a long time, but there is somethings that never change; no matter how much time had passed.

“Janey, we gotta get to school! Come on, little lady.” A woman yelled from downstairs in the kitchen. She plated some fruit on the remainder of the plates before moving them to the dining table. Someone came up behind her and placed their hands on her hips.

“This looks good, sweetheart. And the food isn’t half bad either.” Cooper chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She giggled and let herself relax into his arms for just a bit.

“Such a flatterer, Coop. Now go get that daughter of yours and bring her in for breakfast. She has a test today.” Sending her lover off, she made her way to the table and finished setting it up just in time for her two favorite people in the world to come down the stairs. Right before she got in her chair, she was tackled by a little bundle of energy.

“Oof, you are getting strong, baby. Come on and eat your breakfast, Janey. Then we can go to school.” She nudged the young girl in the direction of the plate she set aside for her. Watching Janey tuck into her meal, the woman smiled as she did the same. Her husband was sitting next to her and also ate his breakfast with a grin. Once everyone was done, she quickly ran around to tidy up before they grabbed their things.

“Come on, Janey. Let’s get going so daddy can drop us off at school. Okay?” And with that, Cooper was more than happy to be their chauffeur for the morning to take his daughter to learn, and his wife to work. The drive there was a relatively short affair, full of loud singing from the passenger and back seat as the radio was cranked loud. Parking in a spot, Cooper leaned over and kissed his wife goodbye as she took her step-daughter in for her school day.

That was a little over two hundred years ago, and everything changed.

Now, there was no more days at school. No more drives in the countryside or taking Janey to her mother’s house because of the visitation. Now it was navigating a nuclear wasteland for two hundred years.

They had been on the move for a couple days now. Very little was causing them to stop, and that was how they liked it. The couple functioned better on the move. Never allowing themselves to get comfortable in one place for long. But the town they were on their way to was known for big bounties. And they truly needed a bounty to replenish their caps after buying a bunch of RadAway.

“You go inside. I’m gonna stay out here for a moment.” She said, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder briefly before passing him in favor of seeing what stall were available.

Cooper just nodded and left to collect the job he did not care to much what she was going to while he was inside. She could take care of herself. When he exited the shop, he spotted her at a stall with different types of wears. He distinctly remembered her talking about how she needed a new undershirt and possibly some new boots. It all passed quickly, and there they went off again.

The couple walked all around the area, utilizing Cooper’s tracking skills to the fullest of the extent. If they got this done quickly, that meant more caps. Leaning over to look at something in the dirt, a chain slipped out from her new undershirt. Cooper instantly recognized the ring looped through the metal and unconsciously placed a hand over the matching piece hovering over his chest. Even after all this time,he was glad one thing had remained the same. It was probably what made surviving the Wastelands easier.

“Hey baby! Come here.” The Ghoul walked over to his partner, and looked at where she was pointing. A blood trail. Kneeling, he stuck a finger in before tasting the dark red liquid, and spitting out the sand.

“He’s close. Let’s move.” His voice clipped as he took off to follow the trail. Ever the faithful wife, she followed close behind. By the time the sun had set, they still had more trail to track, but no light to do it by. So the couple found themselves stationed in the middle of a junkyard with a roaring fire. She rested her head on his chest and felt his arms around her shoulders, drawing her in closer.

“Wait, do you hear that?” She peaked her head up, and waited to see if she could hear it again. Cooper went to say something but she just shushed him. She heard it again; this time louder.

“What the hell is that?” She got up and followed the sound of the noise before her husband could stop her.

“Damnit woman. Slow down.” He grumbled, following after her with a scowl. She continued to follow the source of the noise, never wavering in her pursuit. It took a couple of turns, and a few trips from the uneven terrain, but she eventually found the source. A moving bundle of blankets were placed on top of a barrel.

“The hell you doin’ woman?” Cooper finally caught up to where his wife had stopped and paused over the same bundle that she was hovered over.

“Oh look at them, Coop.” She cooed, picking up the wiggling bundle. In her arms was a baby.

“I wonder what you are. You can’t be more than a few weeks old.” The baby was tucked securely against her body as she rearranged the blankets to see what the baby was clothed in.

“Oh you’re a baby girl. So cute with those chubby cheeks.” Her finger stroked over her face, and felt her heart swell when the babe wrapped her chunky little hand around it.

“Now, don’t you go gettin’ attached to that thing.” Cooper looked to his wife, and then down at the small human in her arms.

“Coop, she’s so small and defenseless. We can’t just leave her here.” She countered, already moving to leave the area where the child was abandoned.

“No. No, no, no. Now what we ain’t gonna do is keep the damn thing.” He followed her through the path all the while her arms were occupied.

“Oh relax, beau. I ain’t leaving her.” Making their way back to their little campsite, she sat down a little closer to the fire and held the babe close. She retired the blankets around and tried to find something to give her for her hunger.

“You just gonna get attached to the thing and it’s not gonna survive.” He commented, sitting back down in his seat but not draping his arm over her again. She grabbed her canteen and dribbled a little bit of water to her lips.

“Need to find some formula when we get into town tomorrow.” It was just a little side comment, one that she did not even realize that she had said.

“Already told you, we ain’t keepin’ it.” Cooper grumbled, placing his head over his eyes.

“Coop, she’s just a little girl.” She replied, but her husband did not. Whenever the little girl in her arms slept, she caught a brief moment of shut eye too. The sun came up, and woke her husband who looked well rested.

“Is that thing still here?” He asked, looking over at his wife with a sleeping baby in her arms.

“Yes she is,” a yawn broke up her words. Her eyes were a bit hazy and tired, but she was aware of enough to continue going. Packing up their things, she had to navigate everything with the child in her arms. Her husband was grumbling the entire way about being slowed down, and how he did not want the child to travel with them. But as they continued to follow the trail, the baby stayed quiet, and stayed asleep.

There was something interesting about having the baby with them. Even if he refused to admit it, Cooper found himself extra protective of the child in his wife’s arms. It took him back to when Janey was a baby; how small and defenseless she was. Always relying on her parents for everything. When they found the target, he held a hand up to stop them.

“Stay here.” He whispered, ducking around the corner. Howard saw the trail of blood, but no body was around. It was not until he heard his wife scream, and a thud followed by the sounds of bones breaking. He whipped around to find their target on the ground, and his wife with a baby still in her arms, kicking the man wherever she could. The target’s jaw was definitely broken, and she was trying to at least shatter the knees of the man who kept trying to get up. Unhooking the lasso, Cooper wrangled the large man onto his knees, before turning to the two females next to hm.

“Y’all alright now?” Cooper turned his attention to the babe in her arms, before checking on his wife.

“Yeah. We’re all good, Coop. Let’s go turn that bounty in.” She stated, determined to get back to the town. The man picked up their bounty and began to march them into the town the had received the hit from.

“You know, you checked on her first before checking on me. Never done that before.” She commented, shielding the child from the sun with her cloak. Cooper smirked as he kept his eye on the prisoner in front of them.

“Well, maybe she is alright. Ain’t like she ever done anything that deserves bein’ left in this god forsaken desert. You gotta take care o’ her, but you can keep ‘er.” He drawled, letting his eyes wander to the child before looking at the love in his wife’s eyes.

“Didn’t realize you ghouls could even have children. Who would want to be raised by a couple of mutants?” Their bounty snarled under his breath. Loud enough that she felt self-conscious, and loud enough that Cooper felt rage. In the blink of an eye, he had blown a hole through the man’s shoulder, who dropped to his knees screaming.

“Now,” Cooper caught up to him and tightened the rope around his body, “you ever talk about my wife like that again, I ain’t gonna miss and hit your shoulder.”

He let the man go, dragged him back up to his feet, and made him walk yet again. Cooper fell back where his wife was now suddenly silent.

“Don’t listen to the shit he says darlin’. You’re as fine a momma as I ever did see.” He reassured her with a quick pat to her back.

“What if he’s right, Coop? I mean, maybe two hundred years ago we were good parents. Well, you were. Me… I was never able to be a mom.” She looked to the baby in her arms with a mournful gaze.

“This is your chance to do it again. Just cause it ain’t your by blood don’t mean it ain’t yours.” Once more, Cooper kept his voice down while he reassured his wife. She looked towards him, searching his eyes for any sign of a lie, yet found nothing. Silently, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and continued onward. Cooper knew that their captive was far too focused on his own shoulder and pain to notice their interaction, but watching her with that baby, made him think about if they just had more time all those years ago; could they have found a way to have children?

[humiliationstories124]

Submission from a follower, if you have a similar story, please feel free to share it with me

ok so i went to a halloween party hosted by a friend of mine in town. i took public transit as i live in the burbs but i dont have a car. i went as a wrestler, and when i was getting dressed i texted my friend the host to ask what underwear to wear under. he insisted i wear nothing under so i reluctantly agreed and showed up in just a blue singlet, shoes, and socks to this party.

it was a gay party and we had all been cooped up from all the covid precautions so it was verrry raunchy hahahah. i drank i think 6 beers. and i made out with a cowboy i didnt know and unfortunately for me got ROCK hard. because i was in the singlet, i couldnt exactly hide it and the lack of underwear made it even more prominent and visible. I got several looks from guys i didnt know as i went over to the corner to get soft. but my friend the host saw me and started talking with me and his eyes kept darting down and i could tell he was looking at my hard on. i should mention this friend and i are really tight. so when he casually reached down and traced the length of my shaft through the singlet with his finger i didnt mind, even though we were in his kitchen and other guys might have seen. i did kinda gasp in surprise and couldnt finish the sentence i was saying. he took that as an invitation to do it again, tracing from tip to balls, and i didnt have time to stop him cause i had drinks in my hands. but when he didn't stop after that i turned away blushing and laughed as I said quit it and he did.

well after a bit i was soft again and was ready to leave and actually kinda left in a hurry. now my journey home was to walk to the metro station, take the metro to the train station, wait for the night train, take the train about 20 minutes, then walk from the train station to my place. door to door about 90 minutes. i should have ubered looking back, but that was pricey cause it was halloween.

now as soon as i stepped outside, the cool air hit me and i had a realization: I needed to pee. i had had like 6 or 7 beers and they had gone straight through me. i considered going back to my friends place but i didnt want to miss the train and i was concerned if i peed some would get on my singlet and nothing would hide the spot since i had no underwear on.

so i walked to the metro station and waited for the metro and took that to the train station. as i was holding on to the standing bar in the metro i started squirming in my wrestling singlet and really considering whether i should go at the station. but i decided to hold it because those bathrooms are gross and the spot issue. If i peed at a urinal and some got on my singlet everyone would see and the train agent might have said something or worse, not let me on the train, which meant I'd have to wait til morning to get home. So i walked off the metro, passed the bathrooms and waited in the boarding area for the train. it was about 15 minutes before boarding, and i was kinda drunk so i was texting my friend to distract me but he was still winding down his party so he didnt respond much.

so when I finally got on the train i was pretty desperate. i got a couple of looks cause my face was contorted with the tension of needing to pee, so i embarrassingly sat toward the back by myself and tried not to grab myself since i was just in my singlet. I didn't want to look like i was touching myself and risk getting arrested or anything, so i was careful to keep my hands above my waist, relying only on my abs and thigh muscles to hold it in. I was squirming for sure, and I kept alternating between sitting and standing every few minutes, crossing my legs and shifting my thighs to help hold it in even as the pounding in my bladder got worse and worse. I was constantly looking out the window, willing the train to speed up, and looking down at my crotch to make sure no pee had escaped. 25 agonizing minutes later i finally got off the train, barely able to walk i had to pee so bad.

So i started walking to my building with all my muscles tensed on not pissing myself and trying not to grab my crotch.

I almost made it, but a little less than 3 blocks from my house, i suddenly heard a cop siren blare on the next street and heard the cop car as it drove away. the sound of the siren made me jump in surprise and...

It happened.

I started pissing in my singlet uncontrollably.

I tried to stop the stream but my muscles down there were so worn out so when i tapered the stream for a few seconds, I couldn't keep that up and the muscles forcibly relaxed and I went completely on myself. I was mortified and so mad at myself and being so close to home but not making it made me feel like a little bitch. I walked the remaining 3 blocks to my apartment in the wet singlet and had to wait around the corner, crouched in my soaked singlet for a minute while a group left so they wouldnt see me before hurrying in.

[dreaming-of-lu]

A thought that I shared with a couple of mutuals, cause I cannot shut up about Stardew Valley right now. Imma mix mash my favs together and make y'all spiral with me.

You, the only beloved grandchild of your grandfather, was given a letter by your grandfather who was on his last leg, filled with information regarding his left behind farm and cottage in your name. He told you when the day comes that when you've grown tired of the city and yearn for a life free from the shackles of the ever growing demand of corporates and nonstop hustle bustle. The farm and cottage will be waiting until you are ready. Years passed and of course, you become tired, exactly what your grandfather told you would. With no thoughts to spare to the city you left behind and little clothes on your back. Quitting your job, you head towards Pelican Town.

The mayor was friendly, save for the carpenter that definitely made you laugh until she made a jab at your grandfather's cottage. While you could agree, since it's honestly not much, yet you'll make do with what you got for now and add things on later. However, the slight pang went through your heart at the disrespect she gave to him. Before the mayor could set off, he highly encouraged you to introduce yourself to the entire town. He then goes over with you about the shipping container, what to put in there while handing you a sack filled with parsnip seeds. He also gestures to the tools he was able to get you that were sitting on the porch, with a wordless pat of good luck, he sets off down the road back to the town.

MEET OUR BACHELORS

First: Single (Bachelor)

Meeting First was quite quick since the man was known to be busy and quite on the run to get things done before heading back to the adventurer's guild that his great uncle runs. He was short in his greetings to you and apologized swiftly that he had to be somewhere.

It may not seem like it, but this man is definitely a poet with words. Chivalrous, that had his great uncle playfully rolling his eyes at his nephew.

Yet there's something underlying mysterious about him that drew you in to him. Perhaps you should gift him things and get to know him a little more better!

Sky: Single (Bachelor)

The eldest son of the carpenter! He lives down southeast of Lon Lon Ranch. He's the absolute sweetest person you've ever met in your entire life. The bright smile on his sleepy face had you mentally cooing at him.

He carves, paints, builds little bird houses just like what his mother use to do. He definitely decorates his home each time the season changes, it's so damn adorable.

He's single due to a breakup that did not end on good terms unfortunately. While he still respect her, however, there are things that were said that ended up hurting the other.

Four: Single (Bachelor)

The grandson of the blacksmith. He was working behind the counter when your fresh face entered the shop. Obviously, a little put off since not many people tend to flock to Pelican Town. He's a bit shy yet he makes small talk just to get to know you better. Until his grandfather emerged and the look on his face had him laughing.

Yeah, he ain't laughing anymore when his grandfather told him 'that's the kid you used to play with all the time when you were younger.'

He takes the tools you got and upgrades them or process the geodes that you tend to bring in.

Time: Single (Bachelor)

The working left hand man of Lon Lon Ranch. This man scared the absolute shit out of you when he showed up on your front porch that morning. To open a door to a towering, one eye, scarred man was not on your bingo card of shit you witness while living here.

He was straight to the point of who to come to when buying animals whenever you get your barn and coop up n going.

He's someone you want to be careful around, an anger you do not want aimed towards you. That mask you saw sitting on his belt felt ominous. He's hard to get warm up to.

Twilight: Single (Bachelor)

You were just planting the parsnip seeds when you heard a bark come from behind you and yelling from someone telling to 'Come back!' A black and white dog ran up on your porch with its tail wagging a mile a minute. A cute dirty blonde haired male came jogging up with an exasperated look before realizing you were the new farmer there.

He was embarrassed yet quickly introduced himself. The adopted son of Uli and Rusl's, the older brother to Colin and his soon to be born little sister. He also works at Lon Lon Ranch.

He's hiding something.

Hyrule: Single (Bachelor)

The doctor of the town. A shy sweetheart that introduced himself to you after you came in due to an already early incident on the farm. He scolds you gently for doing something stupid and rash.

May or may not have told you one day that he wasn't getting enough patients which affected his pay heavily.

Man has unprocessed trauma.

Wild: Single (Bachelor)

He runs the saloon, all by himself, save for his friend Flora does tend to come help him to keep things smooth and sailing when it gets packed. He was friendly enough to introduce himself to you when seeing you pass him on your way to Ravio's General Store.

He def encouraged you to take a load off once and awhile to relax in his Saloon.

He doesn't remember his old life, it seems like he doesn't want to either way.

Warriors: Single (Bachelor)

The older brother to Wind and Aryll. House is on the beach and he's dramatic as hell yet he comes in later on year 2 of your life on the farm. He introduced himself first thing in the morning and he's a bit stiff about it.

He's the only soldier(?) in Pelican Town and ties to the city, he seems so tired and run down honestly.

He's doing his absolute best to raise Wind and Aryll after the funeral of their grandmother.

Legend: Single (Bachelor)

The lone wizard that "summoned" you to his tower to gift you the language of the Junimos. Just to be able to easily translate the language and to fix up the community center.

His sassy attitude def threw you off yet he's standoffish. Only asking you of things he needed from the mines.

He seems to be mourning something.

Ravio: Single???

The owner of Ravio's General Store. The sight of his bunny ear hat sat upon his head was the first thing that caught your eyes. His eagerness to greet you while showing you the package of seeds he was given, showing off the wares he gotten.

The sight of his broken heart made yours clench when one of the workers of Joja mart came in and declared loudly that things were on sale for 50% off. He's trying his best, but the income is needed.

Is finding ways to take down Joja Mart

-TO BACHELORETTES (To be added at some point-

[astvrook]

洪水 | YANDERE THEMES | JUNGWON.

once, your teacher gave an explanation of altitude sickness or mountain fever, defining it as a claustrophobic reaction when a person began to spend too much time cooped up with others, and it could manifest itself when people ascended to very high altitudes, starting with symptoms such as headaches, fatigue or nausea, and eventually causing harm to themselves or others around them.

he seemed, evidently, to know what he was talking about, so that you believed him, and your mind focused on that ancient explanation as you struggled with the events that, during a «apparently harmless» winter holiday with your friends at the cabin, began to make sense when you started having nightmares about their deaths.

"do you think i'm out of my mind?" you asked jungwon, your best friend, after a terrible night full of incessant screaming.

alas, he hesitated too long to answer. yet he could see your muscles tense with fear and smiled at you. "i don't know," he said, glancing at you pityingly and falling silent again as if a clock were ticking over his head. "just know that some places are like people, too much they get inside your head."

after all, the hut belonged to his family and, as far as you knew, he went every winter to stay with them more than 20 miles from the nearest town. jungwon's grandmother, before seeing you two off, tried to reassure you by mentioning that, as they had a good income, they were always stocking the larder with food and water, everything was close at hand and easy to get without having to leave, except that things began to change when they mentioned over the radio that the roads were closed because of a severe storm, perhaps one of the biggest that had occurred in years.

at high altitude, air felt different, and the group started to behave differently, so the fights between everyone started, first because of differences in personalities, then because of the cold and then because of hunger, starting to behave like badly socialised people, because you had to keep well fed if you wanted to be happy. indeed, one of them started complaining about your relationship with jungwon, pointing out to everyone how annoying it was that he shared his room with you (which was the best) and wrongly accusing you of having food kept, which kept the others from being fed and they started exaggerating about the severity of the situation they were subjected to.

then you began to miss the rustling trees that surrounded you in the city, those birds scattering from the branches, flapping their wings wildly as they fled, wishing (for the first time) that you were one of them with all your might, and if phone communications hadn't been cut off because of the heavy snowfall, you would have immediately called the first number you had saved for help.

"guys, can complain all you want and hope that someone around here for «miles around» will listen." jungwon commented, mocking your friends' desperation, before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back into the room, declining to play the same game.

"what was the point of us all getting mad at each other?" you pressed your lips together at your own words, listening as the silence fell over you, thick and heavy. "my stomach is growling too."

rather than rest at your side, jungwon showed leadership once again and made a point of leaving the room, but not before locking it so that no one could interrupt your rest, meaning you couldn't leave, though you didn't mind. you were weak, and while could stand for the moment, it didn't mean you always could, so you decided to listen to him, for it wasn't so far-fetched to find comfort in the smell of his pillow.

some hours passed, maybe six, when again you heard footsteps behind the door, but every time you turned your body, jungwon never came to open it. exhausted, you decided to rest for a while longer, until you heard a vibration in the mattress beneath you. a dull thud. and, as you stood up, still sleepy and checked under the bed, you found the device hidden in a hole in the mattress. "how—?" took the device between your fingers and saw that the signal did indeed work, staring at it for a moment with something akin to confusion mingling with betrayal brewing inside you.

"are you up?" then jungwon asked, knocking on the door through the wood. his voice was raspy, likely from exposure to low temperatures, but it didn't make you feel safe like it used to.

"yes, i'm coming!" you had to raise your voice to be heard over your chest that was threatening to close up in panic. left the mobile phone where you found it and crossed your arms over your chest, struggling to retain some warmth and stop shivering, not from the cold, but from the knowledge that you had to tell the others soon and, even if it hurt, charge jungwon for keeping it hidden from you.

because you knew the rules of survival, therefore you refused to be like those animals in the forest who chewed off their own paws to escape, or perhaps for fear of defending yourself.

your eyes darted to the door when the lock was opened, and followed jungwon's body in front of you, landing on the snowflakes covering his coat. "do you feel better?" he asked.

well, you couldn't answer because you didn't know at the time; you would have said whatever jungwon wanted you to say. had he wished you to say that you were delighted to see him, you would have said so, even if it was untrue. but instead, you just replied, "maybe. i'm so hungry."

as he left the threshold by the bedroom door, he moved so close that you could reach him, grabbing your cheeks and letting them rest in his hands. his face changed then, from worried cat to bright-eyed domestic kitten, and the sudden curve in his lip made you tense as you took your time to breathe.

"we'll sort that out at this moment." your eyes met, and the thick feeling of fear dissipated in you, like panic, at the mention of food. "come to me, (y/n)."

aside from the furious gurgling in your stomach, you followed him silently, staring at the kitchen table like the clock inside it. it seemed more than six hours had passed since everyone had left. when you smelled the scent of food, you let out a sound of satisfaction and clung tighter to jungwon's hand, tucking your lower lip between the teeth.

"does that expression on your face signify that you're content?" his movements paused for a second before he resumed, stowing what appeared to be bags inside the freezer.

surprised you weren't fighting, and you concentrated even more on following the steam from the frying pan with your eyes. "how did you make it?"

without answering you, jungwon bit the tip of your nose lightly, then suddenly, as you began to realise that the bags contained enough meat for the winter, the oxygen in the room faded and froze your breath, for as the hours passed, your friends did not return.

and you realised that, from then on, it would only be the two of you for a long time.

LISTA MAESTRA DE ENHYPEN

[drabblesandimagines]

Sweet & Salty

I'm feeling a bit sad today so wanted some comfort... Sebastian x (afab) reader, Stardew Valley, Fluffity fluff Warnings: Mention of recreational drug use

-

It’s been a day. You’d sat down heavily on your porch steps, trying to keep the tears at bay. You should probably go mope in your bed, instead of staring at the land that is causing you so much distress. Despite your carefully placed scarecrow, you must’ve miscalculated the distance because the crows have still had a go at your most recent plantings and that’s hard-earned money down the drain - again. You’ve been here two months now and, surely, by now you should know better. The farm has been somewhat transformed since you arrived - a mass of weeds, stone and dead branches - but it’s nowhere near how you remember it in your grandpa’s heyday. He would’ve never made such a rudimentary error in his scarecrow placement.

Some of the fences around your crop patches have started to erode too – it won’t be long until they need replaced, but you’re trying to save up your wood supplies to put in a coop from Robyn. You desperately want to add chickens to the farm as eggs would be steady income – or at least you reckon – but you also don’t want them pecking at your crops alongside the crows, so having a fence seems important too. Your endless to-do list swirls around your head again. Why’s everything so hard?

It's not just your failings on the farm on your mind, but also your lack at making any real friends around here. Shane glared at you this morning as he headed off to work. That’s not unusual, despite your best efforts of a smile and a friendly greeting. Then Haley looked you up and down, judging your dirty dungarees. You’d only popped into town to get some seeds from Pierre’s. It didn’t make sense to get changed… Elliott is sweet but locked away in his cabin most of the time, Emily in her own little world… Sebastian, Sam and Abigail have invited you to play pool with them, but they’re such a tight-knit group and you always feel like you’re missing out on the joke, especially when you were partnered up with Sebastian. He’d been teaching you how to hold the cue correctly, leaning over you, his breath tickling your ear. Sam and Abigail kept nudging each other and whispering, but you couldn’t catch what about and it was clear Sebastian was becoming irritated. You’d begun to think they were making fun of your abysmal pool skills.

Ugh. Your emotions are a rollercoaster and the twisting pain in your stomach reminds you why – stupid period. It emerged with a vengeance this morning. It had stopped in your last months of JoJo Corp. There was no chance you were pregnant, your last intimate relationship fizzling out a year previously, though you’d taken tests just to be sure. The doctor in Zuzu City said you were stressed, burnt out… that it would return once you were feeling better in yourself. So why had it returned now, of all times? You feel more stressed and burnt out than ever before, regretting ever moving here. Why did you think you could become a farmer…?!

The barrier finally breaks and you let out a sob, hugging your knees.

To your shame, there’s a scuffing footstep and your heart stops as you look up, worried who’s seen your breakdown.

“Sebastian?” You sniff. You’re tempted to rub the tears from your cheeks but maybe he hasn’t noticed in the evening light. The black-haired man is standing there looking sheepish, a brown paper bag from Pierre’s clutched in his hands.

“Er, hey…” He’s not meeting your eyes. Poor boy probably wants to run. “Sorry, I… I was just leaving Sam’s and I didn’t want to go through town and see everyone, so I thought I’d take the scenic route back home through your farm…”

“Oh.” You mumble, waving him on. “That’s okay. Go ahead.”

He takes a step as if to go on his way, but then hesitates. “Are… Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you plaster a smile on, which you’re sure makes you look ridiculous as the stupid tears are still flowing. “I’m just being silly. Don’t let me keep you.”

He stares at you for a moment, before a sympathetic smile graces his lips. “You’re a terrible liar, you know?”

“I’m not ly- Ow!” You flinch as your stomach cramps terribly and you squeeze your arms around it, hoping in some way it might alleviate the pain.

Sebastian is suddenly at your side – the paper bag from Pierre’s dropped to the ground. He’s kneeling down on the first porch step with a frown on his face. “Whoa, are you hurt? I can get Harvey…” His hand hovers over your arm,

“No, honestly, I’m fine…” You try and wave him off again with one hand, the other arm still wrapped around your stomach.

He stares at you, a raised eyebrow. He seems to be putting the clues together – the wincing, clutching your stomach, the tears… He nods, making up his mind and gets to his feet, picking up the discarded bag from Pierre’s as he does so.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He offers you his free hand.

“Thank you, but I’ll be okay. You get on home…”

“Farmer, I know I’m probably not the person you want to see right now, but let me help you out, okay? I can’t go home and just leave crying on your porch.” He waves his offered hand again. You look at Sebastian, hesitantly. He looks genuine, at least, but there’s something a little off about him tonight… Heck, you’ve already made a fool of yourself enough, so what’s one more thing?

This time you accept his hand and he easily pulls you to your feet and leads you up to your door. He opens it – you’d easily adapted to the habit of leaving the front door unlocked since moving to Pelican Valley.

You go to open your mouth, to tell Sebastian thank you, but he can go now. You’re inside, you’ll go to bed and pretend this never happened.

“Sit down.” He orders, pointing at your bed. “You like hot chocolate, right?” You wonder how he knows that, how he knows you have a stash. Had you mentioned it at the saloon before? “I’ll make you a cup.”

“But you don’t know where…”

“I’ll find it. Sit!” He pushes you gently towards the bed and you do sit, keeping a wary eye. To be honest, it is quite easy to find your cups and kettle. Robyn had advertised an extension to you but you don’t even want to think about the price and the materials needed. For now – perhaps even for the rest of your life - you’ve got a cupboard filled with crockery and silverware. The fire’s roaring away, you’re thankful you’d lit it earlier to try and make it cosy ahead of going to bed later on. The cabin always had a slight chill at night. Sebastian retrieves a mug and spoon, scooping the hot chocolate powder into the mug, fills the kettle with water from the jug you keep besides the cupboard, before taking it over to the fire to heat.

“Do you have a hot water bottle?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Hot water bottle.” He enunciates.

“Y-yeah, I think it’s under my bed. Let me…” Before you can bend down, he drops to his knees and Sebastian is now crawling under the bedframe to retrieve it. You pull your legs up off the floor to the bed, not sure what to say.

He reverses back out, holding the fluffy hot water bottle in the air triumphantly, and gets back to his feet. “Finally, where do you keep the snacks?”

“I don’t have any. Sorry, I wasn’t really expecting to entertain.”

“Not for me,” a chuckle – it sounds a little odd coming from him - “..for you!”

“For me?” He’s acting so weird.

But he’s not listening, already rummaging around the brown bag from Pierre’s. He walks over to the sofa and empties the contents besides you – there’s a couple of packs of chips, cookies and candy. “Ta-da!”

You look at the assembled junk food and back up at the black-haired man, noticing his blood-shot eyes.

“You’re high.”

Sebastian laughs again, rubbing the back of his head. “Guilty. Is that a problem?”

“No, it just… explains a lot.” You wince again as the kettle on the fire whistles. Sebastian grabs the mitt you keep nearby for that exact purpose and places it on his hand, removing the kettle from the fire and placing it down on the hearth. Methodically, he pours some hot water in the hot water bottle, tightening the cap, before pouring some in in the cup he retrieved, stirring the hot chocolate powder until it dissolves. Once he seems happy with his work, he brings the two over to you on the bed.

“Okay, since you worked out my thing, it’s my turn. Time of the month, right?” He flops down next to you on the bed, ripping open a bag of chips. “My sympathies.” It feels surreal as he holds the bag towards you and you take a handful – maybe junk food would make you feel better, and the warmth of the hot water bottle is soothing too now against your sore tummy.

The only sound for a few moments is the rustle of the chip package and the crunching of said chips. You take a sip of hot chocolate, probably a weird combination at that moment in time, but it’s working.

“Sebastian…”

“Mm?” You’ve caught him with his mouth full.

“How are you so good at this?”

“Erm…” He swallows. “Well, I guess cos I have a sister and a mom… and a friend named Abigail.” He replies in a teasing tone. “Maru and Abi usually just get super pissy though. Mom’s the crier.” Sebastian leans forward and grabs the blanket off the end of your bed, throwing it over the both of your laps in a smooth motion. Who knew he could turn into a right chatterbox? “Wanna watch some TV?” He picks up the remote control and turns it on without waiting for a response, flipping through the channels. “Do you have a preference? Nothing deters Abi from horror, Mom and Maru go chick-flick mad…”

You burst into tears again.

“Whoa, okay, no TV! That’s fair too.”

“N-no, it’s n-not that.” You let out a shuddering breath. “Why are you being so nice?”

“Because we’re friends…?”

“No, everyone hates me here.” You know you’re being irrational now, but the floodgates have well and truly opened.

“Come on, you know that’s not exactly true.” His face looks serious now.

“It is. I don’t know what I was thinking – I worked in customer support, why did I think I could farm the land? I’m going to be broke by the end of winter if I lose another batch of crops and this town is so tight-knit that they’re never going to like me being here.”

“I like you being here.”

“No, you’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me.” You go to take another handful of chips, but he snatches the bag out of your reach indignantly.

“I am not.”

“You are.” You clip back.

Sebastian lets out a huff in frustration and he acts before he can even consider the consequences. He puts a hand on the side of your face, turning it slightly and presses a gentle kiss on your lips for a moment or two, immediately causing your tears to cease.

“Would I kiss you if I didn’t like you?”

“I…” You don’t have any words.

He swipes his tongue over his lips. “Mm, salty. That’s not how I expected our first kiss to go, I’ll be honest.”

“Our first kiss?” Your face is on fire. It has to be on fire, why else would it feel so hot?

“Yeah, well, I told you I like you, didn’t I?” He grins, before it drops. “Though I’ve just realized that you probably don’t like me like that, I’m high, and now I’ve made this a hundred times wor-…”

You cut him off, caressing his lips with your own for a moment.

“No. I like you too.”

“Well, that’s that settled, then, isn’t it?” He leans back, a smug look on his face before he grabs the packet of candy. “Shall we see what a sweet kiss tastes like next?”

-

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi I'm also running an event for x reader fics to celebrate 200 followers, so please check it out and send in your requests.

[lizhrs]

Could you do a high school bullies version with Levi, Eren, or Jean pls?

a/n: I was going to make high school bully levi but the thought of captain levi being an immature tyrant towards poor cadet y/n was too good to ignore so my bad

warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, physical abuse

EREN + JEAN

They rule the school halls. Everyone sees them as the perfect duo. Guys try desperately to be them, girls want to be under them and even teachers will do anything to appease them.

It's nauseating, the contrast of how everyone views them versus how you see them. The way you know they are. They're not godly saints, or this generation's future with their good looks and charms. No they're something that follows you constantly, haunts you and pushes you to limits you didn't even know existed.

They're tyrants.

Always pushing and pulling and dragging you every which way like a rag doll. Knocking you into the walls, stealing your lunch money and homework like a bunch of children. Standing over you every chance they get, like they're entitled to every aspect of your life.

Take now for example, Eren is leaning against your shoulder, hands clenching the back of your chair as he stares at your phone.

You're usually more aware of your surroundings, unfortunately due to the many years of hell he and lackey have put you through but you were too engrossed in your texting to hear his booming footsteps making their way towards you. "Who are you texting?" He asks causally, hot air hitting your shoulder.

Your fingers clench around your small device, remembering the last time he saw something on your phone he didn't like, how he smashed the small object into a million pieces. It took you nearly a year to save up money for a new one. "No one."

He's taking it out of your hand before you can stop it, not that you had the guts to anyway. "You're going to a party tonight?" He hums, shamelessly reading your messages. "That's very new of you." He smirks.

"Give it back." You mutter, hating how weak you sound.

"How can you do my homework if you're gonna spend the night partying like a loose slut?"

Your cringe at the words. "I have the entire weekend to do it..."

He stares into you, those strikingly icy eyes that have been the cause of too many nightmares to count digging into your soul. "I should go with you, just to keep you on your feet."

"W-what? No!"

It's your friend's party. He graduated a few months ago and invited you to a college kegger and usually you would've said no but after the horrible week you've been through, getting drunk was a great way to start your weekend. It's out of town so you would've been away from Eren for a few hours which is all you can ask for.

"I don't remember asking." He's typing. Probably texting himself the address on your phone like the prick he is.

You grab the device before you can think, snatching it away. "You're not going, don't you harass me enough?" You grab your bag, quickly walking away from the table before he can make you regret your actions but of course you don't make it very far.

You slam into a chest and the way hair instantly rises on your skin tells you immediately who it is. Your hands dig into the strap of your backpack as you slowly look up, Jean's taunting eyes stare back at you. "Are you already running away from us babe?" He coos. "The day has just ended."

Of course, you should've known. They spent the entire school day ignoring you, a usual sign they're going to make up for it once that final bell rings. You should've just ran home instead of cooping up in this library.

"J-just let me—" Fingers are grabbing your hair from behind, yanking and pushing you into the wall. You wince as your shoulder hits it, hoping the librarian will come back from her break soon...not that she would do anything to help.

"You don't tell us what to do y/n. You should know this by now." Eren smiles as Jean slings an arm around his shoulder, both laughing as if this situation is hysterical.

"I-I'll do your homework Eren, just let me—"

He rolls his eyes. In front of you in a flash as he pushes his knee between your thighs. Your eyes widen at his brazen actions, instantly squirming to get out of his grip. He's been brass before, touching and teasing you as he pleases but you never get used to it. You doubt it's something anyone can really get used to. His palm rests on the space next to your head, breath fanning over your lips due to how close he is.

"You talk way too much." His finger slowly trails down your cheek before softly gripping your chin. You crane your neck to the side, cringing at his callous fingers touching you, digging into your uniform.

Jean's closer too, hands in his pocket as he watches the scene in front of him, always having that mischievous grin on his face whenever Eren plays with their favorite toy.

It's sickening.

"You can do that later pretty, right now we need your full attention." Jean whispers in your ear. "Can you do that for us?"

They follow you home.

Both walk behind you like a pair of pesky mutts, laughing and talking to each other as they watch you grip your books to your chest, trying not to have a full blown panic attack as you get closer to where you live.

You reach the trailer in the next thirty seconds, swallowing a lump in your throat as you look back at them. "G-goodbye."

Jean laughs, throwing his head back. "You think we came all the way here just to leave?"

Your teeth dig into your cheek, tearing it a little bit. The pain is nothing compared to the knots twisting in your stomach right now. "W-what, you can't come in." You whisper, knowing it's futile.

No one would help even if you screamed bloody murder. Your trailer is inconveniently parked in a neighborhood that could care less about others, too busy trying to pay bills and not starve. And they know that. They know your mother won't be home until midnight due to picking up double shifts at the diner and even then, she could spend the night at her boyfriends. They know everything about you and it's frustrating.

"You can't come in." You say again, seeing the looks on their faces. You turn around, running towards the trailer and opening the door.

Eren is behind you just as you're about to slam it shut, palm slamming against the door as he pushes it open. "You are so dramatic." He rolls his eyes, stepping in.

He grimaces at the dirt on his palm."Jesus, y/n would it kill you to clean every once in a while?" He wipes the grim on your uniform, hands shamelessly touching your breasts.

You gasp, taking a step back. Jean walks in, closing the door behind him. He snorts as he looks around. "The inside is just as shitty as the outside."

They've walked you home numerous times, taunting and harassing you every second of the walk. But they've never gone inside of your house...the fact you're alone with these psychos is settling in, tears gathering in your eyes. "What do you guys want?"

"Can't we just hang out? We have been friends for years after all."

Friends.

The turmoil in your head and bruises littering your skin beg to differ.

"You have any food?" Jean is opening your fridge before you can say anything. Thankfully, it's empty. It would be worse if the asshole ate the scarce food your mother leaves every blue moon.

"How can you live like this y/n?" Eren asks, tsking at the stray gallon of milk in the fridge. "You should be happy you have us."

"Happy?" You scoff.

"Here we are, walking you home to this pigsty of a neighborhood so you don't get hurt and all you can do is stare at us like that." He feigns hurt, hand over his chest. "It really stings."

"You're delusional." You want to walk to your room, take a nap and forget about this horrible day but to turn your back on them for even a second is a disaster waiting to happen.

"When's the party starting?" Jean asks, sitting on a stool.

Of course he told him.

"I'm not going anymore. So you guys can leave now."

"Of course we're going. Our first party together." Eren plops down on the couch. "Come watch a movie with us, pet."

You roll your eyes but grudgingly walk over, fearing for what will happen if you refuse. You sit as far away from him as possible, nails digging into your thighs as he turns on the television.

Jean unexpectedly sits next to you, startling you as your shoulders touch. You quickly scoot away which just puts you closer to Eren. You're trapped.

"Didn't know you liked me so much?" Eren chuckles, swinging an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer.

"Don't touch me!" You scream, voice shocking you more than them. Your palms are bleeding now, small cuts now visible. Your eyes widen, frantically shaking your head as you try and force out an apology.

But it's too late.

The patience he's uncharacteristically had for you all day has finally vanished as he grabs your chin, harshly forcing you to look into those dark eyes. His flip in personality is eerie, one minute a playful bully and the next resembling a full-blown sociopath.

"Why are you being so mean y/n?" He sighs, nails digging into your chin. You cry out, tears falling onto your thighs.

"I'm s-sorry." You hiccuped, shaking at the change in the atmosphere. Things always got worse when he was angry, even Jean couldn't control the brunette when he was in one of his fits and you couldn't handle that tonight.

"It's okay." He smiles, after a few seconds of silence. You blink through the tears, confusion evident in your eyes but his lips are on yours before you can question anything.

You gasp at the action, his hand softly resting against your throat as he pushes you back against the couch, lips devouring yours. What?

He's never...ever kissed you before. You can handle the insults and the hits and the unwanted touches but this is a whole new territory. You shake your head, attempting to get away but Jean holds your wrist down like the loyal pet he is. "Calm down, we're not going to hurt you." He says like that is any comfort with the way Eren's lips are trailing down your neck.

"Jean...please." You plead, trembling. You don't know why you did, maybe because a part of you knows he's not as brazen as Eren, as deranged. But he would still do anything the other asked of him.

"Fuck, you're so hot when you beg." Eren pulls away, sharp canines grinning at the sight of you.

He's called you many things but that has certainly never been one of them.

His fingers slowly go under your skirt, eliciting another scream from you. “Stop Eren! You’re fucking crazy!”

He kneels down. “After everything you’ve done to me, this is the least you can offer me y/n.”

“Done to you? I haven’t done anything to you!”

“Of course you have.” His hand grips your thigh. “From fucking day one when I saw you on that playground with that pathetic tattered dress. You were so dirty, like a fucking dog and somehow.” He laughs mirthlessly. “Thought you were better than me.”

You sob as his fingers latch around the ribbon on your underwear, pulling and tearing the cheap fabric in half. “I never—never did that.” You cry, trying to kick him away.

“Of course you did.” He counters. “Smiling at everyone but me, being friendly with nearly every loser in our class but me. Acting as if I was some monster.”

“You are.” You grit through your teeth, glaring at him. “You’ve always been the pathetic one here Eren. You think you’re so much better than everyone when in reality you’re the worst of them all.” You sniff.

He hums, spreading your thighs apart and pulling you closer. “I am better than everyone, love.” Is all he says before a hot, eager tongue drags along your slit.

The severity of this situation dawns on you as more sobs leave your lips. You’re stuck in here with them with no one to care about your weak protests and screams. These bastards can do anything to you and no one cares.

“I hate you!” You kick and writhe and struggle but both of their strong hands hold you down.

This only seems to spur him on as he sucks at your sensitive clit, lapping up the mess he’s making of you. The shame is almost too much to handle as you drip onto the cushions, nails digging into the sofa as you try and hold in the noises that are begging to be let out.

He’s merciless. The pleasure is aggressive as he drinks you down like a mad man, stretching you open with his tongue as his finger thumbs at your clit. You couldn’t help as your hips followed the movement of his tongue, lifting up and down the couch as you tried to contain the shameful pleasure brimming inside of you. He was finding new places to abuse, places you’ve never even thought of touching and it was driving you insane.

“Eren…” You moan, instantly biting down on your tongue.

He laughs, pulling away only to replace his tongue with two fingers. “Ah!” You arch your head into the sofa as he curls them, coating them in slick. He scissors them inside of you all while his thumb is rubbing harshly against your clit. It’s too much, your body reacting to his ministrations no matter how much you don’t want it to. The aching fire in your core grows and grows until you’re heaving, tears streaming down your cheeks and it’s not long until you’re releasing all over his fingers and onto the cushions.

He pulls away, standing up as he looks down at his fingers, a malicious grin on his face. “You’re so fucking cute.” He whispers, staring at you with a look you’ve never seen in those eyes before. Like you’re a priceless treasure, like you’re his. He looks completely infatuated, obsessed.

You cringe as he brings the fingers closer to your face. “Lick it off.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Fuck you.” The tears are still falling and you wonder how long until you pass out from the amount of crying you’ve been doing all day.

He rolls his eyes, forcing his fingers into your mouth and making you taste yourself. You cringe, instantly pulling away. “Get off!”

He stares at you like this is a simple tantrum and you need to be disciplined, like he didn’t just assault you. He’s about to say something but the ringing of his phone thankfully saves him. He sighs, staring at the device before groaning and walking away. “I’ll be back.” He disappears down the hallway.

Further inside your house.

You sniff, wiping the tears away and closing your legs. You can barely breathe. Jean finally speaks up, voice sounding like nails on a board. “It was probably important. To have him run off like that.” He says casually.

You don’t say anything. Eyes staring at nothing as you try and process what just happened…what will probably happen next. “Why are you doing this to me…” You whisper.

Jean is silent for a minute before sighing. “Because Eren always gets what he wants. And he’s wanted you for a long time.” He doesn’t sound all too happy about those supposed facts.

You clench your jaw. You’re expected to believe all these years of bullying was due to you never returning Eren’s feelings? Feelings he never made clear in the first place. You were terrified of him when you saw the other for the first time. He was brash and rude and loud, everything you hated and even then you tried to be friendly with him, no matter how insincere you were. Why is he acting like you kicked sand in his lunch box?

“I hate you both.” You grit through teeth. You ponder if you can run out the door fast enough but even then…they would find you the next day and the punishment would probably be worse.

“You seemed to be enjoying that.”

“Fuck off.”

Jean gets closer, tilting his head to get a better view of you. “You say you hate him but it didn’t seem like that. It never seemed like that.”

“W-what?”

“You were always attracted to him, weren’t you? Just too afraid to ever do something about it…you’ve never looked at me the way you look at him.” He mutters, like you’ve done him some great injustice. “Not even once.”

“Don’t worry, I hate you both equally.” You finally muster the words up. Especially after tonight.

Jean huffs as he grabs your wrist to which you immediately pull away as if he burned you and the action is enough to have clenching his jaw, eyes darkening. “I’ve been so patient.” He murmurs, the words almost sounding like a plea.

“So patient with you and him but he…” He runs his fingers through his hair. “He wasn’t supposed to do that. At least not yet.”

You back away, trying to stand on your shaking legs but he grabs you. “It was supposed to be me. It’s supposed to be only me who gets to make you feel that way y/n.” He stands up, hands clenched into fists.

“You were supposed to be mine only.”

The words only make you nauseous. You were wrong, they’re both equally insane, equally deranged. You need to get out of here, need to go to the police and have them both locked up for their sick perversions.

Footsteps have you both tensing up, slowly looking towards the hallway to see Eren coming back. He laughs, shoulders shaking as he walks over. He doesn’t look angry but then again, he can switch his emotions in a second.

Jean looks almost scared, not bothering to say anything even as Eren mockingly pinches his cheek. “Jean, don’t be so selfish.” He puts an arm around his shoulder, leering at you. Both looking like sick predators.

“We can always share her.”

LEVI

Life in the Survey Corps is disastrous enough without constant berating and belittling from someone who's supposed to be encouraging you.

And if not encouragement, then at least not outright bullying from the Captain.

You don't know what it is but from day one, he's held a strong sense of...well you don't want to say hatred but as the weeks go by of your training, it seems like he would rather have you six feet under than learning from him.

From the moment he saw your expensive clothing and fancy shoes, he had decided then and there you were a no good rich girl who only wanted to join because of some half assed rebellion you were having. And that pissed you off. You didn't join because you wanted to rebel against your parents nor because of guilt of having more luxurious amenities than your fellow cadets. You wanted to fight for your home and people.

But he had made up his mind about you and well fine, you could live with him not respecting you but to go out of his way every time his demeaning eyes landed on you was proving to be too much.

Take now for example.

Back in your prestigious academy, you were top of your class, being graced with renowned resources that your fellow Outer Wall cadets have never even heard of but here it seems you were a fish out of water. Especially with him staring at you like you were nothing but dirt under his shoes.

To be skilled at 3DMG you needed flexibility, a sense of determination. Boldness you simply don't have when Levi is standing a few feet away from you, already having made up his mind that you suck at this before you even get into the gear.

But it seems he was right as you struggle to remember the demonstrations shown to you just a few minutes ago. You kick and lash and thrash around but your limbs never find the hold they're looking for. It's fucking embarrassing, made even worse as yells from the crowd now formed around you increase. "Center your core!" Krista yells, trying to help but only making the humiliation worse.

You're upside down now, panting as you try to catch your breath. It's pointless. You groan, what is he even doing here? Since when does he train the students in 3DMG? You bite your tongue at the fact the reason he suddenly decided he wasn't above this is because he knew it would be your first day on this field and he couldn't pass up an opportunity to see you fail.

How did she even get into this Rank?

She's bringing us down.

Her daddy probably paid someone off.

You can hear all different kinds of demeaning whispers from the crowd, from people who are supposed to be your comrades. Levi finally speaks, taking a break from staring at you with that blank expression that you just know is hiding a look of disgust. "Everyone back inside." He demands, arms crossed over his chest.

"But we're not done yet!" Ymir scoffs, glaring at you.

"We are if I say we are." He tsks. "Annoying brat." He mutters under his breath before walking over to you.

It's hard to get away when you're stuck upside down but that doesn't stop the hairs from rising on your skin, anxiety threatening to eat away at you as he walks closer and your comrades walk away. Leaving you fully in his mercy.

Just fucking great.

He's dropping you from the gear in a flash and you ungracefully land on your hands and knees, winching at the hard contact you make with the grass underneath you. You quickly stand up, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but you can already see the corner of his lip twitching.

"You are truly a disgrace, y/n." He mutters.

You say nothing, knowing it will only make matters worse as he stares at you. You ignore the dread in your stomach as he stalks around you, "How can you expect to go out into the real world when you're this pathetic?"

You clench your jaw. "Others did worse than me!" You burst out before you can stop yourself, hands clenching tightly.

He walks back in front of you, raising an eyebrow at your childish outburst as if bullying a cadet isn't the mere definition of immature.

"Why do you only ever have an issue with me? It's annoying." You should've stopped from the second you exploded at him but like always, he just infuriates you too much. "You knew I wouldn't be ready after twisting my ankle the other day but you still made me do this, I know you enjoy torturing me but—" A shriek escapes your lips as his fingers suddenly grip your hair, tightening around the strands as he pulls.

"You think too highly of yourself. I am not bullying you, you insolent little brat. I am making sure you don't get my cadets killed because you were too weak to fight because of what, a twisted ankle? His laugh sends a shiver down your spine. "Soldiers have lost limbs and you're complaining about your stupid fucking ankle?" He throws you on the ground and before you can collect yourself, his foot is hovering over your ankle.

Your eyes widen but before you can even let a word out, he's stepping on it. You quickly bite your lip, holding the scream that's threatening to leave your mouth and embarrass you even further. Fuck, it hurts.

He twists his foot, applying more unbearable pressure to your injured ankle. "Does it hurt?" He sneers. "You know what hurts more? Being torn apart by drooling freaks."

Your nails dig into the dirt, lip tearing from you refusing to cry out. But he presses and twists his foot, until you’re shaking, until a small cry escapes your lips. Until he wins.

"Stop!" You scream after your defeat, struggling to get away from his hold.

He scoffs, finally relenting. "Go muck out the stables."

Despite the burning hatred deep in your guts and the aching pain in your ankle, you're fine. You don't considering mucking out the stables a punishment despite that being his intention.

You love seeing the horses, it's the only silver lining in this dark path you've chosen for yourself. You smile as large, dark eyes blink at you once you get closer to the stables, taking in the sheer beauty. Back home, riding horses would always be your favorite hobby.

It was the one time a day you felt happy, free from all the stress and responsibilities your parents put on you.

You run your hands along his blonde hair, taking in how elegant and striking he looks. For a second, you ponder taking a saddle and riding him. It would be just like old times and heavens knows you need it. Before you can entertain the thought even more, you hear footsteps behind you.

You tense, fearing it's Levi but you let out a sigh of relief as Armin walks up. He's holding an apple and for a second you think it's for the horse but he hands it to you. You blink down at the fruit. "Thanks?" You mumble as you take it.

"We both know he won't be letting you eat tonight."

Your eyes widen, already knowing who the he is. "How'd you know?"

He chuckles, awkwardly scratching his neck. "I'm an observant guy and well Captain Levi doesn't really seem to like you. Well he never likes the new recruits but he seems to really...have an issue with you." His cheeks are blushing furiously with every word that comes out of his mouth.

"And I've noticed sometimes he takes your meals away when you mess up during training which is..."

"A lot?" You scoff, rolling your eyes.

He quickly shakes his head. "No, I wasn't going to say that!"

"It's okay." You sigh. "I know I suck but I'm improving! But he acts like I'm the worst freaking cadet and it's so freaking annoying." You groan, hand clenching around the apple. "I mean, would it kill him to say great job once in a while or at least not look at me like I'm worse than the damn Titans?!"

Armin seems to be pitying you as he pats your back, a comfort he seems to immediately regret as he yanks his hand away like he's just been burned. "S-sorry!" He gasps, taking a step back.

You laugh, "I'm not contaminated, Armin."

"I know....obviously you're not! It's just...well..."

You raise an eyebrow, realization slowly dawning on you. Back in Mitras, you were quite popular—a stark contrast to your life here. And with popularity comes the pack of lovesick boys who just have to profess their crush for you. And every single one of them had the same look that's currently resided on Armin's face right now.

"Armin." You start, doing nothing to stop the shameless smile now forming on your face. "Do you have a crush on me?"

It seems that was the absolute worst question to ask. His breath hitches, frantically shaking his head. "What?" He wheezes. "Where did you get that idea from? I don't—I—"

You stifle a laugh, walking closer to him. "It's okay." You try to reassure him. "You're cute." It's a shameless and pathetic attempt at flirting but it's not like you have many romantic options here. Half the boys in your class are useless and the other male population you're even allowed to interact with are off fighting Titans. And it's not like you can bat your eyelashes at your superiors.

"I am?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah." You smile, walking over to where the saddles are, knowing it's a bad idea but still placing it on the horse. You're going to get punished tomorrow anyways for whatever Levi deems is unfit so might as well actually have some fun before the asshole comes. "Do you want to join me for a ride?"

"Uhm...yes?" He chokes, watching as you lead the horse further out of the stables.

You straddle him, looking down at the blonde. Armin looks like he's about to pass out, cheeks a dangerous shade of red as he tries to muster up some words. He's seconds away from taking your hand and getting on the horse but the sound of footsteps have you both freezing in your place.

All the color drains from your face as you look up to see Levi standing there, “Stealing Survey Corps property is a crime.”

You get down from the horse, throat dry. “I wasn’t stealing.” Is all you can say. Armin is right besides you, about to come to your honor but the Captain waves his hand. “Leave Arlert.” He says, sounding almost bored but you can see the fury in his face. No matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Armin looks over at you, obviously not wanting to leave you in the mercy of the man everyone in this damn city fears but it’s pointless. When Levi gives an order, you obey.

He slowly retreats, head cast down as he starts walking away. “Don’t be too hard on her.” Is all he squeaks before leaving.

His eyes burn into your skin and you conveniently ignore his gaze, keeping your head down. You hope this tantrum will be a fast one, you don’t have it in you to deal with another discipline so fast. You weren’t going to steal a fucking horse if that much wasn’t obvious enough but he could care less about sensible facts whenever it comes to you.

“Instead of taking responsibility for your thievery, you make excuses.” He walks closer, arms clasped behind his back. “You can’t fight, can’t use the gear correctly, and now a liar and a thief. Not to mention acting like a whore around your comrades.”

You ears perk up at that last comment. “Excuse me?” You glare into his eyes.

“Was that how it worked for you back then? You would bat those eyelashes and everything would fall into your lap?” He sneers.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re a brat. A spoiled one at that.”

“And what about you?” You ask, not caring at how rude you sound. “You’re always spewing insults at me when you’re the worst of them all. Harassing a innocent cadet who’s just trying—”

“You’re barely a cadet.” He snorts.

“And you’re nothing but a bully!”

His infamous agility is used before your own eyes as his fingers wrap around your throat, pushing you against the wall. “Clean the fucking stables, that’s all you had to do. But instead you decide to disobey me and run off with fucking Arlert and now you’re insulting me? Do you want to get kicked out, huh brat?”

Scrambling to get away from his punishing grip on your throat, your nails dig into his hands. It’s quick, how easy it is to be on the brink of passing out. He knows exactly what correct pressure point to press as he squeezes. You gasp out, practically clawing at his knuckles now. “L-luh-let go!” You manage to get out.

Black dots form in your vision and despite all the struggling, it’s useless to win against this brute. “Levi!” You cry out and it seems the gears in his head finally start working again as he lets go.

He steps back, letting out an annoyed sigh as he stretches his fingers. You fall onto your knees, heaving onto the ground.

“You’re infuriating.” He says more to himself. “Why can’t you ever listen? From day one I told you that you didn’t belong here.”

“But instead you pay no attention to my words. Instead you stay and drive me fucking insane. Instead you flirt with everyone who has a pair of balls in this fucking place.”

You stand up, palm on the wall for support as you rub your aching throat. For a minute you’re too scared to talk, for how he’ll react and for the sound that will come out of your mouth but then you remember that frankly you don’t give a shit. “I wasn’t flirting, you asshole! I was having a simple conversation with a friend, something I know you aren’t familiar with but doesn’t mean you have to take your anger out on me.”

He just stands there, jaw clenched as you’re forced to stare into depths of blue-gray. They’re chilling, the way he looks at you. It’s always enough to have you second guess your actions, have goosebumps forming and your legs shaking.

He’s moving closer, terrifyingly so and there’s no way to run. You’re stuck between him and the wall, your body hitting it with a loud thud. Your nails scrape against the wall. “Why do you even care who I talk to? I’m trying to get better. I’m training day and night and a little nudge in the right direction wouldn’t hurt every once in a while but all you ever do is belittle me. It’s so—”

“So what?”

“Mean.”

His eyebrows furrow, eyes looking sharp enough to murder someone as he responds. “I’m not mean.” He replies, as if that’s the worst thing you could’ve possibly said to him.

As if he hasn’t been the one tormenting you since the day you met. “You’re just spoiled.” He says like it’s the simple truth. “Never went a day without someone caring for you, doing everything for you. No one has probably even raised their voice at you.”

You bite your lip, hating the way those are true. Why should you be ashamed of that? You were cared for as a child, it’s not something that should be used against you but the way Levi talks, it makes you feel like you’re nothing but a spoiled baby.

“I’m not mean. You’re just weak.”

You refuse to let the tears form, instead letting out a shaky sigh. “At least I’m trying to get better. To fight for my people. At least I’m not an old man attacking—”

“No, you’re just a shameless whore.”

Your mouth gapes open, landing a singular punch on his chest without thinking twice. You should regret it…you think you already do the second your fist makes contact with him. You’re already ready to bolt out of there but he’s grabbing you by the wrist. Stopping you in your tracks.

It’s not as harsh as it could’ve been. His fingers just stay there, wrapped around you.

“Why do you care who I interact with?” You ponder aloud, snatching your hand away from his hold. Is he really not going to retaliate for that punch?

“I don’t want you distracting my cadets.” He answers, eerily calm. It’s a bullshit excuse and you can see right through it.

“By being friendly?” You scoff, ready to accuse him of being an idiot but you stop in your tracks. “Would you rather it was you I batted my eyelashes at Captain?” You don’t know where the bravery came from. You’ve said countless questionable things to the Captain but never something as…suggestive as that.

Why else would he care so much? The bullying part yeah whatever he thinks you’re useless and spineless but why the hell should he care if you’re flirting with someone? Unless the old man has some weird crush on you.

It’s a ludicrous thought.

But you know it’ll piss him off. And that’s enough to act on it.

He grabs your chin in a flash and you’re already preparing yourself for the hit that’s going to come but nothing happens. Instead he just stands there, softly holding you as he tilts his head. Were you actually right??

His lips hover over your jaw and cheeks, never touching but you can feel his breath on your skin. Your pulse is pounding, heart hammering to the point you can’t hear anything. What is he playing at? You gulp, shivering a bit as his lips ghost over your ear. You wait anxiously for his next words, not liking the way you’re not entirely disgusted by his touch.

“One week of stable duty for your attempt at burglary, brat. Another for hitting a superior.”

He pulls away but only slightly, he stares like he’s eager to see the reaction you’re going to give. You’re in utter disbelief at the audacity of this bastard but to give him a visible reaction after he’s been torturing you all day is not on your to do list. “You keep abusing your power and I’ll have no choice but to go to the Commander.” You try to sound hardened but he’s left you a breathless mess.

He backs away, smiling at you. “One more week for backtalk.”

“That wasn’t backtalk!”

“Another week for more backtalk.”

You scream, hands clenched into fists as you try to not say a word.

He’ll always find a way to get the reaction he wants out of you, like it is some depraved need. “Screw you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Get back to work. And no more flirting with the comrades.” He walks away.

You stare daggers at his retreating form, wanting nothing more than to chuck the horse shit at him.

But despite the rage that’s seconds away from exploding inside of you, the thought of his fingers wrapped around your chin come back to haunt you, how his lips were inches away from making contact with you. How you weren’t pushing him away, disgusted with his actions. You don’t understand why you were so paralyzed.

It angers you more than anything the Captain has ever done.

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 2 -Creeping Shadows

master list

Part 1,

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I ca

Synopsis: After a month of getting settled in her new home, Lucy is awoken in the middle of the night. Something strange is happening, but she isn't sure what to make of it.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Eventually: Older Man/Younger Woman, Horror themes, long form fic,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Lucy put on another pot of coffee, it was late in the evening now. But there was still lots to do. She had cleared a whole section of the wall to lay the map out, she had taken a black marker to outline each piece of land she owned. Then she took sticky notes with tenants' info and stuck them on each piece of property. Besides the maps, she had put up a whiteboard, with to-do lists. More papers were put up with contact info, wholesalers, buyers, butchers, and more. She felt a little more settled about all of it. It was still confusing as hell, but it made her feel good to see it like this. She had always been more of a visual learner. 

Then there were taxes, initially, Lucy figured she could do it. But after going through her Grandpa’s files, she was completely overwhelmed. So tomorrow she’d be phoning around to see who could help her with taxes. Tomorrow would be a town day Lucy decided. She would talk to a few accountants and see if the bank had finalized transfers. Everything took time, and out here everything ran on country time. So things took a little longer, but it would get done. She wanted to get some fresh vegetables, garden seeds, and gloves. The only gloves here were her Grandpa’s, she had put a pair up beside the door. She hadn't been able to put them on or get rid of them. So they stayed by the door and the rest tucked into the closet.

She added calling the tractor dealership to her list, there were a couple of older models that had been sitting for a while. She wanted them to be looked over and get them running. She knew basic stuff but getting someone out who knew what they were doing was desperately needed. As she sipped on her coffee looking at the different spreadsheets on her computer Lucy pondered about maybe getting some chickens. An old coop tucked in the woods close to the house, would be perfect. Of course, chickens meant predators. 

Rubbing her head she pushed the thought of chickens out of her mind. There were so many other things that needed to be done first. Her mind went to Cooper, her mind had been wandering over to him a lot since he had stopped by. Lucy tried to remember where she had seen him before. She knew he had been at the funeral, he had been with Richard Howard. Howard's family, her mind tried to remember who they were. She remembered that Richard was good friends with her Grandpa. They had had all boys, four or five of them. Most of them had married and stayed in the area. But Cooper had moved down south with his wife. At least that’s what Lucy could remember. It was always hard to keep all the different families straight. 

Lucy had finished her coffee and looked out through the big window. There was a back deck with a BBQ, a table with chairs, and a closed umbrella. Past that it was dark, that was something she still needed to get used to. Once night hit it was very dark out here, the starlight illuminated the grass, but once you hit the woods it was pitch black. Looking out through the window Lucy felt a shiver run up her spine. It felt like something was watching her, as if she peered just enough she would be able to see something move. 

Backing away from the window she grabbed the pull string and closed the blinds. 

“Yeah, I definitely need to get some dogs. Maybe lights, a few lights would be good,” Lucy said out loud, “Also renew my gun license.”

Lucy woke in the middle of the night confused, sweat had broken out across her brow, the room was cool but she was on fire. Tossing back the heavy quilted blanket she fumbled for the side table light. As the light turned on Lucy screamed as a black shadow darted into the closest. Grabbing her phone, and a machete that was tucked beside the bed. Lucy moved toward the closet. Pulling the doors open she raised the machete flicking on the closet lights. Nothing. 

Sagging Lucy looked around the rest of the room. There was no sign of anything, taking several deep breaths she threw on a housecoat and walked through the whole house. Checked the laundry room, kitchen, living room, hall closer, spare bath, and bedroom. Nothing. 

Sitting on the edge of the spare bed her heart finally slowed down. “You’ve been here a month and you’re already jumping at shadows, Lucy,” 

Walking back to her room, she went to walk by the kitchen window. The blinds were up again. Lucy stopped there confused as to why they were now up. Looking out, something flickered and ran across the grass into the woods. She grabbed the blinds and dropped them again. There wouldn’t be any sleep tonight. 

The morning sun had peaked through the tall trees, thank god it was spring. Spring meant earlier and earlier sunrises, and after last night Lucy was more than happy to see it pop up. Lucy clutched her coffee mug in one hand and her phone in the other. She had done her damndest not to phone anyone all night. The last thing she needed was people thinking she was some chicken-shit city slicker.

“You are beyond tired,” She sighed, rubbing her face, “You should go lay down for an hour.”

Looking through her bedroom door she saw her bed, blankets, and pillows still askew. As much as she wanted to, the thought of even trying to sleep made her stomach turn.

“Maybe when we get back from town,” she said quietly, standing up and leaving her cup on the table. 

Throwing on some clothes, and making sure nothing was inside out, Lucy hurried to grab her purse and keys. Once outside she took a deep breath, it smelt like rain and grass. Her heart slowed as she made her way over to the beat-up Chevy in the driveway. Putting the truck into gear she sped up and onto the dirt road. 

The drive is peaceful, gravel roads kicking up pieces of stone, it’s about ten minutes before she reaches anything paved. Once on the pavement, she rolled down her window, just enough to smell the fresh air. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses she slips those on to head southwest to Roseville. It had been affectionately named the driveby town. Smack middle between the south and north of the area. A crossroads divided the town into four neat sections. It had never been a booming town, more of a trading post or place to rest between cities. Over the last decade, the current mayor and council had done their damndest to try and attract more folks to live there. It had sort of worked. They now had a new rec center, hockey rink, and Tim Horton’s had moved in. The population stayed around three thousand. It was a small place surrounded by farmers’ fields and woodland reserves. The place boasted four bars, three grocery stores, a handful of terrible restaurants, a couple of hair salons, ten churches, and an elementary slash high school. Not to forget the two farm equipment dealerships and four feed stores. If you went south or west you’d hit some of the large cities. Though groceries were significantly cheaper there, many folks still stayed in town. This was especially true during the winter when the highway was one missed salt truck away from a death trap. 

Lucy pulled into the Super-K-Mart, parked her truck, and grabbed her purse. She was feeling the lack of sleep now, the spike of adrenaline fading.  Maybe a stop at the cafe down the street was needed. She briefly wondered when she had become such a scaredy cat and coffee drinker. Even doing work at the hospital she had never drunk this much caffeine. Trying to shake the feeling off of her, she grabbed a cart, pulling out her phone with a small list of needs. Lucy noted that she needed to ask her Uncle when the farmer’s markets started up, the grocery stores were good for hard goods, but fresh produce was lacking. Still, she grabbed a handful of apples, bananas, a few peppers, and head lettuce. Most of it looked sorta fresh. She went over to the meat section, she cringed internally at the price of the meat. Grateful that she had a freezer full of Grandpa’s cows and neighbor’s pigs. She grabbed a discounted chicken, maybe some soup was needed. 

“Hey,” Came a familiar voice, “Won’t be buying any of that. Most of it’s from way south.”

Turning she saw Cooper leaning against his cart, a small smile playing across his lips. Man wore a loose-fitting black t-shirt, a grey zip-up hoody overtop, blue jeans, and boots. All he was missing was his hat. Lucy tried her best to hide that she was looking over the man. 

“Do you know where I could get some decent chicken?” Lucy asked as she put down the offending carcass. Tilting her head at him with a smile, something about the man made her heart skip. 

Cooper nodded his head, “Yep, can swing by my place. Got a freezer full. Can trade yah for maybe some of that fine tallow Shirley always kept around. Pretty sure Tim kept making it.”

Lucy chuckles, the freezer had at least a dozen jars of rendered tallow at home. Plus, nothing beats fresh chicken, “I think that’s more than a fair trade,” She replied, moving over to follow him down one of the small aisles. 

“You look a little worn down today,” He says as he stops in front of a shelf of cereal, Lucy looking at all the various brands in front of her. Cringing inwardly at the comment, she hadn't thought about how she must look. 

“Long night,” She replies, noticing that his cart has fruit, some veg, sandwich meat, white bread, and various snack bars. 

He grabs some Cheerios and a box of lucky charms,” Mmhmm, can take a bit to get used to being outside the town.”

Lucy grabbed some mini wheat and a bag of oatmeal, watching the man move about the aisle,  “Yeah, must be something like that. Didn’t picture you as a Lucky Charms guy.”

He chuckles, grabbing at bag of oatmeal as well, “My daughter refuses to eat anything but those in the morning. I try to sprinkle some fruit in, occasionally when she allows it.”

“Didn’t know you had kids,” Lucy replies, as they walked to the next aisle. She felt her heart clench a little, thinking he probably had a wife at home. 

“Yeah, Janey is ten and Matthias just turned twelve.” He says a fond smile crossing his face. “Didn’t see any kids at your place.”

“Nah, I was too busy looking after Grandpa and before that school,” Lucy replies, it’s true she didn’t have much of a love life. Few flings here and there, and the one relationship she had had had ended bitterly when Grandpa got sick. 

He reached and grabbed a box of spaghetti, “I can relate. Between the kids, the farm, and looking after Dad. Not really a lot of room for dating.”

Lucy grabs a couple of cans of corn, “Oh? Divorced?” Her heart surged a little at the thought he was single. Single with kids, she reminded herself. 

Something dark passes over his face like he is remembering a bad memory. “No. Umm. widower, actually. Lost her about seven years ago.”

Lucy stops feeling like an asshole for not knowing, “Oh. I am sorry about that.” 

Cooper shrugs, his face masking what clearly was pain. “You didn’t know. Long story.”

The two of them moved onto the freezer section, Lucy feeling awkward about the whole thing. She hadn’t known he’d lost her wife, she didn’t know a lot of things. With that said she could have maybe used a little more tack. It wasn’t her strongest trait, she was a straightforward person. But sometimes things needed a more delicate touch. 

“Have you heard about anything happening in the woods around us,” Lucy says, trying to change the subject. Even if it was about the fact she couldn't sleep due to shadows that were probably nothing.  

“Happening?” Cooper asks as he drops two bags of curly fries into his cart. 

Lucy shrugs, “Thought I saw something, or someone moving around the forest last night.”

“Need to get yourself a few dogs,” Cooper replies, grabbing a bag of perogies.

“Yeah, it’s on the to-do list. Just, sorta, spooked me I guess,” Lucy replies, not sure how to broach the subject without sounding like a damsel in distress. 

Cooper stops and looks at her, “Why don’t I swing by this afternoon? I pick the kids up at the end of the road at four. I will stop by and I can walk the property with yah. Make sure there isn’t any sign of someone coming on the property.” 

Lucy was taken aback by his forwardness, but also grateful he seemed to take her concerns seriously. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense, better to know there isn’t some creep living in the woods than not.” He replied as you both made your way to the registers. 

“I really appreciate that. I don’t want to be a bother, just on my own,” Lucy replies with a small smile. 

“I just phone call away,” Cooper replies as they unload their carts. 

The door to the trailer was open, Lucy is stuck motionless in the truck cabin. She knew she’d locked the door, a habit that had always irritated her family, but she did nonetheless. From her spot she could see that the door was askew, possibly kicked in, papers flying about as the wind blew in. She grabbed her phone, hitting her Uncle’s number with trembling fingers.

“Lucy, how’s it going-” Harris added cheerfully.

“I think someone broke into the house,” She hissed, her free hand pulling the stick shift into reverse and starting to back down the road. 

“Shit,” The man cursed, “I will be right there, do not go inside.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” She muttered as he hung up the phone. She backed up until she hit the gate. The gate that had been locked and closed when she came home, felt fear run up her spine as she opened the gate, backed up, and parked the truck down the road. 

A moment later she saw a truck with a cloud of dust behind it roaring up the road. A beat-up red Ford with Cooper sitting in the front. He slides to a stop beside Lucy. 

“Your Uncle called,” He said, his forehead wrinkled as he looked at Lucy over, “Someone broke into the house?”

Lucy nods, fear making it hard for her to speak, her hands shaking in her lap. Her heart was pounding in her chest, even with Cooper there she was nervous. 

“I am going to go in, follow me but stay in the truck,” Cooper says as he jerks his vehicle into gear and turns down the road. 

Lucy looked in the rearview, there was no sign of Harris yet, she jerked her vehicle into first and drove back down. Cooper had driven his truck up the small embankment, parking by the door. She watched as he got out, shotgun in hand, pulling her truck by his. 

The door wasn’t just askew, the top two hinges had been busted. The deadbolt having gouged along the door frame, papers, and artwork littered the floor. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for him to come out. It felt like an eternity before she saw him, his brows scrunched as he beckoned her inside.

part Three

** If you enjoyed the fic let me know! Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

** Want to be on the tag list let me know

** Most of my fics will be updated once a weekish possibly more often depending on how much writing I can get done! Want to keep the quality and make sure I am putting out my best work.

[klaprisun]

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley)(Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 40: Back to Danny's POV

Today is the day of the Stardew Valley Fair that I had to be so decisive for. Even with the whole town helping me out last week, it did not help. I still had to narrow down the items from 20 to 9. I swear the folks had picked out more than I had even considered to be running in the item picking session.

Vincent and Jas had gathered many eggs from the chicken coop, so I was going to pick one of those. Penny and Maru picked some flowers that were in season that I had growing on my farm, and everyone else had brought quite a wide variety of things.

"This shouldn't be that hard, Danny...Pick something!" I say to myself as my eyes scan over all of the fun, unique items. I have my hand resting on the table, holding my head up by my forehead. I have only an hour left to decide before I have to pack it up and carry it over, but it is just so difficult.

I look over to observe the items I have already picked out. So far, I have a chicken egg, a fairy rose, pale ale, a ruby, wine, and Haley's favorite she had picked out, a sunflower. Not just any sunflower though, it was the tallest one of the field. She told me it had to be the best one since it was the tallest, so of course I had to bring it to the fair for her.

"I only need three more ugghhhh." I bring my head down and smack my forehead against the edge of the table a few times to try to get my brain working.

I looked at the table one more time and decided to go with whatever my eyes landed on first. That turned out to be a crab that I caught.

"Fine. That works." I put the crab aside with the rest of my already picked items.

I also notice that my eyes keep getting drawn to the plate of pepper poppers that Shane had picked out. I decided to set the plate aside as I'm running out of time.

"One last thing..." I close my eyes and wave my hand over the table. I lower my hand to pick something but it goes straight to the bare table, so I try again. This time, it lands on an eggplant.

"How mature, Sam," I mumble to myself. I had not realized that it was even there until now. I have no awareness whatsoever apparently.

I hurriedly packed all the stuff up and beeline it over to the town square where the fair was going on. I heard this year was going to be way more exquisite and exciting than their previous years. Usually they just have a few tents set up for mini games and a fortune teller, but I heard they have enough in the budget for a Ferris wheel this time around.

Sure enough when I make my rushing entrance, my eyes are immediately drawn to said ferris wheel that's kind of just tossed wherever they had space (there is barely enough room for it).

"Danny! Glad you made it considering your whole event you put together to have people pick your items for you," Mayor Lewis says almost derogatory as he looms under the lamp post by the pathway. "There is an open booth for you to set your display up, let me know when you are ready and I will be over to start judging,"

"Alright, thanks," I say a little skeptically.

Making my way over to my display booth, I started setting up the items in the pattern I thought looked best. I was interrupted not long after by familiar arms, locking me in an embrace.

"Took you long enough to get here! I was looking all over for you," Haley exclaims, squeezing me tightly from behind. Turning around, I scoop her up and sit her down on the ledge of my booth. I'm standing between her legs with either hand placed on the ledge beside her thighs.

"I'd put you up for my display if I could. You are my prized possession after all," I whisper seductively to Haley, leaning closer to her face, hoping for a kiss. This causes her to blush from ear to ear, which drives me crazy.

"Ahem..." we hear coming from our left, causing our heads to turn. I quickly stand up straight and smooth out my shirt. "Are you almost set up, Danny? I'm just really looking forward to the judging and everything. Sorry to bother you," Pierre chimes over to me. I can't help but let a look of disgust fall over my face but I quickly shake it off.

"Yeah, I'm almost done. Sorry..." I call back to Pierre.

Leaning back over Haley, I whisper again to her, "does everyone have a stick up their ass today or something?"

My comment makes her chuckle, which makes Pierre look over too. We ignore him, going back to getting my booth ready. I let Haley keep sitting on the ledge while I worked around her. She makes a little remark about each item I had brought with me, but really starts talking about her sunflower I brought. She was very excited I had brought it and even took a picture with her camera she brought when I had my display all set up.

"I'm so glad I decided to bring this, I'm going to get so many good pictures of you!" she squeals.

We walk over to where Mayor Lewis continues to creep around the lamp post, letting him know I'm set for him to start judging. He just gives me a nod and follows me to the displays. There were two other booths set up besides Pierre's and I's. Marnie was set up right beside me, while Willy was at the end. They wished me good luck and I did the same to them. Pierre and I said nothing to each other.

Lewis starts strolls by the four of us, looking closely at our items. When the rest of the visitors of the fair realize what's happening, they make their way over to watch the judging happen. I realize there are a lot more people here than just us who live here. There are so many I don't recognize.

"There are more people here than last year by far." Haley whispers from beside me. "They must've heard about the ferris wheel."

"Do you want to go for a spin on the Ferris wheel after this?" I ask Haley.

"Why don't we wait until dark," she shot me a wink but then quickly realized how provocative that sounded and started frantically waving her hands. "I didn't mean it like that! I just mean that there might be something happening later that I heard about from Emily. We will get a good view from the top of the Ferris wheel."

"Are you sure you didn't mean it like that?" I tease.

"Weeelllll..." Haley taps her finger on her lip like she is thinking hard.

"If I may have your attention folks!" Mayor Lewis shouts, causing all eyes to be on him. "I have decided a winner!"

The crowd goes wild at this announcement. I see several fingers pointing at my display, mostly by the residents of Pelican Town who had helped me with my booth.

"Alright, alright everyone. I'm pleased to announce that Danny has won the display showcase this year! Good job Danny. Thank you all for participating again this year, and we hope to see you next year! Come see me to receive your prizes, participants."

"Get ready to go crazy on the fair games! I know first place wins a lot of star tokens which you use to play the games." Haley gestures with her hand to all of the tents set up.

"Well we better get started so I can crush you in every single one of these games." I swing my finger around to every tent. Haley just rolls her eyes at me.

                                      🌻 🌻 🌻

"Can we quickly stop at the fortune teller before we go on the Ferris wheel? I've been meaning to go all afternoon, but then I got distracted by my hunger and then eating dinner," Haley begs just as we begin to walk by it.

"Of course we can."

"Danny? Haley? You are coming in aren't you?" The fortune teller says before we even step a foot closer. Haley and I freeze and look at each other with wide eyes. Hesitantly, I open the tent door and hold it open for Haley to enter before me.

"Wonderful! I'm glad you're here. Before we begin, 100 coins from each of you please." The fortune teller sticks her hand out to us, waiting for our coins. We dig into our pockets, pulling out the coins and counting them between the two of us. When we have the right amount, we pass them over and wait anxiously for our fortune.

"Firstly, Danny... you are going to have a very successful career in farming. Never give up even when you think you have hit a stressful time. The crops will always grow as you grow along with them." The fortune teller whimsically waves her fingers around a glass ball in front of her. I just look over at Haley with skeptical eyes and she shrugs.

"Haley... you have come a long way to where you are now. There is always a deeper meaning to life than what you see at the surface. It seems you are finding that out piece by piece. Keep on that path, and you will have a joyous life."

My eyes don't leave Haley even though she is focused on the fortune teller. Her face is contorted into a look of amusement and confusion over the words of the fortune lady. It is very rewarding to see this side of her that I'm sure very few have ever seen.

"One last thing, ladies..." the fortune teller begins, capturing our full attention now. "I believe there will be one sunny day coming up next summer... but it will be when you least expect it that's for sure. Don't count on the sun in the sky for a sunny day, but rather look to what's before you," the fortune teller says ominously, still wagging her fingers at the glass ball.

"Interesting..." is all I can utter. Haley just looks at me bewildered.

We make our way out of the tent, pondering what that could mean. A bunch of scenarios start running through my mind, but nothing seems to make sense. I can tell the gears in Haley's brain are working just as hard to think of what she could mean.

"I guess it'll be a surprise?" I mentioned to Haley on our walk to the Ferris wheel.

"I guess so," she says in a disappointed tone, seemingly upset over not knowing what our future holds.

I help Haley up onto the small, rickety seat of the cheap Ferris wheel. Everyone else at the fair has either left at this time, or has had their fill of the Ferris wheel for the day. This leaves only us on the ride. To make things even more cliche, Haley begged the bored ride attendant to stop us right at the top. He sighed and caved right away, not giving a care in the world.

"Woohoo!" she shouts as our seat begins to move. Involuntarily, I grip the singular metal bar that's strapping us in. My knuckles go pale from how hard I grab on for dear life. Haley on the other hand has her arms up in the air and head tipped back, soaking up the beautiful, autumn air. Her hair looks like a golden waterfall as it dangles from her head over the back of the seat. The wind causes it to wave and ripple around, making it look even more ethereal.

Just by looking at her, all my rickety Ferris wheel worries leave my mind. Haley must've sensed me calming down, because she brought one of her hands down to take my hand in hers. But just as I let go, our whole seat jolts to a stop. I hadn't even realized we were at the top already.

"If Emily didn't lie to me, we will only have to wait a few more minutes before-" Haley was cut off by a loud pop noise. Another one followed right after. Then another.

"Fireworks!" Haley grins at me, waiting for my reaction. Her face lit up from the brightness of the huge firework popping close by.

"You timed this so perfectly," I say while admiring the firework show in front of us. The sky is lit up by several different colors and patterns of fireworks. They ranged from all different sizes and patterns, even different noises.

Feeling confident to let go of the metal bar again, I slip my arm around Haley's shoulders and tuck her close to my side. She leans into me, getting comfortable.

"I'm so glad you moved here," Haley mumbles up to me.

"And I'm glad I decided to move here." I plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head, squeezing her closer to me. I can never get enough of her.

[rebelscums]

You Drew Stars (Tech x Jedi reader)

Ratings: Angst | Fluff

Summary: Unrequited love is a real Bantha

Pt 4 of You Drew Stars

Feel the force around me… Use the force within me… I am one with the force and the force is with me… Be one with force.

The breeze swayed around me as I could feel the heat of the sun beat against my face. I sat in an empty field close to the Marauder, trying to find a moment for myself.

Be one with the force.

Be one…

Be one…

I felt the surge of the force within me. I opened my eyes to watch the energy surge through the tree a feet feet in front of me, a crack forming through the center.

“For the love of all things!” I yelled as I fell into my back.

“I’ve never seen you do that before.” Hunter’s voice sounded from behind me.

“I’m…” I sighed.

What do I even say? I’m struggling to handle my emotions? I have formed to much of an attachment? That I feel like I’m falling further and further away from the path of the Jedi?

“I’m alright.” I finally said, keeping my gaze on the sky.

I have to be.

I could hear the shuffling of his footsteps before he settled down beside me.

“No one has heard from you or seen you all morning. Omega is getting worried, Wrecker too.” Hunter explained.

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.” I muttered, “I’m trying to reconnect myself as a Jedi… It takes time and isolation.”

“I’m sorry again that he stood you up last night.” Hunters gaze couldn’t meet mine as he stared at the group of trees ahead, “Maybe he forgot.”

“He doesn’t forget anything.” I stated Tech’s words every time one of the boys tried to test his memory.

“I know.” Hunter relented.

“I wasn’t the one he…” I felt my throat begin to tighten, “It’s fine really.” I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring him or myself, “I now know where his heart lies and… I’m happy that he’s happy. I just need to move past this, that’s all.”

It wasn’t find though was it? Hunter could see the wrecker look upon her face. Clearly Hunter’s senses went beyond the physical realm as he studied the way the Jedi seemed to want the ground to swallow her up.

“You don’t have to burry your feelings. Trust me, Crosshair buries his feeling for all of us.” Hunter replied.

“If he were here right now, he’d probably say something like, I told you so.” I laughed lightly.

“Something like that.” Hunter grinned, “And most likely start a brawl with Tech.”

“I miss him…” I sighed, remembering all the fun times we all had when we were together.

“Me too.” Hunter replied solemnly letting a quiet settle upon us.

My stomach began to growl, causing us both to break into a small chuckle.

“I probably shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.” I joked before I glanced nervously to the direction of the Marauder.

“Has he left?” I didn’t have to say his name for Hunter to know who I was referring to.

“No… He’s been quiet all morning working on the ship.” Hunter answered truthfully.

“I’m going to go into town then and grab something to eat.” I stated as I pushed myself off of the ground.

“You don’t have to hide yourself away.” He stated as he stood as well.

“I know.” But it doesn’t mean I couldn’t try.

“At least take Omega with you. She needs a girls day having been cooped up with her brothers all morning.” Hunter tried to make a joke while taking care to make sure I wasn’t alone.

I smiled gently at the kindness and care he showered me with.

I patted him gently on the arm, “Thank you, Hunter. For being my friend.”

“Of course.” He nodded, “I’ll go get Omega.”

I watched him walk back to the ship, nerves creeping along my skin at who was inside.

He hasn’t tried to find me at all since last night… Did I really mean so little to him? If not romantic at least as friends? Now that I think of it… Were we even friends? Have I been fooling myself this entire time?

I closed my eyes and let out a soft sigh. I could really use your wisdom right now master…

“I’m ready!” Omega yelled as she ran out of the ship.

I suppose sometimes love is just a hopeful dream.

“Hi sweetie! Where do you want to go eat?” I asked as she grabbed my hand.

We began walking into town, her eyes scanning the buildings.

“I’ll know it when I see it. I’ve been wanting to try this place for a while, but it’s too fancy for my brothers.” Was all she replied and I couldn’t help, but wonder what she will pick.

What I didn’t expect was it for her choice to be the same cafe that I was at last night. Great now I’m even more embarrassed. We entered the cafe I sat in miserably for a couple hours last night. The staff here would have changed right? Please don’t let anyone recognize me. Please… Please… Please-

“Hi hun.” greeted me and I could see the pity in her eyes.

“Hello.” I greeted back nervously, “T-table for two.”

“And who is this precious thing?” She smiled down at Omega.

“I’m Omega!” Omega greeted.

“Hello again.” A familiar voice spoke behind us.

Not him too… Why did Omega have to choose here of all places?

“Indul.” I greeted him with a small nod, “You’re working today too?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, “I have to pay my rent somehow.” He joked as he reached for the menus, “Just the two of you then?”

“Yes.” I gave him a polite smile.

Omega looked between us before settling her gaze on me, “You know him?” She asked as we followed Indul a few steps away.

“He was my waiter from last night…” I trailed off not really wanting to get into it.

“So this was…” She whispered.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“And you waited…” She pieced two and two together.

“Yes.” I sighed.

“I’m sorry.” She said as we sat down.

“Don’t worry sweetie, not all was lost. The food here was really good.” I smiled as I took my menu, “I liked the small cakes.”

“She’s right there.” Indul smiled as well, “I assume your date didn’t show up after all?” He spoke gently.

Oh I wish you wouldn’t have remembered that.

I shook my head, “Seems like he found someone else.”

“For someone who’s considered a genius, he’s an idiot and also my brother.” Omega placed her chin in the palm of her hand, elbow resting against the table as her eyes skimmed the menu.

“You must be really close then if you’re here with his sister.” Indul acknowledged.

“We are in a way. Well maybe not so much he and I anymore, but our group have always been a family.” I explained.

“Well if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s missing out on the chance to get closer to someone as beautiful as you.” He took a step back leaving me to manage my blushing cheeks, “I’ll give you two a moment to choose your drinks and a possible appetizer.”

The second Indul left, Omega was staring at me with wide eyes, “He likes you!”

I shushed her, praying to the force that no one especially Indul had heard the small girl.

“He does not.” I countered quickly, “I barely even know him. He probably just feels bad for what happened yesterday.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can tell he likes you and I don’t like it.” She crossed her arms, “You are suppose to be with Tech, maybe Hunter, but not with someone who could take you away from us.” She blabbered as she waved her little hands around.

“What do you mean Hunter?” I questioned her, but she continued in her rant.

“You need to stay with us because we’re a family.” Her voice was heated and I could tell she was beginning to get emotional.

“Hey hey.” I reached across the table to grab her hands with mine, “I’m not going anywhere you hear me? Nothing in this universe will take me away from you sweetie. Not even your idiot brother.”

That seemed to calm her down, a small smile beginning to form on her face.

“Promise?” She asked, her pinky held out in front of her.

I wrapped my pink around hers, “Promise.”

“Ready for your drinks?” Indul asked.

I sat back in my seat, “Bring us the most colorful non alcoholic drinks you have and some of those desserts from last night too.”

“Coming right up.” He smiled.

By the time the check arrived, the two of us had smiles and full bellies.

“Will I see you around here again?” Indul asked as I stood up.

I thought for a moment before nodding, “I think so. This will be our new favorite spot now.” I wrapped my arm around Omega’s shoulder as she grinned.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Indul smiled as well, “See you soon and have a lovely rest of your day.”

“Thank you!” I said before we walked out of the cafe.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with laughter and girl talk as we explored more shops around here. I ended up buying Omega a spring dress with the few credits I had and she wore it, skipping all the way back to the Marauder with her hand grasping mine.

The sun was beginning to set by the time we got back, Omega running over to Hunter and Wrecker who were sparring in the open field not too far away. Echo I’m sure was inside the ship probably tinkering on something with Tech. I couldn’t help, but smile as I watched her girl in her new dress and raving about it to her brothers.

“General.” The voice I least wanted to hear spoke up from behind me.

“Tech.” I spoke his name softly as I turned to greet the less than intelligent clone, at least in my opinion right now.

He walked down the ramp of the Marauder to stand in front of me.

“I wanted to apologize to you.” He glanced to his right nervously, “I didn’t mean to stand you up last night. I completely forgot, even if that sounds absurd coming from me… It is the truth.” He stated.

I nodded slowly, “Apology accepted.”

“Hunter told me you felt hurt by my actions and I don’t want you to feel that way because you’re my friend and I hope we can reschedule grabbing food another time? Perhaps a lunch date…” His voice trailed off as I gave him a confused look.

“Hunter told you I was upset?” I furrowed my brows. I tried to ignore the stab at my chest as he mentioned us only being friends.

Was that the only reason why he’s apologizing to me now? What does he mean lunch date? Was that what he thought last night was? Me just asking him to dinner as friends?

I felt my hurt turn into anger as I glared at him, “So if he didn’t say anything you would have just assumed that what happened last night was alright?”

“Well naturally yes. I don’t see how it is a big deal.” Tech adjusted his goggles.

“Don’t see?” I scoffed, “You don’t see how standing me up would be a big deal?!” My voice got louder, “What happened to us being so called friends? Huh?!”

“I have read that it is common for friends fo forget certain dates.” He elaborated, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about it? I said we could grab lunch tomorrow.”

“I don’t want lunch! I want you to realize what you did last night was mean! And I’m not that kind of friend either, I wouldn’t forget you.” I seethed.

“That is highly implausible.” He stated with a slight wave of his hand, “It is natural for one not as intelligent as I to forget things.”

I’d never forget you!

I wanted to scream as my heart cried out. I felt the pebbles around my feet begin to shake, representing the anger I currently felt.

“Seriously?!” I was yelling now, “Says the one who had his tongue shoved down Phee’s throat while I waited for you for hours! Seems more like a stupid move to me!”

He rolled his eyes, “What happened with Phee and I last night has nothing to do with you.”

Ouch…

He continued, “And I didn’t ask you to wait.”

“You didn’t have to!” I practically friend out, “I don’t understand why you can’t see through your unintelligent brain that I would go to the ends of the galaxy for you!”

“Unintelligent? I can calculate and solve the most unsolvable problems with a gun pressed to my head.” He stepped forward, “What can you do General? Throw rocks?” He glared.

“Watch it.” I snapped, “I have saved you and your brother countless of times, I use to be your general.”

I could feel my blood begin to rise as the love I felt for the man in front of me began to boil over.

“If you are so great at saving us then how come my brother isn’t here right now? You couldn’t even get Crosshair on the ship that day.” He questioned.

“I…” I turned away to hide the fresh tears coming to my eyes, “That wasn’t my fault.”

Tech huffed, “Of course it wasn’t.”

I scoffed in return to cover the tightening feeling in my throat, “Some friend you are… Have fun with your girlfriend.”

“I will.” He stated it so surely that I wished more than anything that I could vanish in that moment, but he didn’t stop there, “At least I’d be a more supportive friend than you.”

“Tech that’s enough.” Hunter glared approaching and stepping in between the two of us to stop the argument, “Look at what your doing, your scaring Omega.”

I quickly glanced over to find Omega in tears, huddling behind Wrecker.

“Oh sweetie…” I said brokenly as I quickly walked up to her taking her in my arms, “I’m so sorry.” I spoke to he as I lead her back into the ship.

“She has nothing to be sorry about.” I heard Hunter seethe at Tech, “But you do.”

[sillyromance]

Heres a fun request. How about heatwave being stubborn and clingy to his prey?(aka the reader?)

Good day, dear anonymous!

I'm really sorry that it took so long to write this - I was emotionally burn out, so it was hard to force myself doing anything... However, finally, It's finished!

Hope you enjoy!

The deal.

- Hey, let me out!

-...

- "Earth calls Heatwave!"

- Nope.

- Heatwave, it's not right! I can't sit here all day!

- I said "No"! You'll stay in there as long as it's needed. You're grounded after all!

You kicked the wall in front and frowned, crossing your arms.

Pumpkin head! He won't get away with this...

You almost fell into the fire while helping him and Kade to put it out from a building in the center of the town that morning. You was caught just in time, coughing out smoke getting into your lungs and violently eating your eyes. Though you didn’t quite understand what happened because literally at the next moment you were thrown into the pitch darkness. Something big and wet was moving quickly underneath, efficiently coating you in sticky liquid rapidly pouring into the room. That was a minute when you figured out the situation. But, before you could even think to protest, the bot's glossa bent deftly - you shrieked, sliding down like a skier via icy snow. Your legs and torso were unceremoniously dragged into tight, humid space with a powerful, demanding gulp, your arms securely held to your sides. So, the only thing that could do was to grunt in irritation as your huge robotic partner forced you down his throat, tracing a moving bulge passing through his thick neck and chest - and feeling as you were wriggling grumpily.

You arrived in the fueltank. Being released from the uncomfortably strong grip of the esophagus, you stretched your arms and legs, then curled up, allowing the organ to give you its usual snuggly "check-up". Frankly, it wasn't so bad; you relaxed, adrenaline leisurely washing away from your veins and your pulse normalizing. The walls gleamed with soft blue glow; its deep, calm hue was the best treatment for your sore eyes. Cool air flowing around Heatwave's internals healed your poisoned lungs. The living metal kneaded upon your tiny form, harmless gurgles and confident, measured sparkbeat being soothing and luring as always. You even gave yourself a chance to pass out for a half of an hour or so; this short sleep session refreshed you perfectly after the great distress you experienced.

However... As you woke up, you began to wonder. Time was passing, and so impatience was slowly growing in your chest. Of course, it was good to take a break from everything, but you had never been a lazy butt! Peace, when it lasts for too long, is demoralizing and fatal for a person, especially for as energetic one as you were. So, finally, you couldn't wait any longer. And even if you wasn’t so active – everyone could get bored sitting cooped up and thinking if they were getting out at all!

That was when you two had this short conversation.

You knew, he was just too caring even if he didn't want to admit it. Heatwave could be deadly annoying and irascible, sometimes even rude; despite all his positive characteristics all the people around were absolutely agree on the point that he had an unbearably "hot" temper.

Regardless, no one else could be as thoughtful and caring as he was to those he loved, especially to you. No doubt, dating someone like him could cause terrible headaches... But these relationships truly worth it.

And still, that time he crossed the line.

- Jerk... - You crawled away from the front wall as far as you could and sat down in the corner, hugging your knees. You saw the silhouette of his servo searching for you from the outside, but you was too exasperated to let him touch you now.

Slight swaying of your chamber stopped; he stood still.

- I can hear everything, you know? - The mech grunted; it was simple to recognize he was insulted.

- Very glad to know. Live with it. - You hissed. Temptation to hit him once more was strong, however you kept yourself from this action. There was no need in pushing the limits of his patience.

Heatwave just snorted and continued… whatever he was doing. You could only catch muffed sounds of your friends' voices laughing and chatting outside. Though, it was clear that the building would require modernization; well, Boulder and Graham would be glad to provide good help with that. The fire was gone, all people were safe and sound...

Suddenly, you recalled the moment when that damn board cracked under your feet and you almost collapsed right into the flame. You didn't even have time to get frightened back then. However, the vivid memory made your heart skip a beat. The suit wouldn't let your body to get burnt instantly... But it didn't mean you could escape easily either. What if you was alone? The wall was high enough as well as the risks that you would break an arm or a leg if you truly fell down. Toxic gases, heat, injuries and tormenting death were the real things which awaited you at that hell. So, didn't your lover do the right thing encapsulating you here? Of course, it seemed a little bit extreme. But his reaction was purely logical after all.

While such thoughts were circulating in your head, the atmosphere outside calmed down. Quite soon it became obvious you and Heatwave stayed alone. He was walking; considering the distance between the area of the accident and the location of the base, you felt even more grateful to him for not transforming into the vehicle mode - though it wouldn't do you any damage, such experience couldn't be called pleasant since you would be thrown into the walls for a hundred times...

You gave the fueltank a softer look. You did come here often, actually. This wrinkly, warm room turned into your private spot where Heatwave sometimes hid you from the rest of the world. He wasn't a fan of going out like other couples did; he must be thinking it was ruining his authority and the image of a severe, stoic bot he always tried to be. However, you two found a way to satisfy your great need in cuddles without Heatwave feeling embarrassed – and going even more red than he had already been.

... That was the reason why there were moments when you "disappeared" from the station. Although, everyone knew (or predicted) where you could be found.

It was like a piece of cake to forget about all the troubles while lying in the bed of alive squishy flesh and listening to the sounds of complicated work happening around. The mech didn't admit this, but he liked the sensation of your weight moving around his fueltank and giving him some nice internal rubs; your presence stabilized his thoughts, made him confident and calm because he was "in charge" of the situation. Losing control was Heatwave's the greatest fear. But feeling you inside him, under the layers of his thick armor, in the place no one could reach you provided him with a comforting knowledge of full responsibility. Nothing could go wrong – he wouldn't allow it.

Protection. All the autobots had sworn to protect humanity, but here was an exceptional situation. You inevitably felt that it was safe to rely on the red bot since the very first day of your partnership with Heatwave. He did everything in his powers to defend you no matter secretly or officially. As he was opening up for you and you both were carefully growing feelings for each other, one day it appeared he was constantly nervous about you could suddenly... die. It wasn't a maniacal obsession with the idea, but more likely a hyper-cautiousness. There were so many threats around people who were so small and fragile. Marota's machines reminded him of the war his brothers in arms had to fight in... It was similar to how he watched after Cody. Surely, such attitude seemed offensive to you from time to time - you weren't a child after all! But he was genuinely worried. That made him swallow you in a sec that time too.

And that shall be respected.

You crawled out of your gap and moved closer to the front wall again. Once you gently stroked it with your lap, the place shivered and tightened around you, the fueltank giving you a lovely hug.

He noticed the change.

- Heatwave...

- Hm?

- I'm sorry.

The sparkbeat above you fastened up, though the bot didn't answer. Fighting with anxiety rising deep inside - apologizing was definitely the hardest thing in the universe - you continued rapidly, still caressing slick, blue muscles holding you.

- I really am... I shouldn't have behaved like that. I know you're mad at me being such a clumsy person - I will be more careful next time. Please, don't go crazy about what happened. I promise, I can stand for myself.

The giant remained silent for some more time; his large hand slightly poked at your tiny figure, then laid firmly at his waist – you could sense its comforting pressure from the outside. Heatwave softly chuckled.

- I know. I should apologize too. You're not a baby, you know... Just, watch where you step. Deal?

- Deal.

You smiled, nuzzling into the flexible flesh wrapping you entirely like a thick blue blanket, and didn’t notice as you dozed off again, snuffing peacefully while sleeping...

[stardewstardropthoughts]

Ilysm but unfortunately I have some angst, sorryyyyy. Would you do how the Bachelors would react to the farmer maybe ghosting them? It could have a happy ending, though. (I live to torture myself with angst 😳) Tyyyy

I love you too which is why I apologize in advance for this lmao cause it’s all hurt no comfort I’m sorry! I love angst so much, maybe I’ll do another version when I have more energy with a happy ending!

You ghost the bachelors

Elliott:

He doesn’t have many people who support him to begin with, so when you came around and spent so much time with him? He was thrilled

He often awaited for when you would step into his beach house for your daily visit, often carrying little gifts for him, once a bouquet

But now, he holds the wilted bouquet you had asked Leah to give to him for you, a note attached that simply says who it’s from. No reason attached

His heart is breaking as he closes his front door, an apologetic look from Leah the last thing he sees before he’s on the floor, back to the door sobbing into his hands

He had loved you so much, with such a raging passion and zero regard for anyone else, why had you suddenly decided he wasn’t enough?

Why didn’t you come and explain your reasonings yourself instead of sending someone else in your place?

He tried to find you, to talk to you but it was as if you were avoiding his every attempt, turning around and leaving if you saw him at the saloon, avoiding the beach unless absolutely necessary to see willy

He couldn’t fathom what he had done so wrong for you to treat him this way, needles to say he isn’t going to be jumping headfirst into any relationship any time soon

Shane:

How could you do this to my man, my love, my sweet sad chicken man?

He always thought it was to good to be true, that someone as beautiful and vibrant as you would waltz into his life and make his days infinitely better even when he tried to push you away in the beginning

You stayed by his side on some of his darkest days, he could hardly believe when you gave him a bouquet

Now it’s like the world is crashing down around him, the withered bouquet in his hands, you had taped it to his door, not even facing him in person to deliver the blow

He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t really happening, that you wouldn’t just ghost him like this

But then you were avoiding him around town, no longer stopping on his way to work to chat

You wouldn’t answer the door when he would go to the farm to see you, wouldn’t visit marnies shop if you knew he would be home

He had a mermaid pendent in his bedside drawer that he had intended on giving to you on your three year anniversary which had been just a few days later

Spends a lot of his nights sobbing in bed because you broke his heart

Good luck to anyone else who tries to build a relationship with him because now he’s more guarded then before

His days were finally full of color and laughter when you were around, but now it’s a dark grey sea and he feels like he’s drowning all over again

Alex:

He had been out talking to rusty when you had snuck into his house and left the wilted bouquet on his bed, a note attached that said who it was from

Found the wilted bouquet when he had gone in to get some lifting done for the day, he’s never experienced a panic attack prior but he certainly is now

The note has no explanation as to why you’ve decided to tear his heart to shreds like this, and not even with the decency to do it face to face

Goes straight to the farm to ask why you’ve done this, but you aren’t there. Robin who was building you a coop at the time said you were in the mines, but Alex can see the lights on in the farmhouse

You don’t answer the door when he knocks, he scribbles a little note down and slips it under the door, asking what he did and if he can fix it

He never gets an answer, spends the rest of his night to sad in bed to even think about weight lifting

Once again throws all his focus into becoming a professional gridby player, no time for friends or relationships, he needs the distraction so he doesn’t just sit around and cry about you all day

You were the first person he ever thought he could love romantically, after watching his parent’s relationship fall apart he hadn’t believed in love but you changed that

And now he doesn’t believe again

Sam:

Mans a whole golden retriever energy baby why would you do this

Everything was going great in the relationship with you, or so he thought

Because if it was actually going as well as he had thought, he wouldn’t be looking at the wilted bouquet sitting atop his guitar with nothing but your name scribbled on this little note

His eyes are filling with tears immediately, trying to think of anything he might have said or done to upset you recently

Trying to think about why you hadn’t done this in person, why hadn’t you given a reason

Writes you a letter asking why and what was happening, why hadn’t you said something sooner if you were unhappy

You never respond, it seems as if you’ve made yourself disappear all together to him

Your never home when he try’s to visit, you don’t go to the saloon on Friday nights anymore, his friends don’t know what happened either because you don’t talk about him to them

He’s so sad and he doesn’t know what he’s done, he just wanted to be the best he could be for you but now he can’t even do that

Sebastian:

He found the wilted bouquet on his motorcycle one evening when he was going to go for a drive to the cliffs that overlook zuzu city

He had wanted to bring you with him but from what he’s gathered from the evidence in front of him, your not going to be going

He doesn’t really blame you, he knows he’s probably not the best you can do but that doesn’t make it sting any less

Rides out to the cliffs where he can have a nice little breakdown in private

He does want answers though, so he spends almost two weeks trying to track you down, to no avail

It’s almost like your avoiding him on purpose, you never visit robins shop if you know he’s home, don’t visit sams when you know they have practice, you avoid him at all the festivals

He’s hurt, it took a lot of convincing for him to open up to you and now you’ve gone and closed yourself off from him

Lays awake a lot contemplating what could have gone wrong, but he never does get an answer about it

Harvey:

Man, stepping out of his office for a quick breather and having Maru hand him a box addressed from you was a surprise

You don’t often leave packages for him, he takes it back with him and is shocked and saddened to see it’s a wilted bouquet with no explanation as to why you’ve decided to do this

Underneath it is all the little gifts he’s given you over the course of your relationship together

His hands are shaking as he sets it down, he doesn’t understand what’s gone wrong

Closes his office for the rest of the day and sulks in his apartment, tries to call you but you don’t answer

You avoid your annual check up that you had scheduled for a few days later, calling Maru and telling her you’d be in grumpleton then so you’d just have the check up there

He can never seen to catch you when your out and about either to try and get an answer as to why you’ve broken his heart with such little regard for his feelings

He’s had a hard time opening up to people and small talk makes him quite nervous so it had taken so long to break down his walls and then you’ve just abandoned him?

He spends weeks trying to pick apart every interaction you’ve had, trying to figure out where it could have gone wrong, what he could have done to prevent this outcome

In the end he’s left with no answers and a hold in his heart where his love for you use to consume and keep him warm

[powderblueblood]

the king of hawkins high

hawkins, indiana. 1960-somethin'. al munson reckons with the reality of his brother being shipped off to vietnam, and carries on a years-long tradition of swapping a ring with his best friend, ray doevski. which could mean nothing. cw: swearing, mention of criminal activities, era-typical misogyny and implied homophobia, guys is it gay to wipe motor oil from your homie's face when they've possibly just set a heinous crime in motion, murder but kind of not really. i didnt proofread this i am really just running on the fumes of vibes atp wc: 6.1k. what goes on. tagging @slowdancer, without whose continued interest in the old man yaoi aspect of hellfire & ice, this would not be possible. i appreciate you more than you know part of the hellfire & ice universe

He comes to with his head against the tile. 

Comes to as in wakes up or comes into jettisoned back to sobriety by the force of his own piss stream, he’s not sure, but he is here and he’s awake. 

With his dick in his hand. 

Al’s mouth feels like a fucking shag carpet. Every bud on his tongue has grown its own ecosystem after the amount of beer and whiskey and tobacco and ketchup and mustard and sugar and salt and smoke and someone else’s spit he’s let populate there. 

It’s been a long… however long it’s been, cooped up in this clubhouse on the outskirts of town. 

Undesirable types like to hole up here and pretend it’s a bar, but it functions more as a halfway hovel. Some genius calls it the Hideout. 

Al just about keeps himself steady as he shakes the last drop out (more’n three and you’re playin’ with yourself), zipping his pants back up with a hop that he instantly regrets. A knife slices right through his temporal lobe. 

The tubular bells have begun to ring and remorse starts to churn in his stomach. 

Time’s up, party’s over, away we go home.

Staggering back out into the front bar, Al catches a fond sight–a shapely, tanned rump lying bare across the pool table. Given that he’s missing a shirt, he figures he must have been splayed underneath that body before nature had called. 

God given miracle he’d made it to the bathroom in whatever state he was in.

One of Al’s hands reaches out and caresses a perky, round cheek, giving it a squeeze. A grumble from the mouth it belongs to, buried under a mass of blonde curls. 

“Kar-ennn,” he sing-songs, voice sputtering like a fuckin’ chainsaw, “It’s after ten.” 

“Mmnff.”

“On a Sunday.” He bends, bringing his mouth to the peachy mound. Teeth sink in. “You’re gonna be late for–”

“--church!” yelps the blonde, darting up and rolling over in this mad scramble to get her frilly old halter dress back on her body. “Shit! Shit-shit-shit!”

“Oh, slow down,” Al says, his brain moving a little slurrier than he’d anticipated–which is to say, he’s still polluted. He cages his arms around Karen where she’s sitting, leaning his perspiring forehead into her chest which stills her in an instant. “God ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Yes, but my mother is,” she grabs him by the ears, yanking him to her eyeline–woof, way too much movement, “gonna kill me.”

“Proposal,” Al mumbles, leaning for her mouth but landing on her neck, “I tell your mama that we’re gettin’ married. Tell her the next time you enter the house of God it’s ‘cause you’re gonna make an honest woman outta me.” 

“Al,” Karen sighs, shoving him off and dismounting the pool table. This bouncy blonde, this head cheerleader apple pie type… Al had her nailed the moment he walked into her homeroom that first day at Hawkins High. Stacked to the ceiling, her gorgeous baby blues stuck on him like a fly trap. 

He hadn’t expected to stumble across a babe like her in this glorified cornfield of a town. 

“You’re very cute, and you’re a lotta fun. I mean, we have,” she shuffles in her little skirt; so cute, scandalized by herself by the light of day, “a lot of fun, but no matter how many times you ask, there’s no way I’m marrying you just so you can avoid shipping out.” 

He adopts a slump. “But what if I said I loved ya?”

“You’d be lying!” Karen cries, a phosphate giggle. She manages to find that letterman jacket she came in here wearing and slides it over her shoulders. Lobs a guilty look over her shoulder at Al.

Like he’s supposed to share in some reverent moment of shame, like he should feel bad that he’s giving her what that Wheeler meathead can’t. 

Guy’s graduated and still insists that she wears his letterman jacket. It’s sad. 

“Look, are you coming to that Gomes chick’s party, at least?” 

“Gomes? Gloriana Gomes?” Karen’s gone all incredulous on him. “Al, I’m going to have to try and sneak past my mother after being out here all night–you really think I’m going to risk my neck going to some greaser cookout?” 

“Tell them you’re goin’ to Bible study. Repenting and all that.”

Her mussed curls shudder as she shakes her head, heading for the door with her tennis shoes in her hand. “See you at school. Last week of senior year!” 

—

To Al’s shock and delight, someone’s been paying the phone bill at the Hideout–he wonders what kind of bootlegging operation necessitates a phone line, but he’s thankful for it all the same. Lets him punch in one of the only numbers he knows in this shitheel town and bark, “Bring the Caddy ‘round, Jeeves!”

Forty minutes, his found shirt and a flat beer later, a battered, rusted truck kicks up dust outside of the Hideout. 

“Thought you were dead,” a clipped voice echoes out the driver’s side. 

Al takes his time ambling over. He reaches through the driver’s window and chucks Ray Doevksi’s chin with his ringed hand. 

“Wished I was, more like.”

The greased slick of Ray’s pompadour catches an offensive amount of light, and Al’s got to shield his eyes. He throws himself into the passenger side and lets Ray size him up with customary disapproval.

“Christ, you smell like Corn Nuts and pussy.”

“Take a big whiff, Doevski!” Al rifles through the glove compartment before Ray shoves a soft pack of cigarettes at him. “Might be the last one you get for a while, seeing as you’re liable to strike out tonight.” 

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because you’re sniffin’ after a girl whose big brothers are known Hawkins heavies,” Al scoffs back a mouthful of smoke, more to curb the ever-present craving than anything else. “You don’t got the stones to see a thing like that through.”

He catches Ray’s sidelong glance at him, the line of his hardened jaw with the shiny fucking hair on top. A dollop of oily black, showing up starkly against his pristine white t-shirt. Ray is crisp and calculated-looking, without the starched strangulation of looking like some prep. Ray looks like they peeled Jimmy Dean off the blacktop and reinflated him, gave him a Presley dye-job. 

Brought him back wrong. 

See, Ray Doevski, Al’s best friend, he looks like the sensitive type but he’s all mean streak. 

Al, ever the other boy’s foil, looks like exactly what he is. A hick with a perpetual hard-on and a mouth too smart for his brain to catch up with. Luckily, Al sucked up all the charm in his gene pool; Hawkins has been a cakewalk ever since his folks moved him and his sullen older brother down here from the good ol’ hills of Appalachia. 

In fact, Ray was the first person to step to him about that. Make some crack about they got running water up there yet? Or y’all still bathin’ in pig spittle? 

‘We haven’t quite gotten to experience the spoils of modern plumbing, but your mama was kind enough to let me wash off after I balled her into oblivion.’

Up went the scuffle, and they were immediate friends after the fisticuffs were thrown. 

Since then, Ray’s led Al into the underbelly. The doper contingent that Ray’s foster family has connections to, the bikers trafficking shit through places like the Hideout. The only exciting thing about a town like Hawkins is how many secrets it can hold, and there’s not a whole lot, but enough to keep them entertained for now. 

Ray has designs on fleeing to business school after they graduate. 

The only designs Al has on are his boxer briefs. 

Speaking of, he scratches his crotch. 

“Don’t get crabs on my passenger seat,” Ray monotonously scolds him.

“This passenger seat’s a ward of the state,” Al grumbles. Translation: he knows this truck is stolen. 

“Am I driving you home, then? Is your tail sufficiently tucked between your legs yet?” 

Al hates when Ray acts like he’s his own personal O. Henry story, reading him down to the last punctuation. 

See, his last three lost days on the tear with Hawkins’ grimiest and all their passers-through had been the result of some family problems. Well, not problems. Consequences. Of living as a part of the greatest country in the world. 

Al’s brother Wayne had been drafted. Ticket up, number called. Death certificate as good as signed. 

You’re next, boy, Al’s father had said, If they can find any goddamn use for ya.

 “I’m conscientiously objecting to the whole thing.”

“Shit. Didn’t know you had one of those.”

“Just trying it on for size. I can still return it for store credit.”

The rubber on Ray’s tyres squeal onto Philadelphia, stopping dead outside of the Munson household. Clapboard. Best they could do on short notice–needs a lick of paint that no one got around to sticking their tongue out for. But it’s home. 

It always will be. Al understands that might be why his heart feels like it’s sinking. 

He feels Ray watching him as he stares out the passenger side. A dry swallow. 

He doesn’t want to go back in there. He toys with the idea of telling Ray to hit it again, to keep driving til the wheels come off this thing, so he can stay unmoored and un-privy to the disappointment dripping down the walls of that house. Those stains don’t lift. 

They never will.

“Pick me up at eight, sugar?” Al snaps back into character, simpering with Donna Reed sweetness at Ray. He rolls his eyes under long-lashed lids. 

“If you survive ‘til then.” 

A heave to the rustbucket of a door and Al’s hopping out of the truck. 

“Al,” Ray calls, gunning the engine back to life. “If I make it with Gloriana Gomes tonight…”

“Mighty girthy if.”

“... that calls for a changing of hands.” Ray gestures to the rock on Al’s finger. The Hawkins High class ring, the big brass bastard with its imitation emerald. Green and gold, the colors of their proud and mighty cowpat of a school. It had been Ray’s originally, seeing as how Al had all but dropped out at this point. But there were few things Ray had that Al didn’t want, and vice versa. 

Balls. Charisma. Something big and ugly and shiny. 

Something to be proud of. 

So one day Al goes, ‘Bet your ring I can’t aim this stink bomb clear through O’Donnell’s classroom window,’ continuing his habit of torturing the newest faculty member. Ray’d said sure, because Al’s aim was reliably shitty– except for that day. Bullseye. Screaming. 

Ray had reluctantly handed over the ring. 

Then, at the derelict drive-in where they’d watched On the Waterfront together, Ray’d said, ‘Bet your ring I can’t shake down the candy shack for whatever’s in the register.’ 

A made-up kid-choking emergency and fifty-odd dollars later, Al was handing the ring back.

It went on like that, the bets increasing in risk and moral soundness. The ring bearer was dubbed the King of Hawkins High, a stab at the squares that actually gave a shit. Al lived for it. Not because Ray was easy to best, he wasn’t. One really had to get creative, or not be afraid to be hauled in by the heat. Ray was a worthy adversary. 

Made Al feel like he could accomplish things. 

“That’s a little tame, don’t you think?” Al says. The stakes had crawled up a little higher than balling some chick, no matter how white hot her family supposedly was. Unless, this is Ray really trying to prove something.

The Gomes brothers were the number one name in town for racketeering, gun thuggery, speed distribution… you name it, they had dominion over it. 

If he won over their princess Gloriana, eased into their good books… that’s the making of a man. Al knows that. 

Ray knows Al knows that, leveling him with a steel-edged stare over his sunglasses. 

“See you at eight, sugar.”

—

The Munson household is dark and quiet, thank Christ, allowing Al to slink into the bedroom he shares with his elder brother and catch some well-earned hungover shuteye. 

Sleep sinks him quick, his exhausted, wrung out form hitting the mattress without so much as kicking his boots off. His dreams are vivid and vague, parched and sweaty, indecisive and arresting as they always are after a sleepless bender. In the one he can recall the best, he sits behind a cartoonishly large wheel of a cartoonishly small van. He’s driving around labyrinthian turns, around a trailer park that he vaguely recognises from the outskirts of town. 

Gravel crunches underneath, sounding like bones cracking. Grinding teeth. 

He wants to get out, but he can’t find the lot that he’s looking for. Someone’s yelling at him from outside the vehicle; and he can’t exactly turn his head to see, but he’s vaguely aware of a baby girl lying in the passenger seat beside him. She’s crying and he’s hushing, promising that they’re almost there. 

It’ll all be okay, honey bear! Al’s gonna fix it.

The window of the van is slung low, and hailstones begin to rain in on him and the baby, pelting him in the forehead–

Takes him a minute or two to come to. Wayne stands, a shadowy figure in the doorway with a handful of peanut shells. 

“Dinner,” the elder Munson grumbles. 

“I’m comin’! Jesus!” Al whines.

“No, this is your dinner,” Wayne keeps tossing the shells. “You wanna run off and join the circus, you better get used to circus food.”

“I’d sooner crawl inside of a lion’s asshole than bend over and take it up the chute for Uncle Sam, I’ll tell you that,” kid brother grumbles into his flat, yellowing pillow. 

“Real nice, Allen.”

“You know what,” Al, annoyed now, rustles up in bed, furiously blinking his bleary eyes at Wayne, “When did you go and get so fuckin’ patriotic anyway? Far as I know, your greatest contribution to society was teaching me how to boost a car on my sixteenth birthday.”

Wayne scoffs, tossing the last of the shells onto the floor. “Yeah, and a fat lotta good it did. Still got that… Doohickey pansy chauffeurin’ you around, huh?”

“Christ, you really fell out the sad bastard tree and hit every branch on the way down, huh? Just ‘cause you ain’t got no friends, man–”

“Allen.”

“--doesn’t mean you need to go buzz your head and get a rifle about it, I mean, my god–”

“Al.”

“I think it’s really pathetic, y’know, real pathetic that you’re gonna go play stooge for a system that wouldn’t piss on folks like you or me or Ma or Pa if we was on fire–” 

As if Al really gave a damn about the system.

“Al, you’re gonna have to grow up pretty soon. You know that, don’t you?”

That plugs him up fast. Al’s vision has unbleary’ed itself. A cold jolt arcs through him, one he tries to scoff away. Wayne always does this, drags out the stoic shit because he knows it’s a surefire conversation ender. He’s so solid that way, this living full stop Al has to call a brother. His way or the highway. His way or the chopper. 

Wayne was always telling Al no, always telling Al do this and do that and take the fall, they won’t care, you’re the youngest, they’ll go easy on you and watched as their father snatched a knot into Al’s head that a navy man couldn’t untie.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Wayne leans a little heavier on the doorframe. Al can see paint chips loosening where his shoulder presses. 

“Means I gotta go and do this because Ma and Pa won’t be able to survive if I don’t. Not if they got you leechin’ off ‘em still. Which, signs point to,” Wayne gestures to their shared bedroom. A harsh split down the middle; Al’s side is a ragged explosion of dirty socks, underwear, records, comics, cigarette butts. Wayne’s side is so orderly, Al bets he could bounce a quarter off the bed. 

Like he’d been waiting to ship out his whole life. 

“I’m warnin’ you, boy,” Wayne’s tone darkens. Al wishes it didn’t make him flinch on instinct, but it does. “You better clean up your act. Get some kinda life together. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up in prison before your ticket’s even drawn.”

He lets it simmer for a minute, drawing out the silence that he’d usually feel like he has to fill. It’s so muggy, it has been muggy, this quiet between them since Wayne decided he was the kind of person that wanted to do the right thing. Do what he’s told, more like. 

Another knot of a different kind tightens in Al’s sternum. Fear. He doesn’t look at Wayne because to look at him, he would know. Wayne would see it in Al’s face, and Al would see it in Wayne’s. They’re terrified, the both of them. 

Munsons are no heroes. They don’t pull out of things like this. 

Even if Wayne uses all the right moves, likelihood is he catches a stray bullet or blowback from a bomb and goes down. Stupid for him to think anything else would happen. 

Every time Al looks at him, he knows it might be one of the last.

Then again, what else has Wayne got? He wasn’t happy about being dragged by the ear from Appalachia to Indiana. He couldn’t shake the stubbornness to make friends in town. Left school before he even broke tenth grade. He couldn’t hold down a job for nothin’-- Hawkins decided they didn’t like the smell of hick shit that the Munsons were dragging through the place. Their father was barely hanging onto the gig he’d moved them here for, drinking what little he did make. Their mother was catatonic most of the time, drinking twice as much as their father did. 

Wayne is floundering, if not practically dead in Lover’s Lake already. 

Might as well die someplace tropical. 

But where does that leave Al? Al, the spitfire kid who needs Wayne to anchor him so he doesn’t spin completely out of control. He gets this notion of speed, thinks he’s capable of beating God at his own game–not in small part spurned on by Ray Doevski. Gasoline, matches. He needs Wayne, needs his big brother to remind him that the ground below him is hard, not soft. What goes up must come down, and all that shit. 

So, how dare he. 

How dare he choose Vietnam over Al. 

“Well, brother mine,” Al says in a tone smooth as silk, rolling onto his back and stretching his wiry arms up like a languid cat. Smug beats stoic. “Just so happens that army green ain’t really my color. I’ll take my chances.”

—

Hastily scrubbed and half a shoulder of stolen bourbon deep, Al kicks rocks in his shoddy driveway. If he had a watch that wasn’t broken, he sure would check it, then drunkenly shake his fist at the sky and curse Ray Doevski’s tardiness. 

Just as that thought occurs, of course, Ray hits his mark. Skids up to the facade on Philadelphia with a little more urgency than usual. 

“Don’t burn that rubber too fast, now,” Al says, almost missing the step as he climbs in, “You know how tyres are a bitch to lift.”

“Ain’t you gonna offer me a drink?” Ray’s voice is a little reedier than usual–that usually means he has something on his mind. Something cooking. 

Through the encroaching fog of his inebriation, Al gives him a little once over. He’s got a smudge of motor oil on his cheek. 

Al wipes it away with a clumsy hand and feels Ray stiffen. His dark, delighted eyeballs seem to jitter in his skull before he jerks his head away from Al’s hand. 

A moment throbs, and Al pushes the booze towards him. He doesn’t totally understand and it shows as much on his face. 

“S’goin’ on with you?” 

He watches as Ray mechanically reminds himself to relax, chill out, they’re headed for a party. Like the gears are clicking behind his face, evening out his expression.

“Lemme ask you something,” and that vibrancy is back in Ray’s voice, “Your folks still on your ass about gettin’ a job?”

“Like flies on shit.”

“What if I told you I had an opportunity that would make them very happy?”

“Happier than they are with my brother, the Colonel?”

“Way,” Ray’s teeth gleam in the late Autumn sunset, the bodacious orange twisting the planes of his face into a handsome Jack o’ Lantern. “Real cash. And fast.”

Al slugs a little whisky and slouches further down in his seat. “Can’t be any dumber than the bullshit I’ve already heard. Hit me.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ flip,” Ray shakes his head, “The Gomes brothers wanna cut us in on a deal. They, uh, they’ve gotten familiar with us. Told you it was worth showin’ your face at the Hideout every once in a while.”

Every once in a while, sure… Ray and Al skulking the parking lot, chainsmoking and playing marbles like a couple of errant kids in order to get familiar with the local heavies. Prove they were trustworthy. That they’d see shit, but they wouldn’t say shit.

Flies on shit.

Al jerks forward as Ray steps on the gas. 

“A deal, huh?” Al finally manages. 

“Distribution,” the gentlemen’s term for slinging dope. Speed, hash, benzos. Whatever. “This is a real business, Munson. With real payout. We make the right connections, there’s no tellin’ what we can do with it.”

Ray’s just about frothing at the mouth; Al’s never seen him so jazzed about something before. Similar to Wayne with that cool as ice, hard rock front. It’s unnerving to see it crack. Al’s stomach winches. 

Prison before your ticket’s even drawn.

Then again, what else has Al Munson got going for him?

Ray’s shark eyes reflect a bolt of lightning that doesn’t appear in the sky. 

Al’s groan sounds like thunder. “Fuck it. Sure.”

“Thatta boy! We gotta be at the pickup spot at midnight sharp, Cinderella.” Ray’s hands drum against the wheel, and Al could swear that he sees his bare ring finger twitching. “And–listen, Al. Don’t go spreadin’ this around at the party, alright? Especially to the boys. Mixin’ business and pleasure… just puts a bad taste in people’s mouths, y’know.”

“I’ll behave.”

—

Easier said than done. 

Al wobbles through Gloriana Gomes’ backyard with the grace of a newborn gazelle, but at the very least he can make almost falling into the band’s drumset look cute. Lantern lights above him triple, quadruple, and he’s wondering just what the hell the bruiser bitch put in this punch. 

“Munson.”

“Ah! The lady of the hour,” Al manages almost coherently. “Lemme get look at you.”

He squints through one eye to take in Gloriana’s shapely figure, packed tight into a halterneck catsuit that would make any man shed a tear and cry glory to God. She’s stunning, this chick, with her blunt black bangs and her lacquered cherry lips and her spike heels–but by god, is she lethal.

Al needs exactly this amount of Dutch courage to even fathom speaking a full sentence to her. 

He heard she keeps a switchblade in her bra, which is how she’s won so many pageants. Pure intimidation.

He wants her to shave him bald all over with that very same switchblade.

Lurching forward, his lips brush her bouffant and almost swallow her earring. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Goddamn, he can feel her nails dig into his bicep. Whisky dick is being rendered a myth with every passing second. “It’s just a party.” 

“Thassa damn shame, ‘cause here I am with this biiig ole gift for you,” Al’s choking on the chemical tinge of her drugstore perfume and the copious amounts of hairspray she wears. This, the girl with always has a lit cigarette perched in her fingers… walking fire hazard. White hot. 

Al’s hand slides over Gloriana’s hip, only distantly aware that he’s likely in Ray’s direct line of vision–that man rarely takes his eyes off the baddest Betty Hawkins has to offer. 

“You wanna see it? S’in my pocket…”

Those Dutchmen are really onto something.

Her nails dig again and Al wonders, with a throb to the crotch, if she’s drawing blood yet. 

“I’m gonna do you a favor, creep,” Gloriana hisses into Al’s ear, “I’m not going to slap the shit out of you in front of my brothers and their friends, because I don’t feel like helping anybody chop up your lousy little body tonight. I just did my nails fresh.”

“I can feel that.”

Gloriana lightly but politely shoves him off. Her face curls up into this charm-offensive, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, which is completely at odds with her tough girl appearance. Still, it’s like a cherry nipple on a milkshake tit. Just perfect.

“You and that foster home freak are made for each other,” she says to Al, and he sees two pairs of ruby red lips instead of one. She makes it sound like she’s being friendly. Foster home freak—that’d be Ray’s calling card. Hawkins loves to remind Ray and Al that they don’t really belong here.

And then she’s gone, and Al feels a hand physically propping him upright. It’s dinky, bony and feminine so it can only belong to one person–

“Joycey!” he bellows into the young Maldonado birdy’s face. Now, Joyce is a gal that Al has always had a minute for and vice versa. She was always good for a smoke and a jaw about nothin’, as was he, but he didn’t love having to share his stash of finely toasted tobacco with that lug Jim Hopper she’s so goddamned fond of. 

Joyce flinches at the greeting, wiping a little of Al’s spittle off her cheek. “Jesus H., Munson, wake the neighbors muchly?” 

“Oh, between me and Dick fuckin’ Dale over here,” he gestures in the vague direction of the garage band that belongs to one Gomes or another, he’s sure, “they’ll be up all night. What’s shakin’?”

Joyce digs around her grubby jeans for her smokes, doing Al the honor of both putting it in his waiting maw and lighting it. She shrugs in that tight-shouldered way that she has, always wound up about something or other. She’s so twiggy, this girl–probably why Al’s never tried to put a move on her. He’s scared she’ll have a nervous breakdown or something. 

“Just wanted to see how you were.”

That’s the other thing. Bleeding heart Maldonado, always checking in on her good pal Al. Ever since he’d broke the news that Wayne was Viet-bound, she kept looking at him sidelong, all sadlike. 

“Me? Spiffy, sweetheart. Just darling, if you must know,” Al says, volume and theatricality increasing. “Any day now, I’ll have a full bedroom to myself. Ain’t that exciting?”

Joyce snorts, a puff of smoke coming out of each nostril like she’s the world’s most anxious dragon. “Gonna invite Karen over for a sleepover?”

“Ixnay on the aren-kay, Joy-say! My god, we can’t have the whole of Cherry Lane know I’m balling a cheerleader,” hands cup around Al’s mouth, cigarette still dangling from it, “It’d be just about my ruination!” 

Joyce giggles all big and unbridled, which Al likes because he likes when she loosens up, but it’s swiftly cut off as Al finds himself stumbling into the nearest deck chair–which is to say, into the lap of the person sitting on it. This lucky customer happens to be one Leonard Gomes, affectionately nicknamed Lurch. Guy’s built like a brick shit cathedral, not just a house, with a selection of fascinating prison tattoos covering his neck. Al can’t make ‘em out, even up close.

“Myyy sincerest apologies, big boy!” Al slurs, but doesn’t get up right away. Lurch’s little black eyes are blackening and blackening. “But hey, I’ll catch you later. For our big date, right? Right? Can ya gimme any clues for what we’re movin’, can–” 

Oof, hauled up by the front of his ribbed tank! Only Ray Doevski in full crisis management mode could manage such a feat. 

Just kidding. Joyce could probably do it if she put her mind to it. Al’s about a hundred pounds soaking wet. 

“Hey, this is my favorite shirt, man! Don’t stretch ‘er out!” 

A seething Ray hauls him all the way to the front of the house and about heaves him into the truck. Al complies pretty limply, not hating the feeling of being puppeteered around. His limbs were getting heavy. 

“Daddy’s givin’ me a time out,” Al pouts. And promptly leans out the passenger door and pukes. It’s all bile, three or four days of full bender bile. He’s barely eaten. It scores his nostrils and steams up on the pavement. 

Ray stands just out of the splash zone with his arms folded, waiting for Al to let up. 

When all the blood has been sufficiently drained out of his face, he does. Slumps against the seat. 

Ray doesn’t exactly look at him with anger. Or annoyance, even. There’s a pillowy nature to the way he stares him down, before he walks over to the Gomes’ garden hose and turns it on, stretching it so it’ll reach Al. 

He laps at the water gratefully. A hound. 

Ray digs a vial from his pocket, the kind that comes complete with its own little spoon. Something he’d lifted from some foster kid he’d lived with, he had told Al before. This little number is a sight for sore eyes. 

“The smelling salts. You shouldn’t have.”

Al huffs a bump up each nostril and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. 

Whammo. Slowly coming back to reality. 

“Sorry.” 

“S’alright.” Ray’s head swivels around, evidently spotting the Gomes brothers heading to their hot rod. His voice comes out tight and he bolts for the driver’s side of the truck. Moves so fast he makes Al dizzy. “We gotta move anyhow.” 

“Midnight already?”

“The witching hour.” 

—

His head wedged into the corner of the open window, Al breathes deep the dusty night breeze on Holland. On the drive out here, you can count down the seconds until you smell the lake. 

Five, four, three, two… Cannonball. 

They drive in an imbalanced silence. Tense on Ray’s end, nauseated on Al’s. But he’s just about starting to come to, starting to clock into the reality of their situation. 

Al had tossed around a little grass before; he came by it easy and could move it even easier. An operation like this, however, with clandestine pickups under the cover of night, with the armored Gomes vehicle tailing them–this is serious. 

Wait. 

Hold on. 

Al cranes his neck to get a look out the back window. They’ve lost the Gomes’ headlights. Nothing but dark, dark road beyond the reddened back beams of Ray’s truck. That’s funny. Guys of that caliber, big pieces of gristle and meat, they’re hardly going to be tardy to their own drug pick-up party. 

“Where’d they go to, Ray?” Al’s voice is a croak when it comes out, fighting against his burning throat. 

“Shut up, Al.” 

“Ray–”

“Shut up, Al.” 

Al shrinks down in his seat, a child admonished. Ray’s hand flexes over the wheel, a man desperately trying to keep control.

They pull around to this shitheap looking place on Lover’s Lake, so bent it’s practically sliding down the embankment. A van already sits there. Black, sleek. The kind a serviceman would have or something. 

Ray kills the engine and some force from beyond prompts Al to grab at his arm before he can jump on out. 

“Ray.” 

“You’re doing this for your family,” Ray seamlessly reminds him, the gaze he turns on him empty. There’s not a waver in his voice. Like he’d been preparing this little bon mot of encouragement. “I’m doing this for mine.”

“But w–”

“Doing it for love. That’s honorable,” Ray nods. His features have taken on this waxy sheen under the moonlight that threatens to bring Al to a dry heave. He’s like a ventriloquist doll, down to the wooden way he’s moving. “I’ve done things for love that you wouldn’t believe. Now get out of the fucking truck.”

Beat for beat, Ray exits the truck, Al exits the truck, then a guy in overalls appears from the shiny black van. All of it moving in this rhythm that’s making Al’s head swim–feels like an unreality. Feels like he’ll blink, be behind the wheel of that van with a crying baby to his right. Feels like a dream. 

Al, for once, clams up. Doesn’t say anything at all, because it’s the only way he can mask the nervous twitch his face takes on when he’s this piss-pants scared. 

But it’s funny. It’s not like a drug operation he’s ever dreamed of. There’s no real shadiness to it. Guy just opens up the back of his van and tosses Ray a brick wrapped in brown parcel paper. 

“Lurch and Palo on the way?”

It’s incredible. To Al’s knowledge, this guy, this guy with all the drugs in the back of his fucking van, has never seen Ray before but implicitly assumes he’s taking point on this deal. What if he had been a cop?!

But Ray Doevski does have this thing about him. Gives you one good, meaningful look and he has you shackled for life. You can’t help but trust him. 

Still waters, man. Just like Wayne, Al thinks and feels something different rise in his throat. 

“Lurch and Palo got caught up. Car trouble.” 

Overalls guy just shrugs and helps load the rest of the packages into the passenger side of the truck. Al, he just stands there. Rooted. Watching him. Ray doesn’t pass any heed; like he’s not even there. 

“Not much of a talker, your guy?” Overalls jerks his head in Al’s direction. 

“Nah,” Ray grins in the briefest of flashes. “Strong and silent type. Right, Munson?”

A light flashes on at the porch of the half derelict looking house. Al can spot a hulking figure in the window, obscured by what has to be clouds upon clouds of smoke.

Ray raises a hand in the form’s direction, as howdy doody casual as a fucking neighborino.

“Who is that?” Al hears himself ask.

“Rick. I’ll introduce you next time. You two’ll like each other.”

Next thing Al’s physically aware of is the pile of packages at his feet as Ray guns the truck to life. This insufferable smirk curls up the corner of his mouth, the kind that Al has an immediate instinct to slug right off. 

A bad feeling, a terrible feeling twists up his guts.

It’s justified about fifteen minutes into their drive back. 

Al sees the flames licking around the plumes of black smoke first, easing up into that inky sky stabbed through with needlepoint constellations. He sees mangled hot rod hardware wrapped around a great big tree. He sees blue lights, he sees red. He sees an ambulance. He sees two stretchers and two body bags. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he spits, his lips feeling loose and panicky. “Ray, Jesus, we have to stop!” 

“You wanna stop?” Ray laughs, voice so light you’d swear Al had asked him to pull in so he could take a piss. “You’re sittin’ on a small fortune of narcotics and you wanna stop? Don’t be such a morbid little rubbernecker, Munson.” 

—

The untimely passing of the Gomes brothers brought with it a varied reception. The angle from one end of town was that it’s great when God deals with hoodlums before the law has to. On the other, someone had to pick up the slack and keep the seedy underbelly of this wicked little place nice and satiated. 

Ray Doevski didn’t leave Gloriana Gomes’ side from the moment she got the news about her beloved brothers. She’d broke down wailing in his waiting arms, her red lipstick bleeding at the edges.

Those same brothers who regarded the scheming nowhere kid with such distaste that they’d never let them anywhere near their sister, or their business. 

Over their dead bodies.

The only reasonable move was to remove them from the picture entirely, and step in gallantly. The hero. A picture of suave severity, backroom business acumen seeping from his blacktop hairdo. He’d fill the hole, he’d keep the cash flowing.

When he got the time to cut the Gomes’ break lines, we’ll never really know.

Al couldn’t fathom pulling off such a stunt. 

Ray never admitted to it, of course. Can’t show your hand. Not to anybody, not even your best friend. But there was always this sense of knowing… even if he didn’t do it, he was capable of it.

Once he got over the shock of it all, how quick and seamless Ray had made that elimination, Al was overtaken with admiration. Tinged with latent fear, of course, but admiration all the same. 

When Ray dropped him off at the house on Philadelphia in the wee hours of the morning, Al pressed the Hawkins High class ring into his hand. 

“Well played, my liege.”

“Couldn’t’ve done it without ya,” Ray smiled. “Pleasure doing business.”

Business was right. At Al’s feet sat serious cash. Cash he could use to pull his weight around the house. Cash he could use to get out of Hawkins entirely. Cash he could rub in Wayne’s face, show him, hey! I’m not nothing! I can move this, I can be part of something huge and heavy! I can run this fucking town!

But he didn’t have any clear designs on doing anything without Ray’s say so.

The only designs Al had were on his boxer briefs. 

He was only really sure of one thing. He’d spend his entire life trying to best Ray Doevski. Trying to get that ring back on his finger.

Just for the love of the game. 

[supernaturalscribe67]

Family Don't End in Blood

Words: 8,170

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: TFW x Trans!FTM!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Transphobia, Homophobia, Slurs (f-slur/t-slur), Childhood Trauma, PTSD, Language, Mention of Childhood Abuse, Mention of Neglect of a Child, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Deadname mentioned ( [D/N] = Deadname )

Summary: 

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? A chain of events that happened before a certain time, constructed of words and actions that cannot be altered.

The reader lived a great life in the bunker. He had everything that he could ever ask for - people who loved him, a roof over his head, and the perfect support system. But, when a ghost from his past reappears, the reader must face his demons and come face to face with the two people who made his life a living hell; his parents.

A/N: The names and likenesses presented in this story are not meant to represent any specific person or persons. Feedback is much appreciated. DO NOT READ if any of the warnings are triggering to you! Keep yourselves healthy, keep yourselves safe!

Much love~

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? A chain of events that happened before a certain time, constructed of words and actions that cannot be altered. People say to leave the past behind you. That it’s meant to be left alone, to be forgotten, in some instances more than others. One would assume that it would be an easy task to do such. You get sucked into the rhythm of day-to-day life and, suddenly, the past is irrelevant. It doesn’t matter what Carol K. said in the fourth grade behind your back to her group of preppy rich girls, or what you received on the last Halloween you ever went trick-or-treating before you realized you were too old. What happened, happened, and now you have to trek through your daily life like you know what you’re doing or what the future holds. 

A funny thing about the past is that it has a habit of creeping up on us when we least expect it. Most are in the form of a familiar song, simple words or phrases used in everyday speech, or a meal that one may not have had for years. Instances like that trigger nostalgia, sometimes bringing about good memories, while others remind people of the terrors that they had once faced. For some, however, the past doesn’t resurface at the mere mention of a street name or the town one used to live. Some are contacted by the ghosts of who they once were. The ghosts that still haunt the deepest crevices of their mind, shut away in a box as a form of comfort to get through life without having to relive the pain the spirits put them through. Sometimes those spirits get loud, and sometimes those spirits get out. 

(Y/N)’s ghosts broke out of his box a week prior, on a sunny afternoon that was spent cooped up in the Men of Letters Bunker. Everything about that day had been normal. He got up, made himself some breakfast, and watched some television while he relaxed before retreating to the quiet library with his computer. He took the time to scour the endless news articles in an attempt to find a hunt, something Sam was more adept at, but gave up thirty minutes in. Just as he was about to turn off his computer to find another way to occupy himself, his phone began to buzz beside him. The number on the screen caused his heart to stop, his skin to pale, and his eyes to widen. 

It was his ghost. 

She had broken out. 

He wasn’t going to answer. Everything in his body was telling him that it would be the worst thing that would happen to him if he picked up the phone, but morbid curiosity can make a person do things that they don’t want to do. So he picked up the phone and, for the first time in over a decade, he heard his mother’s voice. 

He wasn’t too sure how mentally present he was during the duration of the conversation, some of the things that they talked about were easily forgotten, but there were several things that he noted while they talked. Her voice was different since the last time they conversed, probably due to the Marlboros she snuck now and then behind the garage. He doubted she had broken her habit after he left. Her tone of voice was still the same, though. A sickeningly sweet voice that could fool anyone, and had fooled him more times than he could count on both of his hands. Even as they spoke, the voice was getting to him, telling him that things had changed. That they were different. That they were the way they were supposed to be. The other part of him, the sane part, told him how crazy he was for even thinking such thoughts. 

The major part of the conversation that stuck out to him was his mother’s request, something that caught him completely off guard.

“Why don’t you and your friends come down next week? Have dinner with us? It’s been so quiet since you left, and we really need to catch up!”

Lights flashed, alarms blared, and red flags were scattered around his mind. A warning sign to make up an excuse, to tell her that he had other plans, that they were far too busy to make a silly trip down to see his parents. Alas, the other part of him was whispering in his ear, begging him for closure. Begging for some type of reconciliation. Begging for the parents that he always longed for. What started as whispers had turned into screams. 

He blamed the curiosity for giving in. 

“Oh, that’s so wonderful, sweetheart! We can’t wait to see you! I know how happy your father is going to be. He’s going to be over the moon when I tell him he’s going to see his little girl again.”

It was easy enough to convince Sam, Dean, and Castiel to join him on his trip back to his hometown. Some questions were asked and some of them were answered, some with honesty, others with vague responses. He wasn’t sure he had completely recovered yet from the conversation. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to. Even the days leading up to the dinner seemed to slow to a snail’s pace, almost as if time itself had been affected by their phone call as if the universe tapped into his increasing anxiety. 

(Y/N) wasn’t fit to drive, his mind not yet returning to the present. Dean sat behind the wheel of his Impala, asking periodically for directions. From the backseat, (Y/N) would mumble out each response, his eyes cast out the window at the passing scenery. The words of the ghost repeated in his head as they drove. 

“He’s going to be over the moon when I tell him he’s going to see his little girl again…”

“...his little girl again…” 

“...his little girl…”

“...little girl…”

“...girl…”

GIRL.

(Y/N) came out to his parents when he was eighteen, and that decision changed the course of his life forever. When he walked in, the fear stirred inside of his chest like a hurricane about to strike the shore, he could never fathom what harsh words and actions would have come as a result of him doing so. The hurricane inside of his chest had been released into the house, sending a whirlwind of profanity and shattering objects every which way. He wondered if the living room still had the hole in the wall from when his father broke his mother’s antique vase against it. Going into the initial conversation, he expected some hesitancy, some disappointed looks, perhaps, but the outcome was far worse than he had ever considered. 

He met Sam and Dean by chance, having been on his own for several years at that point, and a victim of a witch gone rogue. He had heard rumors prior of Supernatural entities existing outside of the campfire stories children told at summer camp, but he never expected them to be real. His morbid curiosity kicked in after he was saved, and years later, he lived with the brothers in the bunker. His life was better, they accepted him for the man he truly was and he felt like he could be himself around them. When Castiel was introduced, he received the same heartwarming welcome that he had gotten from the brothers. He finally had a family that loved him and cared for him, and it was all he could have ever asked for. Life was going well. 

Then his box broke open. 

And his curiosity got the best of him again. 

Perhaps it would be different that time. The last time he did something on instinct rather than intuition, it got him into a wonderful, supportive family. Perhaps his parents had realized how serious he was when he came out to them. A decade is a long time to go without talking to your child. People can change. He had to believe that. Another part of him laughed. Of course, they didn’t change, why the hell would they suddenly decide to be supportive of you now? He wasn’t too sure about the answer. All he could do was have a small, sliver of hope that there was a chance that reconciliation awaited him. 

He needs to learn to lower his expectations. 

.~.

The Impala drove at a steady twenty miles per hour down the road, past the line of newly developed housing created about twelve years prior, and into the neighborhood filled with a mixture of tall and short houses dating back to the early 1910s. Back when (Y/N) was a child, it was the only part of the neighborhood that he knew, and from what he could tell nothing had changed much. Some new colored houses here and there, a fence or maybe two, but other than that, most of the houses along the winding road had stayed the same. Dead ends were still dead ends and the hills were still, undoubtedly, too high to climb over when the winter weather hit. He was thankful they took the trip during the summer. 

His childhood home was located down one of the sideroads in the deepest parts of the neighborhood. As they drove past houses, he could remember the names of children that used to live there, the times when they used to play together in the street or the creek that was a mile away. Those were good times, and a part of him wished he could relive them. He wondered what each of those children was up to. Either extremely well off or locked away for drug abuse. That was how most small-town children grew up. He was part of the small percentage that glided steadily in the middle of the chaos. He wasn’t a bum drug addict, but he wasn’t rich either. 

The house was almost unrecognizable. What used to be an ungodly piss yellow was now a basic blue color, edging on navy, with white trim. It gave the building a farmhouse-style aesthetic. The porch that wrapped around the front of the house had been painted recently, evident by how bright the white color was, and new foliage lined the driveway and walkway up to the front door, a mixture of bushes and flowers. They looked well taken care of. He gave his parents kudos for taking such good care of the exterior. He could faintly recall his mother mentioning something about retirement during their conversation, but he wasn’t certain. 

Dean pulled the car into the driveway, behind a new Ford F150 painted red. He killed the engine and the four of them sat still for a moment, the silence weighing heavy on all of them. Not much was said during the entire car ride there. Even AC/DC played low and was respectful of the preferred quiet. 

“This the place?” Dean broke the silence, turning his head to look at (Y/N). 

“Yeah…” (Y/N)’s voice was monotone, almost robotic. 

“You know, we don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.” 

(Y/N) finally tore his gaze away from the house to look at Dean. He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he answered, though he wasn’t sure how convincing he made it sound. 

“Alright, if you say so. Wanna lead the way?” 

“Yeah.”

(Y/N) took a moment before he exited the car. As he stepped out, he felt as if his body weighed a ton, as if rocks were tied to his ankles and wrists. Sam, Dean, and Castiel followed his lead. He wasn’t too sure how long it took to get up to the front door. It felt like he was walking through his past, year after year and memory after memory, from the time he brought all of the luggage in after his parents inherited the house from his maternal grandparents to the moment he was thrown out forcefully by his father with nothing but the clothes on his back and a small will to live. When he regained consciousness, he eyed the door cautiously. They had painted the door, too. It was now white, much like the porch and trim. 

Before he got a chance to knock, the door was yanked open, causing him to jump violently, eyes wide. 

Standing in the doorway was a short, stout woman, and it took (Y/N) a while to realize that it was his mother. The years hadn’t been nice to her. Her teeth were off-white, and her thinner lips cracked in a large smile that fit on most of her face. The wrinkles around her eyes, lips, and across her forehead were more prominent than ever, and it seemed as if she had neglected to dye her hair recently, slivers of grays poking through her roots. She wore a long-sleeved shirt, despite the heat, and a skirt that reached down to the middle of her calves. 

“(D/N)!” She exclaimed in a childlike voice, arms outstretched wide as she approached him. 

An uneasy smile made its way onto (Y/N)’s lips. “Hey, Mom,” he mumbled, returning the hug hesitantly. 

“Oh! Your voice sounds so deep, dear,” she giggled and pulled back, a hand placed gingerly against her chest. “I hope you’re not getting sick.” 

“Nope…not getting sick.” 

His mother narrowed her eyes as she reached up, fingers running gently through his hair. She hummed. “You know, I liked you better with longer hair. You just look like a boy now,” her nose scrunched. 

“Yeah…” 

His mother glanced between (Y/N) and the men standing behind him. She bit her lip in anticipation. “Well?” 

“Well?” (Y/N) furrowed his brows. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” 

The question registered in his mind slower than he would have liked. He had honestly forgotten that Sam, Dean, and Castiel stood behind him. He turned his head sharply to look at them. 

“Right! Um, Mom, this is Sam, Dean, and Castiel,” he introduced them, gesturing towards each of them when he mentioned their name. 

His mother held out a hand to them individually, giving them a firm shake. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you all. As you know, I’m (D/N)’s mother, but you can just call me Clara. If you call me Mrs. (L/N), I’ll start looking around for my mother-in-law, and she’s been dead for years!” She howled in a high-pitched laughter. 

(Y/N) frowned. “Grandma’s dead?” He asked in a quiet voice. 

Clara’s laughter died quickly as she placed her hand on her cheek. The corner of her lips curled downward. She opened her mouth to speak but found it difficult to find the words she had been looking for. Finally, she reached an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulled him close to her, and gestured with her head inside. 

“Let’s go see your father, sweetheart! He’ll be so happy to see you!” She smiled again as she pulled him past the threshold of the front door and into the house. 

Sam, Dean, and Castiel glanced at one another, their brows raised. (Y/N) had told them little to nothing about his family or the life he lived before they met. They weren’t even aware that his parents were still alive. In the world of hunting, living parents were a rare occasion. However, with the first interaction with his mother, they realized that his parents seemed to be dead to him, even if they weren’t buried six feet under. 

“Now I see why he hasn’t talked to us about his family,” Sam mumbled just loud enough for the two other men to hear before he stepped foot into the house. 

Castiel’s brows were knitted together in his signature confused expression. “I don’t understand,” he spoke in a voice that was as low as Sam’s had been. “Why did (Y/N)’s mother call him by his deadname?” 

Dean opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. He reached over, clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulders, and answered simply, “Because his parents are dicks, Cas,” before he followed his brother into the house. Castiel followed soon after, mulling over the answer. 

The interior was just as updated as the outside. It seemed (Y/N)’s parents put their retirement to good use. The old, rustic floors were replaced with newly refurbished wooden flooring with a dark stain, all of the furniture seemed to be less than five years old, each of the rooms had been given a fresh coat of paint to replace the wallpaper and wooden panels which were popular in the 1950s, and the ceilings no longer had bundles of popcorn strewn about. The wretched smell of mothballs had even dissipated and was replaced by a Scentsy that smelled of wildflowers. 

Clara led (Y/N) into the living room. The basic shape of the living room had been the same since he last saw it, except the large leather couch they once had was replaced with a beige sectional and the 20” box TV had been replaced by a massive 75” flatscreen. His father sat in the living room in his recliner, the same recliner he had when (Y/N) was a kid. His feet were elevated and a can of Bush Lite rested in his hand. 

His father didn’t age well, either. What had once been a full head of hair was now replaced by thin, silver strands that ran from either side of his skull in a comb-over. Age spots began to materialize across his face and hands. His skin seemed leathery and shriveled, his nails brittle. His fingertips were stained yellow, indicating he had started smoking, the same bad habit his mother couldn’t seem to break. They were perfect for one another. His back was slouched as he watched TV, a hump beginning to form near the base of his neck. For a man in his late fifties, his father seemed like he was hitting his early seventies. 

“Greg! Turn the damn TV off and come see your daughter.” Clara scolded. 

Daughter. The anxiety began to bubble inside of (Y/N)’s gut, but he kept it at bay.

Greg turned his head away from the screen and smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned, I didn’t hear you pull up.” He clapped his hands onto his knees and hoisted himself out of the chair. 

“Of course, you didn’t hear her pull up with that TV being so loud. I told you you need to turn it down.” 

“I can hear just fine, woman. You don’t need to tell me anything.” 

Greg shuffled over to the two of them and was quick to wrap his arms around (Y/N), pulling him close. (Y/N) returned the hug just as hesitantly as he had done to his mother. Greg reeked of cigarettes, and it was obvious that he smoked about a pack a day. At least his mother was good at hiding her addiction from outsiders. His father, not so much. (Y/N) tried to keep a straight face when he pulled away, despite the putrid smell. 

“I missed you so much, baby girl,” he mumbled as he patted (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

“Missed you, too, Dad,” though his tone said otherwise. 

“And these are (D/N)’s friends,” Clara turned towards the men behind them. 

Greg’s gaze turned towards them and straightened up almost immediately as if to make himself appear taller, more dominant. He stepped past (Y/N) and Clara so that he stood in front of the group. He held out his hand to each of them, exchanging names and handshakes. As they talked, (Y/N)’s eyes were cast down towards the floor. 

Shame was a mild word compared to how to truly felt. He had never told the boys his deadname. Never had he even considered doing so, but by dragging them to his childhood home, he had opened up a gateway of forbidden knowledge. The knowledge that he had hoped to keep in the back of his mind. Once his ghost opened up the box, she let everything out with it. He realized how much of a fool he was to pick up the phone. That the little hope that had bubbled inside of him was blind, that there was nothing to back up any idea that his parents had changed. They hadn’t changed. They had merely brushed his transgenderism under the rug as if that fateful night ten years ago didn’t occur. 

Clara’s voice pulled (Y/N) from his thoughts as her hands came up to rest on his shoulders. He jerked and looked over at her with a startled expression. Clara smiled. 

“Why don’t you and I go into the kitchen and finish up supper while the guys talk?” She asked in that sickeningly sweet voice. 

“Um,” (Y/N)’s mouth had gone dry. “Sure.” 

“Great,” her smile tightened. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” She turned to the four other men in the room. “Would you boys like anything to drink?” 

They declined her offer with polite, forced smiles. Clara then led (Y/N) past the archway, into the hallway, and toward the kitchen. Greg placed his hands on his hips and gestured towards the sofa. 

“Why don’t you boys have a seat? Make yourselves at home. I’ll be back in a moment. Gotta take a piss. The ol’ bladder ain’t what it used to be ya’ know.” He let out a deep chuckle and headed for the hallway. 

They watched as Greg left. When he was out of sight, the three of them walked around the sectional and sat down. The door down the hallway clicked shut, and the faint sound of a radio and fan could be heard. Dean licked his lips and leaned forward. 

“Alright, we have to say something,” he said. 

“Dean,” Sam began. 

“No, Sam. We now know why (Y/N) never told us about his parents. I mean, you saw the way that he was. Something had to have happened. He looked scared. That wasn’t our (Y/N).” 

Sam sighed. “I know what you mean, but…it’s not our place to say anything to them.” Sam shrugged. 

“I believe I agree with Dean,” Castiel folded his hands in his lap. “(Y/N)’s demeanor is not what I am used to. He’s secluded. I was unable to hear what he was thinking because of how…chaotic his thoughts were at the moment. I’ve never seen him like that before.” 

“Well then, what do you suggest we do?” Sam asked. 

They sat in silence for a moment, Sam looking over in Dean’s direction, Castiel doing the same, while Dean’s eyes were focused on the floor. His lips were pursed in thought. Both Sam and Castiel knew what Dean wanted to do. He wanted to yell at them, give them a true Dean Winchester what for. Tell them that they were some of the worst parents on the face of the Earth with some colorful language mixed in. However, Dean knew that there was a time and a place for behavior like that. Run-down bars were a perfect example, not someone else’s house. He knew that they couldn’t go into that fight guns blazing. They had to be careful about it. Malicious. 

Moments of silence passed before Dean leaned back against the sectional. He crossed one of his legs lazily over the other and ran his fingers through his hair. He listened carefully to the faint sound of radio chatter and fan blades from the other room. 

“I say we just…use his correct name and pronouns whenever we talk about him,” Dean shrugged his shoulders. 

“That’s it?” 

“Yeah…that’s it.” 

Sam poked his tongue into his cheek and nodded. “And you won’t blow up.” 

Dean shook his head. “Can’t promise, but I will try to be on my best behavior,” he held up a hand. “Scout’s Honor.” 

Sam sighed. “Alright. Yeah…” he nodded. “But if (Y/N) tells us to stop…”

“Then we stop,” Dean finished. “But I’m not calling him by his deadname.” 

“It truly doesn’t suit him,” Castiel said, head tilted and eyes cast off in the distance. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam agreed. 

“It’s settled then?” Dean asked. 

“Settled,” Sam and Castiel nodded. 

.~.

Dinner was served around 5:30. It was a simple meat and potato meal, some cheap excuse of a salad served in an antique salad bowl, greens, and dessert for the road. Everyone had gathered in the dining room, just off the living room. They also seemed to have renovated that room since (Y/N) left. Previously, they had a cheap wooden table with a couple of mismatched chairs scattered around it. Now, the dining table looked lavish, mahogany with a dark stain and extravagant carvings on the legs. The chairs were wooden, the same color as the table, with white pads on the backs and seats. The wallpaper had been torn off and replaced with a bright beige with dark trim. A chandelier hung above the table that appeared to cost more than most of the renovation. Tasteless picture frames hung on every corner of the walls, some containing old family photos while others had strange abstract paintings inside. 

Greg sat at the head of the table while his wife sat at the other end. (Y/N) sat next to his mother, Dean right across from him. Sam sat next to Dean and Castiel sat next to (Y/N). Each of them had a hearty serving of food on their decorative dinner plates. Greg dug into the food almost immediately as it was served, Clara was delicate with her eating, and everyone else was respectful and slow with their bites. Even Castiel ate some of the food, despite his celestial lack of taste. (Y/N) picked at his food, mostly, but ate a few bites now and then to appease his parents. 

“So, (D/N),” Greg started with a mouthful of food, a bit of gravy dribbling out of the corner of his mouth that he didn’t bother to wipe. “What kind of work did you say y’all did?” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Gregory,” Clara scolded in a low voice, earning an eye-roll from her husband. “You said something about working in an office?” She looked towards (Y/N).

(Y/N) froze midbite. “Um…” he trailed. He had forgotten what it was he told his mother when they talked. 

“Something about hunters or something?” 

“Head hunters!” (Y/N) was quick to respond. “Right, right, um, yeah, sorry. Um…Dean and I are head hunters at Cerner. Sam works in the tech department and Castiel works in sales.” 

“Oh! That’s nice that you all get to work together! Now, Cerner, I heard about that place, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is,” Clara’s face scrunched up. 

“We sell medical equipment and hardware, but we’re able to work from home since we live a couple of hours away from the main building.” 

“Ooo, medical equipment,” Clara cooed. “You must make a good amount of money.” 

“Yeah…some.” He mumbled and took another bite. 

Greg finally picked up the cloth napkin beside him and wiped the corner of his lips. “So where do y’all live, then? Since you get to lazily work from home…” 

“We live together near Lincoln, and the closest office is in Kansas City. It would just be easier to work from home instead of driving all that way.” (Y/N) said. 

“Wait a second…” Greg looked up at him. “Together?” He asked. 

“Yeah…we live in a house together.” 

Greg chewed slower. “I don’t know how I feel about my daughter living with three men.” 

Dean snorted. Eyes shifted over towards him. He looked up and glanced towards the head of the table. “He’s not so bad to live with,” he shrugged his shoulders. 

“He who?” Greg furrowed his brows. 

“(Y/N).” 

“Who?” 

“Your son,” Dean gestured towards (Y/N) with his fork. 

(Y/N) stopped. His heart raced rapidly in his chest as his parents’ eyes shifted towards him. In an instant, he was transported back to a decade ago. The same look that was on his parents' faces back then was on them now. His mother had a look of worry, while he could see that the veins on his father’s neck were enlarged. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were narrowed and small behind his bushy brows. The fear that overtook (Y/N) on the night he got kicked out began to flood back into his gut. He could feel the hurricane build. 

It died off when his father let out a deep chuckle, however, and the fear was replaced by confusion. 

“I see (D/N) has you guys roped into that transsexual bullshit or whatever.” Greg waved Dean off. “Sweetheart, aren’t you a little too old to be playing make-believe?” Greg’s voice was deep, demeaning. 

(Y/N) frowned. “It’s not make-believe, Dad. I’m a man.” (Y/N) spoke softly, as if he was even uncertain of himself. 

Greg laughed heartily. “You know, when your mother told me she talked you into coming home, I figured, after all these years, you would have gotten some sense into that thick head of yours. But, it seems like I was wrong. Maybe we didn’t beat you enough when you were a kid.” 

“Gregory,” Clara said between clenched teeth.

“I think you beat me plenty the night I left,” (Y/N) mumbled and took another bite, though he had already lost his appetite. 

“Don’t get lip with me, girl,” Greg growled. 

“He’s not a girl, Gregory,” Castiel chimed in, his voice calm and quiet. “His name is (Y/N) and he is a man. I believe you should respect that.” 

For the first time since he got there, (Y/N) looked over at Castiel, then to Dean, then Sam. The men that he had lived with for years were right next to him. His support system was in the same room as the people who had broken him down. He was no longer alone, no longer a scared little kid who was backed into a corner. With that thought in the back of his head, he felt the fear slowly dwindle. It was replaced with irritation. Parents were supposed to love and support their children through everything they experienced. Yet, all his parents did was cast him out once he got the confidence to come to them. The people, whom he was supposed to trust with his life, had turned to the people that he despised the most.

“Respect my ass. What happened to the respect for her parents!?” Greg dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “Do you have any idea what we had to go through to raise your ungrateful ass? Your mother had to drop out of college, I had to take on two jobs, and this is how you thank us? Do you have any idea the things that people have been saying about us since you left? How we’re failures for parents for letting you turn out the way you did? I couldn’t even show my face in Fred’s for the longest time after that.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dad, that you couldn’t go to your watering hole and get drunk like you did every night. How dare they assume the worst of you,” (Y/N)’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“(Y/N), I think we should go,” Sam said in a small voice. 

Greg narrowed his eyes at Sam and then at (Y/N). He pointed a meaty finger at him. “You watch what you say to me. You’re in my house. Adult or not, I will smack some sense into you.” 

“Hey, that’s not-” Sam began. 

“Gregory!” Clara spoke louder. “That’s our daughter, you can’t talk to her like that.” 

“I am not your daughter!” (Y/N) spoke loudly, his fist slammed down on the table, causing the plates and cutlery to cling together. Sam caught his glass before it could spill. 

Clara raised her brows as she looked over at (Y/N). She frowned and reached over, placing her hand on his shoulder. “(D/N)...”

(Y/N) slapped her hand away from him. “(D/N) is dead!” He shouted and stood quickly. His chair was tossed back and fell onto the floor. 

The room fell silent aside from a gasp that came from Clara. Her hand shot up to her mouth, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. All eyes were on (Y/N). He glared daggers at his mother and father. 

“She died long before you kicked me out. I thought, after all of these years, that you, my parents, would have changed. That you would see that it was not just some rebellious fucking phase you made it out to be. But I guess I was wrong. You two never changed. You two never got better. You’re still the same worthless, spineless fucks that kicked your child out all those years ago. You’re not parents. You’re garbage. White trash garbage.” 

“Hey!” Greg’s voice boomed as he stood from his spot at the table. “Don’t you ever speak to us like that,” he advanced towards (Y/N) but was stopped with a hand on his chest when Castiel stood between them. “Get the Hell out of my way. I bet you’re one of them faggot trannys, too.” 

As Greg placed his hands firmly on Castiel’s chest to undoubtedly shove him away, Castiel grabbed his wrist, flipped him over, and pinned him against the wall. Clara let out a shout, her eyes wide. 

“Cas!” Dean bellowed as he and Sam rushed over, their hands on Castiel’s arms as they tried to pull him off, but Castiel held on with all his strength. 

(Y/N) could see the anger in Castiel’s eyes. The blue that was once there was seemingly replaced by a deep, dark red. His jaw was clenched tightly, lips screwed together in a scowl. Clara rushed from her spot at the table and towards the archway leading into the hallway. 

“I’m calling the police!” She shouted, her voice echoing in the hallway. 

“Cas, let him go,” Sam said, a tone of urgency in his words.  

(Y/N) took a couple of steps towards them. He got closer to his father so that their faces were almost touching. Greg growled and tried to pull himself from Castiel’s grip, but it was futile. 

“How does it feel Gregory? How does it feel being outnumbered? To be weak? That’s all you are. You’re nothing but a weak, washed-up, lonely sack of shit. You need to start facing reality. You don’t have a daughter anymore. Never had one to begin with. At this point, you don’t even have a son. So I want you and Clara to lose my number. Pretend that I don’t even exist, and if you even bother to contact me again, best know that I’m going to make your lives a living Hell.” (Y/N)’s voice was low, deep, and dark. 

Greg said nothing. Instead, he let out staggered breaths, spittle dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. (Y/N) backed away. 

“Let him go, Cas,” (Y/N) said. 

Castiel glanced over at him for a brief moment before he let go. Greg went limp against the wall, holding his arm tightly to his chest. Sam patted Castiel’s shoulder and began to move him away from the scene. Dean grabbed (Y/N)’s arm. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Dean mumbled. 

(Y/N) gave a short nod, his eyes never leaving his father until the four of them quickly walked out of the room and towards the front door. Greg shouted incoherently down the hallway, but (Y/N) couldn’t he half-assed to care what it was he had to say. 

The sun was setting by then. The sky was painted a beautiful peach color that shifted toward the horizon to reddish-orange. They were quick to rush down the stairs and towards the Impala. Dean got in the driver’s seat, Sam in the passenger’s, and Castiel and (Y/N) got in the back. 

“Let’s get the Hell out of here. Clara was serious about calling the cops, and the porkers around here are crooked motherfuckers.” (Y/N) mumbled. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Dean said. 

He started the car and the engine roared to life. Dean ripped out of the driveway, tires squealing as they rushed down the neighborhood road. 

.~.

Twenty minutes out of town and the car ride was silent. No one would dare speak. The tension in the car was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. On occasion, Dean would look in the rearview mirror at (Y/N). Each time he did so, he could see that (Y/N)’s eyes were filled with a dead stare. His gaze cast towards the back of Sam’s head, eyes glazed over, as if he wasn’t even there. He was leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped together. 

Truth be told, (Y/N)’s mind was far from the present. The words that Clara and Greg spoke replayed in his head over and over again. His own words mere whispers over how loud theirs were. He thought about all that he had said to them. He had been holding in his emotions for ten years, hating what his parents had become, hating that they had turned their backs on him as soon as he needed them the most. He developed a heavy resentment towards them, something that he knew couldn’t be fixed from a simple dinner visit. 

But another part of him, the child-like voice that spoke in the back of his head, wished that things had changed. Wished for the parents that he so desperately wanted. Parents were supposed to watch out for their children, to protect them, and his parents had neglected to do so. They abandoned him. What worthless fucks they were. Still, it was hard for him not to want the good parents he had hoped they would be. To hope for parents who supported and loved him. He wanted his mother to just wrap her arms around him and call him her son. He wanted his father to clap him on the shoulder and tell him how proud he was. How brave he was to come out. None of that happened. He would never get the validation from his parents that he longed for. 

And he hated it. 

He knew that Dean, Sam, and Castiel loved him. Loved him more than his parents ever would, but he couldn’t help the desperate want that clawed deep within his mind. In a way, he felt ashamed for even wanting it. He had everything in his life that he ever needed - a support system, people who loved him, a place he could call home - yet he still wanted more. He felt greedy. Selfish. 

“Pull over,” (Y/N)’s voice was small and cracked. 

“What?” Dean asked. 

“I said ‘pull over’.” He spoke louder. 

Dean frowned and looked in the rearview mirror for a moment. Reluctantly, he pulled the Impala to the side of the backroads and placed the car in park. (Y/N) opened the door and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Dean and Sam looked at one another before they, too, got out of the car. Castiel soon followed. 

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. 

(Y/N)’s fists were clenched at his sides as he stormed down the road in long, smooth strides, away from the Impala, back towards the direction of town. 

“(Y/N), stop!” Dean hollered. 

(Y/N) didn’t listen. He kept walking. He only stopped when Castiel popped in front of him, hands placed on his shoulders. (Y/N) quickly brushed him off. 

“Get off me,” he growled, his voice not angry, but rather broken. 

He took a couple of steps away from Castiel, giving Dean and Sam enough time to catch up to them. (Y/N) stood between the three of them. He brought his hands up and wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself tightly. He shook his head and looked up at the night sky. 

It was a Waxing Crescent that night - God’s Thumbnail as his mother would have called it - and stars were placed meticulously in various parts of the sky. The good thing about the backroads was that there were no city lights to hide the true beauty of the sky by night. Every last constellation was visible. That was one thing that (Y/N) loved about living in the bunker. When he got tired, when he needed a break, he would walk outside, look up at the night sky, and just watch. Watch as the stars floated from one end to the other, watch as the moon shifted to welcome a new dawn. It was a mesmerizing sight. But, that night, it wasn’t comforting to him. Not like it should have been. 

“This is all my fault,” (Y/N) breathed out. He closed his eyes as his head dropped down. 

“(Y/N),” Sam reached forward, but (Y/N) pulled away before he could even touch him. 

“I was so stupid. So stupid to think that they changed. I just…I don’t know, I just had this little bit of hope inside of me that, after all these years, they would have seen me as their son. That they would have seen me for the man that I am. But I was wrong. I was so fucking stupid to believe that they would have changed. After everything that they did to me, after everything that they said to me, all I wanted was for them to tell me that everything would be okay, that they were going to stand by me through everything. That’s what parents are supposed to do, right? They’re supposed to protect their kids. They’re supposed to be by their sides through everything that they go through and they weren’t. They never were! They just sat there and berated me and threw me out because ‘how would the rest of the town look at us knowing that our daughter is nothing but a tranny piece of liberal trash’?” 

(Y/N)’s voice shook, and his eyes glimmered in the pale moonlight from tears that had appeared. 

“Well, you know what? I don’t need them! I don’t need those two washed-up, lowlife son of a bitches to look out for me. No, I got you three. I have three important men in my life who care for me, love me, and support me no matter what, even when I make a dumb decision on a hunt or when I make a fool out of myself trying to flirt with someone at a bar. I know that I can come back home to people who will be there for me no matter what. So you know what, Clara and Greg can go fuck themselves. They’re not my parents. They never were! I don’t need them!” 

His voice shifted to anger, but the shaking was still present. His tense shoulders relaxed and slouched. He reached a hand up to his face to wipe the tears away. His bottom lip began to tremble and, with his head cast down, he turned back towards the three of them. 

“How come they don’t love me?” 

Dean rushed over without a word and wrapped his arms around (Y/N), pulling him close to his chest. Sam was quick to move over to his side as well, his long arms overlapping his brother’s to embrace him. Castiel followed suit, hugging him more hesitantly than the others, but his grip was just as strong. (Y/N) collapsed in their arms, sobs falling from his lips as tears fell carelessly down his cheeks. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice broke through the sounds of (Y/N)’s sobs. He pulled away from him, as did Sam and Castiel. Sam and Castiel kept a hand firmly on (Y/N)’s back, while Dean’s hands moved to his shoulders. “Don’t cry over them. They’re not worth it.” Dean reached up and slowly brushed a tear away from (Y/N)’s cheek. “We’re your family now, and we would never treat you like that. You deserve so much better.” 

“Dean’s right,” Sam chimed in. “You’ve gone through so much. It takes a lot of courage for someone to come out like you did, and for them to just throw you out like that…” Sam shook his head in disapproval. “We love you, (Y/N), more than anything.” 

(Y/N) sniffled and wiped the rest of the tears away. His cheeks were stained with the wet remnants of their trails and his eyes were puffy and red. 

“I’m not too good with…words or comfort.” Castiel began, hesitantly. “But I believe that it was a courageous thing to come back to your hometown and speak to your parents, even if it didn’t turn out the way you had hoped for. It takes a lot for someone to face the people who have wronged them in the past, and I must commend you on your bravery. Even though you don’t have the support of your parents with you, as Sam and Dean have said, you still have us. We love you dearly, (Y/N). You are who you are meant to be, and no one can ever change that.” 

(Y/N) lips slowly curled into a small, weak smile. “Thank you, all of you. For everything that you have done for me.” 

“No, thank you,” Dean nodded. “Dinner and a show? At least the show wasn’t as dry as Clara’s pot roast.” 

“Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes.

(Y/N) let out a light laugh. “She was never good at making pot roast anyway.” 

“I’m a better cook than her, right?”

“By a mile.” 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Dean reached over and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulling him close. “What do you say we head back home, order in, and watch one of those terrible movies you like.” 

“One of those shitty romcoms?” 

“If that’s what you wanna watch.” 

“And I can pick where we order in from?” 

“As long as it’s somewhere where I can get a salad,” Sam mumbled. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sammy.” (Y/N)’s smile widened.

Dean smirked and gestured towards the Impala. “Come on, let’s head home.” 

The four of them made their way back over to the car, each of them getting in their respective seats. The radio blasted Metallica, the tension having been lifted from the air. The Impala’s engine roared as it sped down the backroads, leaving behind a past of nothing but misery and heartbreak, and heading towards a future of love, acceptance, and compassion. 

.~.

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? When you think about it, some people share more good memories than bad ones. They cling to their past self and wish for a time when they could go back and relive the glory days. Others tend to forget their past and look towards the future, hoping for a new light that would bring nothing but happiness and joy. 

If you had told (Y/N) a week ago that he would be one of those people, he would have rolled his eyes and laughed in your face. The past had clung to him like the plague, dragging along with him everywhere he went. It crippled him, not only bringing his self-image down, but his self-worth as well. The words that Clara and Greg spoke to him that night were forever engrained in his mind. And while they lingered in the back of his head now and then, a louder, stronger, boisterous voice told him otherwise. Told him he was cared for. Told him he was worth it. Told him they loved him. Told him he was exactly the person that he was destined to be. It was the voices of the men that he loved dearly. 

No longer were his parents the source of his nightmares. Rather, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were the source of his hopes and dreams. They were the heroes in his story that fought back the monsters that threatened to take him out, the knights in shining armor that saved him from the highest room of the tallest tower. The ones that rescued him from the brink of despair. The ones that saved him from a lifetime of hate. They were his protectors.

They were his family. 

“A wise man once told me family don’t end in blood, but it doesn’t start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.”