#fandomwritingchallenge

[triggeringthehealing]

leaving a trace

Stiles/Derek | PG | ~1.4k | AO3 Content notes: future fic, FBI agent Stiles, getting together

Summary: There’s a small pile of them just past the main door of the building, barely out of reach of the elements and the strays — human or otherwise. Each one addressed the same, the handwriting belonging to one person though it varies a little from one card to the next.

A/N: Written for the fandomwritingchallenge, July prompt: postcard

✉ Nasty hag attack here, looks almost as nasty as any of the Alphas. Had a pint of beer for you. S.

✉ Hi! Greetings from— wait, it says that on the front. I get why you guys were in New York before. It’s big. Wonder if I could get lost here. S.

✉ Couldn’t resist the wolf on the postcard. Had to happen on the first field case. Hope you’re well. S.

✉ This job means a fuckton of travel. Not a complaint, really. Just gets a bit lonely. S.

✉ Where do postcards go if they can’t be delivered? Hopefully this one will, Canadian wolves are savage, I’d love if you got to see the photo. S.

✉ ✉ ✉ ✉ ✉

There’s a small pile of them just past the main door of the building, barely out of reach of the elements and the strays — human or otherwise. Each one addressed the same, the handwriting belonging to one person though it varies a little from one card to the next. Some look scribbled on in a rush, a few even written with odd instruments — there’s one in crayon, another has fountain pen smudges.

Derek almost doesn’t spot them, but one of them glows in the dark, and when he arrives at the loft, it happens to be in the middle of the night. So — not without hesitation — he picks the pile up, and tosses it carelessly on the coffee table that’s covered with a layer of dust. It’s not surprising, because it’s been years since he was back, though he has managed to pay everything that he needed to in order to keep ownership of the building.

It’s another few days later before he sits down long enough to pick up the postcards again, and to give them a more thorough look. He’s since sorted out all the other post that was dumped there with the cards, so there are no distractions in the form of bills or anything else. Again, he only does pick them up because it’s late at night and the one that glows is peeking out from the middle of the pile.

They don’t seem connected, not when he first starts checking them, save for the same signature on every one of them. And that really wouldn’t tell anyone else enough, but it does tell him the important bit.

S.

None of them are signed with a full name, just the initial. The messy scrawl differs between the cards too — a few are neat and legible, obviously written with time to spare; the ones that are messier look like the sender barely had time to write them.

Derek wonders about that while he looks the cards over. He knows that Stiles — because it took barely a beat to realise who the postcards were from — went across country to study and to later join the FBI. When there’s a card from Washington and it’s one of the ones written nicely, Derek starts thinking about the order.

✉ It’s a whole different world out here. Hope wherever you are is just as distant from where this card is going. S.

The date stamps help him organise the postcards, and he puts them into a tidy pile on the coffee table before he picks up the Washington DC one again. The next few are all from the east of the country, and most of them have taken time to write judging by the handwriting. But there is one that’s scribbled clearly in a rush.

✉ If the cards stop coming, this case is to blame. Fucking wendigos. S.

Derek freezes at first, and then lets out a relieved breath when he realizes that it’s not the last postcard in the pile. The next one is written clearly, but he can see the way the handwriting it was weak and a little shaky.

✉ There are never postcards with hospitals on them. Guess it’d be too depressing. S. PS: I’m okay, just a flesh wound. Because wendigo.

When Derek finally reaches for the last card, it’s hours later and the sun is starting to come up and shine through the windows. He’s hesitant to read it, partly because there are no more and partly because he’s afraid to look at the date on it. The ones he already looked at were almost evenly spaced out over the past few years, but the card he just put down is from almost a year ago. His curiosity is stronger than his reluctance to finish reading through the pile.

He looks at the familiar image of the Golden Gate, and something in his stomach skips when he realises how close Stiles apparently was when he sent this. Then he very carefully flips the postcard, and his eyes fall immediately on the signature, which isn’t the same as on all the others.

Stiles.

Derek’s eyes widen, and he looks up at the text, and he reads over it fast, then again to make sure that he’s reading it right.

✉ It almost feels like home, but it’s not. Way less drama and way less you. Come see the city sometimes? Stiles.

An hour later, Derek is on the road, and driving to San Francisco. He doesn’t have an address, but the final postcard was from a month ago, and the scent was still strong. Almost like Stiles made sure it would be, no matter how much time has passed.

✉ ✉ ✉ ✉ ✉

He finds Stiles near the bridge, after a day of running circles around the city, tracking his scent.

“You knew I was here,” Derek says, almost accusingly.

Stiles smirks when he looks up from the bench.

“Supernatural division,” he says. “We know how to track people down.”

“Not as reassuring as you probably think it is,” Derek tells him as he sits down.

“Found you, didn’t I?”

“Did you know I was coming back to the loft?”

Stiles nods.

“I wasn’t sure, but there was intel that you were heading this way. I guessed that you’d at least stop by,” he says. “Everyone else thought you’d stay away from town, but… I took a chance.”

They sit in silence for a while, and Derek wonders what to do next. He knows he should probably worry about being tracked by Stiles’s division, but it’s not new information, Derek just hoped that he managed to stay off radar. It’s not surprising either that Stiles knew where he was.

As he thinks about it, Derek realises that he doesn’t see it as a bad thing. Quite the opposite, if he’s entirely honest with himself.

“So, are you here for long?”

Stiles looks at him with a soft smile.

“Division is setting up an office here,” he says. “Something about our Nemeton still being a draw for the supernatural. I’m sticking around to lead. Keeps me closer to Dad and Scott. I’ll still have field work, but for the most part, I’ll be around.”

“Want to get dinner sometime?” Derek asks, not thinking about it twice.

Stiles’s eyes widen in surprise, but the smile stays on as he nods.

“I’d love to. But to clarify, do you mean dinner to catch up?”

Derek pauses and thinks, then looks Stiles in the eyes.

“If that’s all that you want, yes. But if you’d be interested in a date, that’s okay too,” he tells him, and then he holds his breath for a beat.

“Oh fuck yes, date totally works for me,” Stiles says and he chuckles when Derek lets out a relieved breath. “Tonight work for you?”

Derek laughs and nods.

“Tonight is perfect. Now, do I need to track you down again, or can I have your number? None of your cards had it.”

Stiles grins.

“Now now, what kind of agent would I be if I let myself be tracked via postcards?”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him, hoping Stiles will realise that it’s a hint at how Derek did track him to the bridge.

“We don’t have protocol against your kind of tracking, humans don’t have super sniffers,” Stiles says. “Maybe we should stick to that.”

Derek knows he looks unimpressed when Stiles laughs out loud.

“Fine fine, do you even have a phone?” Stiles asks, and Derek rolls his eyes as he pulls it out of his pocket.

Stiles rattles off his phone number, and then he stands up.

“Okay, I have to head back in. See you later?”

Derek nods, and then he watches as Stiles walks away. It doesn’t feel like a goodbye this time, it feels like a new beginning. He had no plans to stick around California for too long, but with a date to look forward to, Derek knows that he has a reason to stay.

[erule]

In the oblivion

 Title: In the oblivion  

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k+    

Warnings: angst, fluff, romantic, married!life, husband!Dean, daddy!Dean, memory lost        

Summary: A witch took away the reader’s memory. Will Dean make her remember that she’s his wife or not?  

Notes: This is the story I wrote for the Fandom Writing Challenge, my prompt was glow. This contest is such a great idea! Hope you like it, feedback is always appreciated :) Shoutout to crossieaus on IG, whose picture inspired me, thank you. P.s.: there’s a link for a song, I suggest you to listen to it, while reading the passage.

Dean woke up with a bad headache. He wasn’t even able to recognise his own room. There were pink sheets on the bed, a pair of shoes with high heels behind the door, some photographs on the table with a computer and a woman’s bag. Well, definitely it wasn’t his room. He also noticed that he was almost naked, except for the pair of boxers he was wearing. Damn, he got probably laid with a girl and now he was in her house. It wouldn’t have been the worst thing ever some years ago, but now it was.

So, he got dressed and then he went downstairs. There were plastic plates and glasses everywhere. He understood immediately that there was a party there, last night.

<< Where the hell am I? >> he asked himself, with hoarse voice.

<< Hey, stranger. >> a girl answered, appearing from the kitchen with a broom in her hands. Dean’s heart stopped, when he recognised her and a sense of loss hit him in his chest. << You’re in my house and we kind of have a moment, last night. If you know what I mean. >> she said, blinking.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

<< Since when you’re so coquettish? >>

<< Excuse me? >> she asked, a bit angry.

<< Nevermind. Where’s my brother? Did you see him? He’s very tall, good-looking, long hair… >>

<< I don’t know, there were a lot of people here yesterday night. >> she said. Then, she stopped to stare at him. There was something in the way he was clutching his jaw or in the faded spark in his green eyes, that reminded her of something. << I’m sorry, do we know each other? >>

Dean took a deep breath, before he could talk. Cas had warned him: he had to be very careful and very polite, if he wanted to tell her the truth. He only had one shot. He managed to control his voice, or it would have cracked down.

<< Yeah, Y/N, we do. >> he replied. She locked her eyes into his ones, so glossy, tired and a bit circled in red. Dean gulped, concerned. There was something about him that was slipping away from the tip of her tongue, like a memory that didn’t want to come up in her mind and it literally gave her the urge to scream. She had met him somewhere. << A witch took away your memories from you a couple of months ago, when we were on a hunt. I’ve been searching for you since then, because that dumb witch sent you away from me. >> he explained. He took a step forward, his hands were trembling. << I’m your husband. We even have a kid together, Bobby. He’s two years old and he’s with Jody, our friend, now. She’s taking care of him, don’t worry. >> he said. She seemed shocked, scared and astonished. He thought she could faint right now. << Look, I know that this is hard to believe, but it’s the truth. >> he continued. Her gaze was lost beyond the wall behind Dean. She didn’t move a muscle. It was like she felt paralyzed. Dean understood her, he really knew how hard was managing to take all the pieces together, but he had to bring her home, so she had to believe him. << Please, say something. >>      

She took a deep breath, feeling like her heart could break all at once and there was nothing she could do to help herself. That was not possible. That’s what her mind was shouting, inside. The walls she had in her head were about to fall, but she couldn’t allow it. So, she bit her bottom lip, looking at him. She wanted to go away, to run from him, but there was this melancholy in his irises, that kept her standing still.

<< I think you’ve made a mistake. >> she whispered. She knew that it was stupid to say, because how could he be wrong about his wife? Anyway, she had said it and she had to follow it. She had to do what was the best for herself.

He shrugged his shoulders, sensing this huge burden on his chest, this feeling of losing. The only feeling you can taste in your mouth, beside the blood, when you’re about to die. Not for real, no. But he hoped, for a second, that the ground could swallow him alive.

<< No, listen… >>

<< Please, get out. >> she said, holding the broom tight, like it could take her on her feet. Dean remembered how she used to cling to him in the same way. It hurt somewhere between his stomach and his throat. << Please. >>

<< You’re gonna remember. >> he said, in a low and controlled voice. << You’re gonna remember me. I will remind you. I’m not giving up on you, ever. >> he promised, pointing a finger at her.

Then, he did what she told him and went out from the house. She looked at him walking, outside the window, before that she slipped against the wall, touched the floor and began to cry.

 << Are you sure that she lives here, now? >> Sam asked, closing the car’s door.

<< Hey, treat her well! >> Dean replied, after the car made a high sound. Sam rolled his eyes. << Anyway, yeah, I do. >>

The neighborhood seemed so quiet, except for the rumors that came from the house she was supposed to live. Dean opened the door and the loud music hit them in their bones. There was a party, that night. The rooms were full of people, talking, drinking, joking, kissing, girls walking in a bikini (turned out that Y/N had a swimming pool).

They decided to split up, in order to find her quickly. Dean went to the living room, where some guys were probably stoned, a couple was kissing and one was smoking. He raised an eyebrow. It was like the Y/N he knew was gone and been replaced by someone who liked parties and drinks, but she was the opposite, in reality. She was the kind of girl who liked to stay home with him cuddling on the couch, she barely drank a glass of wine at dinner. It seemed like the spell made her party animal’s behaviour to get out. Had she got it, in the first place? Dean was confused. And there, she was. Y/N was dancing, bare feet, on the table in front of the couch, a very short dress and without her usual glasses. She looked so beautiful and so free. He smiled, bitterly. That’s when he realized: she didn’t have that life, because she couldn’t. She always had to look after him or Sam or Bobby. She had responsabilities she couldn’t run from. She was doing it now. She was running away from them and from him.

He decided that it was enough, when a guy helped her to go down. He was looking at her like she was a piece of meat, but hell, she was still his wife, after all.

<< Hey, excuse me, excuse me, but I think that it is my turn. >> he said, moving in front of her.

She noticed his firm chest, his shoulders and his collarbones as first things that made her weak in the knees. Probably it was the fault of the four (or five?) beers she had drunk. Well, whatever, that guy was smokin’ hot.

<< Hey, handsome. Did we meet somewhere? >>

<< That’s a very lame pick up line, sweetheart. >> he replied, with an ambiguous smile.

She bit her bottom lip. That man was a challenge she was ready to accept.

<< Where have you been all my life, stranger? >>

He gulped, looking strangely hurt, but then he caressed her cheek and her heart skipped a beat.

<< Looking for you. >>    

 He went back to the bunker. He had to find something, anything, that could help her to remember. He called Sam, while he went to their bedroom to search for some stuff he could bring to her.

<< Dean, hey. >> Sam said, appearing behind him.

<< Sammy. Where were you? >> Dean asked, chechink the room out.

<< I got back here yesterday night. I thought you had everything under control. >> he coughed, blushing a little. Dean smirked.

<< Well, it was. This morning she basically kicked me out from the house. She doesn’t even recall that she had a family. >>

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

<< I’m sorry, brother. >>

He sighed, feeling so beaten even into his bones. He just hoped that she could hold the pieces together for a little longer.

<< You know that I hate chick - flick moments, right? Let’s get to work. We have to find something useful. >>

Sam tried to think, but it was difficult: they could have called Rowena, but he had read that forcing a person to remember their whole life all at once was dangerous. Dean’s plan was better. Still, what was enough powerful to bring back all of her memories?

<< Pictures. >>

<< What? >> Dean asked, searching in the drawers. << Could this be okay? >> he replied, showing Sam Y/N’s red underwear. Sam raised an eyebrow. << She wore it the night Bobby was… Nevermind. >>

Sam shaked his head.

<< Photographs, Dean. They could give her an input. >> << Yeah, good idea, Sammy. I’m gonna take a couple of them. >> Dean stated.

Dean moved to the desk in his old room and took a pair of framed photos: one of them at their first anniversary of marriage, in which they had a glass of Champagne in their hands, on the Miami beach; in the other one, he was holding Bobby for the first time ever, outside the hospital (she took the picture). But his gaze was caught by a piece of a thing that was getting out from the closet. He took it too, then he drove his car to her house again.

She blinked, taking his hand to bring him outside. Sam was nearby and he noticed them. She took off her dress and smiled at him, while the other guys were already in the pool.

<< Come on, mystery guy. Come and get me. >> she said, then she dived in the cold water. << Come on! >>

Dean smiled at Sam, then he undressed and dived in underwear like her. The water was really cold, he was scared to have a heart attack in the middle of the mission. But the temperature got hot instantly, when she approached him and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek. He closed his eyes. Hell, he had missed her so much, it felt unreal.

<< I don’t remember your name, mystery guy. >> she said. He quickly opened his eyes.

<< Dean. My name’s Dean. >> She whacked her forehead for a second, but just for one.

<< I’m Y/N. We’re gonna have a lot of fun, tonight. >>

Dean made a thumb slip on her collarbone, looking at her lips.

<< I hope so. >> he said. Then he crushed his lips into hers and felt lost in the moment.

 She felt every inch of her body burning up, when she heard a car stopping by. Her skin recognized him, even if he was still outside. She put her head between her hands, closing her eyes: it was like someone was playing with her mind. It was not funny at all. Here eyes were so tired of crying. She was tired of laying on the floor, waiting for a sign. A sign that could show her that maybe it was a damn dream and she was about to wake up.

<< Y/N! >> he called. What was his name? Dean. A little voice in her head echoed within the walls. That was his name. Sweet and familiar for some reason. << Please, babe, open up. >>

She hardly got up from the floor to open the door. He tried to talk, but her eyes were so red and so swollen, that he had to stop.

<< Y/N, you cried. Go wash your eyes with some water, we’re gonna wait for you here. >> Sam said, gently.

<< I’m sorry. >> she said, biting her bottom lip.

Dean’s heart contracted. He thought that it could be a stroke. Damn, looking at her like that because of a dumb witch, made him want to punch someone straight in the face. He had lost two months of his life without her, two months that could never come back and now, he also had to see her suffering. It was unfair. She hadn’t to pay so much.

<< For what? >> Sam demanded.

<< For not remembering. I can’t feel anything, when I look at you. >> she answered, referring to Dean. He clutched his jaw. << I don’t even remember giving birth to my own child! I don’t know who you are! And perhaps, you’re just messing with me! >> she shouted, frustrated.

Dean left all the stuff he had in a bag on the mat, then he took her hands into his ones and locked his eyes with hers.

<< Hey, look at me. Look at me. >> he said, softly. She barely could focus on him, but she did. << We’re not telling you lies. You are Y/N, you are a Winchester and you are my wife. This is Sam, my brother and your best friend. You used to talk about books and to joke on me, because I’m scared of flying. We also have an angel as friend, Castiel. He’s always so caring with you, because once you slapped him right in the face after he gave himself up to Lucifer and he learned not to make you angry. But this is another story. >> he explained, while her eyes were growing wide. << Listen, you’ll try to remember what it feels like to be you. You’ll try and if it fails… >> he was saying, but he had to stop for a second. He gulped. Saying that words, costed him a lot. << If it fails, you’ll never see us again. >>

Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean shaked his head. That was the deal. He had decided.

She nodded.

<< Okay. >>

So, she accorded their visiting. She went to wash her face in the bathroom, then she went back to the living room and listened to Dean. He was nervous, she could tell. Somehow, he was like an open book to her. Maybe there was something in the past between them, for real and that’s why she felt so attracted to him the other night.

<< Well, let’s begin with something simple, alright? This is a picture of us during our first anniversary. >> he told, showing her the picture.

She stared at it. It was authentic, not photoshopped, because it was made in a very good way. She touched it, making her fingers slip on thei silhouettes. They seemed so… happy. It was hard to believe that they were hunters, that they fought everyday for our lives. That was what Dean told her, anyway.

<< Does it remind you of something, Y/N? >> Sam asked.

She shaked her head.

<< I’m sorry. >>

Dean gulped, looking anywhere but her.

<< It’s okay. It’s not easy. >> Sam replied, then he gave her the other photo to her. << Try with this. >>

She looked at it. The little boy was supposed to be his son, probably. Her fingertips caressed his cheek and for a moment, it felt like she was sensing his skin, soft and warm. He smelled like babies, a weird smell, but that she would have recognized everywhere, because he was her son. They were connected and they would have been linked for a lifetime.

Like Dean and herself.

Then why she couldn’t remember?

<< Do you feel anything? >> Sam’s voice reached her, but she was lost in her thoughts.

Yeah, she felt something.

She felt like she was separated from her own skin, divided by a dam from the past Y/N and the present Y/N.

She felt like she should remember her little boy, the day he was born at least, because he was her own blood, her own love.

She felt like Dean meant the world to her, once. He was her support, her partner, in crimes and in hunts, her best friend for life.

She felt a hole in her heart. That’s what she felt. A big, bad hole that threatened to swallow her alive, if only she could let it. But she couldn’t and she couldn’t tell them either.

So, she lied.

<< I feel nothing. >> she said and a tear went down on her left cheek.

Dean closed his eyes, blocking a sob that wanted to go up in his throat.

<< Y/N… >>

<< I respected my pact of the deal, Sam. Now, you’re gonna respect yours. >> she replied, getting up from the couch, determined.

<< We’re not giving up on you. >> Dean replied, fiercely.

<< You promised. >>

<< I promised to bring you back home! >> he shouted.

<< Get out! >> she exclaimed. << Get the hell out from my house or I swear, I’m gonna kick your ass out myself. >>

He stepped closer to her.

<< Try it. >>

Sam intruded in the discussion, before they could do anything. He took Dean for a shoulder and brought him outside. He was screaming that he couldn’t abandon her, floundering, but Sam didn’t let him go. She went behind the window to look at them.

<< You can’t tell me you don’t remember! >> he yelled, slamming the pictures on the glass. She held back the tears in her throat, without saying a word. << Who’s lying now Y/N, uh? >> he asked, with a pair of shadows unders his eyes. He almost scared her. << Who’s lying? >>

<< I’m sorry! >> she speaked.

Sam tried to take Dean, but he kept floundering.

<< Look at this. Look at his and tell me you know what this is. >> he said, taking a little thing from his pocket. She stared at it and something in her mind clicked. << Look more closely, Y/N. Look. >>

 It was the 4th of July.

It happened to be Dean and Sam’s best memory of them together, but it also was the day Dean proposed to her, some years ago. He had bought some fireworks for the occasion and now she was looking at their glow. They were really beautiful and sparkling, that night, on the hill behind the bunker.

<< They’re glowing. >>

<< Nah, you are. >> he replied.

<< Oh, shush. >> she said, lying her head on his shoulder. << You do. You glow in the dark, babe. You’re the only light I can see at the end of the tunnel. >> Dean said. Then he kissed her palm. The sweetness in his eyes was the only relevant thing she could focus on, in that moment. << That’s why I would never forget about you. Even if we have our problems sometimes, I have always loved you. I really did. I still do. I forever will. >>

She smiled, biting her bottom lip.

<< I hope so, because you’re gonna be tied up to me forever. >>

<< We’re already married, babe. >> he replied.

<< But we’re gonna be parents, too. >> she said. Dean’s eyes grew wide and his smile with them. She laughed. << Looks like you’re gonna love someone more than me. >>

He caressed her cheek with a thumb, a spark in his eyes. They were literally glowing.

<< I’m gonna love both of you equally. Dean Winchester has a big heart. >>

<< Oh, I know. >> she replied, putting her arms around his neck to kiss him. << He seems to be a good guy. >>

 She went out from the house immediately. Dean stood in the middle of the road, looking at her with his beautiful green eyes circled in red. All the memories, pieces and pieces, were coming back to her.

The first time she held Bobby into her arms.

The night Dean confessed his love to her.

The day that witch took away her memory.

Everything.

<< I know what it is. >>

Finally, she felt it too.

<< Babe… >>

<< I love you, Dean. >> she said, before she could burst into tears.

He ran to hug her, to hold her tight and never let her go again. They fell with their knees on the street.

<< You came back to me. >>

She let her head to rest on his chest, trying to mantain her breath normal.

<< I did. >> she whispered. << I did. >>

Tags (it would be awesome if you’d read it):

@devilfaraackles​ @deanreaderreblog​ @supernatural-jackles​ @bringmesomepie56​ 

[miazeklos]

colours always bleed together

Fandom: Shadowhunters

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Word count: 1781

Written for @fandomwritingchallenge​‘s July prompts. Mine was ‘log cabin’.

[Also on AO3]

It had been a ridiculous idea to begin with, but Jace had still been able to see it for what it really was – an opportunity.

In fact, that was exactly what made it so appealing. Jace was sure that if they'd really tried, they would have avoided it somehow, but in the end of the day, neither him nor Alec had protested too much at the prospect of being sent out in the middle of nowhere on something that resembled a wild goose chase to truly be anything else.

Still, it had to be done and having Alec do it had seemed like the best option in Maryse's eyes. While Jace was sure that she had no plans of giving up her position as Head of the Institute any time soon, everyone knew that this was what Alec was being prepared for and Jace hadn't really been surprised that she'd seen this as a teaching opportunity. He’d had the sneaking suspicion that things would go this way the moment he'd heard that the newest mission involved some kind of a war for territory between two vampire clans just outside of the city and while Alec hadn't said anything on the matter, he knew that his parabatai had thought the same.

When Alec had agreed to the assigned mission, Jace had immediately requested to join him. It was a given that he couldn't go alone - not just because it was too dangerous but because he would need at least a little support in the face of only the Angel knew how many vampires - and who would be a better choice than his parabatai? His request had been granted without a second's thought and Jace had been almost smug when he'd packed his bags for their trip. Managing to slip under the Clave's radar - and, more importantly, under their constant surveillance - was quite a feat and he while he'd mentioned none of it to Alec, Jace knew that they could use the opportunity to have some time for themselves. They were both tired of sneaking around and constantly looking over their shoulders and finally, finally, they would be granted a moment of peace.

Jace's enthusiasm didn't wane during their final preparations - if anything, it had only been getting stronger ever since they'd actually left the city - and yet, as soon as he spotted the accommodations that the Institute had arranged for them, he could feel himself starting to doubt the success of the trip he'd envisioned.

"We have to blend in," Alec announced as he dug into his bottomless pockets for (Jace assumed) the key to the building in front of them. "If they can fix this conflict on their own, there might be no need for intervention, but in case there is, the more we can surprise them, the better. That way, if anyone's breaking the Law, we'd know." Alec threw him a look over his shoulder. "Vampires always get cautious with Shadowhunters around."

"They do," Jace replied faintly, eyes still locked on the log cabin - log cabin - they'd been provided with. "So you want us to pretend that we're tourists?"

"It'll take just a bit of glamour," Alec shrugged. "And it's better to be as close to the nearest vampire den as possible. The first hotel is almost ten miles from here."

"Are there any cameras?"

The door opened with a deafening creak once Alec pushed it hard enough and he stifled a cough as he stepped in. "No." His parabatai's voice sounded almost distant until he opened the nearest window. "It's not property of the Clave, if that's what you're asking. We just rented it for the occasion."

It was a reasonable decision and, as much as Jace hated to admit it, it was probably the best option they had. Even if they were far enough from the city for the Institute to not be able to reach the local CCTV, there was always the risk that someone would be able to do it if they put their mind to it. Here, they were quite literally in the middle of nowhere and if that was what it took to have a moment of peace with no one but Alec around, then Jace was going to make the most of it.

He decisively followed Alec in, picking up his own luggage and surveying their surroundings fully for the first time.

The heat they'd had to endure back in New York was mercifully absent in the forest they'd been sent to; the sparse trees drowning the cabin in shadows. It was a good place as any to start a dispute over if you were a vampire, Jace supposed; some of the children of the night preferred their peace and tended to look for it in places like this one rather than the big city. And he couldn't really blame them - the place was beautiful enough to compensate for its remoteness.

It couldn't compensate for what was waiting for him once he stepped over the threshold.

"Maryse really outdid herself this time," he said, dropping his bag on the floor. He regretted it almost immediately - while the furniture had clearly been meddled with in the past few days in preparation for their arrival, every other flat surface was covered in a fine layer of dust and the floor was no exception. "We could have just slept outside, you know."

"And left our weapons laying around? What if someone comes by and we don't wake up? Or the vampires find us while we're asleep?"

On second thought, maybe Maryse had nothing to do with this. Alec was perfectly capable of thinking of the worst possible scenarios for every situation all on his own. "Fine. Let's get settled, then."

They were standing in something resembling a living room and Jace headed for the nearest door to take a look at the bedroom. It was better than he'd expected even if it looked just as abandoned as the rest of the place and he motioned Alec to come over and see it too.

"A double bed," he noted and found it in himself to smile. "You really think of everything, huh?"

"I don't know what you mean." If he had been anyone else - anyone who didn't know Alec as well as he did - Jace was sure that he would have missed the change in Alec's voice; the clear boredom of the past several hours vanishing in favour of something that almost resembled mischief. "This place was the only option we had. And I was just about to offer that one of us should take the couch."

"Liar." It was an easy accusation to make when they were out here, so far away from anything and anyone they knew; far away enough to remind Jace that for the first time in a while, they truly were alone.

"It's true," Alec protested, still too busy surveying the room to pay attention to Jace's realisation. "It was the best place I could think of, and if you've got any other-"

Before he could even finish his offer, Jace kissed him.

It only occurred to him now how much he'd missed this. He spent a lot of his daily life by Alec's side and it wasn't like they could never afford anything more than a hug, but it was never anything like this. Unless they'd made the effort to excuse themselves from the Institute for one reason or another, they never dared to exchange anything more than a quick peck in public and even that - even their most personal moments - was loaded with the constant, underlying knowledge of the crime they were committing.

It made their kiss all the sweeter now and Jace relished in it while he could still have it. Alec, who had caught up quickly enough, pulled him closer into his embrace, hands settling in the small of Jace's back as if to keep him from drawing away. The happiness between them, mixed with desperation as it was, was almost enough to make Jace want to reassure him that there was no danger of separation, not right now, not right here, but he couldn't muster the strength to do it; not when he could let his body do the convincing instead.

Alec seemed more than happy to let him and Jace laughed into his kiss as his parabatai's arms tightened around him just a fraction before he was pushed onto the bed behind them.

o.O.o

"We won't be able to get anything done today." Alec noted later the same day as he kept wandering around the limited space of the cabin for any possible flaw in their security that they hadn't noticed. He'd been at it for a while and at some point, Jace had stopped participating - they'd checked everything and they knew enough to be sure that the place was hopeless against anything even remotely supernatural. "It's started raining."

Of course it had, Jace thought as he sorted through the food they'd brought with themselves. Rain was the last thing they needed if they wanted to get the job done quickly as it hindered any attempt they could make to be inconspicuous. No tourists in their right mind would come out for a walk during a thunderstorm and chances were the vampires wouldn't like it too much either. A storm like this was just a step away from a forest fire and the creatures of the night had far too many reasons to try and avoid that. The fact that there at least wouldn't be any trouble was a small comfort, but Jace welcomed it anyway.

"We can get started tomorrow morning," he said and approached Alec where he stood in the corner of the room examining the almost unnoticeable spot where the rain had dripped through the wood. "Alec, calm down. No one even knows we're here, least of all the local Downworld."

"We were supposed to get this done as quickly as possible." Even as he spoke, Alec let himself be led away from his corner and back to the table in the middle of the room. "I thought you wanted to get away from here."

"You did?" Jace's feigned surprise didn't last long under his parabatai's unimpressed stare and Jace laughed as he settled down on the sofa. The deafening crack of yet another thunder made them both flinch, their bodies always on alert for potential dangers even when they'd done their best to relax. Still, any possible danger was as far away as it could be and Jace leant over the table for a kiss; a wordless celebration of that fact. “The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

[deansleather]

I’m Here

 Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Prompt: Campfire for @fandomwritingchallenge ‘s June Fandom Writing Challenge (Supernatural Fandom). Also heavily inspired by this imagine.

Summary: After a draining night out, Castiel swoops in to offer you some much needed support and assurance. 

If you’d like to join any of my tag lists please message/ ask or add yourself to my google doc tag list! Whatever is easiest for you!

Word Count: 1617

Warnings: FLUFF!! Insecure and socially stressed reader, loving+protective Cas, happy times!!

A/N: A very me-infused fic. I tend to be okay socially, but I can get down about myself around others. I hope this provides some comfort and support to anyone who’s felt the same (always know that my ask/message is open). This definitely isn’t to say you need someone to come into your life to fix those things, but we all need a little support from time to time. Of course, FEEDBACK IS SOOOO APPRECIATED! EVEN A LIKE MEANS A LOT!

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“It was as if hope had appeared out of nowhere to settle beside her and it wasn't going anywhere, it wasn't going to desert her now.” ― Alice Hoffman

           You watched the fire flicker to the sky mindlessly. Your face was close to the campfire, almost too close, as you rested your elbows on your knees, holding your head. You just felt so…heavy. You looked around at the smiling faces; everyone was so comfortable. How did they do it? Just communicate so seamlessly; whether it was your own insecurity or their misunderstanding, something always seemed to stand in the way of you enjoying yourself at social gatherings.

           Marshmallows were brought out, it was time for smores. People were happy and laughing, all around you talking about their life and opening up to one another without hesitation. It was so much to swallow; you wanted to be a part of them, yet despised the idea of being like them. With a sigh, you grabbed a stick and a marshmallow, setting it just above the flames to brown. A friend of yours sat next to you, marshmallow and stick in hand.

           “Hey, Y/n, how’re you?” they asked, entirely friendly.

           “I’m doing good, yourself?”

           “Good! Excited about smores.”

           “Yeah, me too,” you nodded. And so it went; conversations about nothing, continuing into no friendship or deeper connection. It was exhausting, and not even for introverted reasons alone. You just wondered if you’d ever find that person who you could have real conversations with.

           You ate your marshmallow, looking around at the other partygoers. They all were engaged with each other, not one person but you sitting silent. It felt wrong to be there, as though you were bringing down the harmony of the night. With a sad smile, you stood up.

           “I think I’m gonna head home,” you announced softly, stretching to feign nonchalance.

           “Aww, why?”

           “It’s so early!”

           “C’mon, Y/n, stay for a bit longer!”

           You faked a laugh. “I would! But I have things to do tomorrow anyway, and I really need some sleep.”

           With that, and a few more boos, you made your way home. It was hard to explain how you felt; they wanted you there, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t really be there. It was strange, but you felt best when you finally made it home. It was cold, so you turned up the heat. You put on the kettle and instantly put on some pajamas. Your hair was pulled back, your makeup off. You felt the most yourself you had all night.          

           Finally, you lied down in bed with some hot tea, closing your eyes in an attempt to calm yourself. You sipped your tea, reveling in the silence for a moment. Just as you set your tea on the night stand, you heard that ever-familiar whooshing sound. You looked up to discover Castiel standing there in all his glory, trench coat and all. You smiled softly.

           “Hey, Cas. What’re you doing here?”

           It was always good to see Cas. You had originally met when you had managed to inadvertently get yourself in the middle of a hunt. It wasn’t too traumatic, just a little shoving around by a demon that they were running after, but the black eyes still haunted you. As Sam and Dean continued after the demon, Cas stayed behind for a moment to check on you, heal all your wounds, and transport you to safety. He left once you were safe to join the boys, but checked on you continually since that day. Despite his many other distractions, he almost became your personal guardian angel, and you were always happy to see him. Though, you couldn’t say it was just for the safety that came with his presence; you weren’t shocked when he first explained his true form, he definitely looked angelic.

           “I came to check on you earlier tonight,” he said gently. “I noticed you left your gathering abruptly; is everything alright?”

           You nodded, curling your legs closer to your body so he had room to sit. Before he sat, he placed his coat on your vanity chair, an action you rarely saw him do. It was nice; maybe he was finally getting as comfortable around you as you were around him.

           “Yeah, everything’s fine. No worries.” You smiled, but you could tell Cas saw right through it. Were you fine?

           “Were the people being mean, Y/n?” Cas pressed, his tone continually gentle, as if he were afraid of breaking you. Tears came to your eyes, but you remained composed.

           “No, no, no…that’s kind of the problem.”

           Cas tilted his head in confusion, his eyes crinkling adorably. You shrugged, sighing softly.

           “It’s hard to explain. It’s really not that big a deal, Cas,” you assured.

           He shook his head. “Your comfort is always important, Y/n. Especially to me.”

           You blushed at the sentiment, continuing reluctantly.

           “Everyone was nice, I just get so caught up in my own head,” you expressed, looking down to your hands self-consciously. “I feel like I’m not funny enough or attractive enough or…just enough, and so I shouldn’t speak or even be there. I know it’s ridiculous. Everyone is usually so nice! That’s why I’m not asking for any sympathy, I know how silly this sounds.”

           Tentatively, you looked back up at Cas after a moment of silence. He looked deep in thought as he stared at you intently. Your blush deepened. You reached up to push a piece of hair from your face, but Cas beat you to it, taking it and placing it softly behind your ear, still clearly pondering something.

           “What?” you finally asked, anxiety building in your stomach at his questionable response.

           “I’m trying to understand,” he admitted.

           “I know, Cas, it really doesn’t make any sense-“

           “Not for the reason you’ve stated.” Cas shakes his head. “If you’re feeling something, it is valid, there is no need to label it. I just can’t understand your reasoning.”

           “For what?” You shook your head, now you becoming the befuddled one.

           “Not funny? Not attractive? I just don’t understand how you’ve come to those conclusions. We’ve spent copious periods of time together, and not one word you’ve spoken has left me disappointed,” Cas spoke, practically to himself. You just started, feeling the pit in your stomach start to fill and ease.

           “I-“ you began, but were quickly cut off once more.

           “And you’re beautiful. Undeniably so. I know Sam and Dean agree.” Somehow, you managed to blush more; you doubted he was supposed to share that piece of information. “I suppose in order for me to help you, you must give me your reasoning for these feelings, because I see no evidence to lead you to these thoughts.”

           Your mouth was open, forming into a large grin as you shook your head.

           “Cas…I don’t know what to say.” You pushed the hair from your face once more, anything to keep your hands busy. All you wanted was to reach out to him. “Thank you.”

           He raised his eyebrows. “Have I helped? I still feel lost.”

           You laughed, finally giving up your restraint and wrapping your arms around him.

           “Oh Cas,” you murmured in his ear. “I’m so glad to have you. I needed to hear what you’ve said more than you know.”

           Slowly, he lifted his arms to return the hug, resting his head in your shoulder.          

           “I’m just glad I could be of assistance,” he assured. “Anytime you need me Y/n, no matter how small the instance, pray for me and I will come to you. I’m here for you, and I always will be.”

           You dabbed the tears from your cheek as the words came from his mouth, finally leaning back from the hug. You were surprised to find his face to be tear covered as well. He smiled sadly, wiping away some of yours with the back of his hand. He breathed deeply.

           “I wish I could make you understand how wonderful I find you, how wonderful everybody finds you, but I can’t. So, you’re just going to have to trust me.” The sincerity in his voice was everything you needed; this was the conversation you had been yearning for.

           “Cas?” you whispered, gathering his tear soaked hand in yours.

           “Yes, Y/n?”

           “Will you stay with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone; not anymore.”

           He smiled softly. “I’m glad to hear that, because I don’t want to be either.”

           Wordlessly, you pointed to your drawers, and Cas immediately followed your directions. He grabbed out one of your cozily large tees and stepped out of your bedroom for a moment, returning in nothing but the shirt and his underwear. You flushed, but kept your gaze always on his face. You flipped back the blankets beside you, and once more Cas obeyed your instruction. As he settled into bed, you grabbed your tea, placing one of his arms around you as you nestled your back closer to his chest. You closed your eyes, listening to the calming beat of his heart.

           That night, you and Cas talked. It was the most you’d talked to someone in ages, but you couldn’t seem to stop. Being with him was addictive; it was all you’d ever wanted and more. He talked to you about history, telling stories in detail of your favorite historical figures and poets. He was gentle and kind and always loving, sometimes stroking your hair, or holding your hand, or just simply pulling you close. With Cas, talking wasn’t a struggle, but an easy flow. Your smile grew larger as the night wore on, and you talked until your tea was gone and your eyes were barely able to stay open. When you finally drifted to sleep, you were at the most peace you’d been in ages, knowing he’d be right there when you woke up.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tags, Michelle’s Cas Tags, Pond’s Cas Tags:

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[derangedsanity]

Maple Red

Title: Maple Red Pairing: Cheryl Blossom x Reader Fandom: Riverdale Warnings: Implied smut. Summary: A date night with Cheryl ends a lot better than you thought it would. A/N: This is for the Fandom Writing Challenge. My prompt was Lipstick. This probably isn’t my best work but I needed to write something. I hope this isn’t too bad, though. As always feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you all enjoy! Word Count: 694 Tag List; @sunshine51879 @dempsey-mantle @emotional-wrek-hello @day-dreaming-nightmare @nafa1604 @aezthetically @theselfishllama @angstylittleteen ~~ As soon as Cheryl pulled into your driveway you noticed your parents’ car was gone and even from here you could see a piece of paper taped onto the front door. More than likely telling you that they would be back in a few days and that they’re gone on business, again. Cheryl knew how much it bothered you and she offered you a reassuring smile. “Do you want some company?” Usually you would have turned her down, saying that you needed to catch up on homework or something. But this time was different. You nodded, a appreciative smile on your lips. “Sure.” You unlocked the door with your key and walked inside, holding the door open for Cheryl. She glanced around and you were shocked when she didn’t look disgusted by how quaint your house was compared to hers. You tossed your keys on the doorside table and watched as Cheryl looked up the stair way. “Is this where your room is?” You nodded. “It’s not much of a room. But I sleep in there so.” You chuckled lightly, watching as she began walking up the stairs. “Where are you going?” You called up to her when she reached the top of the stairs. She turned to look at you and had her signature smirk on her lips, shrugging. “Exploring.” Her voice was sing-songy and before you knew it she was heading for your room. You laughed and followed her upstairs and to your room. You leaned against the doorframe, watching her look around. “See. I told you. It’s barely even a room.” She looked at you and smiled. “I like it.” “You like it?” You laughed at that, “Well, I’m glad. Do you want to trade bedrooms with me then?” She sighed, rolling her eyes at you. “Oh, princess. Of course not.” There was that blush again. You always blushed when she called you that. It was such an innocent nickname but it had the ability to do things to you. You quickly cleared your throat and stepped into your room. “You want to watch a movie or something?” She but her lip in contemplation before nodding. “What movies do you have?” You motioned towards the large stack of movies by your television and she looked up at you in surprise. “I didn’t take you as the type of girl to love film.” “I’m full of surprises.” You replied. She pulled The Craft out and gave you a look. “You own this movie?” “Only because it is a classic and I love it.” You shot back in defense. It was true, you had a love for movies like that. You even remembered the first time you watched that movie like it was yesterday. “Okay. Let’s watch this then.” She decided, already turning your T.V. on and your DVD played on. You laughed but didn’t argue, nodding as you threw yourself down on your bed. “Why not?” About halfway into the movie Cheryl cuddled up to you closer, her head on your chest as you ran your fingers through her beautiful red hair. This is a side of her that you had only seen. People always asked what you saw in her and you would just smile to yourself. Because she is perfect. Cheryl glanced up at you when your fingers stopped running through her hair and pouted. You chuckled softly and she crawled up to you so that your lips could meet hers comfortably. You smiled into the kiss but it quickly faded as the kiss became more heated and passionate. She moved so that she was straddling you and her lips began to move down your neck, causing a soft gasp to escape your lips.

You woke up the next morning with a soft smile on your lips, finding Cheryl sleeping peacefully beside you. You slowly got up and walked to your bathroom, noticing all the Maple Red lipstick stains that covered the marks she had left on your skin.

[serpentae]

Blessed

For @fandomwritingchallenge.

Fandom: James Bond Pairing: James Bond/Q Rating: PG Word count: 1,398 Prompt: 3:28 AM Warnings: mentions of injury, some angst?

It was 3:28 AM when Bond left. 

The sudden lack of a warm body next to him, an unused to but calming weight on the other side of his otherwise pitifully empty bed, woke Q up.

He drowsily rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock at his bedside. Not wearing his glasses, he had to squint to see the damned green numbers. They were mocking him and his unbelievable naïvety. The blinking colon between the 3 and the 2 was laughing in his face, making him face the cold reality.

How could he possibly think that this—he—meant something to Bond? How could he be so fucking stupid? Bond has come home from a mission, and he was in need of a thorough shag. Q was there. He was convenient. Bond very well knew he liked him—had an impossible, heart-rending crush on him for years—so he exploited that situation and took him out for a drink. He was nice, he was actually fucking nice all evening, and a drink turned into five, and a takeaway meal, and hungry, drunken kissing in a side alley, and God the best sex Q has ever had. But that was what it was: a one-night stand that had messed with Q’s feelings more than both of them would expect.

Or perhaps Bond had done it on purpose? Was his sense of humour that cruelly bittersweet? Q sighed and rolled onto his back again. The sigh turned into a snort, and the snort then turned into a sob. His hand clutched at the rumpled sheets underneath his tired, naked form.

Q loved Bond. Bond used Q. The truth was agonisingly simple.

Bond did not even bother to say a word as his gorgeous arse stood up from the bed and collected the clothes scattered on the floor. He did not say a word when the door to Q’s flat clicked closed. He did not say a word that day at work when they passed each other in the hallways of Churchill’s bunkers.

Q pierced the ground with his eyes. His heart beat fast, knowing Bond was piercing his body with those blue glaciers of his. He did not want to look him in the eye. How could he?

How could he ever get over what happened at 3:28 AM that night? 

It was 3:28 AM two weeks later when the comms went silent.

Q was reminded once again of the absurd lie of the land.

“007, can you hear me?” Q asked. His voice was firm, yet on the inside, his stomach twisted in fear, and he felt panic crawling up his chest. “007, can you hear me? 007, answer! Bond!”

No response.

Bond had hurt him as it is. But he could never forgive himself if something happened to him. He was his agent, and when he was in the field, he was his responsibility notwithstanding what happened between them out of active duty.

Q could hear the rustling noise of interference that followed those several terrifying gunshots, screams, and… sword fighting? that certainly had not been supposed to occur on such a simple mission.

It was hard to balls this one up. Bond had an unearthly talent for causing damage where least wanted, that for sure. Literally and figuratively.

(He hated him for that but also sort of liked the proclivity for the dangerous that he radiated.)

He did not respond. Bond went MIA. Again. And it was his fault, Q thought. He was the Quartermaster of MI6; he should be wiser than a heartbroken teenager. He was not, and now the object of his sorrows could be as good as dead.

The time ticking away in the right-hand corner of the screen mocked him again. The hour must be cursed. 

By a very odd coincidence, it was 3:28 AM again when Bond’s hand twitched lightly under Q’s. His eyelids slowly opened, one millimetre at a time.

Q came alive with a jolt. He had fallen asleep in the armchair at Bond’s bedside, listening to the steady, peaceful beeping simulating the man’s heartbeat and thinking of all the mistakes that had led to this. Now, he was embarrassed.

He pulled the hand formerly holding Bond’s away before there were any conclusions to make. He blinked sleep away, too. He glanced at his watch—and had to shake his head in disbelief. That bloody time again.

He figured out he was asleep for little over two hours. Bond has been lying there for two days, with two broken ribs, three cracked ones, a bullet dangerously close to his left lung, and body so bruised it pained Q for him.

He’s been with him for the entire time, watching over him like a guardian angel who holds on to the person he ought to protect, notwithstanding all the bad they had done and how much they had hurt the angel. Because he still was worried. Because he still had feelings for him. It was impossible not to.

“Q,” was the first thing Bond said. His eyes found Q’s, but the man was looking away. He became more interested in his hands. “Q.”

He finally looked up, and the abysmal blueness of Bond’s eyes made his heart skip a beat. “Good morning, 007. I’m delighted to see both you and the very expensive equipment made it back in one piece.”

It was hard to remain emotionless.

Bond managed to conjure up a little smile on his torn lips. “Q,” he whispered again. If he does that again, Q is going to sink. “I couldn’t have known about the alliance with Chinese mafia. There were bloody ninjas.”

“Of course there were. And what else, Daleks?”

“It’s not my fault the CCTV was broken.”

“It is, 007. I heard you throw a piece of wood and whatnot at it.” Q looked at his hands again . He did not want to talk about what they were bound to talk about at some point. But they had to sort things out, eventually. He cleared his throat. “007, we need to talk.”

  It was 3:21 AM when Bond left.

He rolled out of the very same bed and pulled his blue briefs on quickly. Without a word or sound, he got up and walked to the kitchen as quietly as he, the agent, could. It still woke Q up, though. He was always a light sleeper.

For a moment, his heart fell into his stomach. For a moment, he was worried history might repeat itself, worried he didn’t learn from his mistakes and made the same wrong choice again. He thought he was too damn stupid for a genius sometimes, regarding one particular blond agent.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. Then he let his arms drop on the duvet and sighed listlessly. That was what he felt like: the essence of life being sucked out with every step James made, every breath Q made.

Time stopped. Q heard noises coming from the rest of his flat: more steps, the swishing of a T-shirt being pulled on, awoken cats pawing at the floor and kitchen cupboards, water being poured into a glass, later a flush of the toilet—but no signs of Bond finishing dressing up or leaving through the front door. Now, he was even more confused.

He lay down again, facing the crumpled duvet and sheets on the empty spot, breathing nervously, expectantly. It filled up the dark bedroom.

When Bond wasn’t coming back to him, he rolled over and looked at the sinister clock. 3:25. He closed his eyes; hope, desperation, longing, self-doubt bubbled in his stomach.

In the end, Q fell asleep—or he thought he did—so when the door creaked on its hinges, he winced.

James Bond’s smile shone in the moonlight, a smile that was just for him. He was wearing his solar system T-shirt. He intended to rejoin him. He was not escaping. Q looked at his lover, the feeling of warmth having conquered his mind. Then his gaze automatically fell at the green numbers on the clock.

It was 3:28 AM.

The hour, the minute, was cursed. But when the impossible man lay in the bed next to him, with a smile and a kiss to his hair, arms round his shoulders, he thought it may be blessed in a way, too.

[fangirl-writing-fiction]

Date Night

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 3,378

Summary: You and Natasha turned your regular date night into a night out with Steve and Bucky.

Warnings: fluff, slight angst towards the end, but it turns back into fluff, some making out and PDA (if this is a warning)

Author’s note: This is my entry for the Fandom Writing Challenge! The theme was Date Night and my prompt was Dancing. I feel like there aren’t enough Natasha and Reader fics, so I gave this a shot. I hope you have fun reading it!

"You ready yet, babe?", you asked over your shoulder, while you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your favorite pair of earrings. It was the third Friday evening in the month, the night that belonged to Natasha and you and which you never spent apart. At least until now there hadn't been any missions to keep you apart. You had been part of administrative section of the Avengers initiative when you first met her. Of course you had known her before, who hadn't heard of the infamous Black Widow in your line of work? But you'd never actually met her until you'd been assigned as her personal assistant. You and her had hit it off right away.

Not only were you mesmerized by her beauty, you were intrigued by her sense of humor and her intelligence. You had fallen for her quickly and much harder than you'd ever expected to fall for anybody. "Almost", she answered you, as she stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a beautiful black dress that ended shortly over her knees. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in her appearance and you bit down on your lower lip, smiling.

"Damn", you breathed letting your gaze wander over her once more. She smiled at you, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she made her way over to you.

"I could say the same about you, sweetheart."

Natasha leaned closer to you, moving her fingers through your hair as she pressed her lips against yours in a soft kiss. You melted against her and sighed softly, wrapping your arms around her. It never failed to amaze you just how soft her lips were; how soft she was in every way. She fought and killed for a living, she survived explosions and crawled through dirt, but still her skin was one of the softest things you'd ever touched and you hoped that you would never have to stop touching her. As her tongue run over your bottom lip you slowly pulled away, smiling at her a little breathlessly.

"If we don't stop this now, we won't make it out of here. And as much as I love spending our limited free time in bed together, we agreed to go out with Steve and Bucky tonight."

She sighed and hesitantly let go of you.

"Remind me, why we did we do that again?", she asked and managed to sound exasperated.

"Because we both agree that our popsicles need to get back to the life. And we want them to finally open up about their feelings for each other", you replied, a devilish smirk on your lips which made Natasha laugh in agreement.

You and Natasha finished getting ready, before your threw on your jackets, grabbed your purses and took a cab to the restaurant where you'd meet Steve and Bucky. There wasn't much room between you and her in the cab. Your intertwined hands rested in her lap, while your free hand moved gently up and down her thigh. She smiled the whole time, her head resting against the side of yours and from time to time she pressed short, loving kisses to your lips or on your cheek.

When the car stopped in front of the restaurant she cupped your face in her hands and engaged you in a passion filled kiss, before she paid the cab driver and got out. You sighed, closing your eyes for a second before you followed your girlfriend out into the night.

Every time you and Natasha decided to have a night out she always put space between you and her. There wouldn't be any touching that could have been interpreted as you and her being more than just girl friends having a fun night out.

It wasn't that you weren't official or that either of you hadn't been out to the other Avengers or your friends. Natasha was simply afraid to put your in the spotlight. She was afraid that the press would take notice of your relationship and exploit it in every way possible, especially because she knew that you could be sensitive. The other reason she was afraid was because of her enemies. She feared that she'd put you on the line and that they would try to hurt you just so that they could get to her. And she wasn't going to let anything happen to you.

You knew all of that, you knew that she was right and that this was the most logical solution, even though you were more than capable of defending yourself. But you also wanted to be able to hold her hand when you spent time outside of your apartment. You wanted to hug her from behind while you went grocery shopping, to kiss her whenever she did that stupid and cute little curved smile. You never mentioned it to her, though, she already was under enough pressure and you didn't need to add to it by making her worry about you.

Steve and Bucky already sat at the table when you and Nat entered the restaurant. Both of them smiled widely as they got up and hugged you as a greeting.

It was a nice dinner. The food was exceptional and the four of you enjoyed talking with each other, for once being able to ignore the work you did for a living. Every time Steve or Bucky reached out to touch the other, to get bread crumbs from their shirts or just because either of them wanted to talk first or needed to add something to a story, you and Nat threw each other knowing smirks. They were both so deeply in love with each other, you couldn't comprehend how they didn't see it.

"So... What do you guys say to turning our almost double date into something more fun than just dinner?", Nat asked when dinner was finished, a small smile on her lips.

You noticed Steve crooking an eyebrow at her choice of words, but he still motioned for her to move on.

"You know... It's been literal ages, with all the shit going down constantly, since we've been to a night club. And I could really go for a real night out again."

Her eyes skipped over Steve and Bucky before they rested on you, silently asking if you were okay with her idea. A smile spread on your lips. You hadn't been out like that for quite a while now and this was bound to be fun.

"I'm game", you replied, still smiling, before you turned to the boys, looking at them expectantly.

Steve looked at Bucky, who shrugged before he smiled as well.

"I'm pretty sure the last time I had a night out was in the 40s, so of course I'm in. And I won't let you stay in either, pal", he replied and put his hand on Steve's shoulder.

Grinning you made your way out of the restaurant and toward one of the many night clubs, Nat on your right side and Steve and Bucky on your left. You didn't have to walk very far until you stood in line and waited to get in. It always filled you with wonder that people didn't notice either of the Avengers when they were dressed like civilians. Or maybe it had just to do with the absence of light and the presence of booze.

When you got closer to the door you could already hear the techno music that was played at the location and whenever the door was opened you felt the beats in your chest. You leaned closer to Natasha and whispered into her ear.

"You know, I'm afraid that they'll be in sensory overload after five minutes."

She chuckled and leaned slightly against you.

"Cut them some slack, Y/N. I'll give them fifteen", she replied and winked at you.

You laughed loudly at that and Bucky turned around shooting you a questioning glance which you waved away.

Not even the bouncer recognized either of them as he cashed you and opened the door. You were met with the smell of alcohol and sweating bodies as soon as you entered the club. The blue, pink and green lights flashed in your vision, over the faces of the other people and were caught in Natasha's dark red hair. The four of you silently agreed to go to the bar first and order drinks, before you looked for a free table at which you sat down. Natasha sat closer to you than you were used to. Her upper arm brushed against yours whenever she moved and her hand rested on your thigh under the table, drawing slow circles on your dress. Although it was unusual, you appreciated it and returned the soft and discreet touches as you placed your own hand over hers.

The music was too loud for an actual conversation, so you sat there, drinking and communicated solely through gestures and facial expressions. You were surprised at how well you guys understood each other and made a mental note to plan a charade night in the near future.

Nat startled you out of your silent conversation with Steve as she suddenly stood up and pulled you alongside her to the dance floor. You looked at her surprised when she let go of your hand and started to move her hips to the music. Nat bit her lower lip and winked at you, motioning for you to join her. You hesitated for a second and looked at the people surrounding you, but nobody seemed to notice either your or her.

You let the music take you over and closed your eyes, feeling the beats in your whole body. Traveling from your feet through your legs, shortly resting in your hips, making you move them in circles, before they travelled even further up, spreading through your whole body.

When you opened your eyes again, you noticed Natasha smiling at you, love and adoration twinkled in her beautiful hazel eyes. Her hands reached again for yours and she pulled you against her, pressing her slender frame against yours. You shot her a questioning glance, but she ignored it and put her hands on your hips, effectively destroying every kind of distance there had still been between your bodies. She moved against you to the rhythm of the beat and you got out of your rigor.

You travelled your hands over her arms, toward her shoulders, resting one of your hands there while the other one moved up to cup her cheek. It was as if nothing and nobody else existed in this moment, it was only you and Natasha in the whole word. Warmth spread through your whole body, followed by a pleasant tingling and you softly rubbed your thumb over her cheekbone, smiling back at her when her smile turned into a smirk. The next thing you knew was that she was kissing you. Your eyes widened in shock and you felt your heart beating in your chest. She had never done anything like that in public. Overcoming your initial shock, you melted against her, your eyes fluttered shut and you rested your hand on her neck, while your other hand moved to lay on the small of her back. You pressed her even harder against you, until you were so intertwined in each other's embraces that neither of you could move.

Her lips moved passionately against yours and she nibbled at your lower lip, making you inhale sharply. You moved your head a little, changing the angle, your noses bumped into each other and you felt her silently laugh against you, before you silenced her with another kiss. Natasha's hand fisted in your hair and she slightly tugged on it, to which you let out a silent groan against her lips. Immediately she licked over your lower lip, before her tongue slipped into your mouth to meet yours.

The next thing you knew was that you were pulled away from her, the warmth suddenly leaving your whole body as cold spread through you in the overheated club and some guy stood in front of you, grinning. He raked of booze and sweat.

"So you're fucking the Black Widow? That’s fucking hot! Is it as good as everybody believes it to be?", he asked and moved even closer towards you, invading your personal space.

You were so taken aback, you didn't even know how to react. And you didn't have to. Natasha ripped the guy away from you with such force that he landed with his ass on the dance floor, the crowd of dancing people parting and looking shocked at the unfolding scene.

"Are you okay, Y/N?", she asked you, shooting you a worried glance. You nodded and she focused her gaze back on the guy on the ground.

"What the fuck?!", he exclaimed angrily, rubbing his lower back as he got up again. "My friends and I got this all on camera, you stupid bitch! This is going viral, just so you know!"

He screamed at her, apparently forgetting that he talked to one of the most deadly assassins in the world, and moved closer again, until he stood nose to nose with her. Your heartbeat caught in your throat and you looked worriedly at Natasha. This was going to ruin everything.

"Do I look like I care?", she asked, a deathly calm undertone in her voice. "Sure, go ahead. But tell your friends to keep filming, while I'm beating you black and blue for daring to touch me and my girlfriend."

Her body was rigid, every muscle was ready to pounce at the guy in front of her and her hazel eyes were hard and unrelenting. The guy turned white as a sheet, seemingly sobering up rather quickly as he realized with whom he actually dealt.

She moved closer, grabbing his shirt with one hand and even though she was way shorter than him, it felt as if she was towering above him.

"If you want to get out of this unharmed, you may get lucky. You and your friends hand me your phones and get out of here as fast as you can. Should I find any part of this evening on the internet or on the media, if I ever see as much of you as the back of your head again, I'm going to find you and I'm going to make your life a living hell, is that understood?", she asked calmly.

The guy gulped noticeably and nodded, handing her his phone and motioned for his two friends who just dropped their phones where they stood, before they made their way out of the night club. Natasha let go of the guy, pushing him and he scrambled to get away as fast as possible.

Your stomach was in knots. You had never seen Nat like this. You had seen her angry, you had listened to her reports of different missions, but you had never seen her this calm and in control. It scared the shit out you. You weren't afraid that she'd ever turn this calm, concentrated anger towards you, but you were afraid what this evening might entail.

She turned towards you, the three phones in her hand and only then you noticed Steve and Bucky standing behind you. Steve's big and warm hand landed softly on your shoulder and he looked at you with concern in his blue eyes.

"Are you alright?", he asked, his gaze not leaving yours.

"Yeah", you nodded and forced a smile on your face, even though you knew it must have looked shaky.

Natasha stopped next to you and reached for your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.

"Are you fine with going home for tonight?", she asked softly and you nodded again, but keept your eyes away from her.

"We'll see you guys on Monday", you said softly and waved at Bucky and Steve, before you and Natasha made your way out and got onto a cab.

The ride was silent between the two of you. There was nothing left of the former joy and warmth, even though she still kept you physically close, her head resting on your shoulder and her arm slung around your lower back. When you closed the door to your apartment, you sighed and rested your forehead against it for a second before you turned around and got rid of your heels.

Nat waited for you in the living room, leaning against the back of your sofa.

"Y/N/N, we need to talk", she stated softly, her hands resting beside her.

You felt like you were going to be sick. You wanted nothing more than to just run away. But you knew that there was no sense in postponing the inevitable and so you nodded, standing in front of her.

"I know. Don't worry. I'll be out of here tomorrow morning as soon as I can. And I'll talk to Fury, he'll get you a different PA, I'm sure about that."

Her eyes shot up and widened in shock, before she crossed the small distance between you and her, grabbing you by your upper arms.

"What? No, why? What are you even talking about?", she asked confused, fear flashing in her eyes.

You felt your own confusion and fear rise with her reaction. It always scared you when the usually calm and collected Natasha appeared to be afraid.

"Isn't that what you were going to say? That you love me and that you enjoyed our time together, but that we can't keep doing this? Because it puts both of us in danger and because you think I can't handle either the press or your enemies? I'm just making it easier for the both of us, by skipping the whole talking part."

Her grip on your arms tightened and she shook her head at you.

"No. This is not what I was going to say, Y/N. Let me talk. And listen."

You nodded hesitantly, confused by the whole situation. Nat took a deep breath before she started talking again.

"I'm sorry about how this evening turned out in the end. I'm sorry that initiated this whole PDA thing without asking, if you're okay with it. And I'm sorry for this asshole ruining the best kiss I've ever had."

You opened your mouth to interrupt her, but she silenced you with a finger on your lips.

"I want to be able to do this again. I want to hold your hand when we go out. And I want to kiss you without always having to check if anybody is around taking pictures of us. I don't want to keep having to put space between us, just because I'm afraid that anybody is going to notice that we're a couple. I know that you're strong and I know that you can defend yourself if it should ever come to that. And I'm sorry that I put you in the situation of being my kind of secret-girlfriend in the first case. If you're okay with it, I'd like to talk to Tony and Pepper tomorrow and ask them to formulate a media statement in which we make it official that we're a couple so that we don't have to hide any longer."

Your breath had caught in your throat and you felt yourself slightly tear up at her words. She looked at you expectantly, but you didn't trust your voice just yet, so you nodded, a wide smile on your face and hugged her close against you, burying your face in the crook of her neck.

"I love you, Nat", you whispered, slightly choked and she hugged you even tighter.

"I love you, too, Y/N/N. I love you so damn much."

You stood like that in your living room for god knows how long until you slowly let go of each other.

"So... What do you say to turning the rest of the night into a real date night?", you asked her, playing with her fingers and a wicked smile on your lips.

She returned your smile and kissed you hard and lovingly, before she grabbed both your hands and led you backwards towards your bedroom.

"I'll make sure you won't forget this date any time soon, sweetheart."

[triggeringthehealing]

marked

Stiles/Derek | PG13 | ~3.3k | AO3 Content notes: future fic, establlished relationship, canon divergence, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: They play with their prey. Not in a “let me have a little fun chasing you before I kill and devour you” kind of play either. No, it’s the kind where they capture a werewolf — or sometimes a whole pack — and then torture them in ways that put Kate and the Calaveras’s electrocution methods on the level of having to watch Barney the Purple Dinosaur on repeat.

A/N: Written for the fandomwritingchallenge, June prompt: brand A/N 2: Once again, sorry about the late posting :/ 

Stiles figures it out by accident.

He’s been researching the latest big bad that is threatening the fragile peace in the supernatural community of the Northern California area when he comes across a hunter pack that seems to be in the area.

“The McKennas? Oh hell,” Chris reacts when Stiles mentions them.

“Well that sounds awesome,” Stiles replies, gearing up for news of the Gerard variety.

“Think Gerard and Kate combined,” Chris says, and Stiles shivers at the thought. “I have some info about them, I’ll get it to you. But it’s not pretty.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned that a lot of the hunting side of all this tends to be ugly,” Stiles says with a sigh. “Not that I think we’ll ever reach the rock bottom of either side, to be honest.”

When Chris gives him the info and Stiles starts looking into the hunter family and what they do — besides the typical hunting — he gets really close to declaring it the absolute bottom of the pit. He has seen hunters who were bad. He has seen monsters — Jackson included, back in the kanima days — who were terrifying. But what he’s seeing on the pages makes him almost appreciate Chris’ comparison to Gerard and Kate. Almost, because there’s no way he can genuinely appreciate something that makes his stomach turn just at the thought of it.

They play with their prey. Not in a “let me have a little fun chasing you before I kill and devour you” kind of play either. No, it’s the kind where they capture a werewolf — or sometimes a whole pack — and then torture them in ways that put Kate and the Calaveras’s electrocution methods on the level of having to watch Barney the Purple Dinosaur on repeat. Which in itself is obviously not pleasant, as Stiles has learned now that some of the pack have procreated.

“They do what?”

Every person in the pack has that exact reaction when they find out. Well, almost everyone who’s present at the pack meeting when they discuss the threat. There’s one person who’s suspiciously quiet in the face of the information, but at first, Stiles is too busy too busy relaying what he found to notice.

He tries not to go into too much detail, but Lydia is looking over his shoulder and making gagging noises already, and he sees Isaac cringe away when he throws a glance at the pages Stiles printed out.

“Chris, why are they allowed to continue operating?”

It’s John who asks the question, and Melissa pulls him back from looking at the details. She is a fierce nurse, has seen things that would cause permanent trauma to some people, and Stiles knows it’s instinct in her to be protective. John returns the protectiveness the same way, but Stiles always rejoices a little when she reminds him that she’s in his corner when it comes to keeping John from too much stress.

“As you can guess, they’re not really controllable,” Chris says, sounding angry and defeated at the same time. “They think that they don’t need to follow a Code, or any rules. They see themselves as some sort of vigilantes, controlling the werewolf population by any means necessary, because none of the other hunter clans do enough in their opinion. And they are solely focused on werewolf packs, no other supernatural creatures are seen as a threat. They just… make sure that the werewolves are punished for existing.”

“That’s insane,” Danny pipes up from the laptop where he’s already sifting through the information that Stiles threw together.

“If there ever was anyone that Kate,” Chris spits out the name like it’s poison, “was looking up to, it was the McKennas.”

Stiles feels the moment that the name reaches Derek’s ears. He knows, because Derek’s grip on Stiles’s shoulder tightens to the point of bordering on painful.

“Not again,” Derek whispers, low enough that only Stiles seems to hear.

Everyone goes back to looking at the information, and they start talking about their possibilities, but Stiles can’t. He doesn’t move, not even when Derek’s grip eases as he moves to join the others.

Stiles can’t follow, because his brain is already connecting Derek’s quiet comment with everything else he knows. With information that he found, snippets he dismissed as impossible and didn’t include in the printouts or files that the pack is discussing. Because there were things that he thought were rumors, too outlandish even in light of everything else he saw.

Branding, he thinks, his mind conjuring the images that he spent half the night before trying to forget.

The McKenna clan doesn’t kill all of the werewolves they capture. Most of them don’t survive the torture — things like being locked in tight spaces, which was what made Isaac step back earlier — and some get killed as part of the process. But a few, usually only one out of a pack, get released after some time. Those who do ‘get away’ aren’t left unmarked though. Stiles clenches his teeth when the vivid images of a branding iron and a blowtorch cross his mind.

All of a sudden, he realises that Derek didn’t just know how to make a tattoo permanent because the Hale pack had been into tattoos, or because he’d encountered the method in New York’s tattoo parlors that specialized in non-human clients.

It’s the thought of the city that makes Stiles finally step forward, and he strides over to his laptop, then nudges Danny to make him move. His fingers are flying over the keyboard moments later, filtering through the information on the hunters’ known locations and movements. As he does so, he’s already remembering the date of that fateful night when he dragged Scott into the Preserve to search for what turned out to be Laura’s body. When he lands on a match, his sharp intake of breath makes the pack turn around in unison.

“What?” Jackson asks, the first one to speak into the brief silence.

“Nothing, nothing,” Stiles mutters, and he closes out of the file he was looking at before Danny — who’s already walking over — can see it. “Just… all of this,” he waves his hand at the screen and nods towards the table with the papers.

There’s no way he’s talking about it in front of the whole pack. Not when Derek clearly isn’t sharing it with anyone, not when Stiles is pretty sure that no one besides Derek knows, including Peter.

But he’s sure now, has zero doubt that at some point between the Hale house fire and Laura’s return to Beacon Hills, Derek had an encounter with the McKenna clan. He’s also sure that said encounter is the reason why the Hale triskelion is in such a prominent place on Derek’s back.

Like a target, he thinks and cringes, the implications more horrific than he wants to think about. His mind wanders though, like it always does, and he can’t stop it any more than he could stop the world from spinning. He manages to act like he’s scrolling through the files on screen, but he’s not seeing anything that’s on there. Instead, he keeps thinking back to the Derek he met years ago, alone and angry at the world, the one who all but growled at Stiles and Scott. The one who spit out “This is private property” like they were set on destroying the last thing he had left — the land that belonged to the family Derek no longer had.

He thinks about Derek before that, the one he remembers from the days when werewolves were just special effects in horror movies to him. The Derek whom Stiles knew as the high school’s basketball team star. The same one he recognized at the ruins in Mexico when no one else did. And he thinks about the Derek who gave in to Scott’s pleas, the one who picked up a blowtorch and made his own brand on Scott’s skin, ignoring how he was given the one on his back.

“Stiles?” It’s Derek’s voice that brings him back to reality. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles says a little too quickly.

“You’ve been trying to scroll down this page for over a minute after you got to the end,” Derek points out, and Stiles blinks. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” Stiles says. “Well, no, it’s just all this,” he nods at the screen. “What can we do?”

He’s not just asking Derek but also the rest of the pack. And there’s no response at first, everyone equally shaken by what they’ve been looking at for… well, Stiles has no idea how long he was lost in his thoughts.

They don’t find a solution that night. Not that anyone expected it — the McKenna clan is a whole different ballpark of horror movie villains — since they only just figured out what they’re facing. Chris leaves first, with the promise of finding out more, putting out feelers to more friendly hunter clans. Isaac follows shortly after, joined by Scott and Allison who are already sticking close to him, no doubt preparing for the nightmares that they’ll need to soothe him through. Stiles winces in sympathy when he thinks about the images of the cellars and the lockable boxes covered in claw marks. It’s only a memory for Isaac now, but Stiles imagines it’s not one that’s easy to shrug off.

Erica and Boyd rush off when they get a call from Boyd’s Grandma — they leave Alicia, their three year old, with her during pack meetings, but she gets antsy when things are as tense as their current situation. Derek explained once that for children that young, the pack bond isn't completed, but they still feel everyone’s distress much like human children get upset when the adults around them do.

Stiles melts into a hug from his dad before he and Melissa head out for work, John’s arm around her shoulders as he mutters things to her that Stiles isn’t sure he wants to hear. It’s still pretty new, them dating, and they’re not too old to be giving the younger couples a run for their money in terms of PDA. Stiles deals though, because his dad is happy again. And Scott’s now his brother for real.

Peter lingers, along with Jackson and Lydia, until they gather up all the information. When Danny eventually tugs Jackson away for a project that they apparently have a deadline on, Lydia asks for a ride home.

“You staying?” Derek asks Stiles when the loft is almost empty.

“Dad’s on a double,” Stiles says. “I wouldn’t mind claiming the couch.”

Derek nods, and then he heads over to the corner where Peter’s sitting on the spiral staircase, glowering at the floor. They fall into conversation so quiet that Stiles has no way of hearing or understanding, so he finishes tidying up the table and puts the laptop away instead. His mind circles around the dates he saw earlier again, and he remembers snippets of what Derek disclosed over the years.

There are little things, like the way Derek said “I couldn’t” once when the discussion veered to his arrival in Beacon Hills after Laura was killed. The time when they talked about the Hale family history, and Jackson asked if everyone had a tattoo of the triskelion. Derek’s “no” was that little bit too harsh for Stiles to know there was a story behind it. Like then, he’s not planning on asking anything outright.

He also doesn’t want to act like he didn’t figure out the connection between Derek’s triskelion and the McKennas though. They promised each other a long time ago that they would try to be as honest and open with each other as possible, and Stiles isn’t planning on breaking that promise. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to broach the subject. Or rather, seeing as the whole situation is already out in the open, and it’s only a matter of time before someone else — Stiles wouldn’t put money on whether it will be Lydia, Danny or Peter — connects the dots, Stiles doesn’t want to pretend that he didn’t.

He wants Derek to know that he knows. That there’s no judgment, and no expectation of Derek talking about it if he doesn’t want to.

When Derek sits down on the couch, Stiles startles and glances around, then realises that they’re alone now.

“Peter?”

“Went to his apartment,” Derek says, leaning back in the cushions, looking a lot more relaxed than during the meeting.

Stiles can see right through that though, sees the way Derek’s fists are still clenched, the way his muscles are tense.

“He said there might be something more in the old notes in the vault,” Derek continues, seemingly oblivious to Stiles’ concerned look. “He’ll go check it out tomorrow. We’ll have another meeting in the afternoon.”

Stiles nods and hums in acknowledgment, watching as Derek closes his eyes and breathes deeply, in a way that reminds Stiles of his own methods to shake off panic attacks. Carefully, he moves his hand and lowers it on top of Derek’s, then twines their fingers when Derek turns his palm up.

“You sure you want me to stay?” Stiles asks a few moments later.

It’s not that he wants to leave, or thinks that Derek being alone is a good idea, but he’s not going to make decisions for anyone. If Derek needs time to process, Stiles will give it to him, no questions asked — at least not until later.

“Please,” Derek whispers.

“Okay.” Stiles nods, and sits up. “I’m gonna get my pillow and a blanket. Then I’m gonna need your furry butt off this couch, it’s mine.”

“This couch?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because I do recall your protests about how it’s ugly and not comfortable enough,” he says with a more relaxed smile.

“It grew on me,” Stiles shrugs. “Well, not literally, but me and the couch are bros now. We have an understanding. I don’t diss it, it doesn’t make my back hurt.”

“I don’t really think it’s sentient enough for that, Stiles,” Derek says, this time with an actual chuckle. Then he pauses and Stiles looks at him, a little unsettled by the silence, and not at all comforted by the way Derek’s brows are furrowed.

“What?”

“What if you…” Derek starts, then he glances down on the coffee table. “Would you…?”

Stiles waits him out. He would anyway, but today he’s just that little bit extra determined to let things unravel at Derek’s pace.

“Want to come up?” Derek finally says, and it’s so quiet that Stiles only hears it because he’s right by Derek’s side.

It’s a big deal that Derek is asking. Not because they wouldn’t be in a “spending the night together” stage of their relationship yet. They have, in Stiles’ room, here in the loft on the bed that’s still in the corner — it somehow survived all refurbishment and is used a lot during pack movie nights — and in Stiles’ dorm and later his apartment when he was away in college. Back then, they even spent time together in Derek’s place in New York, the small house outside the city that Laura had bought years ago.

The thought, coupled with what Stiles has put together now, sends a shiver down his spine.

But here in Beacon Hills, in the loft that’s seen so much bad and has been rebuilt to mean so much good, barely anyone goes further than a few steps up the spiral staircase. Sure, Peter likes to sit there and watch, and occasionally Boyd or Erica use the small spare bedroom to let Alicia have her nap when the pack is all gathered downstairs. But other than that, the only person who goes up is Derek himself.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks, fingers tightening around Derek’s. “I want to. I have wanted to. But since you never asked, I assumed it was a werewolf thing.”

“Like, my den of werewolfy solitude?” Derek asks, eyebrow lifted along with the corner of his lips.

“More like your own space not intruded on by my human stench,” Stiles shoots back, and he leans a little against Derek’s arm.

Instead of replying immediately, Derek turns his head and buries his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, and he breathes in deeply. Then he pulls away just enough to speak while Stiles is trying to ignore the Pavlovian response his dick has to Derek’s stubble on his skin.

“I like how you smell,” Derek says, then takes another deep breath. “It’s… calming.”

Stiles takes a moment to reply, then he can’t help but chuckle.

“Wow, okay, that’s gotta be the only time anyone ever called me calming,” he says, and he gives Derek’s hand a squeeze.

“Well, most of the time you’re moving too much,” Derek says, a smile playing on his lips but not quite reaching his eyes.

Stiles doesn’t try to argue with that. He knows he’s a fidgeter, constantly in motion. It’s what unnerved him so much about the Nogitsune, what should’ve been a dead giveaway to everyone. Derek told him that it was, eventually, but he wasn't around enough to point it out to others.

He’s so lost in the memories of those times that he almost doesn’t notice when Derek gets up. Their hands are still linked though, and Stiles startles a little, then looks up and meets Derek’s eyes.

“Come on,” Derek says quietly, and Stiles nods.

They walk up the stairs in silence, holding hands all the way until they’re in Derek’s room, and Stiles can’t help but stare then. He’s not trying to memorize the bedroom, and it’s not like he’s seeing anything particularly shocking, but still, it’s Derek’s space and something about being there feels special. When Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand to change, Stiles follow suit, and moments later they’re lying down on the soft sheets, facing each other. Then — and it’s not the first time either — Derek turns around and Stiles slips closer, pressing his chest against Derek’s back, against the triskele that’s stark black on Derek’s body.

He can feel the trembles in Derek’s chest when he puts a palm against it, and he bends his head just enough that his lips land just above the outline of the ink. Derek reaches up, links his fingers with Stiles’ and takes a deep breath.

Stiles kisses along the curve of Derek’s shoulder, lips trailing from the side towards the back of Derek’s neck, and then down, until he reaches the tattoo. He drops a kiss there, gentle and as soothing as he can make it, then he moves up until his lips are right below Derek’s ear.

“I know,” he whispers, and he feels Derek tense. “I saw the dates.”

Derek’s breathing is shallow, shaky, and Stiles presses himself closer, holds Derek like he’s trying to stop him from falling apart. And maybe he is, maybe it’s helping. He hopes that it is.

“I’m here,” he says in between breaths. “I’m always here.”

He can feel the quiet sobs rocking Derek’s body, the trembling that reverberates through both of them, and he holds Derek closer, tighter, all while whispering “I love you” over and over against his skin.

It’s not until some time later, when Stiles is trying to fight off sleep, wanting to be there for Derek but too tired to be completely awake, that Derek settles down.

“I love you too,” Stiles hears, and when he feels Derek’s breathing even out, he closes his eyes and follows him into sleep.

[morganaspendragonss]

Golden

Fandom Writing Challenge July 2017 Fandom: Percy Jackson Ship: Frank/Hazel Word count: 657 Prompt: Tent Triggers/warnings: None

read on ff.net

Frank glared at the tent lying uselessly on the ground in front of him and sighed, sitting back on his heels. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure it could be called a tent because those had pegs and poles, and all he had was a sheet of canvas, some failing willpower, and instructions to get it up before nightfall else he’d be cleaning weapons with Vitellius for the next month, at least. Regardless of what is was, however, it was mid-afternoon already and Frank had just completed his fifth (and likely final) failed attempt to construct something that even slightly resembled a tent. He groaned and put his head in his hands, praying to the gods that one of them would claim him soon because he wasn’t sure if he could take any more of this ‘make the guy on probatio do all the work’ crap. In a last ditch attempt to make something good of a bad situation, he stood up quickly – and immediately fell back down as his feet got tangled in the tarp. He bit back a curse and rubbed his elbow where it had smacked against the ground, dimly wondering why he had been cursed with eternal clumsiness as well as the stupid fire stick. Speaking of, he hastily tapped his pocket to make sure it was still safe there, and not mixed up with all the sticks lying on the grass. Thankfully, it was still there, so that was one less thing to worry about. Frank eased himself into a more comfortable position and stared hopelessly at the remnants of his failures, glumly resigning himself to practically living in the armoury for the next decade or so. It might not be such a bad chore if Vitellius wasn’t there every second, harping on about how shameful it was to put a probatio on weapons duty. He got enough stick from the other legionnaires without adding that into the mix. Then again, maybe that was why the praetors stuck him there as punishment. He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the girl coming up behind him, and startled when she put her hand on his shoulder. “Wha- Oh, Hazel, sorry, I didn’t realise it was you.” Frank sighed in relief, thanking the gods that it wasn’t Reyna or Octavian. She smiled warmly. “It’s fine, Frank. I noticed you were having trouble so I thought you might need some help.” Frank stared dumbly up at her, his brain struggling to register the words. The setting sun outlined her head like a halo and, gods, she looked so beautiful with her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and Frank wondered how he hadn’t noticed how gold her eyes were before? “I, um, ah… What?” he stuttered. Instead of replying, she just laughed and bent down to pick up the tarp where it had fallen. “Here,” she said gently. “Grab those branches over there.” Hazel directed him and the tent slowly came together. Her deft fingers made quick work of showing him the knots needed to hold it together and she rewarded him with a brilliant smile whenever he managed to copy her exactly. That smile warmed him inside and he tried extra hard to do everything she said with minimal damage. It was a few minutes until sundown when they finally finished. Frank looked at Hazel with awe and she grinned back at him, laughter dancing in her eyes. “Well done, Frank,” she said softly. “It looks great.” “I- I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you. For helping me. You were a big help.” She giggled. “You’re welcome.” She reached out and squeezed his hand, before turning away and heading back to camp. Frank watched her walk away, her dark curls bouncing, and barely registered Reyna appearing and deeming his tent ‘passable’. Quite honestly, he wouldn’t have cared if he had failed, as long as he got to see Hazel.

[miazeklos]

in the grip of a hurricane

Fandom: Shadowhunters

Pairing: Clary/Simon

Word count: 1480

Written for @fandomwritingchallenge​‘s June prompts. Mine was ‘cigarette’.

[Also on AO3]

In the last few months, in the most unexpected way possible, Clary's training had become something of a therapy for her. That, and a place where she would have an excuse to avoid having a conversation - she'd found out that most Shadowhunters prefered to go through their personal routine without having someone bother them and they usually extended her the same courtesy.

Still, sometimes she could feel their eyes on her and could tell that even now, even after she'd proved her loyalty to them instead of Valentine - and Clary tended to be realistic when it came to that; she was well aware of the fact that almost everyone had considered her a spy at first – they still didn’t feel too comfortable with her presence and she was pleasantly surprised to discover that it didn't affect her the way it would have when she'd lived in the mundane world. Something had changed; something almost imperceptible but present that made her much less conscious of what the people in this society (her society, she reminder herself, whether she liked that or not) thought of her. Even when she did focus on it, it was easier to wave it away now and she had an inkling of what exactly had caused that.

It wasn't the environment. It wasn't her mother's death, although that had definitely been a factor; the last straw that had made her fully realise just how alone she was in this world. It wasn't even Jace's current confession that he wasn't her brother after all, and it wasn't his complete inability to understand why it would be better for him to face everything that he'd been keeping under his careful control for months now.

No, it was all of it. All at once, too, or so Clary suspected. Because in the end, it didn't matter whether she'd keep ignoring what she'd heard or not, she knew that Sebastian had been right. If not about everything, then about most of it, and that was more than enough to upset her even more.

She wasn't sure when the new guy had arrived at all. She could recall their conversation in the greenhouse and that he'd taken interest in her ability to create new runes and her sudden inability to do so, but that had been all. And still, he'd managed to decode every little emotion going through her head and had fired them back at her in the bluntest way possible and while it had worked out fine in the end - it was what had helped her beak through the wards in Magnus's place, after all - it was still more than toubling to realise that anyone who tried hard enough could read her like an pen book.

Most Shadowhunters didn't have the same problem. They only showed how upset their were when the situation was truly unbearable and even then, they didn't lose control. They handled it as quietly as they could and moved on with their lives, hiding their grief and sorrow away as if they were too shameful for everyone to see.

It was the result of lifelong training. In theory, she could understand that. If Clary had been raised among other Shadowhunters, she knew that she would have turned out the same way. But here, now, after she'd lived the majority of her life as a mundane, none of it made sense.

And so she'd got away. Training hadn't cut it, not this time, and instead she'd found herself running all the way to the docks and the warehouse where Simon had built himself a new home.

It wasn't like he was human either, she reminded herself, so she wasn't doing anything wrong. There had been several different Shadowhunters who'd already told her to leave any remnants of her old life behind, but it wasn't exactly easy to do when so many things in he life had turned out to be connected to the Shadow world in one way or another. Her mother and Luke had been the first example and, even if Simon had been dragged into it because he'd refused to abandon her despite everything, he'd handled everything rather well after the initial stress.

On one hand, Clary was sure that she would never forgive herself for letting him follow her to the point where he'd been turned into a vampire because in the long run, it would be much more painful for him than it would ever be for her.

On the other, a part of her - one that she was hell bent on ignoring - was grateful for it. There were so many things from her past life that she couldn't afford to think about and couldn't afford to revisit and she knew that she would have never managed to get as far as he had if Simon hadn't been next to her every step of the way.

Of course, there was also the newer development of their relationship to be considered.

Clary found herself smiling despite her anxiety as she knocked on the metal door that led to Simon's new living quarters. When he'd kissed her that night almost a month ago, the biggest surprise of it was the fact that she hadn't been that surprised at all. It had felt right in a way she'd never recognised before and even if it had felt impulsive to jump so quickly into a relationship she hadn't truly considered, it had turned out to be worth it in the end and now it felt as if things had always been this way; as if this was just one more extension of everything they'd felt for each other since the day they'd met.

Whatever the case, her confidence in Simon was precisely what had driven her here at almost three in the morning with the genuine hope that he wouldn't be asleep yet despite his newly reformed sleeping schedule.

Sure enough, he was there a second later, pushing the door open and moving out of the way to let her in before she'd even said a word.

"What is it?" Simon's voice was anxious and Clary couldn't help but wonder whether she really looked how she felt or if he was just that good at reading her. "Clary, is something wrong? You could have called. Downworlders are allowed in the Institute now, aren't they?"

Clary nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. "I didn't want to stay there."

It wasn't easy to admit- or at least, it wouldn't have been if she had been talking to just about anyone else. The Institute was supposed to be her home. From the looks of it, it was the closest she would ever get to one at this point and even that wasn't enough; even that felt too much at times and wasn’t that just telling? She could never quite belong anywhere no matter how hard she tried.

"You can stay here, then," Simon suggested. He was leading her further into his room and she could see that he'd finally found himself a bed and that, as unlikely as it was, the entire place somehow felt much more habitable than her own room back at the Institute. "They can call you if they need you, right?" Clary nodded. "Then you don't have to stay there." Another nod as Clary sat down on the edge of his bed and Simon hovered around her for a moment, concerned but unsure how to proceed. "Do you need anything? A cigarette, maybe?"

"Shadowhunters don't smoke," Clary said absently. It was yet another lesson she'd received recently; the children of the Nephilim were supposed to keep themselves in peak condition at all times. Then realisation hit. "You don't smoke either, Simon."

"Yeah, but it's the thought that counts, right? And, I could still get you some if you want them. You know, it's surprisingly easy for vampires to- Clary, are you okay?"

She hadn't been able to hold back anymore. It was stupid, and childish, and everything that a Shadowhunter was not supposed to be, but hearing Simon ramble away in a clear attempt to distract her had somehow been the last straw and before she'd even realised what she was doing, Clary had thrown her arms around Simon's neck, the tears that had been burning in her eyes for the better part of a day finally founding an outlet.

"No," she admitted, but didn't pull way. "No, but I will be." She bit her lip, trying - and failing - to control the trembling in her voice. "Thank you for letting me stay."

Simon's arms wrapped around her tentatively and Clary leant even further into the embrace, closing her eyes and basking in the sensations that surrounded her.

She'd been wrong, she realised. Maybe she couldn't say it yet - maybe she'd never find the strength to - but she knew where she belonged.

Perhaps she always had.

[erule]

Six feet under

 Title: Six feet under

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3.3K+  

Warnings: angst, romantic, OOC Dean, daddy!Dean, daughter, AU     

Summary: Dean’s divorcing from his wife for a lie he told, but they’re still in love with each other and their daughter is the only one who can save this marriage.

Notes: This is the story I wrote for the Fandom Writing Challenge, my prompt was heartfelt apology. This contest is such a great idea! Hope you like it, feedback is always appreciated :) I suggest you to listen to this song while reading.   

 << Please, start telling me your name and why you’re here. >> the woman said, with a British accent, sitting on the couch in front of him.

He raised an eyebrow, then he snorted.

<< Fine. My name’s Dean. >>

<< Go on, you’re doing it right, Dean. >>

He shaked his head, frustrated.

<< I just… don’t understand why I have to tell this. >> << It was demonstrated that patiens acquire more awareness, if they say it. Just follow my lead, okay? It will be alright, I promise. >> she responded, with a little smile.

Dean still wasn’t sure about that, but he remembered the reason why he was there, so he talked.

<< My name is Dean Winchester and I’m here, because my wife asked me to. >>

<< Why did she, Dean? >> she asked.

Dean torched his hands, while his gaze was far away, beyond the wall behind the woman. He was recalling the moment she basically ordered him to go. It was painful. It made him feel like she didn’t trust him anymore. Yeah, he made a damn mess, but he knew for certain that he didn’t want to lose his family.

<< Because I… >> he gulped, stopping. He took a breath, planting his nails in his knees, breaking the fabric of the jeans. Ha was almost having a panic attack. Everytime she screamed, the oxygen began to disappear from the room; everytime she felt betrayed by him, it was like he could fall deep down the ground and she would have been happy about it. If only she could see the way he looked at her, she would have felt his pain like it was her own. But she couldn’t. << I made a mistake. >> he admitted, for the first time, out loud. He looked her in the eyes, glossy and full of suffering. She almost felt bad for him. << I made a mistake and now she’s gonna be taken away from me. >>

<< How does it make you feel, Dean? >> she asked, writing some notes on a piece of paper.

He moistened his lips, while the fingers were slipping away from the knees, red of bood.

<< Lost. Broken. Alone. >> he answered. << Well, sort of. Sam, he’s my brother, is always in the motel’s room with me, annoying me. >> he corrected himself, joking. << He doesn’t want to leave me alone. He’s afraid I could do something bad or dumb again. >>

She nodded.

<< What did you do, Dean? What was this mistake you’re talking about? >>

Dean shrugged, passing a hand on his forehead, clenching his jaw. He didn’t want to relive that night, the night in which his whole life fell apart. The never-ending night. That was its name. Sam called like that, of course: he was the genius in the family.

<< No. I can’t. >> he said, with rough and low voice.

<< Dean, the audience is tomorrow. I have to know, so I can help you. >> she stated, raising from the couch as he got up.

<< You don’t know me, Doc. You’re not gonna save me. >>

She locked her eyes in him and, suddenly, the realization hit her.

<< You don’t think you deserve to be saved. >> she whispered.

Dean swallowed, staring at the parquet.

<< A friend of mine said the same, once. I guess it could be true, after all. The only truth that people seem to believe in. >>

Then, he opened the door and walked away.

 He sat down next to her, a book in his hands. She placed herself better under the sheets, her blonde hair scattered on the pink pillow. He opened the book, echanging a sympathy glance with her. She chuckled, highlighting her dimples.

<< Shh, don’t wake your mom or she’s gonna be very angry at me. >> Dean said, smiling. She put her hands on her mouth, nodding. << Which story do you prefer, tonight, Princess? >>

<< Alice’s. >> she answered, with her acute voice.

<< Why do you like it so much, baby? >>

<< You called me like your car, daddy! >> she laughed. << I don’t now… she’s little, but she’s strong. >>

<< You wanna be strong like her? >>

She shrugged.

<< Maybe. One day. You’ll teach me, right? >>

<< As sure as hell, I will. Starting tomorrow. I’m gonna make you a Led Zeppelin’s tape with all my favourite songs of them. >>

<< Great! Mom hates them. I’m gonna listen to them, when she gets home. >>

<< You look like an angel, but you’re the devil in disguise, Princess. >> She smiled.

<< Now read! >>

<< Don’t be so bossy. I’m gonna read it just for five minutes, okay? Then you’re going to sleep. >>

She agreed, unhappy.

<< Okay. >>

 He entered in the office. She didn’t expect to see him, so he wasn’t surprised when she almost lose her temper, when she looked at him. In his head, while she was walking towards him, he saw a past scene in rallenty: the flower’s crown on her head, the bottle of beer that was falling from her hand, her short dress, her bare feet on the grass, her ravenous eyes. The best night of his life. He wished he could come back to that: nine years from now.

<< What are you doing here, Dean? >> she asked, almost as a murmur, but angrily.

<< I just wanna talk to you, Y/N. >>

<< No. I’m working, Dean. >>

<< You’re always working, Y/N. Last time you didn’t, it was the last day of University. Remember? We had so much fun. >> he whispered in her ear, making her shiver, closing her eyes, but she didn’t fall for that trick.

<< I’m a lawyer, I can’t afford distractions. >>

<< I’ve always been your distraction, sweetheart. >> he replied, while his fingertips were laying on her back, caressing her skin under the blouse.

The minute later, they were closed in the bathroom, his lips all over her body, his fingertips not just on her back and her hands between his hair. Last time he felt her so close to him, not just body but soul too, they were in Chicago, some months before, while their daughter was with his best friend. The good times that now were gone, because of a stupid mistake. His wife hated the white lies, the ones you tell to protect the people you love. But, more of her, his daughter hated them.

 << Uncle Cas? >> she called.

<< He’s coming home, Princess. >> Dean said, taking her hand and kneeling in front of her.

Her eyes instantly filled with tears.

<< Is he dead? >>

Dean shaked his head, drying her tears with a thumb on her cheek.

<< No, baby, he’s returning to his dad. He’s sick and he needs uncle Cas. >>

She breathed out relieved.

<< He did the right thing. If you’d call me, I’d run to you. >>

He hugged her, holding her tight.

<< You’re my beautiful princess, Celeste. I’d kill whoever tried to hurt you. >>

She closed her eyes, laying her head on his shoulder.

<< Auntie Charlie was a pretty girl, daddy. Will I be pretty like her? >>

Dean nodded, with a knot in his throat. Celeste was Charlie’s real name and he gave it to his daughter when she died. She was like a sister, to him. She was the best part of him and when she died, that part died with her too.

<< You’ll be even prettier, because a part of her is with you. >>

Like she was always with him.

 She went out from the bathroom, trying to adjust her clothes, while he was putting on his belt again. She put her hair in a ponytail and that made him laugh a bit.

<< What’s so funny? >> << You always do that when you’re uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable, because you’re divorcing from the man you still love? >>

She took a deep breath, then she turned around to face him.

<< Guess who called me this morning. >>

Dean rolled his eyes.

<< And she said…? >> << She said that you basically ran away from the office. You’re such a bad liar, Dean. If you don’t care about this family anymore, why do you put so much effort in this? Just let go. We’ll be fine. >>

The rage grew up in his stomach. They just proved the world wrong, after what they just did in the bathroom, but she still wanted to hide behind a lie? She was too overprotective. She didn’t want to get hurt and she wanted to keep Celeste safe, away from him and he got it, but hell, she couldn’t just blame him for everything!

<< We’ll be fine? Are you kidding me, Y/N? >> he asked. She tried to talk, but he raised his voice. << I’ve protected you from a decade, Y/N. Don’t say that I don’t love my family, because, someone help me, every damn step I made in these years, I made them for you and Celeste! After I found out… >>

<< Yes! That’s right! That’s the lie you kept telling you and me, that comes out again. You didn’t just find out, Dean. You did it. >> she replied and he noticed that her eyes were tired, circled in red. She was exhausted. << You did it. She meant something to me. >>

He gulped.

<< She meant something to me too. >>

<< You knew I loved her… >> she stopped, holding back the tears, a hand in front of her nose, trying not to cry. << You, Cas and Sam, you did that. I can’t just forgive you, like nothing ever happened. She won’t. >>

<< You’re on her side, even if you’re still in love with me. >>

Her bottom lip trembled, but she nodded.

<< She comes first. You’ve always said that. >>

<< She doesn’t understand, Y/N. Make me talk to her and she will. >> << No. You can’t see her before the audience. She would change her statement. >>

Dean closed his eyes, finally she came clean to him.

<< You don’t want her to change her statement, don’t you? >>

<< I want justice for her. >> she whispered, pointing a finger at him. << And even if I don’t want you in jail, I sure as hell want you miles away from me and Celeste. >>

Dean held her wrist, looking her in the eyes.

<< I’m not a murderer, Y/N. >>

Her gaze was full of hatred, when she spoke.

<< Maybe not, but you covered the murder and you kept it hidden from me. >>

<< You couldn’t handle. >> << You didn’t give me the chance to try. >> she replied, then she wriggled and he remained alone in the alley, his heart falling in his stomach.

 Dean went as soon as Cas called him. Something bad had happened to Charlie and he had to run to her. Sam was already there, according to Cas, his best friend. When he arrived, it was very late. He entered in the garage and he saw Cas’ face, in pain, his clenched jaw and Sam’s eyes circled in red.

<< Where’s Charlie? >> he asked, feeling that his voice was about to crack. A bad feeling was killing him on the inside. He knew that she was gone. He knew it, yet he was hoping that it was just his fantasy.

Castiel pointed a finger at the silhouette of a corpse on the ground, covered by a white blanket. Dean closed his eyes, not able to kneel next to her, to look at her.

<< Dean, we aren’t supposed to be here. >> Sam spoke. << She was killed by the men of Cas’ uncle, while she was undercover. We can’t talk. They found out that she was police, so they killed her. If they’d know that we… >>

<< I get it, Sam. >> Dean said, remaining calm, too much for a man who already lost his best friend, his almost sister. << We’ll handle this. Y/N mustn’t know. >>

Cas crossed his arms.

<< Why? >>

<< She loves… I mean, she loved Charlie so much. She can’t know that a damn criminal killed her. We’ll make up an excuse, like a stroke or a disease. >> << Dean, sooner or later, she’ll find out. >> Sam replied.

<< She’s my wife, so I get to decide for her. She will not know. Try to tell her and I swear, I’m gonna kill you both. >> Dean threatened. They nodded. << Good. Now, let’s get to work. >>

 ***

 Dean closed his eyes, in front of the court. He was about to enter in a room, to listen to a judge who didn’t know anything about his relationship with his wife nor his daughter, but he would have done what the lawyers wanted and he would have taken his daughter away from him. He went to the doctress to learn how to get his family back, but it didn’t help. Even if he tried to say to his wife how he felt, it didn’t work. Y/N found out about Charlie after she heard a phone call between Cas and his dying father. His uncle was in jail by now and he sold out the men who killed Charlie, in order to get released. Y/N, though, questioned their whole marriage, because if he lied to her about something so important, maybe he could have lied about more. He confessed that he knew, but it was the only big lie he told her, he sweared. But that wasn’t the only thing that went worse that night: Celeste heard them and she, that had this sort of “myth” about her beloved aunt Charlie, got so angry, she yelled at Dean. She understood that he lied to her mom and that he lied about Charlie. That was the moment in which his heart fell into pieces.

Y/N arrived with her black tailleur, holding Celeste’s hand. He got closer, while Sam was arriving too. Y/N tried to avoid him, but he stood in front of them.

<< Hey, how are you? >> he asked, trying to fake a smile.

<< Let us walk, Dean. >> Y/N replied.

<< Can I talk to Celeste for one minute? >>

<< No. >>

<< Oh, come on, Y/N! You’re about to take her away from me forever, can I just talk to her for five minutes? >>

She snorted, then she looked at her daughter. Celeste nodded.  

<< I’ll give you two minutes. >>

<< Fine. >> Dean said, then she went away and he kneeled down, in order to face his daughter. << Hey Princess, how are you? >>

<< Good. >> she answered, without looking at him.

<< Why are you not looking at me, Celeste? >>

She looked at the ground, her hands behind her back.

<< Because I don’t want to cry. >>

Dean breathed out, sad.

<< Listen, baby, you know I will always love you, right? I will love you even if the world would crumble down. If this is what your mother wants, I will find another apartment, I will see you when I will be allowed to. I will, I swear to you, that I will. But I don’t think that this is what she desires. She’s just very angry at me. >>

<< Mom warned me. You’re not gonna make me change my mind or hers. >> Celelste replied, looking at him fiercely. He really was his daughter, after all: determined, strong.

<< You really are like me, don’t you? >> he asked, smiling. She shrugged. But, if she was like him, she wanted honesty. She wanted to feel loved, to open up. She wanted the painful truth. << I’ll give you the speech, Celeste. I’m sorry. I already told your mom a hundred times, but it wasn’t needed. I apologize to you from the bottom of my heart, because Charlie was important to you too and I should have told you about her. I should have told you now, when you’re grown and you can understand things better. >> Dean said, giving her the heartfelt apology she deserved and her eyes became glossy and red. << The night we met for the first time, the night you were born, I swore to protect you from this world, because I’m you father and that’s my job. And I will always do it, no matter what. But if you don’t talk to your mom today, I won’t be able to do it properly. I will see you just sometimes and I will have to miss you every damn day. I don’t know if your mom would change her mind, I don’t know if you still love me, maybe I’m just so selfish, but I feel good only when I’m with you. >> he continued and Celeste’s cheeks were wet of tears. Dean’s voice cracked at the end, but he wanted to let her know everything. << And when I’m without you, it’s like my heart is six feet under the ground. That’s how it would feel, if I’d no longer be your dad. >>

Celeste sobbed and then, she hugged him. She hugged him so tight, her knuckles went white. The tears were burning behind his eyes, but feeling so close to her, made him feel already better.

<< Celeste? >> Y/N called. << Honey, what’s wrong? Dean, what did you do? >> she asked, scared.

<< Don’t do it! >> Celeste screamed. << I love you, dad. Don’t do it, mom! I don’t want him to go away! >>

Y/N exhaled, thinking about what to do. They had to enter in that room, to talk about the case. She couldn’t just blow it.

<< Can I talk to you for a second, Dean? >> she asked.

He dried his tears with a thumb, leaving his daughter with Sam. He smiled at her, while he was dissolving the embrace. He reached his wife, who was biting her bottom lip, confused.

<< You lied to me, Dean. I know that you wanted to protect me and Celeste, I know that Cas is trying to handle the situation with his family, but I’m scared. I’m scared that he could find you and then us and… >>

<< You think that pushing me away would help? >> Dean asked, in disbelief.

She breathed out, looking anywhere but him.

<< I thought it could be easier for you. If you thought I hated you, you could run away without looking back. >>

Dean closed his eyes, passing a hand on his face.

<< You were protecting me. >>

She nodded.

<< I tried. >>

<< That’s why we got laid in that bathroom, yesterday. I was right. You never stopped loving me. >>

She nodded, again.

<< You’re so cheesy, Dean. Like in the letters you wrote me during college to ask me out. >> << Well, tell me they didn’t work. >> he said, with a smirk. She chuckled.

<< They worked, when you bought the tickets for a certain concert you remember. >>

<< Hell yes, it was the first time we… >> he was saying, but then, she cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him, leaving him breathless. Celeste shouted and Sam laughed, behind Dean. << …kissed. >> he finished, when she left him to breathe.

<< I’m fucking in love with you, Dean Winchester. >>

He smiled, happy.

<< Me too, baby. >> he decide to call her like his car, because his daughter didn’t love that nickname very much, but she seemed to. << Me too. >>  

[flowercrownyuriarchive]

Wants and Needs

Fandom Writing Challenge | flowercrownyuri (prev. xaltaen) Fandom: Yuri on Ice Pairing: Victuuri  Prompt: Ice Cream Word Count: 765 Summary: Yuuri’s post-retirement gig as a figure skating coach isn’t always easy. Luckily, Victor knows exactly how to cheer Yuuri up. 

[AO3]

Retirement from skating will be easy, they said. It’s the best, they said.

Sure it is, Yuuri sarcastically thinks to himself as he collapses against his apartment door, body slumping to the floor. A piercing headache pounds behind his temples and he wants nothing more than to just lay down and sleep for a thousand years, forget that this entire day, no, week has ever happened.

He sighs as he leans against the doorway. He really shouldn’t be surprised his week is rough. This is what he signed up for when he retired last year and took up coaching at Ice Castle, but it’s hard to enjoy his work when he can’t go a day without an overbearing parent in his face, demanding to know why their child came back from practice bruised or why their kid isn’t excelling in figure skating. Yuuri tries to placate their complaints, explain that bruises happen when you’re learning a new jump, and that not everyone is cut out to be the next Evgeni Plushenko, but all he ever gets is long, rambling rants about how he’s somehow responsible for everything wrong in the world. It’s incredibly frustrating.

Regardless, he knows he shouldn’t be complaining too much. Besides a few overwhelming parents, his post retirement life has been everything he’s ever wanted. The juniors he coaches are talented beyond their years, and he has no doubt that some, if not all, of them will move on to great things one day. He has a small apartment in Hatsetsu overlooking the ocean, a stable income, a golden wedding ring on his finger. He has sleepy mornings in bed, a newly adopted toy poodle curled up by his feet, and--

“Yuuri? Is that you?”

Victor. He has Victor, too.

“By the door!” Yuuri calls out warily, letting his eyes glance towards the sound of footsteps.

Victor appears around the corner, looking devastatingly handsome in that black, pinstriped suit he always wears to his commentating events. His hair is falling slightly in his eyes and his lips are curled up into a slight smile, arms crossed over his middle.

Yuuri’s mouth goes dry.

“Rough day?” Victor asks.

Yuuri manages to nod. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Victor looks him up and down for a moment before his face lights up. “Then I know exactly what you need. Wait here!” he calls, then disappears in the direction of the kitchen.

“Victor? What are you doing?” he questions.

“Hold on!” Victor calls back.

Yuuri leans back and waits for Victor to return. He can only imagine what his husband is coming up with, and when a long bang rings out from kitchen, Yuuri cringes.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks.

“Arg, stupid,” he can hear Victor mutter to himself, followed by a few more clicks and clangs. He’s almost about to go see what all the noise is about, but before he gets a chance Victor appears in the doorway, a gallon of ice cream and two spoons perched between his fingers.

Yuuri feels affection bloom inside of him. “Mint chocolate chip?”

Victor smiles as he walks over and sits down next to Yuuri. “Of course. It’s your favorite.” He pops off the ice cream top and offers a spoon to Yuuri, who graciously accepts. “A perfect solution to a bad day.”

Yuuri scoops a spoonful of ice cream from the tub and eats it. The cool mint feels heavenly against his tongue, and the bursts of chocolate are a perfect compliment. He smiles as the coldness seeps down his throat, making his entire body shiver.

“Good, isn’t it?” Victor asks while he drapes an arm around Yuuri’s waist, pulling him close.

Yuuri leans into Victor’s space and kisses his lips in response. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Victor laughs and closes his eyes. “Anything for you, love. Anything for you.”

They spend the rest of the evening eating ice cream and talking about their days. Yuuri listens intently as Victor goes on about one of his fellow commentators who can’t seem to talk about anything but himself, and Yuuri responds by venting about one mother who yelled at him for five minutes because her son fell while attempting a jump. They laugh and complain and eat ice cream until the sun sets and yawns intermix with their words, then crawl into bed together, curled up against each other’s sides as sleep overtakes them.

Yuuri smiles as his eyes close, thinking about how lucky he is to have Victor by his side, now and forevermore.

[someoneoffthestreet]

One for Sorrow, Two for Joy

Fandom Writing Challenge – June 2017 Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Dean/Lisa Word count: 2762 words Prompt: fireworks Triggers/Warnings: Biphobia, talk of comas, talk of car accidents, implied underage drinking

Read on AO3

One month after being dumped, Dean Winchester did not kiss Lisa Braeden.

The party had been grand in concept, a Last Hurrah in a whole month-long line of Last Hurrahs. At least, that’s how Ash had sold it, pelting Dean with assurances that it would be a great time for him to come out and join his much neglected friends. Which they both knew was a lie- Dean hadn’t been much fun the past month but he hadn’t pulled away. But apparently he’d been off just enough and Ash had promised that they could hang out the whole time, Dean wouldn’t have to talk to anyone he wouldn’t know. This had been another lie: The party had been surprisingly low-key, but not in any particularly good way, with a bad choice of music denying party-goers a good dancing atmosphere which had them flocking into small groups and odd corners to find other ways to avoid introspection.

Ash had disappeared ten minutes after arriving, and now Dean was sitting in a too-soft armchair while a pair of seniors made out on the far end of the couch beside him. He looked down at his untouched beer and sighed. Somehow, he had the feeling that he’d had this exact dream a few nights ago. So much for a fun, distracting night. He supposed that’s what he got for going to a pre-pre-graduation party as someone who’d dropped out of high school three months into senior year.

“Well, there’s a sight you don’t see every day.”

Dean looked up, watching as Lisa stepped primly in front of him and perched on the coffee table, smiling playfully. “The life of the party relegated to the sidelines of bad kissing? That’s a sign of the apocalypse.”

“Is that what’s happening?” Dean asked, smiling in spite of himself. “I thought it was just the music.”

Lisa kicked his shin lightly. Dean shot her an exaggerated pout.

“So how does Dean Winchester end up sitting alone to sad music in a crowded room?”

“His invite drags him out with promises of a good time and then vanishes into thin air.”

Lisa lifted her eyebrows knowingly. “Ash?”

“Got it in one.”

“It’s not that hard,” she replied, looking around. “I think I saw him head upstairs with the Dugan twins a little while ago. That might explain it.”

Dean sighed and hanged his head, shaking it. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

“Don’t hold it against him.” When Dean looked back up, her smile was a little rueful. “He’s been acting like that the past few weeks. I think graduation’s managed to unsettle him a little.”

That was- slightly worrying. It hardly ever seemed like anything got under Ash’s skin. Dean frowned a little to himself in contemplation. Maybe he should have been paying better attention…

“Hey.” He felt a firm, playful poke between his eyebrows, and blinked up at Lisa in surprise. “Don’t do that. You’ve got enough problems on your plate recently, you don’t need to go and add his to it.”

Dean opened his mouth indignantly to protest, but his mind blanked out. When Lisa leveled him with an unimpressed look he managed to close his mouth again. He swallowed a little, looking away.

“I just- should have noticed, that’s all,” he admitted, softer than he’d meant to.

“Ash will be fine,” said Lisa encouragingly. “We’re all kind of freaking out a little. High school’s almost over. The chapter’s coming to an end. It’s a little nerve-wracking not knowing what’s coming next.”

“Well, those are the words of someone who is perfectly fine,” said Dean lightly. Lisa grinned, a little self-consciously, and ducked her head.

Watching her for a few moment, he said, softer, “…Are you? Fine?”

Lisa looked back up, her expression more serious now. Her eyes drifted away, somewhere to the middle distance, and she shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s…I guess I’m not sure how to feel. Excited, relieved, scared… I guess I’m not really going to know until I get there, right?”

Her fingers were tapping lightly on her knee, uncertain. Dean was strangely focused on them, wanting suddenly to reach out and hold them between his. But he kept his hands where they were.

The conversation paused and they let it gestate a little, looking around. Dean glanced at her profile and thought about last year, how he had seen her in the halls and on the way to school but never talked to her, never really known her. It was odd that a year ago they had been mere ghosts to each other, and now her presence was as natural as sunlight. And in a few short weeks, she could possibly be gone forever.

The thought sunk heavy in his gut, constricting in his throat. He looked back down at his beer, now room-temperature.

There was a sharp inhale of breath, and Lisa said suddenly, “So this just got pretty depressing. And I don’t think we can blame the music.”

Dean chuckled under his breath. “Well, if we’ve found the problem, how do you suggest we fix it?”

“Well…,” said Lisa, drawing out the word as she leaned in conspiratorially. “Word is that someone got their hands on some fireworks.”

“Fun and a fire hazard,” said Dean. “That should bring in the cops.”

“Yeah,” Lisa agreed. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy them for a few minutes before the party is brought to a dignified end.”

Which is how, a few minutes later, Dean was dragged out onto the house’s back patio. Most of the party went with them, moving lazily like a herd of cows. But Lisa’s hand was firm in Dean’s, and he let it tug him through the crowd. They ended pressed up together somewhere in the middle, the cool night air useless against the mass of bodies.

“Glad I’m not claustrophobic,” Dean muttered to himself. Apparently, just loud enough for Lisa to hear, because she grinned at him and poked his side.

The first rocket shot off, streaking into the night and popping above them in a loud burst. The kids below cheered in response, and Dean willed himself to relax, head tilted to the sky. The fireworks punched through the night like gunshots, strangely taboo and exhilarating in blatant display. There was no way to cover these up, deny their presence. Everybody in the neighborhood would know, and it wouldn’t take long for someone to come along and put a stop to them. So Dean relaxed, letting the lights wash over him and the explosions burst in his ears. It was…liberating.

That was probably what did it, he would think in hindsight. He wouldn’t remember why he looked down at Lisa, what he was going to say. But he would remember her face: soft, open, wondering, and even a little…sad. A burst of red had touched her face, reflecting in her dark eyes, and Dean’s breath had caught, sudden.

The crowd continued to cheer around them but Dean suddenly couldn’t seem to care. He was stuck on her profile, the way her hair curled off her shoulder and around her ear. Her eyelashes were visible in short bursts and he waited for each one, breathless, willing each flash of light to linger, the moments fragile and fleeting. Dean wanted to catch each one and hold on, pin them to pages in a book, something. The feeling was new and strange and should have been frightening but he wasn’t afraid, not at all.

Lisa noticed his stare. Her eyes drifted down from the sky and slid across his face, meeting his. She smiled in confusion and tilted her head, a question. Dean’s breath returned to him and it was dizzying, oxygen a kind of high he had never felt before. The fireworks soared and screeched above them, pop, pop, pop…

It didn’t take long for the question in Lisa’s face to find an answer, and he saw the exact moment it settled in her head. He saw knowledge settled into her eyes, into the lines of her face, her look darker now, heady. Her gaze slipped down to his lips, once, eyelashes flickering as she blinked back up to his stare. Dean is frozen where he stands, so afraid of breaking the moment, that it will pop around them and leave him unfulfilled, unfinished. As if sensing this, Lisa tilted her chin up, just so. An invitation.

Gravity reoriented itself, closing in around them. Dean felt his equilibrium shift and he swayed, just a fraction. He could feel her pull on him and he complied, easy. The easiest thing in the world…

“No, it means you’re easy. And how am I supposed to trust someone who is easy?”

And just like that, the moment breaks. Dean’s stomach churned and bile rose into his throat, and he cursed, cursed, cursed against it. He tried to push it away but it was too late, the crowd once again present around them and Dean felt on display, wrong. He was just a breath away from Lisa’s lips; one soft press, and Dean’s heart twisted with longing at the thought of it. For a second, he wants to take it anyway.

Instead, he shifted, leaned past her mouth and pressed at her cheek, once. Lisa’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and he leaned against her temple, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and willing back the tears. When he pulled back, Lisa’s expression wasn’t easy to read. He searched for anything he could trust: anger, pity, rejection. But all he found was acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, just over the noise, but Lisa shook her head.

“It’s OK,” she replied, smiling softly. Dean knew it wasn’t.

The lingered for a few minutes more, showered in the lights and the sounds. But soon enough they agreed that staying any longer would be pushing their luck against the cops showing up. Dean spots Ash as they head out, and he waves them off, lost in the Dugan twins. Dean takes that as permission as anything.

The drive back home wasn’t as awkward as it should have been. In fact, it felt almost close to normal for a little while, the banter easy and conversation light. It was only when Lisa was out of the car, walking to her porch that Dean let himself feel it again. For a brief moment, he wanted to call her back, rush out of the car after her, catch her. To spin her round and taste her, like he should have, like he would have if…

Lisa got to her door, unlocked it. For a moment, she turned back, haloed in the hallway light, and she smiled, waving to him. Dean mustered up his own smile, waving back.

The door closed, and she was gone.

Dean didn’t know if he had been in love with Nick. There was a wound there now that made it difficult to think he would ever know. But he had been committed.

Those first few months after his mom’s accident had been tumultuous, to say the least. With Mary Winchester suspended indefinitely between life and death, it had been hard for her family to tell up from down, let alone what they were going to do without her. It was a possibility John could not bring himself to even consider, and Dean could never quite forgive him for shutting down like he did. Sam certainly didn’t. And what with this fugue state, caught between wondering if they should be planning a welcome home party or a funeral, for Dean, it had been hard to remember why school had ever been important in the first place, when he could instead be doing something to help support the family.

That was right around the time Nick had asked him out.

Dean hadn’t been blind. The timing was awful and Nick was bad news. But he’d taken Dean out of his head and given him space to talk. At a point where John was almost obsessively at the hospital and Sam was pouring into his schoolwork, at least Nick had looked at Dean and seemed to actually see him. At least Nick had wanted him.

That, more than anything, was probably what made the breakup hurt so much.

“Well, what am I supposed to think, Dean?” Nick snapped, betrayal odd and shining in his eyes. “I thought we had something good here. I thought you wanted me!”

“I do,” Dean had placated, bewildered and uncertain on his feet. “I didn’t say that-”

“You want me, but you come in here and tell me that you’re attracted to girls? If you haven’t noticed, Dean, I’m lacking a little in that department!”

“I said-” The words stumbled in Dean’s mouth. He tried again. “I said, I only said I thought I was bi.”

“Which means you’ve been checking out girls behind my back, Dean,” Nick sneered. He threw his hands up, turning away from Dean like he couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. “God, this is what I get, this is what I get for going out with questioning guys-”

“I’m not questioning,” Dean interrupted, the words more heated now. He tried to remember, think of the words Casey had used. “I know what I want. Being bi- being bi just means I’m attracted to boys and girls, it doesn’t have to have any influence on- on how I feel about you.”

Nick snorted, sighed. He turned back to Dean with a look that was half pitying, half contempt. “No, it means you’re easy. And how am I supposed to trust someone who is easy?”

No matter what Dean had said- or tried to say, the concepts still shaky in his own head- Nick hadn’t wanted to hear any more. When he told Dean to leave, it had felt like the world slowed around him, muggy and off-kilter. He walked out the door and never went back.

“He thought… he thought I was cheating on him. Or- or going to cheat on him, I don’t-”

“Well, did you?” Sam asked, blunt.

And that- that had hurt. On an already pretty sucky night, that had been a dull punch to the gut.

“No, Sam,” said Dean, voice far shakier and more emotional than he wanted. “I wasn’t going to cheat on him.”

Sam sighed, putting his text book down to rub at his eyes. “I just don’t know why you had to make it so difficult,” he muttered. “Just thought, ‘I like guys’ and left it at that.”

“Because I’m not-”

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam cut off, dismissive. “But just so you know, wanting to have a threesome with Casey and her boyfriend does not make you bi.”

Dean saw Lisa only one more time after the fireworks show. Even if he himself would not be graduating, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t show up and support his friends who were. So he sat in the audience, watching his classmates cross the stage, dressed in school colors and beaming brightly. Something small and sharp pierced just between his ribs, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d so badly wanted to cry.

After the ceremony, he found Casey. She smiled so bright when she saw him, and hugged him tightly, rocking them a little. There had been so many things he’d wanted to say to her right then, but it wouldn’t be right, not here, not now. Not on her moment. But the look she gave him when she pulled away was so sad, so knowing, he guessed he didn’t need to tell her after all.

Lisa, he spotted through the crowd. Her arms were around her sister and her eyes were bright, a mix of pride and self-consciousness. Her parents doted around her, lighting her up with pictures, and a few of her friends soon crushed around her as well, energetic and laughing. Dean was bumped and jostled by the press of people but he did not move. She felt much, much further away than the few feet between them, out beyond his touch.

He wanted to go to her. He wanted to tell her that he had seen her back in August and had just waited, waited to go up to her and ask her out. He had been ready and was going to do it and then his mom had wrapped her car around a tree.

Another admission. Another weight that had no place here, on this day.

The crowd buffeted him a little more, and Dean let it carry him away.

[triggeringthehealing]

day after day (without you)

Stiles/Derek | PG | ~2.3k | AO3 Content notes: Post-canon, future fic, getting together

Summary: Derek didn’t have plans to return to Beacon Hills, not anytime soon at least. But when his car broke down in San Francisco as he was making his way down to Mexico, the week’s wait for spare parts was a good excuse to visit. He told himself it was only to meet with Satomi, to add more to the journal he started writing as he traveled around the country and the world. For all he knew, after all, Stiles wasn’t anywhere near California anyway. 

A/N: Written for the fandomwritingchallenge, May prompt: calendar A/N 2: I’m so sorry for being late with posting this one. :/

Cora asked him once, jokingly, if he was counting the days to Stiles’ 18th birthday. Derek growled in her direction, but didn’t flat out say no, though it would’ve been the truth. Back then, he had no interest in doing that, and by the time the arbitrary date was closer, he was long gone from Beacon Hills and from Stiles.

He did keep a calendar though, and he did mark off days, but he was not counting down to anything. Instead, he knew exactly how long it had been since that afternoon in Mexico, and since the moment he’d driven away in the stupid Toyota that had barely lasted long enough to bring him and Braeden back to California. Once they crossed the border, she left to continue her chase and to finish her job, and Derek got on the first plane south.

Once he found Cora, he stuck around. They barely knew each other, and he wanted to fix the impression he’d made when she first returned to Beacon Hills. She told him he didn’t need to, but Derek couldn’t yet shake the feeling that he had a lot to make up for. When Peter joined them and updated them on what’s been happening back in their hometown, Derek almost packed up and left to help. He only didn’t because Peter told him there was nothing left to help with, and that most of the pack left for college anyway.

Derek didn’t need to hear Stiles’ name to know that he was one of those who left. Him and Lydia were always meant for bigger and better places, and Derek was glad to hear that -- unlike some of the others -- they did manage to get out. He wondered where though, but instead of asking he just marked off another day on the calendar.

Cora waved him off at the airport a week later.

He didn’t know where he was heading, and he spent the next several months going from one place to the next, between hotel rooms and packs that his family had known before the fire. The number of the marks in the calendar grew, and he started keeping a journal somewhere around the second visit with a pack. If anyone asked, he’d tell them it was just a pastime, something to do while he was on the road from one place to another.

In reality, he did it so that he’d be able to remember all the details in the future. He wrote things down so that he could tell Stiles what he learned, what he saw.

Derek had no plans to go back to California, and definitely not to Beacon Hills. But that was where he ended up a few months later, almost by accident. His plan was to drive south, from Oregon all the way down to Mexico, following the coastline and not venturing inland. But when his car broke down in San Francisco, he had a week to wait for spare parts, and it seemed logical to get a rental and drive out for a visit.

He didn’t know what he should be expecting, so he headed for Satomi’s home first. She welcomed him with open arms, updated him on how the -- now McCall -- pack was doing, and sent him to them before he could settle in with her own pack for the week.

In town, he drove past the familiar places -- around the former Hale land that was no longer his property since the county took over years ago, through streets he still remembered well, into the industrial area where he found the old train depot demolished and the old building he’d owned rebuilt and full of life. It was all the same and yet completely new, the contrast to what he remembered striking.

He just sat down in the diner and opened the journal to jot down things that Satomi mentioned when he heard it. The laugh that he would never admit to having missed, the voice that he recognised easily despite the years that passed.

“Stiles?”

The name was a mere whisper, but when Derek looked up, he was greeted with the sight of wide open light brown eyes, staring at him in surprise.

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed out, so quietly that Derek barely heard it, enhanced hearing and all. “Holy shit.”

It was so familiar that Derek couldn’t hold back a smile, and his heart skipped a little when Stiles’ face lit up with joy in response.

Barely five seconds later, he was pulled out of his seat and right into Stiles’ arms and into a hug that made him melt. It was one of those that he didn’t remember getting since Laura… well, a lot longer than Derek cared to remember. Stiles held on like his life depended on it, like he didn’t want to let go, and Derek felt the same when he finally reacted by wrapping his own arms around Stiles.

“I didn’t think you’d be in town,” he whispered, still holding on.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Stiles countered, and he hesitantly pulled himself out of the hug. “What are you doing here? Where did you go? How long are you staying?”

“Loaded questions,” Derek said, the smile still on his face. “You haven’t changed.”

He looked at Stiles properly now that there was some space between them again, and almost took back the statement. Stiles was different, despite the familiarity of his face and the rapid-fire questions. He was still as tall as Derek remembered him, but his shoulders were less hunched and arms more defined than in the past. He took Derek’s breath away.

“I’m just passing through,” he said when Stiles continued waiting for answers. He immediately regretted the way he phrased the answer, because Stiles’ face fell and his smile faded. “I have a week,” Derek added quickly, eager to bring the smile back to Stiles’ face.

“Oh. Well, it’s better than wondering where you are all the time,” Stiles mumbled, again keeping his voice quiet, so that Derek had to strain his ears to hear the words.

He wondered whether he was even supposed to hear them, but before he could react to them in any way, Stiles stepped back and glanced to the counter, then quickly back at Derek.

“Stay here. Please. I mean, it’s not an order, but…”

“I’ll be here,” Derek interrupted, and nodded towards the journal on the table.

Stiles nodded and rushed off towards the counter. Derek could hear him put in his order, but he didn’t watch. Instead, he returned to the journal, and the calendar at the back, circling the date instead of crossing it out like he’s been doing for the past few years. By the time Stiles came to the table, the journal was closed, pen resting on top of it.

“I interrupted you,” Stiles said with a pointed look at the leather-bound book. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it can wait,” Derek tried to dismiss Stiles’ worries.

They fell into conversation easily, like it hasn’t been years since they last talked. It felt natural though, almost like no time has passed. Almost. Because back then, they barely had time for conversations, always running from one danger right into another. They never sat down to just talk, not when stopping was a good way to get caught and hurt.

Throughout the conversation, Derek noticed Stiles’ eyes drifting to the journal. It didn’t take long before he decided he might as well bite the proverbial bullet -- not a real one, that was nowhere on his to-do list for the rest of his life -- and open up that can of worms.

“Go on, ask,” he said, nodding towards the journal.

“Ask what?” Stiles pretended to not understand, but his gaze drifted towards the journal again. “That thing? Is that a new Beastiary?”

“It’s not,” Derek said. “Well, it has information in there that would make the start of a new one, or additions to an old one. I’ve traveled for a while. Still am, really. Picked up information as I went, wrote it all down.”

“That’s… awesome,” Stiles perked up visibly.

“Go on, have a look,” Derek said with a grin, nudging the journal towards Stiles.

It took a moment of hesitation, but then Stiles was lifting the front cover, and diving into the pages, all filled with Derek’s handwriting and the occasional sketch.

“Wow, okay,” Stiles mumbled as he flipped through the pages. “Man this would’ve been helpful,” he remarked when he found the page with information on kanimas. “And this,” he said over the page with the Alpha pack sign.

Derek watched him read, torn between the familiarity of the sight and the fascination he had with it again… still. When Stiles finally reached the last filled page, neither of them looked up at first.

“You were at Satomi’s,” Stiles said, almost as if he just wanted to fill the momentary silence.

“For a few hours only, but yes,” Derek nodded. The page of the journal that Derek had open barely had anything on it so far, only the contact details for Satomi. She’d told him a few things about her pack and the Hales, stuff that Derek didn’t want to forget.

“Where else have you been?” Stiles asked, fingers hovering over the page, clearly itching to flip them and read more.

“You can keep looking, you know,” Derek said, unable to hold back the smile at Stiles’ curiosity, a throwback to his hunger for knowledge back when werewolves became real to him. “I…,” Derek started, but paused because the words he wanted to say still terrified him.

Stiles waited, despite the permission from Derek, and his fingers rested on the page.

“I wrote it all down for.... Well, for you, really,” Derek finally said, the confession both relieving and scary. “I met people who told me so much, and I know you always liked to research, to know things. And I hoped I’d run into you again someday.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, and his mouth opened in surprise.

“You… did you come here to find me?”

“No,” Derek answered, shaking his head. “I would’ve, one day. This time, it was coincidence. I didn’t even know you were still in town.”

“Again,” Stiles said. “I wasn’t, not until a week ago.”

“Oh. I guess it’s a good thing my car broke down yesterday,” Derek said, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered, and he dipped his head, his eyes on the journal under his hand. “So, this is for me?”

“There’s more I wanted to add,” Derek told him. “I was on my way to Mexico. Wanted to find the Skinwalkers too, and the Yukimura’s. I don’t know if I would’ve come back here,” he admitted. “I was hoping you got out. That I’d find you somewhere far away.”

“I did get out,” Stiles said, looking up again. “College, police academy, FBI training. I’m actually not staying in town, but I asked to be assigned to the San Francisco office, to be close to Dad. And the pack.”

“That’s… that’s good,” Derek stuttered out.

It was then that Stiles finally looked back down at the journal again, and moved his hand to flip the pages. He didn’t read though, just glanced through the writing on them. Derek, for lack of anything else to do, watched as Stiles’ expressions changed from one page to the next, switching between several that he couldn’t really pinpoint. It reminded him that he didn’t really know Stiles anymore, even less so than he used to know him years ago.

They were both different people, and yet there was something that still pulled Derek towards him. He wasn’t a believer in fate, not after everything that happened in his life, nor in the lives of those around him. But he couldn’t deny the pull to the man in front of him, a stranger in some ways but a kindred spirit in others.

“So, do you have plans for the week?” Stiles asked, pulling Derek out of his thoughts.

“Not really,” Derek said. “I was going to see if Scott’s around, check in with your father or whoever is at the station. See if Chris is still in town.”

“I could…” Stiles started, and Derek noticed the way his cheeks colored. “I could tell you. Or show you. We could… get dinner, maybe?”

Stiles’ face showed a hint of hesitation, but Derek could also smell anticipation coming off of him in waves.

“I’d like that,” he said, dipping his head a little, his own cheeks warming with a blush.

“Okay,” Stiles said quietly, and Derek watched him take a deep breath, like he was steeling himself for something, before he continued. “Like, dinner as friends, or…”

It clicked then, as Derek looked into Stiles’ eyes, that maybe it wasn’t only Derek who hoped to see Stiles again. That maybe it was both of them wishing to run into each other again.

“Or,” Derek said quietly. “I like or.”

Stiles’ face lit up immediately, and the smile on his lips widened.

“Good, that’s good,” he said, but then he glanced at the journal again. “Now, tell me about what’s in here. And what’s not in, because I know you’d have kept some stuff out, just in case it falls into wrong hands.”

Relief poured over Derek, and he leaned forward to check which page Stiles was looking at. When he reached out to flip to a different, earlier, part of the journal, their hands brushed against each other. It only took a beat before Stiles turned his hand and linked his fingers with Derek’s, warmth spreading between their palms.

It was a start. A good start. And a promise of no more days without each other.

[blissfulcastiel]

Out of Step

Fandom Writing Challenge | blissfulcastiel Prompt: Marching Band Pairings: Destiel Tags: high school au, marching band, enemies, enemies to friends drummer!dean, color guard!castiel AO3 - Beta-ed by @adoringjensen <3

“Everyone reset back to set one. Come on, move with purpose! We haven’t got all day!” Crowley bellows into his megaphone from the top of the scaffolding tower. Jesus Christ. Every year, Dean hides that stupid thing but Crowley always seems to find it. Looks like he’ll just have to go for the batteries. “Dean, can you please take one for the team and ask for a water break?” Jo pants beside him as they hustle back to set one. “Yeah, we’re dying here, Winchester,” Charlie agrees as she jogs up beside them. Dean sighs dramatically. “Why does it have to be me?” “Because Crowley has a soft spot for you,” Jo says with a smirk. He rolls his eyes. “That’s not true.” “Sorry brother, but it is,” Benny calls, already in position on his dot about five yards from them. Dean groans, scrubbing a hand down his face where droplets of sweat are beading on the surface. “Fine.” Jo and Charlie share a conspiring smile before racing ahead to their dots. Dean slows down, hovering around the fifty yard line where The Tower is set up. It stands twelve feet tall, with Crowley barely adding any height on the highest platform. Chuck sits silently, as usual, on the lower platform which is just above head level. Maybe Dean can get away with asking Chuck instead. “Uh, hey Chuck? It’s been about two hours since our last water break. Think we can take five minutes after this run?” Chuck glances down at Dean, looking frantic at the question. God, after four years of being in this band, Dean still has no idea how this guy is even the director. “Winchester!” Fuck.

Dean cranes his head back, hand cupping over his eyes to see Crowley through the harsh glare of the sun. “Yeah?” “I thought I said to get to set one.” “I know, but we need a water break. Unless you want a bunch of kids passing out on this field, we need at least ten minutes to sit and cool off.” Dean feels like he’s flirting with death by demanding instead of asking, but how else is he supposed to convince Crowley to give them a break? Crowley glares down at him and for once, the whole field is silent. Dean heard a few gasps at the way he spoke to their assistant director, but now everyone’s holding their breath. “Fine. We run this one more time you all get your precious water break,” Crowley spits out. Dean nods, hiding his smile until his back is turned. People whisper their gratitude as he passes them on his way to his dot, and it lifts him up a little. Even if it means putting his neck out there, he’ll do anything he can to help out his bandmates. They run the first five sets, and it’s far from being perfect, but it’s not a complete disaster. As soon as Crowley’s done lecturing them about terrible marching techniques and some forgetting their dots all together, everyone clears the practice field to fill the front sideline where all their water and belongings sit. Dean collapses next to Sam, who’s busy guzzling down water. “So Sammy, how’s day one of band camp?” Sam takes a few more gulps before answering him. “Hell. That Crowley guy is a jerk. Why did you put up with this all four years?” “Because believe it or not, it’s a lot of fun,” Charlie says as she flops down beside them, Jo, and Benny right behind her. Dean nods, pulling his water bottle from Charlie’s cooler and taking a big gulp. “The first couple o‘ days are always rough,” Benny offers empathetically. Sam looks down at his watch and groans. “It’s only eleven?” “Hey, only an hour until lunch!” Jo says excitedly, which everyone chimes in with. Dean laughs at his brother’s confused reaction. He remembers his first year of band camp. Being in the thick heat, thirsty and exhausted, an hour seems like eternity. But now that he’s gone through it three previous times, an hour is the homestretch. Sam gets to his feet. “I’m gonna go sit by Barry. See you at lunch?” Dean reaches up to ruffle his hair but Sam bats his hand away before he can, causing him to huff. “Yeah, bitch, see ya.” Sam grumbles out a ‘Jerk’ before walking a ways down the sideline. “Oh god – here they come,” Charlie singsongs. Dean doesn’t need to glance over to know who she’s talking about. Color guard. Dean’s always happy when the guard girls join the band. He’s kinda got a reputation with them. He turns his head to watch them make their way closer, but is pulled up short when he sees a new face. “Since when did we get a guard guy?” he wonders aloud, sitting up to get a better look. Not that color guard is strictly for girls, but it’s always a special sighting to see a guy in guard. Dean would’ve definitely known if a guy joined guard, especially if he looks as good as this one. “Must be the new guy. I think he’s brothers with the new drum major too,” Benny answers. That’s right, there was actually some drama around that. People thought it was unfair for this Gabriel guy to come in as a senior and get chosen for drum major, but he must be that good. There was talk he had a brother – half-brother? – but Dean never heard anything more about it. “Huh,” is all Dean can manage to say because holy fuck, the guy is seriously hot. His shorts are slung low around his hips, practically teasing Dean with the little bit of exposed tanned skin that his ratty looking T-shirt isn’t covering. “Dean, please don’t scare him on his first day,” Jo sighs. “What? I didn’t even do anything.” “Oh please, you’ve got that look,” Charlie crows. “Besides, you’ve basically run Kali’s patience nonexistent. She doesn’t want you anywhere near the guard.” Well, he can’t exactly deny that. Kali hates him for ‘causing distractions’ to her girls. No doubt she’ll hate him even more if he makes any advances towards the new guy. In the past, she couldn’t do anything about it. Except now that she’s been graduated a year and is now the guard instructor, she actually has power to keep him away. Which only means he has to be a little more careful. “I don’t have any look. I’m just gonna be polite and introduce myself.” He gets to his feet, ignoring the warnings his friends call after him. The closer he gets, the harder his heart beats in his chest and he feels eyes burning into him as he approaches. Man, is he actually nervous to talk to this guy? That’s… weird. Before he knows it, he’s standing behind the guy, who’s staring down at the set book hanging on a string tied around his waist. Shit, that glistening skin is even better close up… He’s about to turn around and jump ship when the guy looks up, glancing over his shoulder and pinning Dean in place with a pair of vibrant blue eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Um, hello.” Damn, that voice too. All deep and gravely, and... “Hi. Um, I’m Dean. Dean –“ “Winchester,” the guy finishes for him. It’s probably safe to say the guard girls warned him about the infamous Dean Winchester. Dean laughs uneasily. “Yeah, that’s me. Heard you’re new, thought I’d come introduce myself.” The new guy quirks an eyebrow. “And that is the extent of your intentions with this conversation?” Dean’s eyebrows knit together. “Uh –“ “Because if so, it’s nice to meet you, Dean. However, if what I’ve been told is true, I want to make it clear I’m not interested in any advances you may be planning. You can save your breath, my time won’t be wasted, and we can both be on our way.” Dean’s mouth drops open, absolutely speechless. What the fuck? He doesn’t even know the guy’s name and barely got a sentence out before the immediate rejection. Dean can’t exactly blame him for saying what he said, given Dean’s track record, but still. Now Dean’s a little peeved, his confidence stinging. “That’s some ego you have, buddy,” he replies coolly. “Just thought I’d be a nice guy and welcome you to the band. But whatever.” New Guy shrugs. “I just wanted to make myself clear. I’m not interested in having any relations with you.” Ouch. Dean scoffs. “Wasn’t planning on pursuing,” A terrible, terrible lie, “But hey, if it makes you feel better to think so.” He spins around and stalks away, ignoring the low whistles and taunts being thrown after him. He basically got rejected in front of the whole band because everyone’s stopped to watch on their way back to the field. “Told you to stay away,” Jo tuts when he passes by. “Get to your set, Jo,” he orders, using his section leader voice. He realizes he’s being an ass and he’ll apologize later for it, but he doesn’t need salt rubbed in his wounds right now. He spends the next hour silently seething as he focuses on learning drill and thanking the universe that New Guy’s dot is on the opposite end of the field so Dean doesn’t have to see him. When lunch comes around, the food and air conditioning calms him a bit, but he’s still grumpy. No one dares tease him about what happened. When the band stays inside to learn music, Dean takes the drumline to the field house to practice their music in peace. He typically runs his sectionals more relaxed, but he needs to forget about what happened earlier, so today there’s no goofing off. Even Victor, his co-section leader who’s usually the bad cop between the two of them, isn’t happy with the way Dean’s running their sectional. When the guard comes in to claim the field house, Dean brushes past them without a second look, calling for his section to grab their shit and hustle to the practice field. The last two hours of their eight hour day is spent trying to pair music to the drill they learned today. It’s pretty disastrous, but Crowley does call a compliment to the drumline for ‘sounding the least horrible’. So that’s what happens when they actually work in sectionals. When four o’clock rolls around and the band is dismissed to go home, Dean calls his section together. “Listen guys, I know I was kinda an ass today –“ “We all have our off days, Dean,” Garth offers sympathetically. He can’t help but smile at that. “But you all did good work. We even got a half-assed compliment from Crowley. Rest up for tomorrow.” He claps each of them on the shoulder before gathering their stuff from the front sideline and walking back towards the school. Dean’s about to follow before someone calls his name. When he turns, he’s met with a shorter guy with bronze hair and golden eyes, lips twisted into a smirk. “Can I help you?” “Heard my brother burned you good today.” And there goes his relatively okay mood. Dean scowls. “He’s a real peach.” The guy laughs, throwing his head back and Dean rolls his eyes. “That’s Cassie for you. Name’s Gabriel, by the way. I’m the new drum major.” Dean glances at his outreached hand and shakes it begrudgingly. “Guess you know who I am.” Gabriel motions for them to start walking back to the school. “Sure do. Cassie told me all about it at lunch.” Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “His name’s Cassie?” “Nickname. Castiel would probably kill you if you called him that though.” Dean licks his lips, tempted to try the unique name out for himself but withholds. No, he’s not going to find anything interesting about the guy because he’s an asshole. “Well, you can tell him to relax. I have no interest in egotistical dicks,” Dean says, sounding more bitter than he intended to. “He’s actually a nice guy. Castiel can be blunt sometimes, but you can’t say he isn’t honest.” “The dude can say and do what he wants, I don’t care,” Dean grunts, wanting to be done with this conversation already. Gabriel grins. “Right. You don’t care. Anyway, just thought I’d personally introduce myself before I’d have to reject you in front of the whole band too. See ya bright and early tomorrow, Bucko!” Dean stops in his tracks, watching Gabriel laugh to himself while he saunters ahead. He’s not sure who the bigger dick is between the two of them. It doesn’t matter. Dean’s got better things to do than sulk and seethe over the two of them.

*****

The second day of band camp is better than the first. Dean decided he’s not about to show Castiel how bruised his ego is after yesterday. Screw that guy. Instead, he focuses on Crowley ordering them through basics block the first half of the morning and learning drill the second half. When lunch comes around, he doesn’t even think to seek Castiel out. He laughs with his friends and beats Benny in a competition of who can shove the most grapes in their mouth. Which, of course, earns him a few suggestive comments from Jo and Charlie. He even gets in some good natured teasing when Sam decides to go talk to Jess, one of the freshmen guard girls. Sam isn’t amused, but Dean still smiles proudly after him as he goes. This is the band camp he’s come to love after four years.

Like all good things though, his mood comes to a crashing halt after lunch.

While the band rehearses the show music in the band room, it’s time for the drumline to part for the hour to work on their stuff. Dean brings them to the field house, the spot they always claim, but when he walks through the doors, he stops in his tracks when his eyes rest on Castiel. He’s not alone though. From a quick scan, it seems maybe all the freshmen are with him because Dean recognizes Jess among the baby faced girls.

“Hate to interrupt, but we claimed this space,” he announces from across the room, voice echoing in the large space between them. Castiel glances over at him, the eye roll visible even from where Dean’s standing.

“Kali said it was fine we work here.”

Dean saunters closer, trying to keep up his air of confidence despite the fact that his heart is racing in his chest. “Did she now? Last I checked, the guard practices in the grassy area outside the band room.”

Castiel holds his gaze steadily. “We needed space to spread out. The freshmen require further help and it was too hectic with me trying to teach them while Kali works with the others.”

“And since when are you section leader? Where’s Anna? Or Rachel?” Dean challenges, crossing his arms.

Castiel scoffs. “Not that it’s any of your concern how our section runs, but they asked me to help out. I may be new here, Dean, but I’m not incompetent.”

Dean just smirks. “Well, since you’re new, I’ll be the one to tell you that the fieldhouse belongs to drumline after lunch.”

“Dean, it’s fine. This is a large enough space for everyone,” Victor says, stepping up beside him. Dean shoots him a look, because he definitely doesn’t want to share anything with Castiel, let alone be in the same room.

“Yeah man, we don’t mind,” Ash chimes in.

Castiel nods gratefully. “Thank you. We’d prefer not to have to waste more time finding a new spot.”

Victor simply nods and leads the way to the other side of the fieldhouse, but Dean’s still standing in front of Castiel, glaring at him. He expects Castiel to give him a dirty look and turn away, but the bastard stands his ground, staring right back at Dean.

“Alright, alright. Put the rulers away, boys,” Jo says, nudging Dean to move.

Dean snickers under his breath as he turns away. “Hope you have a strong voice because it gets pretty loud in here.”

Dean keeps true to his promise. The snare drum can already be a loud sound, but he may or may not kick it up a notch just to make Castiel’s sectional that much closer to hell. He glances over at him every so often just to see if he’s getting under Castiel’s skin, but if he is, the guy doesn’t show it. Okay, maybe Dean’s also sneaking peeks at the way graceful way Castiel works his flag. The way he stops to help if any of the girls are struggling and the way he offers them encouraging smiles along the way.

God, he hates this guy so much.

Sectionals couldn’t end soon enough – or far too soon? Regardless, it’s back out into the sweltering afternoon heat to join the rest of the band on the practice field. Guard never shows up though, which is more than fine with Dean.

*****

The days start to blur together. After the first couple days, band camp is pretty routine.

Wake up at seven. Get him and Sammy to school by 7:45 because in band, early is on time and on time is late. Spend just about an hour in basics block. Spend the remaining time learning new drill. Guard joins them occasionally. Lunch at twelve. Sectionals at one. Then for the last two-ish hours, they review the drill learned in the morning with instruments, even if they don’t play. Guard always joins them.

Just as it’s guaranteed for Crowley to yell and push everyone to a near breaking point every day, the same goes for Dean and Castiel sassing each other. If Dean’s standing bored on his dot with his snare while Crowley’s focused on a different section of the field and his friends are too far away to goof off with, he’ll lazily twirl his sticks or toss them in the air. He completely blames the heat for when one fumbles out of his hand and with a groan, he has to either awkwardly crouch to pick it up or duck out of his harness, which he’s almost always too lazy to do. Somehow, Castiel is always nearby when it happens. The bastard is never shy to point out when Dean drops something. What’s even more annoying is that Dean’s never seen Cas drop his flag to return the sentiment.

The way Dean gets his jabs in is when Cas misses his dot and nearly collides with someone or screws up the form of the set. These include but aren’t limited to: “Hey, at least you’re only one yard line off of your dot. Hopefully you’ll get it by the end of the season”, or “I don’t know man, I think you forgot to point your toes that time”, plus countless others. They both get creative with their jabs.

No one seems to know what to make of their quips at each other, but they’re smart enough not to get in the middle of it. Michael, the head drum major, was the only one who stepped in to tell them to shut up when they started getting especially spirited with each other.

Dean thinks there’s no way he can hate Castiel any more than he already does until he’s proven wrong on day five.

It’s unbearably hot today, the weather supposedly spiking to mid-90s. The heat never stops Crowley from keeping them outside though. Given that the outside is practically an oven slowly baking them all to their deaths, some of the girls are marching in sports bras while guys are bare chested all together. Dean’s tempted to follow suit, but he’s not one to flaunt his body. Instead, he spends the next water break pouring one of his extra water bottles over his head, the cold drops rolling down his back before getting soaked up by his shirt. It’s actually better because the fabric clings to his body and it’ll take longer for the sun to suck away his chilled relief. It especially feels nice when he runs his fingers through his hair, the cool droplets finding their way to his scalp and cooling where the sun’s been beating down all day.

“Looks like you got an audience, Chief,” Benny murmurs to him. Dean furrows his eyebrows, following Benny’s subtle eye flicker until he reaches the source, which happen to be blue eyes that instantly dart away. Dean’s heart stutters because what the hell? Was Cas just staring at him?

Dean scoffs. “Please. Cas thinks he’s too good to even look my way.”

Benny raises an eyebrow. “Cas, huh?”

He waves his hand dismissively, trying not to blush. “Castiel, whatever. That’s not the point.”

Benny snickers under his breath and goes back to talking about their plans tonight to gather their friends and head to The Roadhouse, which is the bar run by Jo’s mother, Ellen. They’re obviously not allowed to drink, but nothing can beat Ellen’s burgers and milkshakes. Dean’s having a little trouble paying attention to the conversation though, which Charlie, Jo, Sam and Kevin have chimed in to. His focus keeps slipping away to peek over at Cas – Castiel.

Looks like some of the guard, mostly upperclassmen, brought out their rifles today. Like the rest of the band, they’re all lounging on the sideline, drinking water and chatting with each other. All except Castiel and Meg, a senior who Dean’s never been too fond of. Her favorite pastime seems to be getting under his skin and flirting with him just because she knows it annoys him. But he’s noticed her taking quite a liking to Cas.

They’re both standing, Meg doing lazy drop spins while Cas does some small tosses; singles and doubles. Meg is talking to Cas while he does it, sometimes resulting in a smile or a roll of his eyes. He keeps using his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face in between tosses before he finally sheds the thing, which has Dean nearly choking on the breath he inhales. Thankfully, Jo’s too busy teasing Kevin about being in pit and not having to march while Charlie and Benny are butting heads on whose freshmen are better; the flutes or the trombones. And it seems Jess snuck over to occupy Sam’s attention. No one notices the way Dean has to cough a few times to regain his breath because holy shit, Cas’ body is fucking toned.

Dean’s seen how Cas’ muscles move and shift under his clothes when he stretches and practices his flag work, but there’s no way he could’ve imagined the sight in front of him now. And god, those loose shorts are laying all sorts of low on his hips and it has Dean already half hard in his ‘booty’ shorts, as Sam so kindly referred to them this morning.

To make matters worse, Meg pauses her drop spins to sidle up to him, leaning in close to whisper in Cas’ ear. Castiel looks confused at whatever she says, but a small spark ignites in his expression and he nods. Stepping back, Cas quickly stretches out his arms and rolls his shoulders, taking a few deep breaths.

And so begins the tosses.

He starts off with a single. Then a double. Followed by a triple. Meanwhile, Meg is calling out the numbers, attracting the attention of everyone else. She keeps counting, others starting to join in as Cas tosses a four, a five. Six. Fucking seven. And the fucker nails them all flawlessly! He catches with a strong grip, the strap of the rifle slapping all too appealing between his steady hand and the solid, taped up wood.

“Come on, Clarence. Show us the eight,” Meg crows, arms crossed over her chest with that typical smirk set on her lips. Dean may not be in guard, but he’s dated enough guard girls to know that being able to throw an eight is an impressive accomplishment. Castiel grins, and for a fleeting second, Dean thinks their eyes meet before Cas is bending his knees, pointing the nose of the rifle downwards before letting it sail into the air. It’s as if the whole band stops to hold its breath as they silently count the spins against the glaring sun. All too quickly, the weapon lands solid in Castiel’s waiting hands. Not even a fucking stumble.

Cheers and whistles break out from the group, Charlie being one of the louder ones which is irritating. So much for loyalty. Dean rips his gaze away, his skin getting hot with annoyance and okay, how can anyone not get hot and bothered by that? But the fact that he’s so turned on makes him hate Castiel Novak that much more.

“Fucking show off,” Dean mumbles under his breath before downing more of his water. Benny catches the comment and gives him a look but Dean ignores it. He’s never been so happy to hear Crowley’s grating voice yell for everyone to get set.

*****

The weekend goes by way too quick. The last two days of band camp are always the worst because now’s the point where it gets old standing out in the sun for nearly eight hours a day. Everyone is exhausted. Everyone is sunburned. Everyone is tired of listening to Crowley’s stupid voice demean and order them around.

Dean was able to push Cas’ little stunt from his mind over the weekend, but that all goes away when he sees him again on Monday. He finds himself getting more distracted when guard joins them on the practice field. Well, only by one guard member in particular. Dean only gets more pissed off when it causes him to miss his dot or, being the lead snare, fuck up the tempo because his eyes aren’t on any of the four drum majors. Gabriel teases him for the musical disaster, but Michael, Luke and Raphael are less than pleased. Not to mention Crowley and even Chuck is looking annoyed at his fuck ups. As a result, Dean catches himself taking out his anger by launching harsher jabs at Cas in their usual back and forth exchanges that even Cas starts to look pissed.

Tuesday, the last day, Dean spends fighting hard to stay focused and decides to ignore Cas all together. It works out well for him, actually. He has a good time with his friends, most of whom are seniors like him, and is able to call the last day a success. In fact, Dean’s really bummed about it being his last day of band camp. As much as he hates it sometimes, he loves it. He met his friends here. He made memories here.

To hold onto it just a little bit longer, he offers to cart the drum major’s podiums inside and help pit wheel in the percussion instruments. He promises his friends that he’ll catch up with them to celebrate their last day after he’s done and allows Sam to drive home with Jess and her mom. By the time Dean’s done putting away all the equipment and organizing the drums, nearly everyone is gone.

Dean takes a moment to smile at the empty band room, officially saying his goodbyes to band camp before heading out the door. He stops when he sees Cas a little ways down the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear, body tensed and his tone doesn’t sound too happy.

“I’ve been waiting an hour. I need you to pick me up –No, Gabriel can’t he – So what am I supposed to do? Walk home?”

Dean hesitates, unable to help tuning into the conversation. Does Cas not have a ride? Where’s Gabriel? He’s the one that always drove them to and from band camp. He snaps out of his wonderings when Cas sighs loudly.

“You know what? Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’ll figure it out myself.” With that, he hangs up and throws the phone onto his duffle bag, hand shaking as he runs it through his dark hair.

Fuck, this is Dean’s cue, isn’t it? Goddammit.

“Uh hey,” he begins, not wanting to startle him.

Cas doesn’t turn. “I’m not in the mood, Dean.”

Dean looks skyward. What cruel god is punishing him right now? Taking a small breath he looks back to Cas and approaches him slowly until he’s beside him, still keeping a fair amount of space between them.

“Do you, um, need a ride?”

Castiel finally looks at him, a scowl on his face. “Why? So you can hold this over my head? So you can tell everyone my father could care less if I’m stranded here? Just please, go away.”

Dean frowns. “Cas, I’m not-“

“I don’t want your help. Now just… just leave me alone.” Cas bends over, shoving his phone in the pocket of his duffle bag before slinging it over his shoulder, reaching down again for his rifle and flag. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Would you stop being a stubborn ass and let me drive you home?” Castiel hesitates although not without a glare, so Dean takes the opportunity to continue. “You’re exhausted and I bet that bag isn’t light by any means. The flag and rifle’s gonna get heavy real quick too. Not to mention your shoulders are burned and you’re probably dehydrated. So why don’t you put aside your pride for five seconds and accept the damn ride.”

Cas’ eyes soften for a moment, though he still doesn’t look happy, and gives a resigned nod.

“Fine.”

Dean nods back.

“Fine.”

When he reaches to for the flag to help carry some of the equipment, Cas brushes past him and towards the parking lot. Dean huffs but follows after, pointing out his car even though Cas already seemed like he knew which one it was. Well, it is kinda hard to miss Baby.

“Careful in shoving your crap in her. I better not find any dents or scratches,” Dean warns, to which Cas mutters something under his breath that he doesn’t catch.

Once they’re both in the Impala, Dean starts her up and pulls out of the school parking lot in the direction Cas said his neighborhood was. They sit in tense silence for several minutes before Dean can’t take it anymore.

“So where’s Gabriel?”

Cas keeps his eyes trained out the window. “He’s had a thing going on with Kali. She finally said yes to let him take her out for ice cream and he didn’t want me ‘cramping his style’.”

Dean can’t help but chuckle, oddly amused at hearing such a phrase come out of Cas’ mouth. The air quotes are more than apparent in his tone.

“I thought I saw Gabe trying to get with Kali. Didn’t know the guy would actually pull it off though. Kali has no tolerance for men. I would know.”

Castiel doesn’t respond and they’re plunged once again into tension and awkwardness. Dean’s about ready to throw himself out of the car if it didn’t mean Baby would get damaged in the process.

“Thank you.”

The two words take him off guard, Cas’ soft voice loud in the silence between them. Dean glances over, but Cas still isn’t looking at him.

“For what?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You know for what.”

Huh, guess that should’ve been obvious. “Oh. It’s no problem. You’re on the way home, actually.”

“Still. I know we don’t exactly get along well, so I appreciate you doing this.”

Dean snorts. “I’m not that much of a dick.”

Finally Cas looks over at him, eyes sparkling. “Would’ve had me fooled.”

“You’re one to talk. You’re not exactly a picnic either, Cas,” Dean fires back, but unlike the other times they’ve teased each other, it lacks any real heat. Castiel furrows his brows, eyes turning curious and Dean can tell there’s a question perched on those chapped lips, but it’s never asked.

“I apologize for the way we met. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about your intentions,” he says, looking down at his hands. “It’s just that I heard all about Dean Winchester from the girls and they were all so sure you’d try your flirtations on me. I shouldn’t have assumed anything before judging you myself.”

Dean blushes because, well, Cas isn’t wrong. He had every intention of going over there to flirt and he just got pissy for being called out and rejected. “No, it’s okay. To be honest, they were right.” He can see the way Cas’ gaze snaps back to him, but Dean keeps his eyes on the road. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore, though. I’m not interested,” he adds quickly, a lump forming in his throat as the voice in his head screams at him for being a damn liar. But he’s not about to take a second rejection from Cas, especially now that it feels more personal between them.

“Oh.” Cas looks away, slumping a little against the seat. Probably out of relief. “That’s… good.”

Dean forces himself not to look over as he turns onto Cas’ street. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. For the way I acted.”

“I forgive you,” Cas tells him quietly before pointing ahead. “It’s up there – the third house before the stop sign.”

Dean nods and pulls into the driveway, a question gnawing at his stomach. He’s not sure where he and Cas stand. Sure, they apologized, but this doesn’t exactly make them friends. Hell, they could show up at the next band rehearsal and act like this whole conversation never happened. Maybe even revert back to their old ways. Dean would hate for that to happen because whether he’s happy with it or not, he likes Cas. He’d much rather get to know the guy rather than fight with him.

When Dean parks the car, Cas thanks him one last time before moving to get out.

“Cas, wait.” Damn his traitorous mouth.

Castiel looks over his shoulder, tongue ghosting out to lick his lips before answering. “Yes?”

“I, um…” Fuck, why did he do this? “A group of us are heading to The Roadhouse tonight to celebrate the seniors’ last day of band camp. I know you’re still new to the band, but you’re a senior too. You’re welcome to join us. And if you need a ride…”

The question hangs in the air, and there are conflicting emotions flickering across Cas’ face that are sending Dean’s heart into a frantic tantrum. Why did he have to open his big mouth?

“I appreciate the offer, Dean, but I don’t want your pity.”

Dean feels like the air gets punched out of him. “This isn’t a pity invite, Cas. Not at all.”

Cas still looks unsure but smiles nonetheless. “Thank you, but I’m going to have to decline this time.”

Disappointment is bitter in Dean’s stomach. “Okay. You know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Dean almost thinks Cas will say yes right then before he pushes the door open, getting out to grab his things from the back seat. When he passes by rolled down passenger window, Cas pauses to make eye contact with Dean.

“Goodbye, Dean. And thank you again for the ride.”

Dean nods, giving him a small wave. “See ya, Cas.”

With that, Castiel makes his way up the driveway and into his house. Dean waits until he’s inside before backing out and heading home.

God, he’s completely and utterly fucked. All because of Castiel Novak.

[miazeklos]

so far off the beaten track

Fandom: Shadowhunters

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Word count: 1076

Written for @fandomwritingchallenge‘s May prompts which was, in my case, ‘donut’.

When Alec first made the offer, it had been during training and Jace had almost lost his footing. It hadn’t been Alec’s intention, he was sure of that, but the expression on Jace’s face had apparently been telling enough for him to misinterpret it.

“We don’t have to,” he said, the previous certainty in his voice wavering. He had stopped in the middle of his last manoeuvre, too; a sure sign that he was distracted. “But you mentioned it the other day-”

“No,” Jace cut him off. Taken by surprise or not, he wasn’t going to let the chance go to waste. It wasn’t an offer he heard often – or, as was the case, ever. Not from Alec, anyway, although he knew that he wasn’t for lack of trying. “No, that sounds- great.”

Alec’s posture relaxed and he glanced at the clock on the wall. Their time was almost up; the Institute only had so many training rooms and they were far from being the only residents. “Okay.” Now that he had an answer, he seemed to be a bit at a loss. “We’ve got the afternoon free tomorrow. We could work something out.”

“Of course,” Jace nodded, just as stiffly. He was suddenly aware of their surroundings in a way he hadn’t been just seconds ago. “See you later.”

Before he could think of something else to say, Alec had already left the hall.

The already familiar caution Jace was constantly plagued by these days raised its head again as he wondered whether someone had overheard them and if they had, whether they had made sense of the conversation at all. It wasn’t likely – after all, none of them could have heard what Alec had asked in the first place.

We can go out tomorrow if you want. And then, just to make his intentions clear, You mentioned something about a date?

Jace had been thinking of something like that for a while, that much was true, and he hadn’t been afraid to hint at it. Reason told him that they had to be careful – extremely careful, regardless of where they were – but that didn’t stop him from wanting something more; something that he knew they could never really have.

But this? It wouldn’t attract any unnecessary attention. They were parabatai and spending a lot of time together wasn’t exactly unnatural. It could even make a good impression if they managed to present it in the right way, and at the end of the day, downplaying any possible suspicions and making the most of their situation was all they could hope to achieve.

Jace grimaced as he sensed the much bleaker direction his train of thought had taken. He had let his guard down during their training, just like usual, and the last thing he wanted was to ruin that now.

They could figure it out. They had been successful in that particular mission until now; there was no reason for that to change now, as alien as the idea of a date of all things seemed.

o.O.o

Things didn’t go exactly as planned. In retrospect, Jace wasn’t even surprised. They never did; most urgent cases always sprung up on them by surprise and they should have known better than to try and make any plans before the last possible minute.

The first thing to go wrong was their afternoon off – after a signal sent to the Institute, it had turned into an impromptu mission that took them to the other end of the city where a dispute between Seelies had started attracting mundane attention. No one had been delighted about that – least of all the two of them – but they had still managed to find a silver lining as soon as Jace had realised that the next available assignment was in Boston.

Of course, just about anyone else could take the responsibility too; Jace didn’t doubt that there would be enough volunteers if the information spread around the Institute, which meant that he would have to do his best to keep it to himself.

Strangely enough, he managed to keep it a secret from his parabatai as well. Or at least he tried to, and as soon as he received the last details they’d need, he brought the news to Alec.

The mission wouldn’t be a dangerous one; not enough for them to try and look for back-up, anyway. Still, the city wasn’t big enough for an Institute, Maryse had said, and while there were local Shadowhunters who monitored the area, sometimes outside intervention was needed.

The lack of an Institute was what had forced them into their current situation, too; there would be no portal and they would travel the mundane way – and in their case, that meant taking the train there.

Despite the unholy hour in which they’d had to get up – even earlier than their usual schedules demanded – Jace found himself in a good mood. It definitely wasn’t what they had planned and trying to solve a dispute between Seelies wasn’t what he’d had in mind for a first, long awaited date, but he could work with it. It couldn’t be that difficult, he reasoned; come to think of it, that was what their lives were like. Anything else wouldn’t fit them quite as well.

“I think this is it,” he said as he found their seats, gesturing his wary parabatai until he came along. Alec tended to treat anything even remotely mundane with deep suspicion and even though Jace was used to it, he had made it his mission to change things now. It didn’t matter if it was just for a while; their day away from the city felt like a moment out of time, just big enough for them to be able to appreciate the anonymity that they would have.

For the first time since they had started thinking of a date, Jace felt grateful that they hadn’t succeeded until now.

“Come on,” he coaxed, pulling Alec down into the seat. “I think we’re the only ones here. Plus,” he continued, digging into their luggage, “I brought donuts.”

It wasn’t a food that they were allowed, technically, and Jace could almost see the protest budding on Alec’s lips before he cut him off with a quick, barely-there kiss. It was just one more thing he wasn’t allowed to have and it didn’t feel any sweeter for that, but for now, it was all that he could ask for.