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doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months

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Phantom Traveler | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, namecalling, typical Dean and reader

Word Count: 8289

A/N: Hi guys. I've been overwhelmed with love these past few weeks. Just wanted to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. You guys are fucking awesome; I'm so grateful. I hope y'all enjoy this week's episode! Asks/requests/taglists are open!!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You were sound asleep, curled up into yourself when a knock on the door brought you out of your slumber.

“(Y/N)?”

‘Sam.’

“I got coffee, thought you could use some,” he called through the door.

You pushed yourself up out of the bed as you yawned, and walked over to the door of your motel room to open it for Sam.

“Dude, you realize it’s six in the morning, right?” You scratched your head as you let Sam into the room.

“You sound like my brother.”

You playfully glared at him. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“Here.” He handed you a coffee and a bag of what you assumed was a pastry.

“Thanks,” you replied, sitting on your bed with your stuff in hand.

Sam sat on the chair across from you. “Still haven’t warmed up to Dean, huh?”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly warmed up to me,” you reminded him, thinking of the fight you got into yesterday over his reckless driving.

“Guess that’s true,” he conceded. “It’s weird, though, you guys are so much more alike than you let on.”

“Tell that to him. He started it.” You took a big bite of your pastry.

“Seriously?” Sam laughed, “ ‘He started it’?”

You shrugged, smirking.

He seemed to remember his original intention behind disturbing your slumber. “Hey, he found a case, though.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s up?” You licked the pastry cream off your thumb.

“We don’t know. The guy on the phone didn’t say.” Sam raised his coffee cup to his lips.

“Guy on the phone?” You took a sip of your coffee as you let Sam answer.

“Yeah. Some guy my dad and Dean worked a case for a while back’s got another one for us. He called Dean.”

“Ah—” you nodded, “—gotcha. So, where’s he live?”

“Pennsylvania,” Sam responded.

“Okay, not too far,” you noted. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

***

“Thanks for making the trip so quick,” a short older man named Jerry told you and the boys. “I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.”

You were walking beside Sam as you followed behind the man who was having you do this job. You were being led through a warehouse past planes as well as their parts and people hard at work.

“Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” Sam asked the older man.

Someone walking in front of your group was eavesdropping on you. “Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie.”

“Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking,” Jerry stated authoritatively to the man. He turned his attention back to the conversation. “Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart.” He addressed Dean. “Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?” He’d turned to Sam.

“Yeah, I was. I'm— taking some time off,” Sam explained.

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.”

“He did?” Knowing what you knew about Sam’s relationship with his dad, you found this surprising, too.

“Yeah, you bet he did,” Jerry nodded. “Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?”

“He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now,” Dean lied.

“Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and— what’s your name again?” he asked you.

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N). Even trade, huh?”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that,” you laughed.

“Say, (Y/N), how’d you get wrapped up with these two?” Jerry asked.

“Oh, uh—” you began, searching for an abridged version of the truth, “—I met them on a hunt in California. They decided to drag me along with them.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. The guys are gonna need backup with this one,” Jerry said.

“Why?”

He did not give a direct answer to your question. “I got something I want you guys to hear.”

He led you to his office where you and Sam took the two chairs and Dean stood behind his brother.

”I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley,” Jerry stated, putting a CD into a drive. “Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

A frantic voice immediately rang out from the speaker as soon as the recording started. “Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485—” the recording cut out with a static sound, “—immediate instruction help! United Britannia 2485, I copy your message—” and cut out again, “—May be experiencing some mechanical failure—” and then cut out one last time. The man’s voice was completely drowned out by static, whooshing, and growling sounds.

“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south,” Jerry continued. “Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault.”

“You don't think it was?” Sam questioned him.

“No, I don't.”

“Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors,” Sam listed.

“Alright,” the man replied.

“And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” Dean inquired.

“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage… guys— and gal— the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance.” Jerry shook his head.

You frowned.

“No problem,” Dean declared.

You gave him a questioning look to which he shrugged off.

***

“How fucking long does it take to make a fake ID?” you groaned, falling back across the backseat of the Impala. You and Sam had found a way to isolate the EVP on Sam’s computer, having gotten a copy of the tape from Jerry.

“I don’t know,” Sam responded. “But I’m gonna lose it if it’s much longer.”

“Same here.” At that moment, Dean walked out of the Copy Jack the Impala was sitting in front of as a pretty woman walked into the store. They greeted each other before Dean walked over to you and his brother.

“Dude,” you started, “You’ve been in there forever.”

“Wah-wah,” he whined, mocking you. “You can’t rush perfection.” He held up three IDs.

“Homeland Security?” Sam questioned as he took one of the IDs. “That's pretty illegal, even for us.”

“Yeah, well, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times,” Dean pointed out as he got into the car.

“Alright, so, what do you got?” Dean asked his brother as he flicked your ID back at you. It hit you square in the side of the head.

“Dude, really?” you hissed, aggravation clear in your tone.

“Shh,” the older Winchester hushed you as he waited for Sam to answer.

“Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder,” Sam explained.

“Yeah?”

“Listen.”

The isolated voice of what you were dealing with came through the recording scratchy and backed by demonic growling sounds. “No survivors!”

“ ’No survivors’?” Dean asked. “What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”

You shrugged.

Dean let out a sigh. “So, what are we thinking? A haunted flight?”

“There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers,” Sam began.

Dean hummed in affirmation. “Or remember flight 401?”

“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights.”

“I don’t know, guys,” you stated skeptically. “Ghost just doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, thanks for your optimism, sunshine,” Dean quipped.

“It’s not about optimism, you asshole, it’s about being right and dealing with whatever we’re up against properly,” you pushed back.

“Know-it-all,” the older Winchester replied.

“Fuck off, Winchester.”

He let out a breath and turned his attention back to the case.“Alright, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?”

"Third on the list: Max Jaffey,” you said.

“I wasn’t talking to you, but why him?”

You glared at Dean. “Because if anybody saw something weird, he did. I talked to his mom while you were spending forever in the store. She said some pretty weird shit and told me where to find him. He was so screwed up, he checked himself into the hospital.”

***

You and the Winchesters walked beside Max Jaffey, who hobbled on a cane, through the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital’s garden.

“I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security,” Max told your trio.

“Right. Some new information has come up,” Dean lied. “So if you could just answer a couple questions...”

“Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything… unusual?” Sam questioned.

Max looked confused. “Like what?”

“Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices,” Dean offered.

“No, nothing.”

Seeing as no one was getting anywhere with this investigation, you tried your hand at it. “Mr. Jaffey, you checked yourself in here, right?”

He nodded at you.

“Why?”

“Uh, I was a little stressed,” he said sarcastically. “I survived a plane crash.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded. “And that’s what scared you? That’s what screwed you up so badly?”

You could tell you were close to the answers you were after as he swallowed uncomfortably. “I— I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“I know, but I also know you saw something up there,” you continued. “We need to know what.”

“No.” Max shook his head. “No, I was… delusional. Seeing things.”

“He was seeing things,” Dean half-mocked him.

You shot a warning glance at Dean, hoping to get him to shut up.

“It's okay,” you coaxed. “Just tell us what you thought you saw, please.”

“There was… this—man. And, uh, he had these… eyes—these, uh, black eyes. And I saw him—or I thought I saw him...” he trailed off, stopping as he recounted the events.

“What?” Dean asked.

“He opened the emergency exit,” Max explained. “But that's— that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door.”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, clearly confused.

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asked.

Max quirked his head at the younger Winchester. “What are you, nuts? He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

***

“I think we can rule out phantom traveler,” you noted as you got out of the car in front of the Phelps’s house. You were going to visit the wife of George Phelps, the man who opened the emergency exit.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“You heard Jaffey. He said the dude had black eyes. Opened a fucking emergency exit on his own. ‘Black eyes’ points me to demon.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Demons?”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Sam shrugged. “He could be a demon. He might be some kind of a creature, too, in human form.”

“Does that look like a creature's lair to you?” Dean questioned as he gestured toward the house that was representative of the essence of suburban houses. From its beautiful garden to the cobblestone steps to the beige paint coating the outside of the two-story building.

Sam shrugged and began leading your trio up the steps of the house.

Once inside, you three sat across from Mrs. Phelps on the couch while she sat in an armchair.

Sam picked a picture of Mrs. Phelps and an older man up off of the side table. “This is your late husband?” he asked.

“Yes, that was my George.”

“And you said he was a dentist?” Dean questioned.

She hummed in affirmation. “He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that...”

Sam asked another question. “How long were you married?”

“Thirteen years.”

You could tell Sam was contemplating how to ask his next question. “In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him; anything out of the ordinary?”

She paused for a moment. “Well, uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean.”

You nodded, clicking your tongue. “I think that’s all we have for you, Mrs. Phelps. Thank you for your time.”

She showed all of you out, and you piped up as you walked down the stairs outside of the house.

“Demon’s sounding more and more correct all the time,” you smiled, trying to joke around.

“Jesus, you’re annoying,” Dean groaned.

“And you’re a misogynistic dick that can’t handle women with brains,” you responded.

“What, are we gonna duke this out now?” Dean stopped by the door of the car, facing you.

You stood by the backseat’s door. “You started it,” you taunted childishly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared back at him.

“Really?” he leered. “You’re gonna pull that card? Mature.”

“You act like you’re any better.”

“Guys—” Sam tried to cut in, but Dean continued to fight with you.

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Wow, haven’t heard that one before,” you drawled.

“Guys! You can fight later. Wrong place, wrong time to sort this out,” Sam chastised you and Dean like you were children.

You got in the car and slammed the door behind you.

“Don’t hurt my baby ‘cause you’re pissed,” Dean scolded you as he started to pull the car away.

“Just drive, asshole,” you grumbled in frustration as you slumped down in your seat. The rest of the car ride to the local outlet mall was silent.

***

You had never felt more confident. Despite the fact that you could have worn the one dress you already had to pose as homeland security, you decided to treat yourself to a new outfit to distract from your aggravation with Dean.

The boys had gone to a suit shop called “Mort’s for Style,” and you went into a dress shop called “Betsy’s.” It was a cute little shop with a lot of great dress and pantsuit options.

You had picked out a navy blue pantsuit. You wore a white button-up underneath the blazer with the top two buttons undone to accentuate your breasts. The blazer was unbuttoned, and the high-waisted, straight-legged pants you wore matched the black color of your blazer. With the white button-up tucked into your pants and the small amount of makeup you threw on to draw attention to your eyes and lips, you felt good.

Once you had paid for your clothing, you walked out of the shop and back to the Impala. Surprisingly, the boys were not there waiting for you.

You leaned your back against the car, picking out the grit from under your nails.

You looked up when you heard Dean’s voice. “Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers.”

Both of the boys were dressed in sharp, black suits. You almost lost your breath at the sight of Dean, but fought yourself to keep your composure. You would not give him the satisfaction of knowing you found him attractive.

“No, you don't,” Sam told him. “You look more like a seventh-grader at his first dance.”

You laughed at the younger brother’s jeer. “What took you girls so long?” you asked once you got in the Impala. “I thought you two would’ve beat me out the store by a long shot.”

“Dean wouldn’t leave the dressing room,” Sam said dryly.

“Seriously?” you droned.

You and Sam both looked to Dean, who did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, he complained, “I hate this thing.”

“Hey,” Sam stared. “You want into that warehouse or not?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he continued to drive along.

You steeled your nerves as your black, pointed-toe pumps clicked across the warehouse floor. Your trio was headed to the security guard that would allow you in to see the wreckage.

You held the clipboard you had stowed in your bag close to your chest, acting as some sort of a recorder for the boys. The three of you flashed your badges at the security guard, who nodded and allowed you into the hangar where the wreckage was being kept.

There was a large map of what the plane should look like painted onto the floor, and the parts that corresponded to the different portions of the map were laid in their proper spots. There were wires hung on fences and broken interior parts of the plane laid on tables. The most heartbreaking things for you to look at were the torn passengers’ seats because most of the people who had been in them were now dead.

You looked over at Dean, who had earbuds in and was moving a small box over the tops of the wreckage.

“What’s that?” you asked him.

“It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.”

You got closer to him, noticing what the object appeared to be. “I know what an EMF meter is; I’m not stupid. But why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?”

“ 'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade,” he grinned.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you quipped.

His grin disappeared. “Bitch.”

“Dick.”

You once again fought the pain in your chest when he called you a bitch. In all honesty, you thought his homemade EMF meter was cute. However, you were too far gone in your war with him to surrender now.

Dean ran the Walkman over a piece of the wreckage with black spores and yellow dust on it. You could hear the faint sound of a spike on the meter through Dean’s headphones.

“Check out the emergency door handle,” Dean called to Sam.

Sam came over to where you and Dean stood as the older brother scratched at the dust to get some on his hand.

“What is this stuff?” Dean asked.

One way to find out.” You saw the younger of the two brothers start scraping some of the dust into a small bag.

“We need to go,” you told the boys. You weren’t sure what told you that, but you just suddenly felt unsettled. The hairs on the back of your neck stood at attention, and every muscle in your body tensed. You started off toward the exit in the back of the warehouse.

“Wait, (Y/N), what if we’re missin’ something?” Dean questioned, clearly aggravated you were ready to ditch already.

“Too bad, we gotta go.” You kept walking toward the exit, making it out of the door and around the backside of the building.

At that moment, an alarm started blaring through the area surrounding the warehouse.

You turned around to look at the boys as you gloated, “I’m not gonna say, ‘I told you so’!“ Not bothering to rip your shoes off of your feet, you took off running to the gated exit.

Sam and Dean were quick to follow you and soon passed you up. The older brother took off his suit jacket and threw it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence. You did the same with your blazer. After quickly taking off your pumps to avoid hurting yourself when you jumped from the top of the gate, you threw yourself over the fence. The other two did the same.

Sam grabbed your blazer that you were too small to reach from the top of the fence as Dean found it within himself to remark, “Well, these monkey suits do come in handy.”

You ran after the two boys, heels and blazer in hand as the jagged rocks in the cement cut into your feet. As soon as you shut the door to the car, Dean slammed on the gas pedal.

He tore out of the warehouse’s parking lot, speeding down the road to head toward Jerry’s workplace.

"(Y/N),” Sam started, turning in his seat to face you with a curious expression on his face, “how did you know that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. My intuition’s just always been pretty sharp.” You were being honest; there had been a few times on hunts previously when you’d known it was time to get the hell out of dodge.

“Hm.” You could tell Dean still didn’t trust you.

“Dude, I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s the truth,” you countered. “I’ve been helping you guys with your dad for almost two months now, and you still don’t trust me. I don’t know what more to do for you.”

“Maybe because I don’t know you,” he responded, never taking his eyes off the road.

“Maybe if you tried to know me, you’d find it a little easier to trust me,” you answered.

“Not interested,” came Dean’s grumbled response.

You tried your best to ignore the pang that went through your chest once more. “Of course not.”

***

You refused to speak to or even look at Dean; your frustration with the fact that he had no desire to know you and his general existence boiling to the surface. You could feel his stare burning into the side of your head as you focused on Jerry, who sat in front of you. He was looking through a microscope on his desk at the yellow dust Sam had collected.

“Huh,” Jerry remarked. “This stuff is covered in sulfur.”

“You're sure?” Sam asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” Jerry offered, getting up from behind the desk so Sam could take his place.

Banging sounds along with a string of curse words caught your ear as Jerry sighed.

“If you guys will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire,” he dryly stated, walking out of the office.

You got up from the chair you were sitting in next to Dean. “See?” you started excitedly, gesturing toward the sulfur, “Demons.”

“That would explain how one guy had the strength to open up the emergency exit,” Sam added.

“This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?” Dean put his hands on his hips as he stood. “You ever heard of something like this before?”

Sam looked over at his brother, who responded, “Never.”

“Well, I have,” you said simply.

They both looked to you to continue.

“In NYC a couple years back. Some cabbies had gotten possessed and were takin’ girls left and right.”

“Those were demons?” Sam asked, standing up from behind Jerry’s desk. “That was a huge deal on the news while I was at Stanford. Police thought it was a serial killer. You took ‘em on all by yourself?”

“I’m a big girl, Sam,” you chuckled. “I can handle a few demons. But, yeah, that was me. That was probably the toughest case I’ve ever been on. Finding where those demons had taken those girls after they drugged them in the cabs... where they were raped and murdered...” You shook your head, your cheery expression gone.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Sam told you gently.

Your eyes were glued to the floor, hands on your hips with not a bit of life in your voice as you muttered, “All in a day’s work.”

Sam had asked you to tell him and Dean everything you knew about demons once you got back to the Winchesters’ motel room. Sam sat at the table close to the window while Dean sat on the bed closest to his brother. You stood in front of the two as you spoke.

“Demons exist in every religion in every world culture. With the ones that I was dealing with up in New York, they were most similar to Incubi from early Christian religion. Incubi raped sleeping girls. These demons drugged the girls to put them to sleep, then they raped them, and then they murdered them. What I’m thinking for these demons is that they’re most similar to certain Japanese demons. I had to look into these when I was trying to figure out how to kill the NYC demons. The Japanese believe demons cause certain disasters, whether it be natural or man-made. Some cause earthquakes, others cause disease—”

“And this one causes plane crashes?” Dean deadpanned, cutting you off.

You ignored him. “Demons are having to find new ways to ratchet up the body count. Like with me in New York, Incubi can’t go about their old methods anymore. This demon probably evolved with the times like the Incubi did, and so it figured plane crashes were the best way to get its job done.”

Dean snorted, getting up from. the bed and turning away from you and his brother.

“What?” Sam asked.

He turned around, scratching the back of his neck. “I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death, and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.”

“Yeah. Me too,” the younger Winchester admitted.

Dean’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello?... Oh, hey, Jerry… Wha— Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?... Where'd this happen?... I'll try to ignore the irony in that… Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon.”

He hung up the phone.

“Another crash?” Sam questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Let's go.”

“Where?”

“Nazareth.”

‘Ah, there’s the irony.’

***

After leaving the horrendous scene of Chuck’s plane crash, you and the boys went back to Jerry’s office. Once again, Jerry confirmed that the dust you had taken from the steering wheel of Chuck’s plane was, in fact, sulfur.

“Well, that's great,” Dean sassed. “Alright, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”

“If that's the case, that would be the good news,” you chimed in. You looked up to the sky, addressing the pilot. “No offense, Chuck.”

“What's the bad news?” Jerry asked you.

“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into the flight, just like 2485,” you informed the older man.

“Forty minutes?” Chuck inquired. “What does that mean?”

“It's biblical numerology. You know Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death,” Dean said.

“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in,” Sam explained.

"Any survivors?” the older Winchester questioned his brother.

“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason.” Sam turned to you after thinking for a moment. “On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”

“ ‘No survivors,’ “ you realized. “It's going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job.”

Dean drove the Impala down an empty highway.

Sam was on the phone with one of the survivors from the plane crash, the conversation almost over. “Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” He hung up the phone. “All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon.”

“That leaves the flight attendant, Amanda Walker,” you commented.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight P.M. It's her first night back on the job,” Sam told you and his brother.

“That sounds like just our luck,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel,” Sam said worriedly.

“Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass,” Dean tried.

“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off.”

“God, we're never gonna make it,” you shook your head, leaning back in the seat as you scrubbed a hand through your hair.

“We'll make it,” the older brother countered, slamming his foot on the gas.

Somehow, someway, Dean had managed to get to the airport at ten minutes to seven.

You jumped up out of the car, taking your gun out of your pants and stashing it under the backseat.

“What are you doing?”

You still did not feel like talking to Dean but answered him shortly nonetheless. “We’re going into an airport.”

Dean finally caught onto what you meant and took all of his weapons off of him, too. “I feel naked.”

You fought the smile threatening to creep up your face.

You rushed into the airport just behind the boys, squeezing your way through the crowd of people to get to the departure board.

“Right there,” Sam pointed out. “They're boarding in thirty minutes.”

“Okay. We still have some cards to play,” Dean paused, thinking for a moment. “We need to find a phone.”

He found a courtesy phonw on the wall, picking it up. “Hi. Gate thirteen… I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um… flight 4-2-4.”

He waited impatiently for Amanda to pick up the phone. When she finally did, he began speaking again.

“Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here… Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so—” His face fell, his eyes widening a touch. “You what?... Uh, well… there must be some mistake—”

Sam went around his brother to try to get a closer listen.

After a longer pause, Dean let out a sigh of relief and smiled. “...Guilty as charged… He's really sorry… Yeah, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so—... Don't be like that. Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic… Oh, yeah… No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!” Dean slammed the phone back onto the receiver. “Damn it! So close.”

"Alright, time for plan B. We're getting on that plane,” you stated firmly.

“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second.” For the first time since you met him, Dean looked scared.

“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash,” Sam argued.

“I know.” He looked conflicted.

“Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and (Y/N) get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes.”

Dean looked at Sam blankly, evidently a little anxious.

“Are you okay?” the younger Winchester asked.

Dean hesitated. “No, not really.”

“What? What's wrong?”

“Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh...”

“Flying?” you cut in.

“It's never really been an issue until now,” he told you.

“You're joking, right?” Sam huffed.

“Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?” he spat.

For the first time since you met him, you didn’t feel like mocking him about his fear of planes.

“Okay, then (Y/N) and I’ll go,” Sam proposed.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

“We’ll handle this one.”

“What are you, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash.”

“Dean, we can do it together, or I can do this one with (Y/N). I'm not seeing a third option, here.”

Dean scratched his head. “Come on! Really? Man...”

Dean walked much faster than you did toward the car to get supplies, clearly trying to leave you in his dust.

“Would you slow down a bit, please?” you asked.

“Why should I?”

“Because even if you get to the car before me, you’re not gonna have a fucking clue what to use to deal with a demon,” you reminded him, your words a bit more venomous than need-be.

He stopped, turning to face you. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” you told him. You truly weren’t.

“Definitely sounds like you are.”

You walked past him to the trunk of the Impala. “I wasn’t, I’m simply pointing out the fact that I’m the one who knows how to deal with demons, and you don’t.”

“There you go again. Acting like you know so much better than I do.” His attitude was truly exhausting.

Your voice rose as you defended yourself. “Because I do! In this case, at least!”

“But it’s not just this one time that you acted like you’re better than me,” he argued. “Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with your smart ass?”

“Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with yours?” you threw back. You sighed, putting aside your anger for now. “Look, we don’t have time to talk about this.” You shoved holy water, a rosary, and the EMF Walkman into Dean’s hands. “Now, let’s go.”

You shoved past Dean and headed back to the airport.

***

You sat between Sam and Dean, completely at ease. Dean, however, was losing his mind.

"Just try to relax,” Sam whispered from the window seat

Dean’s voice came back harder and slightly louder. “Just try to shut up.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” you scolded playfully.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Dean clapped back using the same tone with you that he had with Sam. He took in a sharp breath when the plane began moving a second later.

You gathered your courage and grabbed his hand. He jerked away from you and looked at you in surprise. When the plane took off, though, his hand rejoined yours, squeezing tightly. You giggled to yourself.

“I’m so glad this is funny to you,” Dean hissed.

“It’s not,” you answered simply.

“Then why are you laughing?” His grip tightened once again.

“It’s just,” you considered your next words carefully. “It’s kind of cute, that’s all.”

Dean was caught off-guard by your response. He eyed you quizzically, unsure of what to say. You just shrugged, settling the back of your head against your seat with your hand still in Dean’s. It was much larger than yours, and you fought the urge to run your fingers along the calloused ridges.

Moments passed in a bit of an uncomfortable silence before Dean spoke again, not a trace of bite in his tone. “Why are you doing this?”

You rolled your head toward him. “Everybody’s scared of something,” you quietly replied. “It helps me to know I’m helping you. Even if you do hate my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts.” He spoke so softly you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Pfft, could’ve fooled me,” you answered.

“You just…” he started, “...get on my nerves. ‘S all.”

You giggled.

A few minutes later when the plane had fully gotten up in the air, you heard the familiar sound of a song you had heard many times before in the Impala coming from the man next to you.

“You're humming Metallica?” Sam asked Dean monotonously.

“Calms me down,” the older brother replied.

“ ‘Some Kind of Monster’? Really?“ You raised a brow at him.

Dean did not respond to you.

“Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? But you got to stay focused,” the younger Winchester reminded his brother.

“Yup,” you chimed in. “We only have thirty-two minutes to track the bitch down and full-on exorcise it.”

“Yeah, on a crowded plane,” Dean commented. “That's gonna be easy.”

“Just take it one step at a time, alright?” Sam said calmly. “Now, who is it possessing?”

“It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress,” Dean stated.

“Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up,” Sam told Dean, who hummed in response.

Dean sat up stiffly, his body still tense as he turned to the blonde flight attendant walking past.

“Excuse me. Are you Amanda?” he asked her.

“No, I'm not,” she answered with a smile.

"Oh, my mistake.”

The flight attendant hummed in agreement.

He peered into the back of the plane, finding the other blonde flight attendant. “All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state.”

“What if she's already possessed, genius?” Sam asked.

“There's ways to test that,” Dean responded, pulling the holy water out of his jacket. “I brought holy water.”

“Correction, I brought holy water—” you leaned forward, gently taking the bottle, “—And that’s for when we try to exorcise the demon. She’ll flinch at the name of god if she’s possessed.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Dean replied, getting up from his chair. You could tell he had not. You already missed the feeling of his hand in yours.

He turned to go, but you stopped him.

“Dean!” you whispered.

“What?” The annoyance in Dean’s voice was back.

“Say it in Latin.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then what is it?” you smirked, quirking a brow.

“ ‘Christo!’ I’m not an idiot!” he hissed back. Dean turned away from you and headed to the back of the plane.

You slumped down in your seat, closing your eyes as the copilot began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking...” you tuned out the rest of his message.

A few minutes went by before the older brother returned.

“Alright, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet,” he sighed as he flopped back into his seat.

“You said ‘Christo’?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her.”

“So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere,” Sam explained.

The plane shook, causing Dean to tense up. He grabbed your hand once more. “Come on!” he whined. “That can't be normal!”

“Hey, hey, it's just turbulence,” you coaxed.

“Sweetheart, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm fucking four.” He went to drop your hand, but you tightened your grip.

“Okay,” you started, changing tactics. Your tone became harsh. “You need to calm down.”

“Well, I'm sorry, I can't,” Dean sassed.

“You didn’t want to be treated like you’re four, so stop acting like it,” you commanded. “Be a man, Winchester. If you’re a basketcase, you’re wide open to possession. Get your shit together. Right now.”

Dean took a deep breath.

You smiled. “Great. Onto the Rituale Romanum.”

“The what?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“The exorcism ritual,” you elaborated. “It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”

“More powerful?” Dean questioned, his voice strained and eyes wide.

“Yup.”

“How?” He was starting to get panicky again.

“It’d just be able to wreak havoc on its own without a vessel,” you informed.

“Oh. And why is that a good thing?”

“ 'Cause the second part of that sends the bitch back to hell once and for all.”

“First things first, we got to find it.”

“There ya go,” you chuckled.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, getting up from his chair with the EMF Walkman.

You and Sam let him walk down the aisle by himself for a few minutes before the two of you got up to go talk to him.

You tapped his shoulder.

“Ah!” Dean jumped back, wheeling around to face you. “Don’t do that!”

“Anything?” Sam asked.

The older brother shook his head. “No, nothing. How much time we got?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Sam told you and his brother. “Maybe we missed somebody.”

“Maybe the thing's just not on the plane,” Dean shrugged.

“No way. Dean, it’s gonna be here,” you protested. Just as you spoke, the EMF meter spiked.

You looked up to see the copilot coming out of the bathroom.

“What?” Sam asked. “What is it?”

You stared at the copilot. “Christo.”

The man’s head slowly turned toward you and the boys, his eyes black.

You wheeled around to face Sam. “We gotta talk to Amanda.”

“She's not gonna believe this,” Sam contested.

“You’re probably right, but we only got twelve minutes,” you reminded the younger brother. You walked ahead of the boys into the concessions area where Amanda busied herself.

“Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope,” she smiled politely, clearly caught off-guard by your presence.

“Actually—” Dean began, “—that's kind of what we need to talk to you about.”

Sam closed the curtains behind you as Amanda answered Dean. “Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

“Alright, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole ‘the truth is out there’ speech right now,” Dean rushed out.

She looked confused but kept her smile painted on her face.

“Alright, look, we know you were on flight 2485,” Sam continued for Dean.

Her grin disappeared. “Who are you guys?”

Sam ignored her question. “Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure.”

“We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now,” the older brother told her.

“I'm sorry—” she started, attempting to move past you, “I— I'm very busy. I have to go back—”

“Chuck Lambert’s dead, Amanda,” you cut in, effectively stopping her from leaving. “The pilot from 2485.”

“Wait. What?” She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “Chuck is dead?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “He died in a plane crash. That’s the second plane crash in two months. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”

She shook her head in complete disbelief.

“Look, there was something wrong with 2485,” Sam added. “Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too.”

Dean made a last attempt to drive the point home. “Amanda, you have to believe us.”

The blonde looked to the ground. “On… on 2485, there was this man. He… had these eyes.”

“Black eyes?” you asked.

She nodded.

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Sam clarified.

“I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?”

Dean answered before you got the chance to. “Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.”

Amanda looked between the three of you, confused. “Why? What does he have to do with anything?”

“Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?”

“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot—” You could practically see her mind running a mile a minute.

Even Sam was getting impatient. “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

“Do you know that I could lose my job if you—”

“Babe, you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't go get him right now,” you remarked.

She looked at you and nodded, turning to leave for the cockpit.

As soon as Amanda made it out of the curtains, you fished the holy water out of your hoodie’s pocket, moving to press your back against the wall next to the closed blue curtains.

A few moments later, you heard the copilot say to Amanda, “Yeah, what's the problem?” Just outside the curtains. As soon as the demon ducked into the small room, Dean punched him in the face. He then shoved the demon to the ground and slapped duct tape over his mouth.

“Wait,” Amanda protested as you got down on the ground beside Dean, “What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him.”

“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean replied simply as you splashed the copilot with holy water.

The demon groaned under the duct tape, his skin sizzling and burning holes through his shirt.

“Oh, my god. What's wrong with him?” Amanda cried.

“Look,” Sam started calmly, “We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.”

Amanda’s breath quickened. “Well, I don't underst— I don't know—”

“Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that? Amanda?”

She gave herself a pep talk before heading outside of the curtains.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Dean groaned. “I don't know how much longer I can hold him.”

The demon went to kick the older Winchester in the back, but you dove to grab his legs.

Sam began reciting the Latin ritual written in his father’s journal. “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—”

The demon kneed you in the forehead, causing you to fall back and got a few good swings at the boys in as well. You clambered on top of the copilot, sitting on his stomach with his arms pinned by his sides under your legs.

Sam continued with the ritual before the demon threw you off of him. He ripped the tape off of his mouth and turned to Sam. “I know what happened to your girlfriend! She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!”

You attempted to recover from getting slammed into the wall while Dean focused on attacking the demon.

Sam sat there in shock, so you grabbed the journal and tried to finish the ritual.

The demon hit Dean again, effectively getting the young man off of him and knocking Dean into you. The book fell from your hand, and the demon kicked it out into the passenger’s cabin.

A cloud of black smoke flew out from the copilot’s body and into a vent while Sam went out into the aisle to find the journal.

Suddenly, the plane shook violently and took a nosedive. The lights in the plane flickered and you and Dean were thrown to the back wall of the concession’s area.

You and Dean screamed as the plane went down. Dean held onto the emergency exit door for dear life as you pressed yourself into the corner opposite from the older Winchester.

Your yelps were cut off when the plane leveled out following a surge of electricity coursing through the aircraft. You assumed Sam was able to finish the ritual and the pilot was able to regain control of the plane.

You shakily stood up from the ground and dusted yourself off, tugging on the sleeves of your large hoodie.

You stepped out into the passenger’s cabin, heading to Sam as people began asking their neighbors if they were okay.

You wrapped Sam in a short, tight hug as you thanked him for keeping his head level enough to finish the ritual and trying to comfort him after what the demon had said. When you had made your way back to your seats, a slight rumble went through the aircraft. Dean grabbed your hand once again, and kept it there for the rest of the flight. A small smile tugged at your lips.

After landing back at your original airport, you stood beside Sam and Dean as you watched the swarms of EMTs, FBI agents, and FAA agents go from person to person. They questioned or looked over each one, and your focus bounced between them.

You found Amanda in the crowd talking to an FBI agent, and she turned to the side to mouth “thank you” to you and the Winchesters.

“Let's get out of here,” Dean said firmly.

You began to head to the exit when Dean asked Sam, “You okay?”

You turned back to Sam, who reminded you and his brother, “Dean, it knew about Jessica.”

“Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. Alright? That's all it was.” The older brother attempted to brush Sam’s concerns off.

“Yeah.” The brunet didn’t sound convinced.

“Come on.”

***

The next day, you and the Winchesters visited Jerry at his workplace to give him the final mission report. Jerry showed you and the boys out and escorted you to the Impala parked outside of the warehouse.

“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed,” he acknowledged. He shook your hand before turning to the boys. “Your dad's gonna be real proud.”

Sam gave him an awkward, tight-lipped smile. “We'll see you around, Jerry.”

You turned to the car, as did Dean before he turned back to the older man.

“You know, Jerry—" he began.

“Yeah.”

“I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway?” the young man continued. “I've only had it for like six months.”

“Your dad gave it to me,” Jerry explained simply.

“What?” Sam exclaimed in shock.

“When did you talk to him?” Dean questioned.

“I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call.” He took a pause. “Thanks again, guys— and gal,” he grinned.

“Bye, Jerry!” you called after him as he headed off.

“This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service,” Sam told his brother.

Dean dials what you assumed was his father’s number. However, instead of the out-of-service message Sam had described, a voicemail began to play.

The two boys leaned into the phone so they could hear it better.

You leaned over Sam’s shoulder, the voice hard to hear, but you were still able to make out the words. “This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”

Sam fumed, shaking his head in frustration as he got in the car. He slammed the door behind him. You looked over to Dean, who did not meet your gaze. He got in the car following his brother. You took one last look at the setting sun as a plane flew over your head.

“I fuckin’ hate flying,” you muttered.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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pyro-chaos · 7 months

Text

Mike Schmidt x Reader

Pt: 3 Friday Nights

Summary: Abby’s first sleepover gives you and Mike some alone time.

The friendship continues

Tropes: fluff, sultry thoughts but no explicit smut.

Word count: 3337

And they were roommates…

Pt. 3 of This Series

A\N: Hey!! So I’m a bit more insecure about this one than I am with my previous two parts. I still think it’s sweet, and I like how it turned out, but let me know if I should do a rewrite!!

“I mean truly, the stark change within Abby…”

The school counselor’s words fall on ears occupied with something else.

“….I mean I’ve never seen…”

Mike tried to pay attention - at the beginning - but eventually the words tangled together to create a meaning the counselor could’ve communicated with one or two sentences.

“… so quickly. Whatever you’re doing, it’s clearly…”

Plus, Mike has more important things on his mind.

“… good that she has someone like you.”

Mike barely catches the end of her…seemingly endless lecture.

He hears the compliment. It feels unwarranted but Mike politely grins anyway.

Mike has questions. He has so many questions.

The problem that the counselor is referring to… Abby healed it on her own, mostly. Her friends helped her - but crawling out of her shell - thats all her. Mike just made sure she didn’t die. Even then…

He still feels stabbing guilt; a lot of the time. For what he almost did.

“Sh - She gets nightmares, sometimes,” Mike does too, but this isn’t about him.

“is” he gulps down the lump in his throat, “- is there anything I can do?”

The counselor folds her hands together like she’s trying to explain something to a feral child. Mike recognizes the gesture. It’s not one of genuine kindness; it’s the kind of gesture someone enacts when dealing with a delicate situation.

“Does she talk to anyone? About the nightmares.”

Mike huffs, “she’s pretty tight lipped about it,” but he knows that she wants them to stop.

“No,” the counselor almost sounds amused, Mike tries not to let the tone offend him.

“I mean does she talk to anyone about it.”

Ah. He gets it now.

“You mean like a shrink?” He questions.

The counselor nods and gives him a look doused in sympathy. It makes Mike want to get up and leave.

“Can’t afford it.”

“Ah,” she says, before launching into another lecture about how to avoid dreams, and calm anxiety before bed.

Mike listens this time.

The day after the meeting, Mike goes about his day.

Everything goes how it’s supposed to go. He goes to work, coordinates with his project supervisor, and eats lunch.

Until he gets a call from Abby’s school.

When Mike’s coworker, Jordan, calls him out of the work room, he says it’s an emergency.

Mike’s heart fucking palpitates. He almost drops the damn drill.

He’s never struggled to take off his gloves, or unclip the bulky helmet, but he does now. His hands get clammy and hot. It gets hard to breathe.

Mike’s still has the safety goggles on when he gets to the phone.

“Hello? What’s wrong?”

Abby’s voice comes through the other end, “Can I have a sleepover with Selina?”

Mike exhales. He rips the safety goggles off and rubs the bridge of his nose.

He takes one more deep breath before answering, “Is that all you called to ask?”

Abby confirms before launching into an explanation, “Please, please. Katy is going, and so is Josie and Sofia and they’re making cookies and Silena has a trampoline.”

Mike’s tapping the phone, his fingers feel tingly and that urge to hold his breath comes back, “Look, I don’t think that’s a good -“

“- No, It’s fine. They have a trampoline Mike, please.”

She doesn’t get it.

That’s the hardest part. She doesn’t understand that she’s not safe at someone else’s house. Overnight? What if there’s a fire? or what if she can’t sleep?

Mike remembers the school counselor's words about Abby’s progress. He would’ve taken her opinion with a grain of salt, if he didn’t see it for himself.

Even according to Mike’s independent observation; Abby’s started to smile around other kids a lot more compared to before.

In fact, she’s planning fucking sleepovers with other kids.

Mike thinks about his mom.

What would their parents do?

“I want to talk to Selina’s parents first.”

So, Mike does end up talking to Selina’s parents.

He meets them in the parking lot after school.

They explain the whole ordeal. Their plans and the occasion that sparked the sleepover.

They seem normal. They remind Mike of coworkers his dad used to invite to 4th of July grills.

The mom - Janice - works at the hospital, and the dad - Sean - works at a bakery.

Sean and Janice give Mike their house address. So, he knows where to drop off Abby after she goes home to pick up clothes and a sleeping bag.

When Mike enters the car, he’s greeted with two sets of expectant gazes.

Mike’s eyes shift between the two of you, Abby’s grinning, but you just look sheepish.

Mike rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, “make sure to pack your toothbrush.”

Abby smiles on the way home.

You're in the living room when just Mike walks through the door.

You have pajamas on, and you’re lounging on a loveseat tilted towards the TV. A mug of wine rests on the coffee table. Along with some type of cheese and cracker.

Something smells good.

“There’s food on the stove, it should still be hot” you call, then eat a cracker.

Mike beelines a straight shot to the kitchen, “Thanks.”

You mhm through a mouthful.

Mike can’t wait to eat, but when he reaches for a plate he sees the specks of sawdust layering his clothes.

He clenches his jaw, and counts backwards from ten.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna shower first, but if you leave the dishes I’ll do them later.”

Your eyes stay glued to the TV, “Okay, there’s also wine on the top of the fridge. If you want any.”

Mike showers and dresses. When he returns to the kitchen, the quietness hits him square in the face.

Abby’s not in the house, and it feels like he’s forgetting something important - Like his keys are missing, or he lost his wallet - It puts him on edge.

Despite his unease, something sweet and warm, like syrup, spreads through Mike when he serves himself a portion of dinner.

It’s mostly covered up by the gray-haired worry about Abby at someone else’s house, but Mike won’t deny the comfort of having a good meal, and wine, after working.

Mike doesn’t know how he did it when he lived alone with Abby. He had to cook, clean, and pay bills. All on his own.

Back before you, Mike would have to leave in thirty minutes for his second shift of the day.

Mike wonders if Abby enjoys the new schedule as much as he’s enjoying it.

He brings the food and the wine to the coffee table, and sits on the sofa adjacent to your loveseat.

Mike has no idea what the fuck you’re watching, but it seems…interesting.

He doesn’t care to complain, though. It’s not like he’s invested in the show.

A few beats of comfortable silence fly by before you speak, “How was work?”

Your question feels like an embrace. It’s the type of question that someone asks when they want to talk, but can’t think of anything else to say.

You want to talk to Mike, and it makes him feel some type of way.

Maybe it’s not that deep.

“Good - long - what’re we watching?”

“No idea. I think she,” you point to a character, “wants to do something that he-” you point to a different character, “doesn’t like. So, she’s going behind his back and stuff. But I’m just watching this because I like the show that comes on next, and I don’t wanna miss it.”

Mike hums through his food. He kind of wants to ask why you’re not going out. It’s Friday night.

Are you feeling alright? What’s different about this Friday from all the other Fridays?

Instead he does the dishes.

When he returns, he’s still not really paying attention to your show. Even though, every now and then you’ll add commentary. He just mhm’s through it.

Does Abby remember his number in case she wants to go early? What if she gets too cold in their house? What if she has a nightmare? Would she call him?

His fingers are pulling apart the threads at the arm of the couch, and his leg is bouncing.

He drinks more wine.

“- about it?”

Mike snaps out of his head, “uh,” he tries to blink himself awake, “- sorry, what?”

You shrug and gesture to his fingers pulling apart the couch, “you’re um,” you clear your throat, “you seem… off. Do you want to talk about it?”

He…didn’t even notice that he was fidgeting with the threads like that.

“Oh,” he chuckles, but the sound comes out sounding more awkward, and nervous than amused, “is it that obvious?”

“No, no not at all,” you make eye contact with him, and that creamy comfort returns to make a sugary home in Mike’s chest.

“Well…” you begin, “…Kinda, yeah.”

This time, the laugh you pull out of Mike sounds genuine. Even to him.

It’s not a huge laugh, more of a happy scoff really, but it makes him feel a little better nonetheless.

“It’s just…” Mike starts, and you direct your body to face him instead of the TV.

Even though your show is playing. You want to listen to Mike more than you want to watch your show.

He has to fight down a smile, “…this is the first time Abby’s had a sleepover.”

Your mouth makes an O-shape, and you nod like you’ve got it all figured out.

“Yeah, the first time is always the hardest.”

That makes Mike think. How would you know?

“My mom used to get so nervous when my brother started going to sleepovers,” you add.

Your understanding of his nervousness makes sense, given the backstory, but there’s a detail in that sentence about you, and it means something to him.

“You have siblings?”

You nod excitedly, “a brother and a sister.”

Mike literally has no idea how he’s never heard about this before, “how - how old are they?”

“My sister’s seventeen. She’s a junior in High school,” you’re talking with your hands as you talk about your siblings. You seem excited, It’s making Mike smile.

“You should see her play sports, she's the Volleyball team captain this year…”

For real, you’re talking about them like you’re proud, and the genuine joy in your tone makes Mike want to crawl up next to you.

“- and my brother’s heading into middle school but he’s such a sweet kid. He used to get so excited when we went to the park. He loves to climb trees.”

It sounds like you haven’t seen them in a while.

The stories connect a few dots for Mike, though. This is why you’re good with Abby.

You and Mike end up talking more, he blames the wine.

Apparently, he gets chatty when he feels that familiar alcohol-induced warmth in his stomach.

Eventually, he asks why you didn’t go out on a Friday night.

The answer is much simpler than he expects.

“My show finally came out with a new season, and the new episodes air on Fridays.”

Mike snickers. His amusement comes at the expense of himself. Of course it was something simple, he doesn’t know why he even bothered to speculate.

He doesn’t expect you to return the question. But you do.

“ - it’s your night off, Abby’s taken care of, and don’t you miss going out and doing your own thing?”

Well, to be honest, he never really had the time. For years, Mike spent nights occupied with…something he doesn’t need to do anymore.

He can’t tell you that, though.

So he says, “Nah, I never went out. Even before Abby.”

“Is it ‘cause you don’t like crowded spaces?”

Mike doesn’t think too hard about that, but he snickers because it feels like you pulled it out of a hat.

He snickered again. He’s doing that a lot around you.

It’s probably just the wine.

“No? Just never had the time.”

You nod, but then you get that wide-eyed excited look that you got when you asked Mike to move in with you,

“Wanna go out tonight?”

If anyone, ever, asked about why Mike agreed as quickly as he did, he’d blame the wine. He’d blame the wine until he went blue in the face and died of suffocation.

He doesn’t even admit to himself that the wine isn’t the reason he said yes.

After he agrees, you tell him about a place that you think he’d like.

You say that it’s, “like a botanical garden, but they put lights up, and serve food, at night.”

You tell him that it’s not crowded, like a bar or club, because technically it’s a fancy place, and that’s why you both need to change clothes before calling a cab.

So, Mike calls a cab. Then, he puts on a button-down shirt, and throws on a pair of his nice jeans.

Still, he feels slightly, very, underdressed compared to you.

You come out of your room wearing an elegant little black dress that hugs parts of you in a way that makes Mike blush and breathe heavy.

Your neck stays uncovered. He sees the skin where the hickies used to be, but this time there’s no hickies.

Mike can think of a way to change that.

His dick jumps, and he wishes he could do something about it.

You make him feel things that he doesn’t want to feel.

“You ready?” You ask, and Mike has to swallow and take a deep breath to keep himself in check.

He’s very ready. Just, not in the way you think.

“Uh, yeah. Are - are you?”

You smile and nod.

The cab drive goes well. Mike’s getting used to the tightness in his pants.

So, that place that you’d said he’d like, he does.

At first, it felt like he didn't belong. A lot of people dressed better than him, many have their hair in hairstyles, and he can’t pronounce more than half the food on the menu.

You can, though.

To be fair, the menu ended up as a non-problem; because after you pointed out the prices, Mike gave you a look, and you gave him the same look back.

You both scurried out of the seating area before an employee could take any orders.

Mike likes the botanical garden.

He likes how you talk in the botanical garden.

It costs to get in, but it’s gorgeous.

It's the twilight hour when you walk through the pathway together.

Sometimes your arms brush.

Every time it happens, Mike’s heart fills with something, but you don’t seem affected.

He glances at your fingers throughout the walk. He starts to note the little divots in your palms. How would they feel against his? Would you be mad? If Mike picked up your hand and kissed the palm?

You talk about the practical uses of plants that you see. Mike learns that dried-up yarrow leaves can help clot blood. He also learns that solar energy powers the lights shining on the rows of green life.

You talk about how cool it is, that the owners made this place one-hundred-percent sustainable, and he can’t help but agree.

Your smile infects him with feelings that flutter through his arteries, and you’re smiling a lot.

Eventually, conversation lulls, but it’s the nice kind of lull. It’s a quiet comfort, like warm sheets and fresh tea.

There’s a greenhouse exhibit towards the end of the pathway. A worker checks in your coat, then tells you where to pick it up at the end of the exhibit.

When he first steps inside, Mike nearly goes into shock over the change in temperature. It’s hot, and he has to roll up his sleeves immediately or risk complaining about it.

It doesn’t help.

The place smells good, though; like moist soil and moss.

The greenhouse has fairy lights hanging overhead, and multicolored flowers decorate the pathway.

It’s laid out like a maze, the illuminated path winds around little islands of floral beauty.

Mike likes the palm trees. Most of them have pretty colored lights wrapped around the trunk.

It’s nice, Mike won’t deny the otherworldliness of the beauty, but honestly, he wouldn’t enjoy it as much if you weren’t there.

You bring a certain excitement to the excursion that Mike doesn’t think he can feel on his own.

You ask him if he likes plants, and honestly, he’s never thought about it.

He shrugs says they’re nice, because they are, and they’re starting to remind him of you.

His shirt collar is drenched in sweat by the time you two get to the end of the greenhouse.

He’s self-conscious about the wetness at first, but then he sees your neck.

It makes him want to do other things that would make you sweat.

The garden isn’t that populated right now. He could do it, if you wanted it too.

Lift up your skirt, press his dick against the plush of your ass. He’d nuzzle his nose into the crook of neck, and breathe you in before dragging his tongue along your nape.

He’d grab a fistful of your tits from the front of your dress.

He would take off your panties, but he wouldn’t give them back. He’d keep them in his pocket like a treasured souvenir.

Would you like it? If Mike made you walk around with wetness staining your inner thighs?

Maybe you’d find it demeaning, to be forced to walk around like that, but maybe you wouldn’t.

Mike’s very glad that it’s nighttime, because it’s too dark for you to see the outline of his half-hard dick.

The pathway leads to an outdoor bar.

The counter rests under a gazebo-like structure. Vines curl around the pillars like the lights on the palm trees, and quiet music plays over the chatter of the customers.

The bartender greets you by name.

You introduce the bartender to Mike as Miranda, and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s seen her before.

Miranda comments on it before he does. Mike probably wouldn’t have anyway.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you before, you’re the roommate right?” Miranda asks, and Mike gives her a tight-lipped grin.

“Yeah, it’s nice to officially meet you,” he returns.

“Yeah you too,” she says, “Anyway, is there anything I can get you guys? Completely on the house.”

You get a little wide-eyed at that, “Hey no, it’s okay, we can -“

“- I still owe you for dinner last week, remember? It’s fine. Tequila sunrise?”

You ease into your barstool, a soft, yeah spilling from your lips.

Mike thinks it's cute.

However, Miranda’s attention moves to Mike, and his panic chases away the good feelings.

Mike’s never been to a bar like this before. He’s not sure what to order, he’s not sure how, “uh, what do you have?”

Miranda gestures to the bottles behind her, “I can make anything as long as we have the ingredients. What do you usually drink?”

He doesn’t.

“Do you have anything…” Mike’s cheeks are heating, he can feel it, it’s making him feel dumb, “…non-alcoholic?”

Miranda doesn’t judge his inability to order quickly. It helps.

“Yeah, I can do virgin drinks. What were you thinking?”

God, all these questions. He doesn’t like turning down free shit, but he’s starting to feel tempted to.

“What’s popular?”

“Piña Coladas and Strawberry Daiquiris are the most popular virgin drinks, but we also have fountain drinks if that sounds better.”

“Strawberry Daiquiris are good, they’re like slushies.” You interject.

Mike orders a Strawberry Daiquiri.

When Miranda leaves, Mike feels like he can breathe again.

Mike wonders, if you notice the nervousness behind the way he’s crossing his arms, because you smile, and tell him that he looks nice in a button-down.

Miranda returns with free drinks before he can think himself into a hernia.

Abby would like the Strawberry Daiquiri.

For the rest of the night, Miranda makes stops at yours and Mike’s corner of the bar.

Miranda’s presence made Mike uncomfortable at first, because he doesn’t know her, but your friend pulls him into conversations in ways that he doesn’t mind.

It helps that Mike likes how you look at him when Miranda asks him a question.

He likes how you’re paying attention to him, even when your friend is right in front of you.

Miranda comes out from behind the bar when you mention that it’s getting late.

She gives you a hug first, then she shakes Mike's hand.

Her touch makes him think of your palms.

When the two of you get home, it’s just a little past 10 p.m.

Mike wants to thank you, for showing him a place like that, and for spending your evening with him.

He didn’t have to spend the night cooped up, worrying himself into a frenzy, because you brought him out.

The gratitude gets stuck in his throat.

What does he say? Hey, thanks for spending a night around me! Let’s do it again sometime!

Well, sure, he could say that, but he would rather stay quiet.

He doesn’t want to come off too strong, he doesn’t want to give you a peek into the meat of him.

He’s surprised when you say something.

“Thank you for coming out. I had fun.”

The words come out a little awkwardly, like you’re unsure.

Mike’s eyes find yours, and the little smile in the corner of your lips makes him feel better - despite the quiet house.

He licks his lips and offers you a similar small grin, “Yeah, Me too.”

And he means it.

A/N: Although I feel conflicted about this chapter, I’m very thankful for the love you’ve given me on the previous two!

I hope you enjoyed!

#fnaf movie #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #fnaf #mike schmidt #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #josh hutchinson

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stevie-petey · 7 months

Text

episode one: the vanishing of will byers

Steve nods, as if you almost getting hit by his car makes perfect sense to him. When you walk over to your bike and inspect it for any damage, he follows after you. “So,” he whistles, trying to pretend that this is all a completely normal occurrence. “You, uh, need a ride?” Honestly you don’t know why you’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the clear signs of you crying, your swollen eyes and red nose. Not only is he a boy, but he’s also Steve Harrington. It’s a miracle he even stopped to make sure you weren’t dead.

summary: jonathan smuggles you free food in exchange for friendship, will goes missing the one time you listen to jonathan, hopper doesn't really like you, and steve harrington almost hits you with his car as you're sobbing like a damn baby (in a cool way).

rating: general, although there's plenty of cursing and slight innuendos, so fair warning.

warnings: cursing, fem!reader, and use of y/n.

words: 7k

before you swing in: hello ! this is the first chapter of my come home series, where i plan on rewriting the entirety of stranger things because i really love a good rewrite fic and this is me just indulging in my ideal fic fantasies tbh. before we start: this is a steve x reader fic, however there will be some slight feelings between the reader and jonathan, but it doesn't at all get in the way of steve and honestly just adds to the angst because i love a good tragedy. also, reader is dustin's older sister, but i tried to write her as neutral as possible in terms of physical features, so let's all just play along. that is all ! i'm very excited for this series and i hope y'all enjoy her as much as i do :)

November 6th, 1983

Your shift at Bookstrordinary ends at 8:30 tonight, so as soon as you’ve organized all the books within the store and cashed out the last customer, you say goodnight to your boss, Mrs. Waters, and clock out. Today had been a longer shift, and it didn’t help that you had to deal with a particularly eager bookclub mother who insisted that you had the latest copy of some obscure novel that she needed for her club. After several attempts to inform her that no, you really didn’t have some novel about a cowboy falling in love with a rodeo girl from Michigan, nor would you ever want to read that, the mother angrily walked away.

You’re happy to finally be free from work though, excited to see Jonathan to tell him about the book club mom because you know he gets a kick out of those suburban middle class mothers that terrorize Hawkins. He works across from you, at The Hawk theater, and it’s one of your favorite things about the bookstore. Besides getting to be surrounded by books all day and reading Spider-Man, you get to be across the street from your best friend and share frequent breaks together.

A bell signifies your arrival at the theater, alerting Jonathan to look up from the concession stand and smile at you. He looks tired, which you can understand. It’s been a particularly long school year so far with Jonathan having to work more shifts than usual to support his family.

“Welcome to The Hawk, can I interest you in our specialty popcorn and candy corn mixture?”

You make a face, “No, thanks. Candy corn freaks me out.”

Jonathan laughs, knowing you’d say that. It’s been a running joke between the two of you for as long as you can remember. You’re not picky with most foods, but candy corn? The bane of your existence. “Tough crowd, then.”

You laugh as well, now standing in front of the counter, and you learn against it so that you’re in Jonathan’s space. After being friends for so long, personal space doesn’t exist between the two of you. You’re the only person that Jonathan lets get this close to him on a regular basis, which you’re secretly proud of.

“So, you almost done so we can pick up our idiotic brothers?” Tonight, as usual, Will and Dustin are at Mike’s house playing DnD. They’d biked over as soon as school let out, while Jonathan drove you to work, so he was your ride back for the night.

He shakes his head at you, wincing, “I picked up an extra shift tonight. Stacy called out sick, and it’s good money…”

You nod in understanding. He doesn’t have to explain himself to you, which he’s always relieved by.

“It’s okay. Is my bike still in your trunk?”

“Yeah, I can get it out for you since I’m kind of ditching you tonight.”

You wave him off, already reaching across the counter to grab his keys from his coat pocket. “No need, I’ll get it out myself so you don’t get in trouble with your boss.” Jonathan’s boss is an older guy, extra scary. “I’m assuming that I’m taking Will home tonight?”

“It’ll be late by the time you get the boys, and you’ll have Dustin. We only live a couple blocks apart, you can just bike with Will until you get to your street.”

“Are you sure? I know he’s scared of the dark.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. You’re already doing enough being there for most of the ride; I’m sure Will can survive the last five minutes alone.”

You give Jonathan an unsure look, but you don’t argue with him. He’s his brother, he knows Will’s capabilities, and it’s an unspoken fact that you baby Will a bit too much. He’s just so much tinier than the other boys, softer in a way that you want to protect. He’s special.

Jonathan sneaks you a large peach lemonade and hot dog from the concession stand when you return with his keys. You’ve parked your bike up front, and you accept the food gratefully. You hadn’t had time to eat your usual dinner during your break due to the bookclub mother fiasco, so you inhale the food quickly and give his hair a ruffle.

“You’re a lifesaver, bee.”

Jonathan lightly hits your hand away from his hair. “Consider it your payment for dealing with Will and Dustin on your own tonight, bug.”

Bee and bug were the names the two of you had given each other years ago. Jonathan had started it with bug, stemming from the fact that you love Spider-Man so much, and you had struggled to come up with your own nickname for him. Then it came to you: bee, or B, for Byers. It was perfect, and you’re still incredibly proud of yourself for the creativity, honestly.

After your quick dinner, you say goodbye to your friend and head off. It’s late now, nearing 9, and you hope that Mrs. Wheeler and your own mom won’t be too upset with you for being late for pick up. You know they prefer to have the boys in bed by a decent hour, but in your defense, Jonathan did skip out on you.

You arrive at the Wheeler’s in a short amount of time and knock on the door. Your cheeks are flushed from the early November cold, and you’re regretting that you only put on a thin sweater and jeans this morning.

Mike answers the door, giving you a dirty look. “Did you have to come early?”

“I’m actually later than usual,” you sidestep him, making your way into his house; you’ve become used to Mike’s attitude. “I take it the campaign is still ongoing?”

“See, mom? Even Y/N understands how long a good campaign can go on for!” Mike waves his arms at you, as if to signify to his mother the importance of your understanding.

Mrs. Wheeler ignores her son to greet you kindly, albeit a bit exasperated. “Hello, Y/N, please come in.” Then she turns to Mike, giving him a stern look. “Mike, why don’t you tell Y/N how you boys have been playing for ten hours? I’m sure she’ll be understanding then.”

“You guys have been playing for ten hours?”

Mike looks down in embarrassment for a second before turning to his father for help. You laugh a bit at his enthusiasm and see a faint smile on his mom’s face as well. Quietly you excuse yourself to go downstairs to find the other boys, and Mrs. Wheeler wishes you luck.

Everyone always acts like the boys are some giant pain; truthfully, you enjoy them. Sure, they can be a handful, but they’re just kids; it’s hard for you to ever stay mad at them. Plus they like you, so it makes dealing with them easier.

Lucas, Dustin, and Will are running around the basement when you get down there, frantically searching for something. You hear Lucas inform Will that if Mike doesn’t see something, then it doesn’t count. The urgence in his voice amuses you; you’ll never fully wrap your head around why they take DnD so seriously, but you love that they can enjoy it with each other.

Dustin is the first to see you. “Y/N!”

The other boy’s heads turn to you and they greet you with enthusiasm as well. Will rushes towards you for a hug, which you gladly accept. When you break apart, Lucas gives you a high five and asks about a comic you’ve put on hold for him at the store.

“Any luck?”

“Sorry, Sinclair. It’s still sold out, but the second it’s restocked I’ll smuggle one for you.”

“Sick!”

Dustin walks over, now in his coat and holding a pizza box. “Want a slice?”

You decline, informing him that Jonathan snuck some food for you. At the mention of his brother’s name, Will asks where he is. You tell him that Jonathan had to cover a shift and that you’ll be taking him most of the way home tonight.

As you all make your way upstairs, you notice that Dustin continues up to the second floor. Lucas notices too, and the two of you share a knowing look.

“Still have a crush on Nancy?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup.” Lucas responds, smiling in disappointment.

You wait for your brother outside, helping Will with his coat and listen to Mike’s rambling about the campaign. Lucas is already on his bike, ready to go.

“There’s something wrong with your sister.” Dustin declares when he finally returns.

Mike looks at you, then at your brother, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s got a stick up her butt.”

“Dustin!” You berate. Nancy isn’t your favorite person, but she’s always been nice to you the few times you’ve interacted. You guys used to be closer when you were younger, but high school has a way of distancing people.

“Yeah,” Lucas now speaks up. “It’s because she’s been dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington.” How the hell does Lucas even know about that? You didn’t even know about that until just now.

“Lucas! Language!”

“Yeah, she’s been turning into a real jerk.”

“Dustin, I swear to God-”

The boys ignore you, which you’re honestly not surprised by. While they may like you, that doesn't mean that they listen to you. On a good day they maybe listen to you 25% of the time, but tonight was clearly not a good night.

Mike finally cuts in, “She’s always been a real jerk.”

“Hey, she’s your sister. Give her some credit-”

Dustin is now the one who cuts you off. “Nuh-uh, only you get the sister leniency, Y/N. Nancy used to be cool, now she isn’t.”

“Remember that time she dressed up as an elf for our Elder tree campaign?” Lucas asks, almost reminiscent.

You shudder at the way he says it, and you shudder more when you see the dreamy look in your brother’s eyes. “Yeah, I remember…”

“Gross,” you huff at your brother, now hopping on your own bike.

Lucas and Dustin begin to pedal away, and you call after them to wait up. Will is still with Mike, and you promised Jonathan you’d get him home. You give the boys a bit of space, waiting a few paces ahead. Will has always been shy around Mike, something that you’ve tried not looking into too much, but to be safe you give them some privacy.

Faintly, you hear Will say, “The Demogorgon, it got me.”

Lights flicker a bit, but you’re too focused on the slight unease you feel by Will’s words. Before you can think too much about them, he joins you. “Race you up to Lucas and Dustin?”

“You’re on,” you tell him.

Will beats you to the boys (which you let him do), and you’re out of breath. The four of you bike in silence for a bit until you reach Lucas’s turn into his neighborhood.

“Good night, ladies.” He says, and you don’t need to be a psychic to know what your brother’s response is going to be.

“Kiss your mom ‘night for me.” Bless him.

You and Will giggle together, and Dustin smirks at the two of you, proud. He sits in the praise for a few moments before challenging you and Will to race home with the promise of a comic for whoever wins.

“I call last year’s Black Cat issue of Spider-man!” You call out, already biking away from the boys.

“We didn’t say go!”

Dustin and Will call after you as they try to catch up, and within a few seconds the three of you are speeding down the hill towards your home. You laugh gleefully, enjoying the way the wind whips through your hair and the way Dustin, though annoyed by your early start, laughs alongside you with Will.

Somehow Will is the one who wins the race, which you’re impressed by. He may be small, but he’s surprisingly good at winning when it comes to a competition. Dustin shouts at Will that he’ll kill him, which makes you send a warning look at him.

“I’ll take your X-Men 134!” Will retaliates, still flying through the street.

You and Dustin are now stopped at your mailbox and you take a moment to catch your breath before shouting at Will, “Be careful, please! Stay safe!”

“I’ll be fine, I promise!” Will’s voice is distant, now a few yards away, and you stand outside for a few more seconds to watch his figure disappear into the night. Dustin has already gone inside but you wait to follow, only going inside when you can no longer see Will, hopefully home safe and sound. You feel fear creep upon you, but you chalk it up to your usual worry when it comes to the boy.

He’ll be okay, Jonathan should be home within the hour.

–

The next morning you’re frantically biking to school, pissed off at Jonathan. He’s your ride every morning, or everywhere, really, and for the second time in 24 hours he’s bailed on you. Dustin left for school ages ago on his bike, so you’re thankful he doesn’t see you embarrassingly sweaty and gross as you race to school.

It’s not that you’re pissed that Jonathan bailed again, you’re pissed because he didn’t even have the nerve to call you ahead of time to warn you. Now you have only ten minutes before the first bell rings, and your sweater clings to you uncomfortably as you sweat.

You make it to school with a few minutes to spare, so you quickly make your way over to your locker to grab the necessary books for the day. You’re still sweaty, and you don’t want to even think about what your hair looks like right now. You look down the hall towards Jonathan’s locker, still not seeing him, and you begin to worry a bit. Maybe he overslept after last night’s shift?

A body crashes into yours, sending your notebooks spiraling to the ground. Steve Harrington looks at you sheepishly, only saying a small “whoops!” before continuing his fast pace towards the girl’s bathroom. You scoff, now even more annoyed with your entire morning, picking up your stuff as you see Nancy enter the same bathroom a few moments later.

“In a public school bathroom?” You mutter in disgust, collecting the last of your things and heading to class.

You decide to give Jonathan until second period, sophomore English which the two of you share, before you freak out. You know you have a problem with over worrying about the people you love, so you try to calm yourself down. While Jonathan has never been the type to cancel without at least calling first, you reason with yourself that everyone has a bad morning. He simply slept in too late. When he wakes up, he’ll come to school and he’ll be sitting in the seat next to you in English.

Except Jonathan isn’t in the seat next to yours when you enter the classroom an hour later. Now you officially let yourself begin to worry. Something about this doesn’t feel right.

You’ve never skipped class before, school has always been important to you. You’re the top of your class with hopes of running away from Hawkins with Jonathan to a big city with an even bigger university. However, you don’t even hesitate to flee the classroom and find the nearest phone in the school to call the Byers’ residence.

Jonathan answers after a few rings, and the words that leave his lips change your life forever. “Will is missing.”

You feel all the air in your lungs be knocked out of you. You can’t breathe and you sway a bit as your knees threaten to give out. This isn’t real, this can’t be happening.

“What?”

“Will, he-he’s gone, Y/N. We can’t find him and-”

You don’t hear whatever else Jonathan says. You struggle to get air back in your lungs. Will isn’t missing, you just saw him last night. Mere hours ago Will laughed next to you, face alive with joy, he hugged you and joked along with you.

“He didn’t come home last night-”

“He didn’t come home?” Jonathan’s words catch your attention and you feel bile rise in your throat. Will didn’t make it home last night. You were the last one to see him, and the realization crushes you; it’s all your fault.

“Mom and I just searched the woods, and there’s no sign of him and-” Jonathan is rambling now, his own fear and despair clear in his voice.

“Jonathan,” you force his name out, now needing to be there for your best friend. You can worry for Will in your own time, right now Jonathan needs you. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Y/N, you don’t-”

You hang up before Jonathan can argue with you and stumble towards the exit. Your limbs feel heavier than normal, and your ears are ringing. Will is missing. He’s so small, he’s scared of the dark… You left him alone in the dark.

The bike ride to the Byers home is a blur. You don’t remember much, your body going on autopilot the second you hopped on your bike. You’re running on pure fear and adrenaline right now, too worried for your boys to focus on anything else.

You don’t bother to knock when you arrive, instead you let yourself in. Joyce is on the phone, arguing with some woman named Cynthia. Your eyes find Jonathan’s, who is sitting on the couch hunched over something. You walk over to him and sit down beside him and your stomach lurches when you see the words “have you seen me?” he’s so neatly printed out on a piece of paper.

“Bee…” you exhale, voice cracking a bit.

Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but you know him as well as you know yourself. He doesn’t want comforting words right now. You take his hand into yours and lean your head against his shoulder. Worry has made his muscles tense, but you feel him relax into you a bit as he rests his own head against yours. The two of you sit like that for a moment, taking in the comfort you bring each other.

“Bitch!” Joyce slams the phone down, causing you and Jonathan to jump apart.

“Mom,”

“What?” Joyce is a mixture of both rage and anxiety, and you feel awful looking at her. Her son is missing, you can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now.

“You have to stay calm.” Jonathan tells her, his voice firm but kind. You know it’s taking everything in him to be as stable as he is right now; he’s putting on a front for his worried mother. You squeeze his hand, hoping it conveys the support and love that you need it to.

He squeezes back, and you see Joyce finally recognize that you’re there as well. She sends you a weak wave, which you return, before she goes back to dialing and trying to reach Lonnie. Jonathan gives your hand one last squeeze and lets go, now returning back to the posters. You immediately understand that he’s doing this to distract himself, so you do the same and wordlessly help him.

You begin writing your own “have you seen me?” when Joyce once again slams her phone down. The sound makes you flinch, inadvertently messing up your writing, which you sigh at. Before you can ask Jonathan for another piece of paper, you hear a car pull up.

Jonathan stands up to investigate, alerting his mom that the cops are here. You follow after them outside, your heart dropping when you see Will’s bike in the Chief’s hand. He ushers everyone inside, informing Joyce that he found the bike lying in the road.

“How far was it from the house?” You ask, your voice frail.

The Chief looks at you, his nametag informs you that his name is Hopper, and raises his eyebrows. “And can I know who is asking?”

You clear your throat, nervous under his scrutinizing gaze. “I’m Y/N Henderson. I’m close with the Byers, I biked with Will home,” your voice catches in your throat, snagging onto the guilt that has been clawing at you ever since you found out Will was missing. You clear your throat again, determined to continue. “I was with him last night. My brother and I live right off Mirkwood, a few blocks from here. He only had a few more minutes before he would’ve been home.”

Hopper stares at you. “Mirkwood?”

“It’s where-”

“Yeah, those moron kids explained it to me. I just didn’t think someone your age would call the street that, too.” Then, as an afterthought, Hopper adds, “The bike was found a block from here.”

His words sting, but you ignore it. If the bike was found only a block from the Byers’ home, then that means that something had to have happened to Will only minutes after you last saw him. You feel the familiar churning in your stomach, wracked with guilt.

“Did it have any blood on it?” Joyce now asks, and you’re thankful she’s taken the attention off of you.

Jonathan sees your distress and grabs your sweater so that you fall back a bit from the cops and Joyce. “Do you need a minute?”

You can only nod, afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll either cry or throw up. He gently guides you to his room, closing the door. Once you’re alone, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight. You’re shaking harder than ever now, Will’s happy and shining face from last night keeps flashing through your mind.

You were the last one who ever saw him.

You’re the one who was last responsible for him.

You.

“It’s not your fault,” Jonathan whispers, his voice muffled by your hair. You’ve always loved how you fit perfectly in his arms, your height difference being just enough that he always rests his chin against your head when he hugs you.

“I’m the last person who saw him.”

“Y/N, I was the one who asked you to only bike him halfway-”

“No,” your voice comes out louder than you intend it to, and you push Jonathan away. He lets out a confused noise as you grapple at him, forcing him to look directly at you. “I should’ve been with him, Jonathan. It’s your job to support your family, and it’s my job to help you. I have to… I have to be the one who helps you.”

You’ve always been fascinated by psychology, and you remember reading in one of the journals about codependency; the term was used in relation to addiction, specifically alcoholism, but it had caught your interest. To love someone to the extent that their actions make you feel responsible for them, to selflessly take on their burdens to a debilitating extent, well, it reminded you of your relationship with Jonathan.

You’ve always taken on whatever Jonathan has had to deal with, ever since you were kids, and it’s always come so naturally to you. He’s never asked you to, and sometimes the extent to which you carry his weight angers him, but it’s how you love.

It’s who you are. You’re always the one who helps, it’s what you need to be able to do. If you can’t help the ones you love the most, then what good is your love for them?

Jonathan may not know about codependency, but he knows how hard you love those closest to you. “Bug, listen to me.” He grabs your face, almost aggressively, in order to cut off your rambling. “My mom, she-she’s already spiraling and I can’t… I need you. I need you to be here, with me, right now. If I lose you too, then I-I don’t know what I’ll do.”

His words cut through you like glass. He’s right, you know he’s right, and you feel another wave of guilt wash over you. This guilt is different from the guilt surrounding Will. This is mixed with shame for allowing yourself to spiral so far and forcing Jonathan to take care of you. Joyce is clearly unwell, you can’t fathom how much he’s had to deal with today.

You gently remove Jonathan’s hands from your face and take a step back. If you’re going to help him, you need to collect yourself. From here on out, you have to be a wall for him to lean on, a shoulder to cry on, someone who will listen to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Jonathan shrugs at you, now allowing a hesitant smile to cross his face. “If it makes you feel any better, it took a lot less pleading to get through to you. I’m still working on my mom.”

The joke is foul, one that should make you feel even worse than you already do, because what sixteen year old has to plead with their mother to remind her that he’s there, too? The joke is horrible, and it’s exactly what you need to find yourself laughing, and Jonathan joins.

Codependency can be a bitch, but Jonathan understands you in ways that no one else can.

“You think the cops are gone?” You ask, wiping away the remaining tears.

Jonathan listens for any sign of them and shakes his head. “No, I think we’re all clear.”

He walks out the room first and you follow after him. Joyce is standing in the kitchen, staring at the counter with a far off look in her eyes. You and Jonathan look at each other and you motion for him to go talk to her. He nods, and then you motion to the living room to indicate that you’ll continue working on the missing posters.

Carefully writing on the posters soothes you, in a way. It’s rhythmic, providing a sense of lull that you readily embrace. You faintly hear Jonathan talking with his mother, then you watch as he leads her to her bedroom and shuts the door. When he returns he sits next to you on the couch and begins to work on the posters as well. No words are needed.

You work on the posters in silence for a few hours until it nears 3pm. Dustin will be getting out of school soon, and you have to be there for him when he’s home. While Will may be Jonathan’s brother, he’s also your brother’s best friend. You get up and head into the kitchen, long familiar now with its layout and usual contents within the fridge, and quickly prepare the ingredients for spaghetti. It’s a simple meal, but Jonathan and Joyce need to eat. Once it’s all laid out, you return to the living room and tap on your friend’s shoulder.

“Hey, I have to head out now to check on Dustin, but I just put a pot of water on the stove along with some noodles on the counter. I also cut up some vegetables and put them in the fridge for the sauce. Start the meal whenever, I laid everything out for you.”

“Thank you, really,” Jonathan exhales, relief evident on his face. He hadn’t even thought about dinner, which you figured he wouldn’t.

You bend down to kiss the top of his head. “Anytime, bee. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Okay,”

“Just…” you linger at the door, not fully wanting to leave him all by himself. “Be careful, please.”

“Go, Y/N. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Jonathan reassures you.

“I’ll be fine, I promise!” Will’s voice is distant, now a few yards away, and you stand outside for a few more seconds to watch his figure disappear into the night.

It’s brief, but the flashback punches you in the gut. You close your eyes, holding onto the image of Will’s face in the moonlight last night, and when it fades you take a deep breath and force yourself to leave.

The second you’re on your bike, pedaling away from the house, you let the sobs that have wracked against your throat all day out. It’s messy, the tears coming down your face faster than you can wipe them away. All the fear you’ve felt is now able to freely come out. It’s not the safest way to bike home, but you know that if you hold the tears in any longer you’ll collapse. You do your best to still be alert, but apparently you fail because a BMW honks at you to avoid you hitting it.

“Fuck!” You yank your bike to the right, having no idea that you had been on the left side of the road, and topple over. The fall isn’t anything bad, but it definitely is your final straw for the day. You lay in the ditch you’ve landed in, staring at the November sky, and let the pain from your skinned knee serve as something to ground you to reality.

“Holy shit, did I hit you?”

Steve Harrington stands over you, a horrified look in his eyes.

“Unfortunately not, otherwise I’d be able to sue you and get money out of it.”

“Uh… okay?” He offers you his hand, although still very confused. “You didn’t like, happen to hit your head or anything, right?”

You accept his help, albeit mostly because you have to, and brush yourself off when you’re up. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t paying attention, sorry.”

Steve nods, as if you almost getting hit by his car makes perfect sense to him. When you walk over to your bike and inspect it for any damage, he follows after you.

“So,” he whistles, trying to pretend that this is all a completely normal occurrence. “You, uh, need a ride?”

Honestly you don’t know why you’re surprised he hasn’t noticed the clear signs of you crying, your swollen eyes and red nose. Not only is he a boy, but he’s also Steve Harrington. It’s a miracle he even stopped to make sure you weren’t dead.

“No,” you say, now repositioning your backpack so that you can get back on your bike. “Thanks anyways, Harrington.”

Steve continues to follow you, even after you’ve started to pedal away. “You’re welcome, random girl I almost hit!”

You’re a bit further now, and you still feel like utter shit, but his words somehow make you laugh a bit. For a brief moment, you forget about everything, so you call behind, “It’s Henderson!”

“That’s an odd first name!” The boy shouts after you, still following from a distance.

“Y/N Henderson!” You’re fully yelling now, a good yard away, but you can tell that Steve hears you based on the way he begins to wave eagerly, finally stopping next to his car. Faintly you understand the boyish charm that makes him so loved by all the girls in the school; you understand why Nancy Wheeler has fallen for him.

“Bye, Y/N!” It’s faint, but you swear you can hear a smile in his voice.

The good mood that Steve Harrington inexplicably puts you in vanishes when you near your house. Nothing has changed, yet it feels as if something has shifted. Will had been here only hours ago. You spot Dustin’s bike laying on the grass, haphazardly thrown as usual.

Dustin is just taking off his coat when you enter, immediately running over to him to pull him into a bone crushing hug.

“Y/N!” he squeaks in surprise.

“Are you okay?” You know you’re squeezing your brother harder than you need to, but God. He’s safe, in your arms, and you’ve now learned that not everyone can say the same about their own loved ones.

Dustin wiggles a bit, trying to break away from the hug, but you only pull him in tighter. “Geesh, no one died.”

Normally you’d berate him, but you embrace his snarky comments. They’re what make Dustin so unique, his humor one of your favorite parts of him

When you don’t respond, Dustin stops wiggling around and finally accepts the situation. “I love ya too, sis.”

You giggle a bit, now pulling away. “At least mom isn’t home right now. The minute she hears about what’s happened, we’ll be on lockdown.”

Dustin’s eyes widen. “Shit, you’re right.”

“Lan-”

“Language, I know.”

You ruffle his hair, now feeling a bit better. Dustin is still Dustin, so maybe everything will be okay. You and your brother go into the kitchen for your post school snack, and you call your boss to inform her that you can’t make it to your shift. The words “family emergency” catch in your throat a bit, and Mrs. Waters is kind enough not to push it.

Dustin catches you up on his day, informing you about Hopper questioning him and the other boys.

You scrunch your nose at that. “Is that even legal?”

“Unsure, but it was awesome.”

“Will went missing, Dustin. It isn’t ‘awesome’.”

Dustin tilts his head at you. “Well, I bet Will is going to have a blast hearing everything when we find him.”

His words are so matter of fact, as if he already knows that Will will be found after all. His naivety worries you a bit, but you also can’t help but indulge in his hope as well. Then you think about what he’s just said. “Wait, who’s ‘we’?”

Your brother pretends he can't hear you, miming at his ears. “Dustin-”

“What?”

“Dustin, you and the boys can’t just-”

“I can’t hear you!” He’s running to his room now with you quick behind his heels.

“Dustin, I swear to God-”

“I gotta do homework, Y/N, bye!” He slams the door in your face.

You sigh. There’s no getting through to him, years of being Dustin’s older sister has taught you that, so you go into your room instead. You might as well get started on the assignments you missed today, and you have a huge chem test tomorrow, so you’ll focus on that and keep an ear out for Dustin. Whatever he’s planning with the boys, you won’t let them do it alone.

After a couple hours of silence from Dustin’s room, you decide to call Jonathan. The line rings for a while with no answer, and eventually you give up. It makes sense that he’s not answering, he’s had a long day. You hope he’s asleep, but you know him better than that. He’s probably holed up in his room, trying to distract himself like you are right now.

A loud thud from Dustin’s room breaks you from your thoughts. Then you hear a quiet “shhh!” that sounds suspiciously like Lucas, and you immediately throw on your shoes and a jacket and march outside.

Dustin is halfway out of his window when you arrive, and Mike and Lucas stare at you, caught red handed.

“Guys, I think she can hear us.” Your brother says, breaking the silence. Mike scoffs at him and Lucas groans.

You eye the three of them, unamused. “Your best friend just went missing, what the hell are you guys doing out here so late and alone?”

Dustin awkwardly finishes his descent down, finally landing on his feet with a thud. He secures his hat back on his head and goes to grab his bike. You block his path.

“I’m serious, one of you needs to start talking, now.”

Lucas and Dustin look at Mike, who is their unofficial leader of the gang, and he huffs. “Look, Y/N, I like you-”

“How thrilling.” You say, voice monotone.

The boy ignores you and continues to talk. “But Will is missing, and we aren’t just going to sit around and wait. He’s our friend, we have to do something.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Lucas interrupts you. “You’re definitely our favorite sister in the group, so you’d be even cooler if you let us go.”

Again, you try to respond, but this time Dustin beats you to it. “Yeah, you’re like, totally cool already. If you pretend that you never saw us, that’d be great.”

“Guys-”

“And don’t give us a whole lecture about safety. That’s all bull.” Mike says.

“Boys!” You scream. They all fall silent, not used to you ever raising your voice at them. You’ve only ever yelled at them once or twice, preferring to be the “cool” sister whenever you can, but right now they’re seriously pissing you off.

“Let me speak.” When no one says anything, you continue. “I’m not going to stop you guys from looking for Will. In fact, I support it-”

“You do?”

You shoot Mike a death glare, which promptly shuts him up. “Yes, I do. However, I’m not letting you guys go alone.”

The boys all groan at this, acting as if it’s the worst thing in the world to have you tag along with them. You ignore their complaining and head over to where your bike sits against the porch. You zip up your coat, the chill from the night making you shiver a bit.

“No arguing, or I’ll call all your moms. Ours included, Dustin.”

“Why me?”

“Look, guys. I’m proud of you for stepping up, but I’m coming with. The last time I let one of you boys go off into the woods alone…”

The boys shift uncomfortably now, realizing how heavy the guilt weighs upon you. After a few beats of silence, Mike finally gives in.

“Fine,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “But the second you start to freak out, you’re gone.”

You salute Mike, hopping on your bike as you all begin to bike away. The ride doesn’t take long, since you live just off of where Will was last seen. Thunder rumbles when you all approach the crime scene, and you shudder a bit.

“It’s going to rain, guys.” You inform them.

Dustin looks up at the sky with uncertainty. “I think maybe we should go back.”

Mike is quick to shut down the idea, urging the others to keep going. You admire his loyalty to Will, and you figure it’s why the two of you butt heads so often. Out of the entire group, you’re the most similar to him.

Lucas and Mike go under the caution tape first, and Dustin hangs back. You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We can go back, you know.”

He clenches his jaw, jutting his chin out a bit. “No, Will needs us.”

Your brother puffs out his chest and follows after his friends, leaving you to take up the rear. More thunder rumbles and the rain begins to come down. You flip your hood up, thankful you remembered to grab a hoodie when leaving.

Mike guides the way with his flashlight, then Lucas, then Dustin, then you in the back. You make sure to keep your eyes on the three boys, scared that the second you look away they’ll be gone. The woods have always creeped you out, but you push your fear down to keep them safe.

“Will!” Mike calls out, the rain now pouring down on you guys.

“Byers!”

“Will, little bee!” You call out as well. He never liked when you called him that in front of the others, but tonight was an exception.

“I’ve got your X-Men 134!” Your brother bribes, unintentionally making you laugh a bit. If Will is nearby, he’ll surely come out to claim his prize.

Your foot catches on a tree log, and you slip in the mud before just barely managing to catch yourself. It’s getting hard to see given how dark it is and the rain surrounding you. Dustin voices his concerns, only to be called a baby, and you bite your tongue. If you defend him, he’ll only look more like a baby to his friends.

“I’m just being realistic!” He retaliates, which you commend him for.

“Dustin’s right, guys. It’s getting really bad out here. We’re surrounded by a ton of trees, don’t they attract lightning?” You ask, now paranoid that you’ll be struck down any second.

“You guys are being sissies.” Lucas taunts, annoyed as well.

You try to argue, but Dustin voices a thought that’s been at the back of your mind. “Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad?”

You think back to how Hopper seemed worried when he investigated the Byers home. From what you can recall, he suspected that Will had been running away from something, explaining why he’d abandon his bike.

“And now we’re going to the exact same spot where he was last seen, and we have no weapons or anything?”

Maybe Dustin’s right. This definitely wasn’t your best idea, and you’re regretting letting them follow through with their plan. For someone who claims to want to keep their loved ones safe, you really suck at it.

“Dustin, shut up.” Mike voices, though he now looks a bit concerned as well.

“He’s right, Mike.” You speak up, stumbling a bit in more mud. Your shoes are definitely ruined, now. “I was at Jonathan’s when Hopper showed up, he thinks Will was running from something.”

The boys go quiet now, and when you’re about to suggest going home, you hear rustling in the bushes.

“Did you guys hear that?” Mike asks.

Your heart stops as the rustling continues and you all start to twist and turn, looking for the source of the sound. The rustling gets louder, almost as if it’s getting closer, and you tighten your hand around your flashlight, ready to use it as a weapon just in case.

Then, the light flashes upon a little girl, drenched in an oversized yellow shirt, shivering. Her head is shaved, but her small stature suggests to you that she is indeed a girl. You all stare at her, no one saying a thing. She stares back, a terrified look on her face that breaks your heart.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

Her eyes land on you; something about her reminds you of Will, and you know that nothing will be the same again.

�� series masterlist

⌑ if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, just let me know :)

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #honestly i just want to be jonathans bff #like its criminal that he doesnt have any real friends in the show until SEASON 4 #absolutely wild

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khruschevshoe · 4 months

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How Behind-the Scenes Issues Affected the Writing of Doctor Who (Both Good and Bad)

Doctor Who is such a fascinating show to look at from a Watsonian v. Doylist perspective. Like, entirely just from an episode writing point of view:

Twice Upon A Time feels so slow and meandering and even boring in places because Chris Chibnall didn't want to start his run as showrunner and Steven Moffat didn't want the show to lose the coveted Christmas timeslot (ironic, I know) so he bumped the Twelfth Doctor's regeneration from the end of The Doctor Falls (where it makes sense) to the end of the Christmas special

Boom Town (my beloved) only exists because originally there was going to be an episode in its spot explaining that Rose had been molded to be the Doctor's perfect companion (by the Doctor, gross) and the writer didn't have the time to commit to the show

The ending of Last Christmas feels like one inside-a-dream too many because originally Jenna Coleman was questioning whether she was going to leave the show or not and the ending was rewritten after the first readthrough when she decided she wanted to stay for another season

The first five episodes of Season 7 feel like each one takes place in a different genre because that's literally how Steven Moffat pitched it to the writers; for example, A Town Called Mercy was literally pitched as "Doctor Who does a Western"

Not so much a weird one but one I find cool: Eleven's first words and Thirteen's first words were literally written by Moffat and Chibnall respectively, as they were brought in to write the first words of the first Doctors of their runs so as to make it cohesive

The reason why Fourteen isn't wearing Thirteen's clothes when he regenerates is because Jodie Whittaker is much shorter than David Tennant and Russell T. Davies didn't want it to look like he was making fun of the genderfluidity of the Doctor (still think he made the wrong decision, but eh)

Wilfred Mott isn't in the Runaway Bride and Donna's father isn't in Partners in Crime because the actor who played Donna's father, Howard Attfield, died after filming several scenes for Partners In Crime, leading to the character of "Stan Mott" from Voyage of the Damned being written into Partners In Crime as Donna's grandfather

Astrid Peth doesn't die in the original drafts of Voyage of the Damned, but Russell T. Davies wrote what is generally considered one of the most emotional deaths in Doctor Who just because he wanted Kylie Minogue to be able to focus on her music career

Originally Oxygen was written as a prequel to Mummy on the Orient Express, where a corporate representative appeared on a monitor. Said representative was fired for his fumbling of the station and would later live on as the company computer, Gus

During Season 11, Chris Chibnall had to do some major rewrites for many of the one-off episodes, therefore The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos ended up being a first draft that made it to screen. He later admitted it was his least favorite episode of the series

And this is only a fraction of what I found in terms of major behind-the-scenes writing reasons. Though I am still totally willing to critique the product that made it to our screens, finding out the reasons behind some of the more badly written episodes of the show really made me feel sympathy for every showrunner of the show as well as appreciate a lot of the good episodes that ended up here despite the short production schedule/unexpected problems (once again, Boom Town my beloved AND everyone's favorite companion Wilfred Mott only exist because of unforseen problems). Absolutely bonkers, isn't it?

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readychilledwine · 4 months

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Bound by Fate pt 7

Summary - When Kaylee Archeron meets Azriel, her world turns upside down. Between balancing her trauma, new powers, a mating bond, and war looming over her new home, Kaylee learns everything is not as little as it once seemed.

Warnings - trauma response (shutting down and disassociation), Eris being an ass for the purpose of ✨️storyline✨️, desperation and angst on Azriel's end, possessiveness, some drived dialog/timeline changes, because ✨️fanfiction storyline/author got two events backwards ✨️, some angst

A/N - So, i realized as I was rereading this and the previous part, I got the meeting with Eris and Lucien going to find Vassa reversed on my timeline sheet. Excuse my mess up. I'll do a little Sarah style retcon to correct it. I thought about Eris sneaking her to the High Lord's meeting and rewriting this completely, but that would have been nearly impossible with Beron.

Alsp, Kaylee and Azriel will get a real reunion next time. And for those of you who like when men crawl and take accountability. It's for you 💙

Series Masterlist

Azriel Masterlist

The tension in the room was thick. Eris walked Kaylee to a waiting Azriel. “Safe and home, as promised, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel took her with shaking hands, moving her to stand in front of him with a tight grip on her hips.

Kaylee watched as the blonde male in the room began to smirk. “She looks lovely in my dear Morrigan's dress.”

Eris hummed in response. “She looks lovely in many things I presume.” Azriel's grip tightened and he took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure.

Every fiber of his being, every primal instinct was begging him, no, yelling and screaming for him to slam Kaylee down on the table, fucking her in front of everyone in the damned room to mark her as his territory.

A soft purr came into Kaylee’s mind as her eyes found the floor. Did you fuck him?

No. He wanted to, but it didn't go that far.

Rhys, to his own surprise, maintained his composure as Eris and Keir spoke to each other. Did he tell you whose dress that was?

No, Kaylee answered again. He said it had been sitting in the Forest House.

Azriel is going to murder him. Calm your mate. Rhys left her mind before turning to Keir and Eris, beginning whatever meeting they had planned. Kaylee stroked the bond, gently and testing, trying to evade her mate's anger, while also not sending him hers.

Azriel's grip loosened, one arm wrapping her hips and the other coming to her shoulders. He was holding her tightly against him, the scent of cedar and chilled air filling her lungs, intoxicating her into a deep sense of weightlessness and peace, allowing her to zone out of whatever political mess Rhysand and Feyre were dealing with.

He tugged the bond tight, ensuring the scent of it hit the air before resting his chin on your head.

Eris's eyes flicked your way, pulling another growl from deep inside of Azriel. The heir smirked before agreeing to whatever conditions Keir and Rhys had laid before him.

Kaylee distracted herself with Azriel's hands, the slow realization that the dress she was wearing belonged to Mor had set in. Meaning this male, the male whose arms she had slept in, who she had allowed to touch her, was Mor's ex fiancé. The one who had left her dear friend for dead.

Then, slow realization Eris was not Azriel's friend - not her friend - set in.

The slow realization he had used her set in.

“You look well, Mor.” Kaylee didn't miss the look in his eyes, that cold taunting distance. Only she didn't know who he was taunting. Mor appeared repulsed by his being here, hurt maybe, but would not take his bait.

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly. Eris looked at Kaylee as if he had been right about something. “I see you’re still holding a grudge. I imagine seeing your little mate in that dress and smelling like my bed makes it worse, doesn't it?”

Kaylee whimpered as Azriel's grip on her tightened. He was holding her so close to his chest it was no wonder they weren't one or that she could breathe.

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut and your hands to yourself.”

His sarcastic laugh had Kaylee recoiling impossibly further into Azriel. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight. Nor will he smell her on me. I ensured just the two of them could deal with that. It hurts, doesn't it Azriel, when your mate has been touched by another male? When another male comforts her loneliness and calms her anger."

Azriel growled behind her, "If this is about Lucien thinking he caught Elain and I, you could not be more wrong about what happened that night."

Eris smirked, leaning further onto the table. "Sounds familiar."

Kaylee felt eyes on her, causing her to begin sinking further into herself. For once, to Rhysand's surprise, she ignored his beast calling for her, trying to comfort her.

Kaylee had no interest in her magic right now. No interest in the fae. No interest in anything but getting back to Lucien.

Lucien was safe.

Lucien didn't promise safety and then allow her to be taken and held hostage by a tyrant.

Lucien didn't promise her forever then fuck her sister.

Lucien didn't promise to keep her safe then use her for whatever game he had in mind.

No, Lucien was kind. He was warm. He was safe. Lucien, if Kaylee was being honest, may have been the best thing to walk into her life if this was the fate she was in store for.

What was the point of a mating bond, this great promise of unconditional love and equality, when the person, the fae, she corrected herself mentally, could so easily betray you and lie about it.

What was the point in this found family encompassing her and her sisters when she wasn't wanted nor welcome.

What was the point in trying to keep this light in her going? When instead she could let it burn out slowly and just feel nothing.

Azriel's grip softened when he felt emptiness from Kaylee. She wiggled from his grip, leaving his side and going to the door, Mor going after her.

Kaylee didn't know where she was going, but she ignored Mor calling for her. Her feet led her blindly until she found herself in a room standing in front of Nesta.

Morrigan stilled, watching as Nesta tilted Kaylee's face up to look at her. Amren was sniffing her and growled with an unmasked look of disgust.

Nesta opened her mouth as Mor waited for the insults to fly. Her jaw dropping when instead a simple question was asked, “Who did this to you?” Kaylee shook her head rapidly, shoulders falling into sobs as she allowed Nesta to pull her into her chest. “I'm so sorry, Kaylee.”

Kaylee allowed Rhys to walk her to her room in the Riverhouse. The two of them didn't speak as he held her shoulders, taking her to the one safe place all of her friends would be able to reach her.

He sat her down in front of the vanity, unbraiding and unpinning her hair in silence. “I just need to know if you were willing when he touched you,” Rhys didn't stop his work. “No one is mad at you. We all do not believe this was your fault. You were used, Kaylee. That's not your fault." It sounded like he was reminding himself of that as well, and like he was trying to stay together for her.

Kaylee nodded, unable to form words and stared towards the window.

Rhys felt himself shattering.

All their progress with her was slipping away. Taken by a mistake, a misunderstanding, catalyzed by the oldest sister they found comforting her. “Kaylee, don't do this. Talk to me, please.”

Her eyes had gone hollow and empty. She shrugged at him. Shutting herself down completely. Rhysand turned her in the vanity chair, kneeling down to be face to face with her.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Feyre loves you. Cassian loves you. Azriel loves you. Mor loves you. Amren is Amren,” he paused at her ghost of a smile. “You did nothing wrong.” He kissed her forehead, holding her close and hoping contact with him, with anyone from the Inner Circle would bring her back to them.

When she gave him no reaction, he sighed, forehead falling against hers, “Call for me or Fey if you need anything. Tug the bond if you want Azriel. We will all be at the House of Wind. We don't want you around Mor when she's like this."

And all she heard was, "We don't want you."

Kaylee tossed and turned in bed that night.

She could feel something tugging for her, reaching out and calling for her like a siren spell. She got up opening the doors to her private balcony and shut her eyes, trying to feel for whatever wanted her.

When she finally found it, the presence was so familiar she could hardly ignore it now, “I'm ready,” her hushed tone carried in the dead silence of the night, she moved back into her room, putting on clothing and packing a bag.

Then find me, the voice was ancient and deep, rumbling in her soul.

She went down the steps, opening the bond to sense Azriel asleep and at peace for the first time since she had left with Lucien.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered to no one as she walked far enough outside of the house's shield. “Forgive me.”

Azriel was in a deep sleep. Cassian and Rhys had all but forced a tonic down his throat, holding him back from going to Kaylee.

His dream was paradise. The two of them were finally alone, sand from the beach covering their feet as golden sunlight reflected off stilled waters.

Eerily still waters Azriel realized. He blinked in confusion as the dream changed to him walking into a dark cave with nothing but a single torch lighting his way.

This all felt similar, like he had been here before, yet, he hadn't.

And even in its similarity, it felt different. Instead of this being a dream, he was watching it through someone.

It wasn't until the deep growl came, followed by Kaylee gently shushing that realized he was.

Azriel shot awake, tugging the bond, screaming through it, screaming for Rhys and Feyre. A shadow came to him, confirming his fear.

Kaylee was no longer in the Riverhouse. Nor the townhome. Nor did she climb 10,000 steps to the House of Wind.

He had never thrown his armor on quicker in his life, he had never strapped weapons to himself faster than he was now as the bond begged him to protect her this time. To fulfill his duty to her, to his mate.

Rhys and Feyre rushed into his room, Cassian and Mor in tow. “Azriel, it's 3am. Why are you getting dressed and why are you yelling so loudly for us?” Rhysand's voice was heavy with sleep, Feyre leaning against him.

“Kaylee isn't at the Riverhouse. She left and accidentally sent where she is down the bond. We need to go. Now.”

Cassian squeezed his eyes. “Az, Rhys left her there. She-”

“Is standing in a cave with a fucking fire drake, Cassian! My mate tracked down the fucking fire drake with her Dark Mother Cursed magic and is putting her life in danger.”

Rhysand's face dropped as Azriel showed him. “Cassian, go get dressed. Feyre, Mor, go collect Madja and other healers. Now.”

The three Illyrians winnowed to the cave set by the ruins near the Prison. “All this time it's been this close to us, to Velaris,” Cassian muttered. “The last of the fire drakes, this close by.”

Smoke was billowing from the mouth of the cave, cause Azriel's stomach to drop. His only hope came in still feeling her. In feeling that faint opening she had accidentally left in the bond. He didn't wait for a plan, entering the cave despite the shouts coming from behind him.

He would find her, and when he did, he would beg, crawl, grovel. He would let Kaylee rip his heart out with his own dagger for just one moment to explain what happened, to plead for forgiveness, to beg her to give him a chance.

One where Elain didn't interfere.

One where he courted her properly.

One where he knew it could be the end of their everything, but that he had at least tried.

He found her centered in the deepest part of the cave. The fire drake had its head next to her. Its scarred and scaled body was relaxed, taking deep breaths as she shushed it gently, stroking right above its nose.

Rhys and Cassian entered behind him, immediately noticing the same thing. “He's lonely,” Kaylee's voice wobbled, an evident sign she had been crying. “And he thought, maybe, just maybe, he and I could be lonely together.”

General taglist -

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers

Bound by Fate Taglist-

@impossibelle @luvmoo @wallacewillow0773638 @nightless

@cat-or-kitten @knmendiola @holb32

@mis-lil-red @minakay @whatsupb18 @deeshag @justdreamstars @pyrostatic @acourtofmarvels @no1massassin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @acourtofbatboydreams @mich0731 @thelov3lybookworm @going-through-shit

@coralseacourt @snoopyspace @tothestarsandwhateverend

#acotar #azriel acotar #boundbyfate #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel x archeron!oc #az x oc #az x archeron!oc

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bones4thecats · 4 months

Text

How Did They Meet Their Singer! S/O?

Type of Writing: #4 - Poll Result Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, and Eoel Felmier Name: How Did They Meet Their Singer! S/O? Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: In Vil's part, the story I mentioned in completely fictional, basically was something I made up on the spot, and I also mentioned songs after the piece of a characters that I can see them singing with their S/O!

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

👑 Vil is a famous person within Twisted Wonderland, and, due to his standing, he was getting many different offers for some movies that were going into production

👑 One stood out more than others, it was the retelling of an old book series that his father used to read to him all the time as a kid, The Apple of the Roses

👑 This story was kinda like a fairy-tale, with its own twist, that being the main character turned out to be the real villain of the story, and it just felt nice having himself be offered such a role, as the supposed 'main antagonist'

👑 He knew there was going to be singing, as it was specified as a musical-re-telling, so, he also expected his character's love interest to be a grand singer themselves

👑 But, when it was announced that you, the newest addiction to a mass of rising singers, was set to be his love interest, he suddenly really wanted to meet you and start practicing, which was not normal for him

👑 When you stood in front of him, dressed up all nice while maintaining the most polite expression you could muster, he was quite taken-aback, normally people are super on-edge around him

👑 Well, everyone besides that damned Neige

👑 Vil set his headphones on his ears as he watched you do the same across the glass panel, laying the sheet of lyrics on the stand as you adjusted the microphone to fit your needs, and he cleared his throat and nodded his signal to the people viewing

👑 He'd be lying if he said he wasn't shocked when he heard you sing your lines, your honey-coated voice swapping between powerful and soft like nothing

👑 Oh, he was going to enjoy making this more than he thought...

Mount Rageous ~ Link Rewrite the Stars ~ Link Close ~ Link I Don't Wanna Live Forever ~ Link

🏹 He was first introduced to your music when he joined Pomefiore, and Vil was speaking about his new friend in the industry, a singer by the name of Y/N L/N

🏹 Rook listened intently as Vil spoke about your talent, about how your voice could vary based on the tone and loudness of the music being played, and Rook was very much wanting to meet you and hear your voice

🏹 Not just by some app on his phone, but by a real-time show

🏹 So, when Vil decided to have Rook go with him on a small trip during Spring Vacation to watch him perform and record with you, he jumped up and pledged how amazing this was and honored he'd be to see the most fair and the fairest-voiced in the land in the same room

🏹 You walked inside and hugged Vil, asking how his time at Night Raven was and he answered with an polite 'well' and he introduced you and the hunter to one another

🏹 He put you off at first, with how blunt and lovely his compliments were. You, obviously, had many admires sending letters to your apartment, but, hearing how genuine his were, you got flushed

🏹 Vil smiled and lightly grabbed your hand, telling Rook to ready his ears, since recording was going to start soon

🏹 There was a small glass panel separating you and Vil from one-another, and, when you started the beautiful melody with a soft undertone while Vil was strong, his eyes sparkled

🏹 He heard you over the many apps that the students of Pomefiore would play, and he knew your voice was amazing, but, to him, it was far better in-person

🏹 Rook must speak to you about this later on! But, for now, he can enjoy himself in humming alongside you and his housewarden

Beauty and a Beat ~ Link Beautiful Mistakes ~ Link The One That Got Away (Duet Ver.) ~ Link You Are The Reason (French Ver.) ~ Link

🍎 Oh boy, he was super confused when Vil asked him if he knew who was singing a song

🍎 Epel was just walking around, doing his, in his opinions, stupid lessons, when Rook ran into the room while playing one of your newest songs, which was a mixture of country and pop

🍎 He just stood there and answered with a solid no, and Vil face-palmed lightly, as to not damage his flawless skin, and he ordered for Rook to call you

🍎 This poor boy just wants a day off from these idiotic situations, please great seven send him to his farm for a day

🍎 You answered the call of Vil's and smiled, greeting your old friend, asking him what he needed, in which he answered with a classic 'someone wanted to talk to you'

🍎 Cocking an eyebrow lightly, you chuckled and told him to show you whoever wished to speak to your lovely self, and hearing that, Epel began to hide his face out of embarrassment

🍎 Of course, he had heard about you from his first year friends, Ace and Deuce, but he had never really dug into anything to find out who you were exactly, he grew up listening to pure country music, give him a break

🍎 You gave him a smile and a sweet-sounding hello, in which he stuttered lightly before eventually gaining confidence to ask you some questions that were 'appropriate' for the moment, at least in Vil's eyes

🍎 Epel looked through the screen and into your eyes, noticing how you were looking up every few second, and he noticed you were in a recording booth, that was when he asked if you were about to record a song

" Oh! Yes, actually I am rehearsing to sing my newest song; The Apple of my Heart. Would you like to watch and listen? You can if you want, I don't wanna pressure you! "

🍎 His eyes widened in curiosity and he answered with a yes, allowing you to nod and lay your camera down, pointing to you and your headphones snugly held onto your head and you gave a thumbs up to your live-audience and began singing

🍎 Holy hell-raising of a bad harvest, your voice was amazing! He could listen to you all day!

🍎 Before you could hang up and get back to work, you asked for his number and wrote it down as he said it, and you promised to give him a quick message, after all, he seemed really fun!

🍎 Oh, what has he gotten into now...?

Hold You ~ Link Never Say Never ~ Link Thank God ~ Link Meant to Be ~ Link

#Twisted Wonderland #Twst #Pomefiore #Night Raven College #NRC #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Twst x Reader #Pomefiore x Reader #Night Raven College x Reader #NRC x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Vil Schoenheit #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Rook Hunt #Rook Hunt x Reader #Epel Felmier #Epel Felmier x Reader

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unformula1 · 6 days

Note

loscar prompt!: them with tis the damn season by taylor swift

’tis the damn season (LS2 x OP81)

oscar comes back to his hometown, with a regret he can’t find closure to. w/c: 3402 day 41 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium! (series masterlist) masterlist title from a taylor swift song a/n: HI! whoever gave me this, if this isn’t what you wanted PLEASE do not be afraid to reach out and ask for a rewrite lol!!!

Oscar drives down the street he used to walk past every day. The town he used to call home seems a little emptier now. It’s freezing, which fogs up his car windshield glass, turning it a foggy, translucent colour.

He gets out of his car after parking it, deciding to go for a stroll.

Oscar can’t remember the last time he came back here, it had probably been a few years. He throws on his coat and walks down the sidewalk, as he lifts his head, a familiar face comes into view.

Oscar avoids eye contact as he walks past, keeping his head down as he walks past him. It sends a shiver down his spine as he walks past; even with his jacket an eerie cold engulfs his body.

An ache covers his heart. Oscar wants to say something. He can’t.

He swiftly walks past, trying his best to suppress the flashbacks that keep coming back as the familiar perfume clings onto his jacket after walking past him.

Oscar can’t do this. He takes off, bolting as far as he can. He feels the eyes on him, piercing into his soul.

Oscar remembers everything. He remembers it all.

—

“You promised.” Logan says, an obvious attempt to hide his tears, “You said you wouldn’t go.”

“Logan. I know, but it’s a really big opportunity for me.” Oscar tries to reason, with both Logan and himself.

“You said you’d wait for me.” Logan continues, a pool of tears brimming in his eyes.

“Logan… I will.” Oscar almost feels like he’s gaslighting himself right now.

“We should’ve been going together.” Logan cries, a heavy emphasis on ‘together’.

“Logan please-” Oscar gets cut off as Logan runs out through the door.

That was the last time they ever talked. Oscar didn’t even bother going back to apologise. He just left… like the jerk he was.

—

When the coast is clear, Oscar walks back to his car, quickly getting in without being seen.

He takes a deep breath and leans back against his car seat.

He quickly starts up his car and drives further into the city, something in his body wants him to leave but he isn’t ready to leave yet.

He reaches somewhere nearer to the city, it has cafes, restaurants, libraries. It’s a simple life, which Oscar will admit he misses sometimes.

He gets out of his car, walking on a sidewalk which he vividly remembers used to be a mud path. They’ve really refurbished the place.

As he strolls around the place, looking back on the places he used to visit so often, and the people he used to always talk to.

Oscar can’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia hit him.

“Oscar?” his voice rings through and Oscar stones.

Oscar slowly turns around and comes face to face with the person he used to know and love.

He’s grown a lot by now, stubble and all. He’s definitely taller and slightly more buff, guess he’s been working out.

He’s so much more… matured.

One thing hasn’t changed. His smile.

It’s still… perfect. The smile that Oscar always loved, the things Oscar would do to see that smile forever. He missed that smile, he’s been missing that smile.

“Hi.” Oscar says as he gulps.

“I didn’t know you were coming back.” He smiles.

“Yea… uhm, well. Here I am.” Oscar manages. He’s not used to being this awkward.

“You have anywhere to stay?”

“My parents.”

“Cool.”

“I gotta… uhm head off.” Oscar says as he quickly walks past him and back into the car.

Oscar drives off.

He turns on the radio, hoping the music would dissolve his thoughts.

They don’t.

Everything they used to do together comes back. They stay afloat, no matter how much Oscar tries to push them down.

All the moments they shared, the memories they had.

The inevitable question finally surfaces in Oscar’s head.

Who replaced me?

“Shut up.” Oscar mutters to himself as he turns into his parents’ house driveway.

Stepping out, he’s greeted with a multitude of hugs. He chuckles as he returns the hugs to his parents.

“Ozzie!” His parents’ affectionate nickname.

They bring him into the house, letting him place his bags down.

“I’ll go get the cookies.” His mother says, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Oscar walks to the display case, it’s probably all really old stuff. It is.

It’s photos of young Oscar with young Logan. They’re happy, innocent, naive. Oscar places his hand on the display cabinet, slightly grazing his hands over the photo.

They were just teenagers when Oscar left like that, how horrible it must’ve been on Logan.

All those memories, the moments they shared, the experiences they shared, everything they shared just shattered to pieces because Oscar was too afraid to face his nightmares.

The road not taken looks real good now.

Oscar feels a wave of regret wash over him. As much as he hates it, he remembers everything all too well, crystal clear in his head.

“He’s not mad at you anymore.” His mother says.

“What?” Oscar asks as he turns around, quickly wiping the tears off.

“I don’t think Logan’s mad at you for leaving like that anymore.”

“He isn’t?” Oscar steps closer.

His mother just shrugs.

Oscar takes one of the cookies from the plate and eats it. He takes a seat on the couch, staring into blank space.

His mother sets the plate of cookies in front of him and sits next to him.

“You should talk to him.”

“I can’t.” Oscar mutters, “I just can’t. I betrayed him, I can’t just go up to him again.”

“Logan won’t hold grudges.”

“He doesn’t look like he does, but I know he holds them close to his heart.” Oscar rants, “I know he doesn’t just ‘recover’ from me leaving without saying goodbye properly.”

Oscar’s mother places one hand on his shoulder.

“Logan hates me.”

His mother takes a deep breath before revealing.

“Logan hasn’t found anyone else.”

Oscar almost freezes.

“He hasn’t gotten any new best friends or… anything like that.” She says, “It’s always been ‘I’ll be waiting for when Oscar comes back’.”

“What?”

“Logan hasn’t replaced you.”

“He hasn’t?”

His mother shakes her head.

Oscar doesn’t know what to think.

“Still has those photos of you two.” His mother says.

He does?

“I’ll talk to him… soon.” Oscar says. He doesn’t know when “soon” is but he knows it’s going to happen.

—

Oscar wakes up at 11am. It’s probably the latest he’s woken up in a few years. He looks into the ceiling.

He spent half his night thinking about Logan, thinking about him and Logan. He misses Logan’s smile, more than ever.

It takes him pretty long to get his morning routine out of the way before he goes down for food.

“You should go out for lunch.” His mother suggests, “Explore the city a little.”

Oscar nods as he picks out an apple and chews it.

He grabs his stuff and walks out the door, bidding goodbye first before walking toward the city. He’s decided not to use his car.

He reaches the city centre in a few minutes, it’s packed and busy. Oscar just brisk walks around the centre, finding somewhere which looks appetising.

God forbid he gets any peace because he runs into Logan almost immediately.

“Good morning.” Logan waves.

Oscar awkwardly flashes a smile, “Hello.”

“Where you headin’ to?”

“Finding somewhere to eat.” Oscar tries to maintain his calm composure.

Logan nods and smiles, “Okay.”

“Want to join me?” Oscar blurts.

Wait. What.

Oscar takes a few seconds to process the fact that he just invited Logan out for lunch.

Logan smiles, “Sure. Why not.”

Damn.

“Do you know anywhere nice?” Oscar smiles, “Haven’t been here in a while.”

Wow. What a horrible joke.

Logan’s smile clearly falters for a bit.

“I know somewhere.” Logan says, bringing Oscar to a restaurant.

It’s not any diner, it’s the one where Oscar brought Logan out.

Oscar can feel his heart clench.

“I remember this.” Oscar chuckles, but the chuckle feels forced.

Logan nods and opens the door for Oscar, letting him walk in first… just like Oscar did.

Both of them sit opposite each other at a table.

Oscar clears his throat, in an effort to disperse the tension building up… or maybe it might be just him.

“I’m sorry.” Oscar says softly.

Logan looks up from the menu, smiling slightly.

“I shouldn’t have left like that.” Oscar continues, the flashbacks replaying vividly, “It was a dick move.”

“It’s okay.” Logan says back.

“No.” Oscar takes a deep breath, “Please.”

Logan places the menu down as Oscar reaches for his hand.

Logan doesn’t shift his hand away, he lets Oscar touch it.

“I’m really sorry.” Oscar holds Logan’s hand, “I destroyed your life.”

Logan shakes his head as he holds Oscar’s hand.

“I’m happy for you Osc.”

Osc.

“I’ll pay for your lunch.” Oscar says, “Least I could do.”

“We can call it even then.” Logan jokes.

It’s a good joke but Oscar can’t bring himself to laugh, he doesn’t really know if Logan has gotten over it or not.

—

When their food arrives, Oscar’s too preoccupied staring at Logan to start eating. Logan hasn’t changed at all.

All Oscar sees is that small teenager which Oscar destroyed in seconds.

Oscar feels like crying, he can feel the tears brimming.

Oscar circles his food with his fork, not eating any of it.

“Are you not hungry?” Logan asks.

“I’m… thinking.” Oscar says.

The years in the spotlight changed Oscar, for the better or for the worse.

“Of?” Logan inquires further.

Oscar can’t form a reply, so he just shrugs.

Oscar doesn’t get many moments to think, he sort of just goes with the flow. Everything’s so fast paced and it all sometimes blurs. Nothing feels real out there, all his “friends” are really just people who will leech off him when he becomes famous.

He’s faked so many smiles, he doesn’t know which ones are real anymore.

Logan shrugs back before placing his hand over Oscar’s clenched fist “Well, you should eat.”

Oscar smiles. This one is real, he knows it.

Logan hasn’t changed.

The lunch ends quicker than Oscar would like.

“Do you… maybe want to eat together for dinner too?” Oscar asks as he walks out the diner with Logan.

Logan nods, “Sure.”

“Where do you stay, I’ll come pick you.” Oscar asks.

“Same place.” Logan replies.

Oscar almost freezes.

“Still… down the street?” Oscar asks and Logan nods.

“5pm.” Logan says, “I’ll be waiting.”

Logan bids Oscar farwell, giving him a pat on the shoulder and a slight hug before running off.

Oscar can feel his entire face flush red. He’s missed Logan. Everyone else in the world couldn’t compare.

He runs home.

—

Oscar is left with his thoughts for a few hours.

Logan’s not changed, everything else has changed, Oscar feels his heart beat faster every time anything reminds him of Logan.

They used to be in love. It can’t be happening again… right?

Oscar hasn’t felt love in a long time, since everything comes and goes so quickly, nothing is really constant, which includes anyone he’s ever tried to date.

Oscar doesn’t understand his own feelings anymore.

He’s only coming back for a week, he can’t possibly get together again and then break his heart again.

Oscar doesn’t get it.

He hates that he doesn’t get it.

—

5pm inches closer and Oscar has never spent this long deciding on an outfit.

He decides to go with casual wear, which is a sweater and long baggy pants. He grabs his stuff and walks out the door to his car.

He starts it up and drives off Logan's house.

It takes him a few minutes to get there. As he approaches, he sees Logan waiting by the sidewalk. It’s just like they used to do, except Oscar’s mum would be the one driving.

In Oscar’s eyes, Logan is still the teenager Oscar destroyed.

Logan gets into the front seat, right next to Oscar.

Oscar smiles as Logan gets in.

“Anywhere you’d like to go?” Oscar asks as he drives.

“Go somewhere, get takeout, sit by the lake and eat.” Logan says.

Oscar can swear Logan is playing with his heart. These are all the things Oscar would do with Logan.

Oscar nods.

“Okay.”

They get takeout and stop by the lake, both of them sitting on the trunk of Oscar’s car.

They eat in silence for a while, Oscar catches the occasional glance at Logan. The orange glow of the sunset makes Logan sparkle.

Oscar shifts closer to Logan and Logan notices it.

“How’s it been?” Logan asks, placing his food next to him.

“It’s…” Oscar thinks, “Been okay.”

Logan nods, “Mine too.”

Oscar knows it’s now or never, “I’ve missed this.”

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“I can’t stop thinking about how I left you.”

Logan nods subtly.

“It’s horrible, it’s been haunting me.” Oscar looks into the sunset, “Believe me I’ve been looking for closure everywhere, nothing has given it to me.”

“And what will?”

“I don’t know… but it still is.” Oscar can’t believe he’s admitting all of this.

Everything Oscar has done just led back to Logan and this stupid place. Oscar’s attempts at finding closure have failed miserably, each making him yearn for it more and more.

Logan nudges himself closer to Oscar and pulls Oscar’s head into his chest. Oscar can feel his cheeks heating up as his heart picks up the pace and butterflies flutter in his stomach.

Oscar sobs.

Logan continues hugging Oscar.

“Logan please…” Oscar says as he hugs Logan back tightly.

“I forgive you Oscar.” Logan says, “I’ve missed you too.”

“I still love you…” Oscar whispers.

Logan nods, which is a sign for Oscar to hug Logan tighter.

“I’ll be yours for this week.” Oscar says and Logan smiles.

“I’ll fix everything.” Oscar says between soft sobs.

Logan pulls Oscar back in.

A few minutes pass and Oscar finally gains back his ability to speak in full sentences.

“What now?” Logan asks.

“We could… go for a drive, in my car… and talk about life.”

Logan smiles and nods, hopping off the trunk. Both of them get into the car and Oscar drives off.

He can’t help but catch a glance at Logan every opportunity he gets. Logan’s never looked better.

Everything brought him back to Logan. Everything he’s tried made him yearn for Logan again.

Now he’s got him back (for the week).

—

“Stay with me for tonight?” Logan suggests.

Oscar nods as he texts his mum about his updated night plans, he quickly drives home to get his clothes and all.

After that, they continue driving around for a bit as Logan talks about how he’s been and all Oscar’s focusing on is Logan’s little smile he has every time he says anything.

Oscar feels Logan’s head fall onto his shoulder and he melts. He feels like a teenager all over again, he’s reignited some old spark which he’s tried to hide for years.

When they finally reach Logan’s house, they both prepare for bed as the night sky gets darker.

Logan throws another pillow onto his bed for Oscar and Oscar feels like his legs might just fail him at any moment. At least Logan will catch him.

They both get onto the bed and Oscar feels like he’s in high school again. He shifts closer to Logan and feels Logan’s warm arms wrapping around him.

Logan pulls Oscar closer in and they hug. The warmest bed ever, the warmest hug ever. For so many years, he’s been hugging but they’ve all been cold and emotionless.

He missed Logan’s hug. He missed Logan’s touch.

“I’ve missed this.” Oscar whispers as Logan chuckles softly. He feels Logan’s warm breath graze his skin.

Oscar melts.

“Goodnight.” Oscar says.

“Goodnight babe.” Logan says and Oscar feels his heart pound against his ribcage.

“You too Logs.”

—

It’s 11am again when Oscar wakes up. It’s his best night since he left Logan.

“I should’ve never left.” Oscar says groggily as he hugs Logan’s waist.

Logan woke up hours ago but stayed with Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t deserve this, he cuddles with Logan. Logan lets him do his thing while chuckling softly.

This is teenage love all over again.

“I don’t ever want to leave.” Oscar mumbles.

“Then don’t.” Logan says.

Oscar wants that too, but he knows he can’t break Logan’s heart a second time. He’s not willing to, he knows Logan deserves so much better.

Teenage love burns strong like tinder, but it’ll burn out fast.

They’ll fall apart again and Oscar will break Logan all over again.

“Can’t.” Oscar says.

The mood of the room darkens but Logan just smiles and chuckles.

“I know, baby.” Logan sighs but still keeping a smile, “I know.”

—

The week is filled with emotional nostalgia, Oscar brought Logan out every day to every place, to fix every scar and to heal every wound.

They kissed in the moonlight, in the sunset. Oscar made sure he didn’t drop Logan’s heart again.

“I’ve always loved you.” Logan says, “I never stopped.”

Oscar can feel time slow down and everything else becomes irrelevant.

“You never stopped?” Oscar says softly, and Logan nods.

“I never did either.” Oscar smiles.

“Love you.” Logan says.

Everything closed up properly, their chapters ending on high notes and the pages not burning up.

The emotional baggage was dropped where they left them.

Long story short, they re-lived all their moments, but Oscar made sure he didn’t mess up the end this time.

Here was the end.

Oscar throws his luggage into his car’s trunk. The week passed by just like that.

“It’s time to go.” Logan says, giving Oscar a slight nudge as Oscar closes the trunk of his car.

Oscar smiles, it’s bittersweet. Logan smiles at him, as Oscar holds back his tears.

“Osc.” Logan says and Oscar looks up, “I won’t ask you to wait for me anymore.”

Oscar knows what this means to both of them.

“Then I won’t ask you to stay here for me.” Oscar replies.

It feels like the final end, the chapter which Oscar had always needed to write but couldn’t. The words in the final paragraph which always stabbed Oscar.

“Follow me to the exit.” Oscar says and Logan agrees.

Oscar’s family joins them.

Oscar drives to the exit of the town, passing through a place which used to haunt him and the place where he first saw Logan, where the ache was ever so present in his heart.

Oscar feels Logan’s hand touch his shoulder and Oscar holds back the tears.

As they approach the exit, Oscar’s family and Logan exit the car. Oscar bids his final farewells to them. Oscar’s mother winks at Oscar before giving him and Logan time.

“I’ll miss you.” Oscar admits.

“I’ll miss you too.” Logan replies.

Logan places both his hands on Oscar’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug.

“Don’t forget me again. You have my number now.” Logan chuckles.

“I won’t…” Oscar replies, he shuffles his feet.

“Goodbye Oscar.” Logan says, hugging him tightly.

“I never thought I’d get a goodbye.” Oscar says, tears flowing out.

Logan chuckles and kisses Oscar’s forehead.

“Goodbye Logs.”

Oscar turns around and he feels a sting in his heart, like he wants to stay.

He gets into his car.

His life will continue, he’s closed the chapter for this, he’s gotten his closure with Logan.

Logan.

Logan who knew which smiles were faked and which smiles were real.

Logan who knew everything about Oscar.

Logan who knew Oscar better than he knew himself.

Logan who only wanted the best for Oscar.

Oscar smiles again as he looks at his feet, walking toward his car.

Everything just led back to Logan didn’t it.

Oscar stops, before turning around and running back to Logan for another hug.

Logan hugs him tightly, giving him one final kiss on the lips before they part ways.

“I’ll come back.” Oscar says, in tears.

Logan nods, “I know you will.”

It’s a bittersweet moment for them.

Oscar gets into his car and Logan waves goodbye to him as he drives off.

It finally felt like closure, like all the ache and sorrows had been drowned in love. It was their season.

’tis the damn season that left Oscar with a healed heart.

48 notes · View notes

kairithemang0 · 2 months

Text

So this post was originally something entirely different for an entirely different fandom but I'm rewriting it now as what I really want to talking about.

youtube

It's a fucking. WALTZ.

The Soriku side of the fandom has picked this song to bits, having the game featuring the two main characters who have one of the strongest bonds in the series and having their theme for the game where they're together be a waltz is just a perfect hint towards their possible romantic relationship together.

Frankly, I think that's just beautiful, and if we ever get another kh game where we play both Riku and Sora, I'd love to see the DB call back to this song in some way. I also like how it's most magical, dreamlike. It fits DREAM drop distance.

I dunno, I love this song so much. It's definitely not my favorite Dearly Beloved (save me days/com/mom/kh2 db... save me) but it's up there. Then again ranking the Dearly Beloveds is a task no one should even try to do because they're all just so damn good. Yoko please come back for kh4, DBs aren't the same without you.

For the -1 person curious what the original post was gonna look like, it was gonna be something like "oh yeah these two fictional relationships soirta mirror each other in how they play out, one starting with hatred and the other ending with it" and how this is the db that would be on my playlist for them because I love the idea of the two dancing no idea why but just gahhhh them <3

Now that I think about it, I should rank the DBs, just to see how much I can screw that list up and have it all change in a day max.

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jemaniacreates · 3 months

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Just finished my first run in Side order

First of all, the dlc is fucking awesome. If I could play it for the first time again, I would. If you haven’t played it yet, unless it’s because you can’t afford it,

LEAVE THIS POST NOW AND PLAY THE DAMN DLC!

Now with that out of the way, Dual Complexity still needs a bit of development now that I’m getting the plot. I’m not doing a total overhaul because of Side Order, but I will let you know that the first two arcs will get hit the hardest since they are the only once mostly influenced by previous events.

Other than that, nothing is changed until side order is fully completed. But I don’t want to end up rewriting the chapters over and over again to fit the lore. And I had to unfortunately spoil myself since 100% completion is gonna take a while, knowing Splatoon 3 is basically the finale of the NSS story, that is where I’ll stop.

I love writing this series, and I don’t want to be restricted to lore like I am with the short stories.

TLDR: Dual Complexity takes place after Side Order. Anything else afterwards is ignored.

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 3 #octo expansion #return of the mammalians #side order #splatoon fanfiction #splatoon fanart #splatoon au

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we-out-here-simping · 4 months

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Chapter 1: Three inches minimum.

(s.h. x gn!reader)

from the river to the sea (educate yourself and help however you can)

Warnings: y/n might or might not be used; no pronouns used (gn!reader); flashbacks within a flashback; suggestivenes (no smut); trauma; might be canon divergent in future (cuz screw the canon) ; very questionable food choices on readers part (don't ask me I have no idea why I put it in)

word count: 9.5k

A/n: alright gang! we start all over again and imma do this right this time. i really am liking doing this rewrite/revamp of the old stuff now that i know where to take this story. so ive added new stuff that i really wanted to and got rid of some stuff as well.

i dont write smut but this is an 18+ blog mdni

promises series masterlist

...

Life in Hawkins was not a normal one. But then again, what did you know about the norm anyway?

You ran away from the Hawkins lab in 1980. Even after all these years, its memories still haunted you. You still got nightmares, they had never really stopped.

It was hard to forget, you in your dirty hospital gown, the cloth had still smelled of smoke. You had been lethargic, exhausted, but you had a goal in mind. Find Eight.

You didn't know where she was, but she was your best bet. In the lab, she was the closest thing you had had to a friend. she was your sister. She told you about what her life was like before she had been taken to the lab, she had remembered a lot from then, you on the other hand, didn't. she used tell you all she remembered from outside.

it had been so long since you had last seen her. two years. 1978.

“Come with me”, she had almost begged, holding your hands in her, “we’ll do all that we wanted to. We’ll be free”

You don't know why you couldn't do it then.

“Please. We’ll have names, we’ll find your real parents, we'll find mine, we’ll be together, we'll be free, that's what you wanted too, didnt you?” she swallowed, desperate, chest heaving. the alarms had been ringing through the halls. The clang of the heavy metal doors and boots stomping rang in the air— they were coming, Papa was coming. you were running out of time. you could run far far away. But you were stuck, your throat dry.

“I.. we can’t”, was all that came out. Your words betrayed you because Eight was right, it was all you wanted. It was all both of you wanted. More than anything. But in the heat of the moment, everything was scary, you were so damn scared.

Eight stared at you, she stepped back, your shaky hands slipping out of her own. The noise got louder, the stomps closer. The betrayal and confusion on her features quickly morphed into a stoic expression.

“Maybe he’s right.” she swallowed, shaking her head, “You are too weak”, she turned and started walking away. you wanted to call after her but nothing came out. she stopped– the guards were so close– she turned her head a little yet still not showing you her face.

“Goodbye, seven.”

You had to find her because despite what she had said, she was your only hope. two years later, it was a shot in the dark at best, but what other choice did you have?

you tried looking for her, but the void was nothing but emptiness, yet crowded as a maze. she wouldn't let you see her. She was hiding, or rather, just not letting you in. you just hoped she was okay.

You weren't sure how, but you managed to stay out of suspicion for a week before an old woman found you trying to ‘steal’ clothes– a jacket more specifically.

That's when you met Jim hopper.

“Ok, kid. How about you start by telling me your name?” a low gruff in the man’s voice. You stayed silent as you looked down to your hands in your lap, there was dirt beneath your nails. Water was hard to come across when you're on the run, especially in this cold.

“How about, where you're from, ‘cause I know you're not from around here” Hopper spoke up again. You pulled the sleeves of your full sleeved t-shirt further down, palms sweaty.

“Listen, kid”, he sighs, “ you’ve gotta give me something” you infact continued to give him nothing. you tuck your cold fingers under your thighs, trying your best to hold back the shivers. The ill-fitted t-shirt and joggers you'd found the day after you'd run away didn't do much in matters of protecting you from the cold. That was why you had tried to get that thick jacket. the very same you were caught ‘stealing’ that had brought you here.

“Mrs. Lauter wanted me to arrest you, y’know?” he tried to prompt you. you didn't look up from the tattered shoes you wore– they didn't fit you, they weren't yours.

“Hey!”, he raised his voice a little, your gaze snapped to his– eyes panicking. ��look at me when I am talking to you!” he said sternly.

His gaze softened up along with his voice. “don't have to worry though. I got it under cover. Dumpster diving isn't much of an offense. But you gotta tell me where you came from so i can take you back home”

“No”, you finally speak up with a finality that he hadn't expected.

“Oh, so you do speak”, he leaned back in his chair, looking at you, analysing every detail about you. you avoided eye contact, your frame shivering, the dirt on your skin, your hair, “What's with the whole buzz cut, huh? Last time i checked, that wasn't what the kids were doing these days”

you wrapped your arms around your body, eyes still trained down. “C'mon kid you gotta give me something”, he huffed.

the only movement he got from you was you blinking down at your shoes. “Fine”, Frustrated, he got up, his chair pushed behind him, “then i guess you wouldn't mind being locked up in juvie then”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, brows knotted, not understanding what he said meant.

“That's little people jail”, realisation flashed across your face and he waited for you to say something but when you didn't say anything, he picked up his hat from the table with a deep sigh and moved to walk out.

Just when he was about to push the door to head outside his office, “I need to find my sister”, came a quivering voice behind him, your eyes finally looking at him.

There it is, he thought to himself.

“So”, he started, walking back to his chair, “this sister of yours. What's her name?”

“I– I don't know”, you stuttered, gaze moving back to your hands. You mentally berated yourself for letting it slip. you weren't even sure why you trusted him enough with that information, maybe that was just your 14 year old brain being stupid. you wondered what her name was now.

“You don't know? Your own sister's name?” he waited for an answer, leaning against the table, “what did I say about looking at me when I talk to you?”

You looked at him apprehensively, arms wrapping tighter around yourself, trying your best to not shiver.

He sighed again, voice low, “Listen kid, it's late. So I'd appreciate it if you gave some answers.”

No response.

You weren't sure why, but Jim was willing to help you. you lived under his roof for two weeks, during which he considered what to do with you.

Whenever he inquired about your past, he would be greeted with nothing but silence. He tried asking about the sister you mentioned– nothing.

He decided calling child protective services was the best choice but you knew that as soon as Hopper would make it that call, your Papa would be at his door– ready to take you back to the lab.

Just when he was about to do it, you had grabbed Hopper's hand before he could dial the number and made him forget all about it.

you needed time. you had to find your sister. and for some reason this man wanted to help you, for some reason you felt safe. you felt guilty, using him as just a means to your end. you promised yourself to not use your powers on him ever again.

Hopper didn't adopt you. He was aware that he was a drunk smoker and his place wasn't exactly the most child friendly place, filled with unprescribed medication that he popped like candy.

Hopper did find you the cheapest place in Hawkins, paid your rent until you could get a job, and even enrolled you into school.

Speaking of which– School was fun….. for the first five days– those five days you'd managed to stay invisible, making sure to not draw attention to yourself. But on the sixth day, you realised that you were behind, classes were hard, neither the students nor the teachers were kind.

So you'd get in fights, and the principal would tell you to call your parents and you would call over Hopper– him being the closest thing to it. Hopper would make you promise that you won't repeat your actions, but you would break that promise too.

Then the year 1983 came and Hopper came across the upside down. He instinctively hid the true story of the missing Byer's kid from you– adamant to keep you away from danger. not knowing that you had always been part of it.

You had taken up a job at a gift shop near melvalds. And were now finally making somewhat of an income to survive but now no longer in as much contact as before with Hopper. You were blissfully unaware of your troublesome past lurking only two steps behind you.

The following year, you somehow got roped into the madness of the upside down. When you found out about Eleven and her powers, and you couldn't lie anymore. You recounted your past with Hopper and the young girl who you shared a similar past with.

Hopper had forced you to stay with the kids at the Byer's house with a boy from your school year. Steve Harrington. You knew Steve, he was given titles like "the hair" or "king". Far more better than the titles you were given.

That night you both stood up against Billy, a rage-filled moron. When Steve was down, and he was closing in on the kids, you decided to step in between– shielding them. You had extended your hand, palm splayed across his chest. While pushing him away, you had tried to use your powers, control his mind, maybe just make him faint– you’d done it before. You had done much worse in the past.

Much to your horror, though– your powers didn't work, they were gone.

as soon as the realisation had hit, there had been a pause. Billy had looked at where your palm touched him and then back to your face. He had smirked.

The situation spiralled out of control. You then helped the kids with their plan sporting a broken left arm and dragging along a very concussed Steve.

At the snowball, hopper told you that he was planning on adopting both you and Eleven. Ecstatic, you dropped Eleven off to Mike so they could have their much earned time. Nancy, to whom you'd talked to once, was sharing a dance with Dustin. And Jonathan clicked everyone's pictures. You had decided it was better you wait outside with Hopper.

On your way out, you noticed a familiar car– looking in closely, you realised that it was Steve– his face no longer covered in scars and bruises. The sudden urge to go over, talk and maybe even thank him for helping you back there with the Billy situation. You looked over to Hopper, as if silently asking for permission to go over to him. After he had given a slight nod, you walked over to the car and knocked on the window. He cranked down the glass.

"Hey”, he smiled.

…

Eleven was out again with Mike. Hopper had left for the station and now you were all alone. No one to talk to. You found it ironic how you'd lived in loneliness almost all your life yet you still weren't used to it.

You didn't even want to bother calling anyone because literally everyone had gotten either a job or internship over the summer– Steve at scoops ahoy, Nancy and Jonathan at the Hawkins Post and- well you didn't have any other friends who were your age.

So here you were, in the quiet of Hopper's cabin– save for the chittering of the squirrel Eleven had named Mr. Fibbly. You were alone with nothing to do so might as well do some sort of chores. After racking your brain for what chore to settle on, you decided– Laundry, it is.

Your mind went on autopilot as you gathered the laundry from your adopted father's and sister's room. As you padded to the room with the washing machine, you felt a disturbance. Come to think of it, you had also felt something the night prior as well.

A headache, it was a much milder version of the headache you felt when you used to use your powers but you had lost your powers almost a year ago. So, you brushed it off as your mind playing tricks on you– which you found hilariously ironic, considering that it used to be you who used to play tricks on the mind.

As you unloaded the laundry basket, you felt something again. This time, it wasn't a headache but it felt as though there was a presence. Your actions stopped as the past year's memories came flooding back. The fear that those things could be back weighed heavily on you. Your heartbeat picked up its speed. You had almost been mauled by those demo-dogs, you were traumatised to say the least.

The whisper of wood creaking reached your ears and your throat went dry. Perhaps what's scarier than being alone is realising that you never were. but you're in the cabin, it's safe here. It's supposed to be safe here.

then you heard it again– another creak. You wanted to run and hide yet you also wanted to look at the intruder but your legs wouldn't budge, as if stuck to the floor.

When you finally managed to move your feet and turn around, you were suddenly engulfed in arms and a scent that you've grown all too familiar with.

"STEVE!", you let out a yelp as you turned around to face him, "YOU ASSHOLE! YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!", you smacked his shoulder as he laughed but then atleast he had the decency to give you a sheepish smile and breathe out a quiet "sorry".

Before you knew it, his lips caught yours, heart still beating loudly against your ribs and lips moving with a rhythm that you'd now gotten used to.

Kissing wasn't really your strongest suit as you'd never really done it before Steve stumbled into your life but you'd gotten a lot of practice in the last seven days.

A smile crept onto your face as he kissed you deeper, his hand held the back of your head. Your hands dropped the shirt that you were holding back in the laundry basket and instead held his jaw as your thumbs rubbed against his cheeks– the skin warm under your fingertips.

"Missed you so much", he mumbled between kisses. Heat crept up your neck as you giggled through the kisses, "you were here yesterday."

"Yeah, so?", he pulled away– not too far though, your noses still touching, "i just wanna be with my favourite person." He planted another small kiss on your lips as if to punctuate his sentence. Another giggle erupted from your throat as he pulled you impossibly closer.

"I thought Dustin was your favourite person"

"Let's not bring Henderson into this, he's barely a person. besides, I'm not interested in kissing him"

Your hands went up to Steve's hair, fingers mindlessly playing with the brown strands that fell on his forehead. "How exactly did you get in?", you asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Same as always– your bedroom window", he said as if it was the most obvious thing.

“You didn't fall again did you?”

“What? No– no, I'm too agile for that”, he paused when you looked at him with raised eyebrows, "who am I kidding? I almost fell. again" he said as his head hung in embarrassment.

"you could've just used the main door– you know no one's home except me", you laughed.

"Where's El?"

"With Mike", you said with a slight scowl, "God, she's with him all the time and they're always swapping spit!"

"Bit like us, isn't it?", He wiggled his brows and you rolled your eyes, "just let her be– she's a kid. Y'know hormones 'n stuff"

"Yeah, I know– it's just– she's barely home and I'm just worried about her, y'know?"

"Yeah, and it's completely okay to be worried", Steve started drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingers perhaps to provide some semblance of comfort, "but you know that she can't always be here right?"

"But I am always here."

"you don't have to be", he frowned and slightly shook his head– looking right in your eyes. This wasn't the first time Steve had mentioned this. He would try to convince you to visit him at the mall, to which you'd mention Hopper's rules and that it was too many people. He would then ask you to come over at his house, since it was always empty, you would again say no– never elaborating.

"But it's like the only place I feel safe, since everything that happened…. Last year", that was only partially a lie. The truth was it was the only place where you had felt safe ever.

"Hey", he held your face in his hands, "those things are gone, okay? Your dad made sure of it." You nodded, choosing not to tell him about the apprehension you've felt in the last couple days– knowing full well that telling him of your anxieties would inadvertently lead to you having to tell him about your now non-existent powers and your past in the lab. The past that you've left behind and have decided to pass off as nothing but a bad dream.

You make a note to maybe tell Hopper or Eleven about all of that though.

A lazy smile adorned Steve's lips as his thumb swiped back and forth on your cheeks. "You look so cute when you're worried", he said with a smirk, as he held your chin with his thumb and forefinger. The smile on your lips grew wide, the corners of your mouth morphing into a suppressed smile. You wanted to say something, your lips even parted to tell him how much you think he's cute and handsome and pretty and how much you were glad that he was there with you but nothing came out. And he didn't need you to. He lifted your chin up to his and you were kissing again– this time more slower and softer than the last.

In that moment, when your bodies were pressed together, you felt like you were in one of those movies that you and Eleven would watch with Hopper on movie nights and then your father would leave around the 30 minute mark, saying that it was too 'awkward'. cheesy rom-coms, that's what he had called them.

Everytime felt better than the last with Steve. As your lips moved in tandem, his arms wrapped tighter than ever around your waist, slightly lifting you off the floor for a second. You gasped into the kiss and your hands slid down from his hair to his chest, laying flat above his heart.

"Steve-" you whispered in between kisses, "Steve I-", he just kept kissing you, "Steve- Harrington!-", you whisper-shouted. The boy let out a hum against your lips, the sound so warm that it was sure to melt you up into warm and happy goo. You almost wanted to give in to him, be engulfed in his scent and warmth while he kissed all your anxieties away. Yet you reluctantly nudged his chest away from yours. Your faces were merely inches away– his warm breath breezed against your cheeks and when your eyes met his, you saw his pupils dilated and lips swollen. His chest heaved a little as he steadied his breath– he was still staring at your lips.

"Steve, I have to do the laundry", you breathed out.

"C'mon you do that like every day", he huffed as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"Yeah, well there's new laundry every day", you begrudgingly moved out of his arms.

"That's preposterous."

"I don't even know what that means", you said with a laugh.

"Neither do I, honestly–", he said with a chuckle, "Dustin used that word and I was like 'I have to use it', so I can fool you into thinking that you actually have a smart boyfriend."

"C'mon you are smart."

"Only to you." He sighed.

“You have to stop talking about yourself like that…. I mean it, Steve." you frowned with a sigh. “You are smart"

"Yeah, that's exactly why I'm scooping ice cream for a job"

"Smartness isn't all about school or marks or jobs or any of that bullshit." You ranted as Steve looked at you with enamoured eyes, "you are smart. You are strong. Last year when everything went to shit, you were the one who made sure of the kids even with a concussion. You looked after them and me. You took Billy Hargrove's beating to make sure the rest of us were okay-"

"That's not what smartness is–"

"-shut up! I don't wanna listen to you putting yourself down." You huffed in frustration, "you protected Dustin, Max and everyone else, you saved me! You make such a huge impact– if it wasn't for you, someone could've died, Steve. But you were there, you made sure that that didn't happen. You aren't weak. And you are a hero. D'you understand?"

Steve nodded, almost dumbfounded as it was probably the most you'd said in one sentence, ever. a faint smile painted itself on his face, his cheeks rosy.

You nodded, “good”, pecked the tip of his nose. you turned around, facing the washing machine– getting back to laundry.

You picked up Hopper’s shirts, checking the pockets in case there were any bills or coins hidden in them– your only form of income. Steve once again tightened his arms around your torso, resting his chin on your shoulder– nuzzling into your neck. His warm breath fanned against your collarbone. “Don’t mind me”, his chest rumbled as he spoke through a smile. You let out a playful sigh and continued your work.

Both of you stayed that way for a while. You checked the pockets of shirts and trousers, separating colours from white just like Hopper had taught you. All the while, Steve landed lazy kisses on your cheek, neck and collarbone. You'd wish you could stay that way forever– so warm, so comfortable, so nice. Maybe it was the fact that it was your first relationship ever and had only now felt safe enough to think of someone in a romantic way but you wanted it to last forever.

Feelings were weird and hard to talk about, and you weren't the best at conveying them. The past week you've wanted nothing more than to tell Hopper and Eleven about yourself and Steve. But your communication skills (or lack thereof) prevented you.

Steve loved watching you just doing normal everyday things, it reminded him of his mother– back when she was around more. So whenever he was not at work or being used as a valet driver by Dustin, he was sneaking over to your cabin. Before you both started dating, he would call you– making sure that Hopper wasn't home and then come barging in with a new cassette tape or to make you try some new ice cream flavour. It took him a couple months to realise that he was essentially looking for excuses to be around you– to feel that lovely and fuzzy feeling that he felt whenever he was with you.

So, eight days prior, he finally built up the courage.

Staring at the wood grain of the cabin door, your favourite ice cream and some flowers in hand, Steve was starting to consider backtracking a little. He really didn't want to mess things up between you two. And as he knocked on your cabin's door, he was contemplating the entire thing but before he could turn around and disappear, the door opened. And there you were, in a plaid shirt that probably belonged to Hopper at some point, hair sticking up in places.

"Steve?"

"H-hey", His cheeks turned pink when your eyes met his and then your gaze trailed down to the flowers and ice cream held out in front of him. The corners of your mouth curving into a smile. That smile– the one he'd couldn't get enough of. "You didn't call today, hopper could've been here”, you said, looking back up at him. he wondered if you could tell how nervous he was.

"Yeah, sorry, I uh- I bought this", he held up the ice cream cup and then the bouquet, "and- and these f- for you", he stuttered as he handed you both. God, whatever happened to the harrington charm?

You let out a giggle as you hugged the flowers close to your chest, "yeah, well duh", you joked, not truly understanding the meaning behind his gesture. It was pretty common for Steve to bring you ice cream anyway, the flowers didn't make sense but then again you weren't the greatest at grasping social cues.

You turned on your heel, socked feet moving toward the kitchen so you could grab a spoon for the ice cream. Steve was still stuck, standing at the doorway, face bright red.

You started rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen to try and find two spoons. When you found them, you held the pair up in the air, one for him to take, “Here,” looking back up at him, you saw that he was already looking at you as if about to say something.

say it.

“You okay?” you asked, brows pulled together.

okay, maybe don't say it.

“Steve? Why do you look so–”

fuck it.

"I like you", Steve blurted out– like he was ripping a bandaid. You stopped in your tracks and stared at him, the easy smile on your face fell. He fucked up, didn't he? He has ruined everything, and now he has lost another friend–

You burst into laughter, “yeah, I know Steve. I like you too." you playfully hit his upper arm before holding up the spoon again, "Here.”

the utensil still stayed in your hand, the deep furrow in his brow hadn't disappeared, only, it grew deeper.

"What?" you asked with an uneasy laugh.

“That not what I… meant”, he paused, "I- I like you."

You blinked, processing it, all that came out was, “oh.”

He calls out your name. He let out a deep breath, you however looked like you had forgotten how to breathe. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, mentally berating himself for being so nervous– it was a first for him.

you looked at him like a deer caught in headlights, he could almost see the cogs and gears turning in your head. after a few seconds you spoke up, “We’re… we’re best friends...” your voice barely a whisper.

Steve swallowed, trying his best not to show any disappointment on his features, nodding slowly before before turning to rush out of the door and get the hell out of there.

“Steve?” he heard behind him and despite his mind telling him to leave, his heart echoed. he swallowed, turning around hesitantly. and there you were, hair still messy, clothes wrinkled as always, hands fidgeting by your sides, you looked as if you were preparing yourself to say something.

You walked towards him and as you stood infront of him, you gulped. but you didn't say anything.

next thing he knew your lips were on his and the moment after it they were gone. it ended as quickly as he felt it.

You looked at him with doe eyes, Steve knew he probably had the stupidest grin on his face. a shy toothy smile grew on your face too. he extended his hand to you, you took it and he realised that you were trembling. He squeezed your hand. His gaze trailed down to your lips, you bit your lips before speaking up in barely above a whisper. "I think... that I like you too."

Steve let out another exacerbated breath as he smiled wider. His face was all red, and his stupid dopey smile that probably looked as though he'd won a lottery.

He murmured your name through bated breath. "Yeah, Steve?"

"Can I- uh- do that again?", His fingers intertwined with yours almost as if to make sure that this was actually happening.

You nodded quickly.

Your eyes fluttered close as he landed a chaste kiss on your lips. Steve made sure that the kiss was light and soft, almost as if dipping his toe to test the waters. And before you knew it, it was already over. He pulled back eyes wandering over your features, looking to make sure that you were okay with this. You looked back up at him with your lips slightly parted– in an unreadable expression.

"You okay?", He asked quietly. You nodded, "yeah, you okay?"

"never better."

...

That was the start of something big, Steve knew that. Although it had only been a week since the incident, he knew he didn't just like you– there was way more. There was care, there was understanding, there was trust and more.

Memories swirled in both your heads while your hands worked on their own accord, still doing the laundry. You picked up Hopper's dirty uniform pants, following the routine of checking the pockets. Then you reached for the shirt of the pair in the basket yet it was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Stevie", you piped up and he let out a small hum behind you. "Could you go and get Hopper's shirt from his room?"

"Sure can." He mumbled before pecking your cheek and then he went to Hopper's room to retrieve the shirt. He was back within mere seconds, "here ya go, your highness", he said, handing you the shirt that reeked of way too much sweat, cigarettes and beer.

You continued with the work, taking out the cigarettes from the pocket with a sigh. Hopper had promised that he'd quit smoking so much– guess he broke that promise.

Steve picked up the pack and took one in his mouth, searching for a lighter. You took the cigarette out from between his lips and the pack in his hand and threw it in the trash. "C'mon don't be like Hopper" you said with a frown, "he literally can't stay away from those."

“One smoke wont hurt. Besides I haven't smoked in more than a year now”, Steve said returning to his previous position of holding you, "don't wanna be a bad role model for the kids, I guess."

"Wow, now you really sound like a dad", you let out a chuckle.

"I'm not their dad", he groaned.

"So, mom, huh?"

"I wont kiss you if you keep calling me that", he mumbled behind your ear– a giggle erupting at the ticklish feeling and what was now an inside joke between you two. "Let's just stick with ‘role model’" you nodded.

"I'd say that they look up to you…. Especially Dustin"

".....Y' think so?"

You hummed in response. It didn't take a genius to notice the bond between Dustin and Steve. Sure, it was a bit out of normal to befriend someone five years younger than oneself but then again none of the circumstances they'd been through were normal. And ever since the previous year's events, Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson had developed a sort of brotherly bond.

"cool", he muttered nonchalantly.

Comfortable silence once again fell between the two of you. Steve drew circles on the exposed skin beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers leaving sparks along the surface. In all honesty, you wanted to drop all your laundry and just let him hold you, kiss you.

You and Steve had only been together for more than a week at this point– only going as far as kissing. You were still incredibly new to all relationship stuff, so Steve (despite being quite a horndog) had given you plenty of space. The last thing he wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe– and you were grateful for that. However, it was hard to ignore the attraction you both felt for each other. In ways both emotional and physical. Hopper hadn't ever truly given you the birds and bees talk, so you were a little clueless in the process of it all. Yet you knew that you felt something when it came to Steve Harrington. Something that you've never felt before.

You put in the last shirt in the machine, with the detergent and started it. You turned around in Steve's arms as you wrapped yours around his neck.

His hair was short of a mess, but it was still a pretty mess and stray strands bounced against his forehead. You both were so close that you could count all the moles and freckles on his face. Your gaze ran over all his features, taking it all in, engraving it to memory. Because you didn’t want to forget about the slight pinkish hue of his cheeks, the small bump on his nose that might’ve been the result of being hit a few times too many, or his lips. His soft, pink, warm, yet slightly chapped lips. The very same that had been on yours just a bit ago. Your proximity even allowed you to see the scars that the previous years had brought to him, they were small and barely noticeable now but they were there and you wanted to trace them and kiss them all.

“Y’know I would’ve called you creepy for staring so intently, if you weren’t so cute”, Steve smirked.

You tried to hide your face in his chest to hide your embarrassed features. He kissed the top of your head, mumbling a little, “you’re so cute”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking….”, your voice tapered off as you tried to look for the right words.

“Yeah, what were you thinking?”

“Y’know… Thinking about... us?”

His breath hitched as the worst case scenarios started racing through his mind. Did you want to break up? Did you not feel the same? Were you going to leave? Were you-

"And…. I think that–", you gestured vaguely with your hands, trying your best to convey what you were trying to say without really saying it but Steve's mind was running a million miles a second. You could almost see the gears turning in his brain, and perhaps he was starting to understand what you were saying but still wanted you to say it out loud, "I'm y'know– Ready?"

"Ready for?"

"Y'know! Ready for…", you fidgeted with his hair, your eyes not meeting his, "Sex?"

"Oh." Steve let out a breath of relief as his concerns drifted away.

"If u want to, obviously", you quickly added.

"Oh, I want to but are you sure? We don't have to rush, and we won't do anything unless you're sure of it, you know right?"

"Yeah, I– I know "

"So? Are you sure?"

"I think so, yeah", you mumbled in the most unconvincing way, you really weren’t sure if you were being honest. Steve frowned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"How 'bout you sit on this idea a bit more, ok? And if and when you're sure then and only then will we do it, ok?"

You nodded, shoulders relaxing. "Can I still get a kiss, though?"

"Of course your highness", he murmured with a smile as he leaned his head to kiss you. Your hands went to his hair again and his went to hold your cheeks. He held you so softly as if you'd break if you were to slip out of his hands. His palms helped in tilting your head sideways so he could kiss you deeper. But before you could continue, there was a knock at the door. You both immediately moved away as a reflex.

"I thought you were going to be alone", Steve ran his fingers through his hair to fix his brown locks.

"It's probably El", you reason while fixing your own hair, "Please hide in my room?"

"But–"

"Steve, if she finds out about us she'll tell Hopper, and I wanna tell him myself please?"

"Ok ok, Jesus."

"Thanks", you mutter before landing a quick kiss on his cheek and then jogging to the front door of the cabin. There you are met with the faces of your little sister and her boyfriend.

“Hey guys! You are–”

“We’re late, we know”, Mike huffed out, annoyed.

“Yeah, so late”, you hadn't even noticed that they were late.

“Are you mad at me?”, Eleven looked at you with such puppy-dog eyes that your heart immediately melted– you could never truly be angry at El. Mike however-

“No, El. I’m not mad, don’t worry”, Eleven grins at you and then hugs you tightly– squeezing you mercilessly. Suddenly, the young girl stills. When she pulled away, you noticed that her eyebrows were knitted together– her eyes were roaming around the cabin as if looking for something.

"What's wrong?"

"There's something– I felt something" she spoke with a cautious tone as she walked to the middle of the room– next to the coffee table– looking for any signs of the upside down, demogorgons or demo-dogs. You weren't the only one traumatized, Eleven perhaps more so than you– not that it was a competition. The girl had single-handedly fought interdimensional monsters multiple times already and she wasn't even fourteen yet. The hair on her hand arose in goosebumps, "there's something in here."

Your mind went back to the previous night and the uneasiness you'd felt. You'd chalked it up to your imagination and anxiety– there's no way they were back– but what if they were? Eleven sure as hell was feeling something and you felt it the night before too– it couldn't be a coincidence. Perhaps Steve Harrington was wrong. Perhaps those things are still out there, waiting for the correct moment to attack– ready to tear you apart, the moment you look away.

Eleven walked towards your rooms, Mike following behind her. The short-haired girl's steps stopped right in front of your room. The same room you'd felt that thing last night. The same room in which Steve was hiding. Steve.

Steve.

Uh oh.

"El– it's probably nothing–", you tried to stop her from discovering your scandalous affair but before you could complete your sentence, the superpowered girl used her powers to open the door wide open. Your gaze darted across the room– no Steve Harrington in sight. "See? told you", a sigh of relief left your lips, he had probably gone out the window, "its nothing."

But Eleven's posture was still stiff, she took careful and cautious steps towards your closet, eyeing the thing as if it was your poor hand-me-downs who she fought against the previous years.

"Eleven–"

Mike shushed you. Eleven moved closer to the closet, she braced her legs and held out her arm, ready to use her powers.

"El–"

Eleven yanked her hand and the doors to the closet flew open and from between your clothes emerged none other than Steve Harrington– in all his messy hair glory. "Woah, woah woah woah!--" His back slammed against the wall and he let out a pained grunt.

"Steve?!" Both Eleven and Mike questioned.

"hey", he whimpered.

"Oh god, are you okay?" You walked over to him, helping him stand up, checking for any bruises or signs of injury.

"What is Steve doing here?" Eleven inquired.

"He's here because.. Because I- I called him" he nodded along to you "I was kinda bored" you added

"And why was he hiding?" Mike interrogated with a cocked brow.

"Well—"

"I wasn't hiding—"

"El, you know how Hopper feels about people visiting the cabin", you fidgeted with the edge of your shirt, "he'd get mad."

Eleven knew. She knew how much convincing it took for Hopper to allow Mike to visit her at the cabin– it took him weeks. So she knew how you felt. "Okay", She nodded. She held Mike's arm and started pulling him to her room.

"Okay– uh— El, D'you need anything to eat or something?"

"Eggos!", she said over her shoulder.

"Soda f'me!", mike shouted back.

"Okay."

El closed the door behind her, let go of Mike's arm as she went to wipe the droplet of blood that was on her upper lip.

"So are (y/n) and Steve like, fucking?" Mike asked with a disgusted look.

"F–fucking?" She repeated, confused.

"Um— you know like…", Mike scratched the back of his neck, "are they dating? Like us?"

"I don't know."

"Cuz I'm pretty sure they are."

"Fucking?"

"uh..... Sure", he was going to regret teaching El that word, most definitely.

...

"I think Wheeler might be onto us."

Steve was sitting on the countertop as you loaded the toaster with eggos.

"Of course he is– of all people—"

"I swear that kid hates me."

"I mean— you are his sister's ex so it's a little bit weird"

"Yeah, I guess"

You walked over to the fridge, taking out the whipped cream, chocolate and candies.

"Oh, am I about to witness the triple decker eggo extravaganza?"

"No. The eggo extravaganza is made specifically by Hop for when El is mad at him. This is the eggo spectacular sandwich", you state while setting down the ingredients, "my recipe!" You added with a proud grin.

"Wow, so I guess eggo is to El, what ice cream is to you?", He suggested with a small smile.

"I suppose."

"I wanna know the secret recipe"

"You can't! It's a secret!"

You both let out a laugh. the radio from Eleven's room started blasting "good old-fashioned loverboy" by Queen. Steve then hopped down form the counter, running his hands through his hair. He stood right beside you on the counter, knocking his hips with your— you returned the action. Giggling at your antics. The brunette boy started singing along to the lyrics. He brought your hand up to his shoulder and held the other one with his. His right hand rested on your back as you danced goofily. He started kissing you.

You pull away when the eggos pop up from the toaster. You quickly assemble two eggo spectacular sandwiches and carry the two plates to Eleven's room. "Oh shit— Steve? Grab the soda for Mike please?"

Steve took out a can of coke from the refrigerator, kicking the door close behind him as he followed behind you.

"And here's your eggo sandwiches!", You announced with enthusiasm.

"Here's your coke, man", Steve muttered without an atom of enthusiasm while tossing the can in Mike's general direction— the black haired boy barely managed to catch it. The boy looked at you and then Steve with narrow eyes as he opened the tab, he maintained eye contact while he took the first couple sips of the fizzy drink. Both you and Steve tried your best to avert your gaze.

"Uh– okay I'll be in the TV room if you guys need me", you uttered awkwardly before pushing yourself and Steve out of the room's confinement.

"God, I swear if Wheeler figures out about us, he will tell Will, Lucas, Max, and Dustin. And that kid won't ever shut up about it", Steve said— rubbing his face in frustration. "And if Hopper finds out about this? I am screwed!"

"Please Hop wouldn't do that", you stated, "and I'm thinking of telling him and El today, anyway."

"Wait, seriously?"

You nodded.

"You think I should be there?"

"No no no, I wanna do it with just them around"

"Oh, okay", he fixed his hair— gaze falling on the wall clock, "Oh, shit I gotta go" he pecked your cheek, "or I'll be late…. Again "

"It wasn't my fault last time and it isn't my fault this time either ", you commented behind him as he picked his jacket up, slinging it over his shoulder. He muttered a quick "bye" before he was out the door— off to the mall, to his job.

You let out a deep sigh— reminiscent of your old deadbeat job you had at the gift shop near Melvald's when you lived in the camp next to the Munson's. Although Jim had gotten you a place to live you still needed money, so you'd gotten yourself a job— wrapping gifts and bouquets for people. It would always flutter your heart when people would tell you and ramble a bit about their lives, then you'd spend hours filling in the gaps— wondering how the day turned out for them. You reckoned it was one of the reasons why you were so infatuated by the idea of love. Up until recently it had been such a familiar yet alienating feeling.

But now here you were! Sure, you were unemployed now, but you had a father, a sister and an amazing and beautiful boyfriend and you weren't alone. But the more you thought about it the more you realised that you were— alone, that is.

You still locked yourself in the cabin, telling yourself that it could be still dangerous— and you weren't willing to take a risk.

It wasn't always like this, there was a time when you would actually go out with Steve— sometimes to his house, sometimes to Dustins, or the arcade or anywhere. But ever since you graduated with Steve, you'd made rules for yourself. You won't leave the house anymore, it was too dangerous anyway. You quit your job because it was shitty and you didn't want people seeing you. And although you'd made those decisions, you still wished for a job, missing all the stories you'd make up about the people who visited you.

You spent the next couple hours going through a cardboard box that was filled up with all things Steve and you. Whether it be the graduation hat you wore, or the beer cans from when you got drunk for the first time, or polaroids of you both, flowers he'd bought you, and everything else that tied you two together.

A couple hours passed by, Jim made his presence known with a knock at the front door. You went up to open the door. And as you looked up at Hopper you noticed the bags and dark circles under his eyes— he looked tired and smelled of beer and cigarettes. "Hey, kid", he muttered through his bushy moustache. You let out a sigh and went in to get him some water.

"El back yet?"

"Yeah", you said giving him the glass, "in her room with Mike", you pointed towards the door with your thumb.

"Wheeler's here?"

"When's he not?" You rolled your eyes. The man handed you the glass back and took off his shoes and went into his room. He emerged out within a few minutes.

"Movie night?", He offered

"But El is with Mike."

"What about just us two, huh? Haven't done that in a while"

You agreed and before you knew it you were Cozied up in a blanket while hopper was on the lazyboy. You both watched a random movie while sharing chips, candy and soda. After about thirty minutes into the movie, you noticed Hopper was distracted, the muffled music from Eleven's room was in fact breaking your immersion too. He shoved a handful of chips in his mouth while downing some beer from the can. You turned your gaze back to the TV screen.

"Hey!" Your eyes averted from the screen to him who was now looking at Eleven's now shut door with seething anger. He got up quickly, shouting, "HEY! Three inch minimum! Leave the door open three inches!" He went for the locked door handle, "El? Open this door", he said with gritted teeth, "Open. This. Door—"

The door opened but El and Mike weren't kissing, they were just reading magazines. "What's wrong?", You tried to hold in your laughter at noticing that Mike was holding his upside down. Hopper clearly noticed too.

"Thank God, you don't have a partner," he said pointing at you, "I can't imagine another stupid, undeserving boy hogging up my child." You bit your tongue at his anger. There went your chance to talk about Steve.

It was 12:30 a.m. and you really didn't feel like sleeping. You'd been feeling the headache, again. You went to the kitchen, heading straight to the fridge— taking out the peanut butter jar and pineapple can. Right when you put a spoonful of the mixture in your mouth the light of the kitchen switched on.

"Why in the hell are you up so late?", Hopper interrogated.

You let out a loud yelp, cringing at the sound— the volume sure to wake up neighbours, if you had any. Through the three inch opening of Eleven's room's door, you could see that the light also turned on.

"What are you doing?", The man asked, tucking his gun in his waist belt— surely he had thought of your midnight snack sounds for an interdimensional monster's sounds.

“Nofhing”, you said through a mouthful.

Hopper had known you since you were fourteen, he knew it might've had something to do with a nightmare. “Did you have another one?”

You stopped mid chew, avoiding his eyes– a tell.

“Same thing?”

Before you could say anything, the door to Eleven's room creaked and the short haired girl slowly stepped out, said hair sticking up as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Everything okay?", She asked.

"Yeah, El shorry.", You apologised.

"Oh, it's okay," she said with a soft smile.

"It's not okay, what are you doing up so late?"

"I was Exshpanding my taste horizons", you stated, looking at Hopper like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"With peanut butter and pineapple at 12 in the morning?" He asked with narrow eyes.

"Please don't question my methods, Hop. I was hungry and wanted to try something new"

“How's that working out for you?”

“I... haven't decided yet.”

"I want to expand my taste ho- horizons too", Eleven imparted, struggling with the pronunciation of the new word.

"See? El gets me."

"Sure, whatever." Jim waved his hand off, "expand whatever, but you both better be asleep within thirty minutes", he ordered before going back to his room.

"Let's go to my room."

You and Eleven were lying on your bed now, covered in blankets. Much to your dismay Eleven wasn't a big fan of the food combo so you took her remaining portion too. Eleven looked around the room, eyes bouncing from one thing to another. It had dawned on you now that eleven had never been in your room for this long.

She got up from her place and picked up a brown teddy bear with a blue ribbon around its neck that was kept on top of your room's table.

"Oh, you found Mr. Arnold Bearenbearer"

"Arnold, w- what?"

"You can just call him Mr. Arnold", you laughed at the stupid name Hopper had given to the soft toy, "Hop gave it to me the first time I was here. I didn't have a place to live, so he took me in for a few"

"I remember being so scared that the bad men were going to get me or worse", you smile soon faded at the thought of the people from the lab and the amount of fear you had felt. "I'm sure Hop noticed and he gave me Mr. Arnold— I think he belonged to Sarah"

"Sarah? Hopper's daughter?"

You nodded with a hum.

"I don't know what it is about Mr. Arnold. It's like he has powers— just holding him makes you feel so safe"

"Mr. Arnold has powers? Like us?"

"Just like us— he uses his powers to help others who get a little scared or lonely, with a hug!"

Eleven gave the soft toy a tight squeezing hug and she visibly relaxed.

"He smells like you and Steve", she whispered into the fur of the bear.

"Yeah, well, don't tell this to anyone but Steve gets scared sometimes too."

"He does?", She asked with wide eyes as if what you'd told her was the most unbelievable thing.

You hummed "Everybody gets scared every once in a while, it's completely okay too." An image of Steve hugging Mr. Arnold tightly like a scared little boy flashed in your head. How he'd once visited you in the middle of the night with red eyes and disheveled hair-- saying he couldn't sleep because of the nightmares. You'd told Steve about Mr. Arnold and just an hour later he was asleep-- free from all the bad dreams.

Eleven came underneath the blanket with Mr. Arnold snug in her arms. She lied down on her side while you lied on your back. after a moment of settling in, she called out your name softly.

"Yeah?", You turned your head slightly towards her.

"Are…. Are you and Steve fucking?", She asked with the most earnest look.

"... what– what did you say?"

"Fucking?"

"D'you know what that word means?"

"Kissing and dating?"

"Who told you that?" trying your best to not laugh, El was a sensitive girl, you didn't want her to think that you were making fun of her– you could never.

"Mike told me."

"Of course he did", you mumbled to yourself before turning on your side— towards her. "Why don't you ask Mike what that means again tomorrow, huh?"

"Okay", she paused as if making a mental note to do so, "So are you and Steve….."

"Yeah, yeah we are."

"You're like me and Mike?"

"Yep."

"why did you not tell me or Hopper?"

"Steve and I have been together for like a week and I was planning on telling both you and Hopper today— but I don't think now's the right time y'know?"

"You will not tell Hop?"

"I will, I just need some time, okay? you know now, I'll tell hopper soon too, I promise", you really were tired of sneaking around, you wanted Hopper to know. tomorrow- you promise yourself. "Promise you won't tell Hopper till then?" its not like you didn't trust her but she isn't the best at hiding something.

"But friends don't lie."

"I'm not lying El, its keeping a secret. I'll tell him but I want to be the one who tells him. you know how I don't tell Hopper if you sneak off with mike without telling him or something like that–"

"So I don't tell Hopper?"

"Yeah", you looked at her with anticipation.

she looked at you, mulling over it before nodding and saying a whispered, "Okay."

silence settles over the two of you. you were almost asleep when eleven's voice saying your name brought you back to consciousness. "Does Steve kiss you?"

you cleared your throat, heat rushed to your cheeks, "uh, yeah, that's what boyfriends do."

"D'you like it?"

"Sure do."

"I like it too, when mike does it."

You hummed, you weren't really sure how to respond. Both you and Eleven fell silent for a bit. your eyes started drooping again.

you heard the girl say your name again, you hummed, "Yeah, El?"

"I think Steve's nice."

"You think so?", You smiled. she nodded in response, a smile of her own.

"... Do you think Mike is nice?"

"I don't really know him that well, but he seems nice, he really does care for you." you really didn't know how to feel about the boy. he seemed to really care about your sister, but you didn't know why, you didn't trust him. not in a he's-gonna-betray-my-sister kind of way but rather, i-don't-know-if he's-right-for her. but maybe you just needed to give both of them a break, they weren't even fourteen, for god's sake.

Your name was called again, you hummed.

“You're awake because you had a nightmare again, aren't you?” the sleepy smile on your face slipped, you looked at her. she looked at you expectantly.

friends don't lie, “...yeah", your voice came as all but a whisper, before the girl could say anything you quickly added, gaze back at the ceiling, "but i don't feel like talking about it right now.”

"Okay", she said, suppressing a yawn.

"Let's get you to bed okay?"

"Here", she wrapped an arm around your torso and mumbled into the pillow, "I wanna sleep here."

"Okay, 'night kiddo", You put your palm behind her head, playing with her hair, scratching her scalp lightly.

She let out a sleepy hum before breathing out a "'night" herself. You continued carding your fingers through her slightly tangled hair as her soft snores floated in the air— before drifting off to sleep yourself.

Hopper wanted to be resting but he also wanted his two kids to be fast asleep at a reasonable time. he was trying his hardest to be the best father he could be— emphasis on trying. So, thirty minutes after he'd found you in the kitchen, shoving pineapple covered in peanut butter in your mouth, he went to check both your rooms to make sure you both were back in bed.

When he saw Eleven's room empty, he felt the beginnings of anger rising in his head. He then looked through the three inch gap of your room's door and saw both you and Eleven cuddled up and sound asleep. Any amount of anger or worry simmered down as he noticed your calm and serene faces— both your gentle snores muffled by the quilt.

He felt a smile creeping onto his features. He then turned back towards his room— footsteps as quiet as possible and went back to slumber himself.

...

A/n: i hope the time jumps weren't too confusing. if they were let me know! i'll try to explain them <3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things rewrite #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #promises series fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction

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starrclown · 5 months

Text

☆ Have Tea With Me: Hazbin Hotel's trailer ☆

Welcome Matey's to my new series:

Have tea with me. 🫖🍵

Fancy ain't it? Matey's it's time we talk about the Hazbin Hotel trailer. I watched it recently and it has... problems. Look, Vivziepop dickriders stans if you have a problem with this post then kindly leave because I will be complaining quiet a bit. Okay at first let's get my complains across and how I would modify it.

☆PROBLEMS:

Alastors broadcast. Why the hell did THE RADIO DEMON make a TV commercial? Wouldn't that be a Vox type thing? Shouldn't he be making ya know, a radio commercial? Isn't his whole thing that he doesn't know modern day technology? Also, what the hell was the porn studio thing? Like that was part of the commercial. Was Alastor just looming over Angel while he was at work? Did Angel send in that footage? Why is Travis there? That commercial is so confusing and it's only 30 seconds.

The voices. Look I'm not gonna beat a dead horse, some of the voices are bad. I only really liked Charlie's and Vaggies. Vox's voice is just bad for his character. Alastor's sounds odd. What was so cool about Alastors voice is the radio type voice filter and the personality Bosco put in the character. Now the filter is weaker and he just sounds weaker. Angel's voice actually makes me wanna tear my ears off. Cherrie, (wiki confirmed by the way.) was made Australian after the pilot and was supposed to have a Australian accent. Maybe I'm just stupid but I did NOT hear a Australian accent. (This is NOT a dis at the voice actors. God damn they are trying their best.)

The Pride City is too purple. You can tell on multiple occasions that Vivziepop is trying to respond to criticism. If you don't know Pride's original color is purple so they turned up the purple in the city. Ya they did that to much.

The Angel's. Bro Adam and Lute are so fucking ugly. Why spoil the main antagonist of the series early? Like that's if Centerword (bomb show by the way) had The Nowhere King playing in the background for the trailer. (We will TALK about The Nowhere King when I talk about rewrite Alastor.) It makes no sense to show the bad guys NOW.

The animation. Oh my GOD. Dude at some points the animation is so fucking bad. The anatomy is odd and the values make me upset. My most hated scene is where that green skinned demon is being chased by the exterminator. The animation is so off and I can't explain it. The line art looks thinner. (Speaking of which why do both Angel and Andrelphus have diffrent outlines? It looks off.)

The premise changed. WHY DID YOU CHANGE THE PREMISE?? WHY ARE WE FIST FIGHTING HEAVEN NOW??? I will talk about this in a diffrent post cause it bothers me SO bad.

Huskerdust is cannon. Look, I LOVE Huskerdust but they should have waited man. I feel like they will be rushed and I'm scared for how they'll handle them. I also want to make a post about them cause I love this ship and I wanna explain their dynamic in my rewrite.

Both Charlie's and Alastors "demon" forms are so fucking weak now. Always so cool in the comic, now he just has black eyes. Wow, so scary, don't let the tenticals get me.

Luicifers wings. Two things. 1. They should have waited. Having the Lucifers wings being shown should have been a bigger deal. 2. HUSK HAS MORE DETAILS ON HIS WINGS. Husk has more details on his wings then the King of Hell, fallen angel. Just maul that over.

☆TOUCH UP? I DON'T KNOW:

Make Alastor technologically dumb. Have him make a radio broadcast and not a TV commercial.

Let the voice actors do their own thing. I think the issue is that the actors have to live up to who used to play the characters. Let them be fun! Let them be their own thing!

Spread colors around. Make diffrent building different colors to show different demons own the buildings.

DO NOT SHOW THE ANGELS. Make them ominous and something that should be feared. If ya wanna make some Angel's bad fine, but keep them ominous. Like instead of showing the extermination, show the bodies and destruction of Hell. Show small scenes of demons hiding, show Chalie crying over bodies, show businesses destroyed. Make it seem like a problem needing solved.

Okay I don't own a animation studio yet so I can't say much. Maybe donate some of the money for Broadway actors to the animation? Just a tea time thought.

KEEP THE PREMISE. YOU CAN MAKE A GOOD SHOW ABOUT BAD PEOPLE GETTING BETTER I SWEAR. KEEP MAKING THE SINNERS GET TO HEAVEN THE PREMISE VIVIANE PLEASE-

Keep Huskerdust. Just slow down. Oh my God make it seme like it would be a actual relationship. Like make them warm up to each other, talk about their both human and demon lives. (Fun fact: Husk is from Vegas and worked in a Casino. Mafia's actually messed around with Casino's back in the day. I know this cause one of my stories has a mafia member and a La gambler fall in love.) Have them help each other with their addictions. Just slow down.

This go for all tye characters. MAKE THEM LOOK LIKE DEMONS. (Wonderful advice I know. Just you get the general idea.)

Make Lucifers wings bat like. Biblically they became bat like. If ya don't wanna go down that route then make them more royal like. Just make them prettier.

I know this advice is messy but this was basically just touch ups and the potential for this show. This trailer is disappointing :/

Well Matey's tea time is over. Come back next tike and bring your own delicate little pastries.

1. I only came up with Have Tea With Me because if anyone ever asks a question I just wanna draw a scene of us having Tea.

2. I GOT MY AO3 ACCOUNT!!! I'm writing my first fan fiction!! Will post when it's out. My account is StarrClown 😘🫶

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

#hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #vivziepop critique #vivziepop criticism #hazbin hotel critique

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doctorbitchcrxft · 17 days

Text

Faith | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: mentions of death, canon violence, canon gore, tiptoeing in religious territory

Word Count: 4982

Series Rewrite Masterlist

The Impala’s engine growled as Dean sped up to the house you’d tracked a nasty creature to. It had taken two little kids to its hideout. The only way to kill it was with electric shock.

“What do you got those amped up to?” Sam gestured to the two tasers Dean was holding.

You opted for your pistol since Dean only had two taser guns.

Dean handed his brother one of the guns. “A hundred thousand volts.”

“Damn,” you commented.

“Yeah, I want this rawhead extra frickin' crispy. And remember, you only get one shot with these things. So make it count.”

The two of you hurried up to the front door and into the home. Dean led you and Sam down to the basement where you knew you’d find the kids.

You heard a noise coming from one of the cupboards in the corner of the basement. You aimed your gun and flashlight at the cupboard.

Dean mouthed “One, two, three,” at his brother, who threw the cupboard door open.

Inside was a young girl and a younger girl who screamed and covered their ears.

Sam whispered to the kids, “Is it still here?”

They nodded.

“Okay. Grab your sister's hand,” Dean whispered to the boy, “come on, we gotta get you out of here. Let's go, let's go.” Dean was behind you, the children, and Sam as you scrambled out of the basement. A hand grabbed your leg, knocking you to the ground.

“(Y/N)!” Dean shot his taser, but you knew he’d missed. “Sam, get 'em outta here!”

Sam obeyed, pulling the children out of the basement with him. He threw his taser gun down to his brother.

“(Y/N), get out of here!” Dean urged you.

“No! Not without you!”

Dean gave you that strange look again before he was knocked back by the creature.

“Dean!” you cried, shooting at the creature even though you knew it wouldn’t do anything.

The creature turned its attention to you, but stopped when Dean landed his taser on it. To your horror, you heard the creature and Dean groaning in pain.

“Dean!” you cried again. You rushed from your position on the stairs down to his side. He laid on the floor in a puddle of water, twitching and unconscious. You paid no mind to the water soaking through your clothes and pulled him into your lap. “Dean, please wake up! Please!” You shook him, but nothing was working. Tears streamed down your face. “Sam! Get down here!”

Sam rushed to you, seeing you cradling his brother in your arms. He pulled his brother’s face into his hands, shaking him. “Dean, hey. Hey.”

“Sam, get back,” you ordered, your head on Dean’s chest. You immediately issued CPR to him, trying your best to get his heart started again.

Sam stood to call 911, pacing frantically and running your hands through his hair. “Please! There’s been an accident! Please hurry!” he begged. He gave the operator all the necessary information and went back over to you and Dean.

You continued with the chest compressions and breaths until the EMTs pulled you off Dean. You rode with him in the ambulance and Sam followed you to the hospital in the Impala. Thankfully, the EMTs were able to get his heart started again, but he remained unconscious. They wouldn’t allow you into his room with him when you arrived at the hospital, but you desperately wanted to.

While Sam spoke to the receptionist, you spoke to two officers standing by with notepads.

“Yeah, yeah,” your voice was shaky as you talked. “We were taking a shortcut through the neighborhood when we heard the kids scream and we found ‘em in the basement.

“Well, thank god you did,” the officer told you.

You saw Dean’s doctor coming out of his room and excused yourself. You hurried to the doctor with Sam.

“Hey, Doc. Is he…”

The doctor cut Sam off. “He's resting.”

“And?”

“The electrocution triggered a heart attack. Pretty massive, I'm afraid. His heart… it's damaged.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “How damaged?”

The doctor sighed. “We've done all we can. We can try and keep him comfortable at this point. But I'd give him a couple weeks, at most, maybe a month.”

You exhaled shakily.

“No, no. There's, there's...gotta be something you can do, some kind of treatment,” Sam pleaded.

“We can't work miracles. I really am sorry,” the doctor responded.

You brushed past the doctor and down to Dean’s room. You were horrified at the sight of the man before you. He was nothing like the Dean you had grown to care so much about. His face was pale, cheeks sallow, and eyes had dark circles beneath them.

Dean kept his eyes on the television as you and Sam entered. “Have you ever actually watched daytime TV? It's terrible.”

You shook your head and sighed.

“We talked to your doctor,” Sam murmured.

“That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down,” Dean snarked.

Sam was getting more and more choked up by the second. “Dean.”

He finally looked up. He sounded resigned and clicked the television off. “Yeah. Alright, well, looks like you're gonna leave town without me.”

You were immediately defensive. “We’re not leaving you here.”

“Hey, you better take care of that car. I’m serious, don’t let (Y/N) drive it,” Dean told his brother. “Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass.”

“I don't think that's funny.” You shook your head.

“Oh, come on, it's a little funny.”

There was a long silence before Dean spoke again. “Look, guys, what can I say, man, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.”

“Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options,” Sam said.

“What options? Yeah, burial or cremation. And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it.”

“Watch me,” Sam protested.

***

Between hours spent with Dean in his hospital room, you and Sam poured through pages of contacts in John’s journal searching for anyone that could help you. So far; nothing. Three days of searching and... nothing. While Sam called his dad, you took the opportunity to get some air. You bit back tears for as long as you could, but you couldn’t keep them at bay. You sat on the curb near the Impala, curling your knees into your chest. Sobs wracked your body. You tried to compose yourself but couldn’t.

“(Y/N)?”

Wait, that sounded like— “Dean?” you sniffed. “What the hell are you doing here?” You quickly stood and went to help him walk.

He gently shrugged you off him. “I checked myself out.”

“What, are you crazy?” you questioned, face still damp from crying and eyes still bloodshot. You slowly led Dean, who was having an incredibly difficult time walking, into the motel.

“Well, I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot,” he shrugged.

“Let me help you, please, Dee?” you begged him. He was leaning on everything he possibly could as he passed it.

“No, (Y/N), I’m fine.”

“You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death thing? It's crap. I can see right through it,” you responded.

“Yeah, whatever. Have you even slept? You look worse than me,” he joked.

You shook your head and led him into yours and Sam’s motel room. The younger brother jerked up from his spot, surprised to see his brother.

“What the—”

“He checked himself out,” you told him. You turned back to Dean. “We've been scouring the Internet for the last three days. Calling every contact in John’s journal.”

“For what?” Dean questioned.

Sam finished for you. “For a way to help you. One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“You guys ‘re not gonna let me die in peace, huh?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not gonna let you die, period. We’re going.”

***

Sam drove you and his brother up a gravel road to a large, white circus tent labeled with the sign “The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle.”

You and Sam both went to help Dean out of the car, but he angrily shoved you both off. He turned to the two of you. “You guys are lying bastards. Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.”

“I believe he said specialist,” you answered for Sam.

Sam sighed. “Look, Dean, this guy's supposed to be the real deal.”

“I can't believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.”

An elderly woman passed with an umbrella. “Reverend LeGrange is a great man.”

Dean grumbled back, “Yeah, that's nice.”

A man was arguing with a cop a short distance away about his right to protest.

“I take it he's not part of the flock,” Dean commented as the cops took the man away.

“When people see something they can't explain, there's controversy,” Sam shrugged.

“I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer?”

“Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean.”

“You know what I've got faith in? Reality. Knowing what's really going on.”

“How can you be a skeptic? With the things we see everyday?”

“Exactly. We see them, we know they're real.”

“But if you know evil's out there, how can you not believe good's out there, too?”

“Because I've seen what evil does to good people.”

A young woman broke into the boys’ argument. “Maybe god works in mysterious ways.”

Never losing his playboy pluck, Dean responded, “Maybe he does. I think you just turned me around on the subject.” He was clearly checking her out.

The woman wasn’t falling for it. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

He held out his hand. “I'm Dean. This is Sam and (Y/N).”

She shook his outstretched palm. “Layla. So, if you're not a believer, then why are you here?”

“Well, apparently these two believe enough for all three of us.” He gestured between you and Sam.

Another older woman approached Layla and put her arm around her. “Come on, Layla. It's about to start.” She guided who you assumed was her daughter into the tent.

Dean checked out Layla’s ass as she left. “Well, I bet you she can work in some mysterious ways.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled. You could feel Dean’s eyes boring into you as you walked into the tent.

Dean made a few remarks as Sam led your trio up to the front of the rows of chairs. Thankfully, there were three seats open two rows from the front.

“Oh, come on, Sam,” Dean growled. “This is ridiculous. I'm good, dude, get off me.”

You and Sam let Dean take the aisle seat while a blind, old man wearing sunglasses took the stage. A woman in a stuffy skirt and sweater helped him walk to the lectern.

“Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?” The crowd agreed with the man and he continued to speak. “Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act. But, I say to you, god is watching. God rewards the good, and he punishes the corrupt. It is the lord who does the healing here, friends. The lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts.”

The crowd got more and more amped up with each word out of the man’s mouth.

“Yeah, and into their wallets,” Dean muttered to you.

The man stopped his sermon. “You think so, young man?”

The crowd immediately fell silent.

“Sorry,” Dean responded. You could tell he was embarrassed.

“No, no. Don't be. Just watch what you say around a blind man, we've got real sharp ears.” The man grinned, looking in no particular direction.

The crowd laughed.

“What's your name, son?”

Dean cleared his throat and introduced himself.

Roy LeGrange nodded. “Dean. I want— I want you to come up here with me.”

The crowd clapped in jubilant uproar, but Dean shook his head. “No, it's okay.”

You whispered harshly to him, “What are you doing?!”

Roy sounded confused. “You've come here to be healed, haven't cha?”

Dean hesitated again. “Well, yeah, but ahh... maybe you should just pick someone else.”

You looked at Dean like he was crazy, furious.

“Oh, no. I didn't pick you, Dean, the lord did,” Roy laughed.

The crowd got more excited. “That's right! Yeah! Come on!” several audience members cheered.

Sam leaned over you to his brother. “Get up there!”

Dean reluctantly moved toward the stage. The woman in the buttoned sweater on stage with Roy, Sue Ann, moved to assist him.

“You ready?” Roy asked.

Dean sighed. “Look, no disrespect, but ahh, I'm not exactly a believer.”

The old man smiled. “You will be, son. You will be. Pray with me, friends.”

The crowd lifted their arms and joined hands all around you. Your mother was Catholic; there was never this much joy at any of the services she’d forced you to sit through. It was kind of impressive, if you were honest.

Dean’s eyes began to glaze over when Roy placed a hand on the side of his head. You and Sam shot up out of your chairs. Roy’s hand remained on the older brother’s head as he sank to the floor, gasping for breath. You sprinted to the stage when Dean fell.

You grabbed the front of Dean’s hoodie. His eyes burst open and he gasped. “Say something!” you urged him.

He blinked groggily and looked up at Roy. He seemed scared; not of Roy, but of whatever was right next to Roy. You pulled him off the stage, thanking Roy, and left the tent when the service was dismissed.

***

You and Sam brought Dean to a nearby hospital the next day. He’d said he felt fine, but you and his brother just wanted to make sure.

“So, you really feel okay?” Sam asked him. You and Sam stood by Dean who sat on an exam table in the doctor’s office.

“I feel fine, Sam.” Dean’s heart wasn’t there when he spoke.

A pretty doctor with curly hair entered the room. She looked over her paperwork before addressing you and the boys. “Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still it's strange it does happen.”

“What do you mean, strange?” Dean asked.

“Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack.”

Dean nodded absently. “Thanks, Doc.”

The woman left the room.

“That's odd,” Dean said pointedly.

Sam was defensive. “Maybe it's a coincidence. People's hearts give out all the time, man.”

The older brother sighed. “No, they don't.”

“Dean, why can’t we just be grateful the guy saved your life and move on?” you questioned.

“Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why.” Dean refused to meet your eyes.

“What feeling?”

“When I was healed, I just... I felt wrong. I felt cold. And for a second, I saw someone. This, uh, this old man. And I'm telling you, (Y/N), it was a spirit.”

“But if there was something there, Dean, I think either of us would’ve seen it,” you insisted. “Boy Wonder over here’s been seeing an awful lot lately.”

“Exactly,” Sam affirmed.

“Well, excuse me, but you're just gonna need a little faith on this one. Guys, I've been hunting long enough to trust a feeling like this.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, alright. So, what do you wanna do?”

“I want you two to go check out the heart attack guy. I'm gonna visit the reverend.”

You and Sam obeyed. You followed the trail to the gym he used to work out at. A man who had been acquaintances with him spoke to you. “I'm telling you, he seemed healthy. Swam every day, didn't smoke. So, a heart attack just kind of seemed, well, bizarre.”

“And you said he was running, right before he collapsed?” you asked him.

“Yeah, yeah, he was freaking out,” the employee responded. “He said that something was, uh, was after him.”

“Did he say what?” Sam questioned.

“Well, thin air is what. I mean, it wasn't anything.”

You noticed a clock on the wall wasn’t working as you turned to leave. “Hey, buddy? Your clock's busted.”

The employee sighed. “Oh, yeah, we, uh, can't get it workin'. Just froze at 4:17.”

“Is that the same time Marshall died?” Sam asked.

The man was stunned. “How'd you know?”

***

You and Sam were hanging out in the boys’ motel room. You brushed a hand through your hair. “This isn’t our fault, right?” You were pacing. “We had no way of knowing.”

Sam was sitting on his bed, clacking away at his laptop. “(Y/N)—”

“No, Sam! Dean’s gonna be pissed! And he’s gonna hate himself even more because he’s Dean and of course he will. Obviously, I’m thrilled that he’s better, I just—”

The man in question came through the door at that second. He threw his eyes on the bed across from Sam’s and began taking his jacket off. “What'd you find out?” Dean could tell from your pacing that something was wrong.

You quietly said, “I'm sorry.”

He approached you. “Sorry about what?’

“Marshall Hall died at 4:17,” Sam continued.

“The exact time you were healed,” you murmured.

“Yeah. So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits. Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time,” Sam explained.

“Someone's healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?” Dean questioned.

Sam shook his head. “Somehow. LeGrange, he’s trading a life for another.”

“Wait, wait, wait. So, Marshall Hall died to save me?” Dean’s voice became angry.

The younger brother’s puppy eyes were back. “Dean, the guy probably would've died anyway. And someone else would've been healed.”

“You never should've brought me here,” Dean said gruffly.

Guilt clawed at your throat. "Dean, we were just trying to help.”

"But, (Y/N), some guy’s dead now because of me!”

“We didn't know,” Sam protested. “The thing I don't understand is how is Roy doing it? How's he trading a life for a life?”

Dean seemed to realize something. “Oh, he's not doing it. Something else is doing it for him.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“The old man I saw on stage. I didn't wanna believe it, but deep down I knew.” Dean leaned on the back of a chair in the corner of the room.

“You knew what? What are you talking about?” Sam inquired.

“There's only one thing that can give and take life like that. We're dealing with a reaper,” Dean finished.

You scrubbed a hand over your face and sank down at the desk in the room. “You really think it's the Grim Reaper? Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

Dean sat at the table across from you. “No, no, no, not the reaper, a reaper. There's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth. It goes by a hundred different names. It's possible that there's more than one of them.”

“But you said you saw a dude in a suit,” Sam deadpanned.

“What, you think he shoulda been working the whole black robe thing? You said it yourself that the clock stopped right? Reapers stop time. And you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why I could see it and you couldn't.”

“Maybe.”

“There's nothing else it could be Sam. The question is how is Roy controlling the damn thing?”

“That cross,” Sam realized.

“What cross?” you asked, turning to him.

“There was this cross. I noticed it in the church and I knew I had seen it before.” He rifled through some papers and snorts. He held a card up to you and Dean.

You took it from him. “A Tarot?”

“It makes sense. A tarot dates back to the early christian era right, when some priests were still using magic? And a few of them veered into the dark stuff? Necromancy and how to push death away, how to cause it?”

“So Roy's using black magic to bind the reaper?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“If he is, he's riding the whirlwind. It's like putting a dog leash on a great white,” Sam quipped.

Dean rose to put a cup in the sink. “Okay, then, we stop Roy.”

“How?” You turned to him.

“You know how,” Dean answered.

You scoffed. “We’re not gonna kill Roy.”

“Sweetheart, the guy’s playing god; he's deciding who lives and who dies. That's a monster in my book.”

Sam argued back, “No. We're not going to kill a human being Dean. We do that, we're no better than he is.”

“Ok, we cant kill Roy, we can't kill death. Any bright ideas, college boy?”

“Ok. uh, If Roy's using some kind of black spell on the reaper, we gotta… figure out what it is. And how to break it,” Sam elaborated.

“Back to church it is, then,” you said, and the boys followed you out to the Impala.

***

“If Roy's using a spell, there might be a spell book,” Sam suggested. The three of you had arrived at the church just before the service began.

“See if you can find it.” Dean looked at his watch. “Hurry up, too, the service starts in fifteen minutes. I'll try to stall Roy.”

The man who had been arguing with the cop days before was back out front the church again, handing out pamphlets. “Roy LeGrange is a fraud,” the man preached. “He's no healer.”

Dean took a pamphlet. “Amen, brother.”

“You keep up the good work,” Sam told him.

You giggled at the brothers’ antics.

“Thank you,” the man grinned.

You and Sam searched the house after Roy and SueAnn had left it in preparation for the service. Sam led you through a window into the house. You scanned the bookshelf; pulling the only book that didn’t have dust on it.

“Sam, look,” you said. He came over to you, and flipped through the book. Realizing there was nothing of value in it, he went to put it back. You stopped him. “Wait, what’s that?”

Sam pulled the book from behind the one you had pulled out. Inside it, you found a picture of the wooden cross Sam had seen in the tent. He also found multiple news clippings stashed inside; each a victim of Roy’s life-swapping. The one who had died for Dean was an openly gay teacher. Another in front of it was an abortion rights advocate, and the most recent page was of the man handing out leaflets in front of the tent.

“Oh, that poor guy,” you said, biting your lip. “C’mon.”

Once you were out of the house, you called Dean. “Whatcha got?” he asked you.

“Roy's choosing victims he sees as immoral. And I think I know who's next on his list. Remember that protestor?” you said.

“What, the guy in the parking lot?” Dean whispered.

“Yeah. Yeah, we'll find him. But you can't let Roy heal anyone, alright?”

Dean hung up, and you and Sam set off to find the man. Suddenly, a screeching voice caught your attention. You watched as the protester dashed between cars. “Help! Help! Help me, please!”

You ran over to him. “Where is he?”

The man grabbed your shoulder. “Right there!”

Obviously, you could see nothing. You grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “Sam!”

“Here!”

And suddenly, everyone in the tent flooded out. You, Sam, and David Wright stopped running.

“David, I think it's ok,” Sam said, pressing his phone to his ear.

David’s eyes widened, and panic overtook him once more. “No!”

“Dean it didn't work. The reaper's still coming!” Sam told his brother through the phone. “I'm telling you, I'm telling you it didn't work. Roy must not be the one controlling this thing.”

Wright began to sink to the ground. You stood by, horrified and helpless. And then, Wright gasped for breath again. He was fine and the reaper had seemingly backed off.

“It’s Sue Ann,” Sam told you.

“Bitch,” you muttered.

At that moment, Dean was escorted out of the tent by two police officers. They told him something about instilling the fear of God in him if the ever saw him again. From a distance away, you could hear Roy saying he would heal Layla in a private service later that night.

***

You returned to the boys’ motel room to hatch a plan for disrupting that private service.

“So Roy really believes.” Sam shook his head in dismay.

“I don't think he has any idea what his wife's doing,” Dean added.

“Well, we found this.” You handed Dean the little book. “Hidden in their library. It's ancient. Written by a priest who went dark side. There's a binding spell in here for trapping a reaper.”

“Must be a hell of a spell,” the older brother responded.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. You gotta build a black alter with seriously dark stuff. Bones, human blood. To cross a line like that; a preacher's wife. Black magic. Murder. Evil.”

“Desperate,” Dean continued. “Her husband was dying, she didn't have anything to save him. She was using the binding spell to keep the reaper away from Roy.”

“Cheating death, literally,” Sam snorted.

“Yeah but Roy's alive, so why is she still using the spell?”

“Right. To force the reaper to kill people she thinks are immoral.”

“May god save us from half the people who think they're doing god's work.”

“We gotta break that binding spell, guys,” you said.

Dean stared at the picture of the cross in the book. “You know Sue Ann had a coptic cross like this. When she dropped it, the reaper backed off.”

“So you think we gotta find the cross or destroy the altar?” Sam questioned.

“Maybe both,” you suggested. “Whatever we do we gotta do it soon, or he's healing Layla tonight.”

Dean sighed and shook his head.

“What?” you asked.

“She just doesn’t deserve this, is all.”

“I know, Dee, I feel horrible for her. But we have to.”

Later that night, you and the boys arrived at the LeGrange house.

“That's Layla's car. She's already here.” Sam pointed.

Dean nodded sadly. “You know if Roy woulda picked Layla instead of me she'd be here right now. And if she's not healed tonight she's gonna die in a coupla months.”

“What’s happening to her is horrible. But, what?” you said. “You’re gonna let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself. You can’t play god.”

Dean didn’t answer. He just got out of the car, and you followed him. You could see Layla on stage with Roy, a small crowd of people around them.

“Where's Sue Ann?” you wondered aloud.

“House,” Sam nodded in its direction.

“Go find Sue Ann, (Y/N) and I'll catch up.”

“We will?”

“It’ll be harder for them to catch two of us. C’mon,” Dean urged. He yelled at the cops coming down the stairs to the house. “You gonna put that fear of god in me?”

They dropped their coffee cups and began to follow Dean. You jumped out from behind the bush and called at the cops, too. “How ‘bout me, fellas? Come and get it!” The two cops hesitated, but one of them followed Dean and the other followed you.

You and Dean met up behind a camper van. Dean shot you a look that said, ‘We were supposed to split up.’

“You see ‘em?” One cop asked the other.

“Nah,” came the response.

You and Dean slowly stood up to the passenger window of the camper and took in your surroundings. A dog in the van began barking wildly. You shot a look at Dean with wide eyes, and the two of you scrambled up to the roof of the van.

The cops pounded their feet all the way back to the van, cursing at the dog for falsely tipping them off. The cops headed off to the woods behind the tent. You and Dean climbed down and started toward the tent. Suddenly, the lights leading up to the tent began to go out. Dean stopped, slowly turning to face the flickering lights. He turned back to you and flinched back, falling to the ground and scrambling backward.

“What?” you called. “Where is it?”

“Right behind you!” he answered. His eyes began to roll back in his head as he convulsed on the ground.

“Dean, no!” you cried. “I can't lose you!” you held the back of his head and placed your hand on his chest. As soon as it started, it stopped. Dean fell back in your arms, gasping.

“You good?” you asked him.

He panted, nodding.

You helped him to his feet, and the two of you met Sam at the Impala.

“You okay?” Sam asked his brother.

Dean shook his head. “Hell of a week.”

“Yeah.” Sam trailed off. “Alright, come on. We should get going.”

The three of you got in the car and returned to your motel.

***

“What did you mean by ‘I can’t lose you’?” Dean asked you.

Sam took the opportunity to flee the scene, heading into the motel and leaving you and Dean on the curb.

“Just that,” you told him. You looked into those gorgeous green eyes you were beginning to have complicated feelings for. “You and Sam are my only two friends. Of course, you’re important to me.”

He chuckled and gave you a lopsided smile. “We’re friends now?”

“Of course. It’s hard to hate you, unfortunately.” You smiled warmly. “Goodnight, Dee.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @princessleahorgana

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