#to try and look for them before the house was sold and the new owners throw out everything that was left behind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prentissluvr · 2 months

Text

but daddy i love him — sam winchester

cw : gn!empath!reader, light angst, fluff, some canon typical violence, demons, mentions of weapons, emotional manipulation/some emotional abuse in reader's past/presence, dean's kinda mean for a bit, kissing, food/drink mentions, poor editing, 11.3K words. listen to but daddy i love him by taylor swift. requested !

summary : you were raised sheltered from the world, but once you meet sam, you come to understand what freedom means. ౨ৎ . . . [ empath : has the ability to read and manipulate anyone's emotions. not the psychology kind lol ]

you’re not a demon, though you’re certainly no angel. in all technically, you suppose that you’re closer to a demon since they used to be human. not that you’d want to be put in the same box as any single demon, but you know that they feel some emotions. angels, you’re told, do not. to you, that’s quite a strange concept. someday, you’d like to meet one to see if it’s true.

and though you are not a demon, you’ve learned very well how to be like one, or at the very least how to feel like one. this is only helpful because your uncle, the demon who raised you (who is not your real uncle, nor related to you at all) wants you to be just like him. that implies being entirely uncaring and mostly unfeeling, with the exceptions for feelings being guiltless, hatred, annoyance, generally anything negative and parallel with aggression, and pleasure in the face of enacting pain or evil things upon somebody else.

having been surrounded by exactly that for as long as you can remember, you have no trouble pretending to be that way. in actuality, you find it totally impossible to embody it in truth. you, opposite to demons, are especially in tune with all aspects of your humanity. this does include the bad, but you’ve spent your life clinging to and longing for the good. plus, you don’t particularly enjoy experiencing the constant negativity that rolls off of most demons and right onto you. although your powers are geared towards other humans and you can’t read or manipulate demons’ emotions as easily, you learned to use your powers on them before anything else.

today, you accompany a crossroads demon, as per usual. your uncle has you trying a new tactic to aid in soul-collection. unfortunately for you, it's been working well and you have to pretend more often than not that your powers are failing you when they’re working just fine. you feel like a door-to-door salesman for guaranteed painful death and torture until one’s humanity is ripped away, all under the guise of pretty or petty dreams come true.

your accompanying demon, russell, is one of your least favorites. you don’t really like any of them, but unfortunately, russell is one of your uncle’s most trusted. you think it’s stupid, because you’re able to tell that he’s a coward and most likely not as trust-worthy as your uncle thinks. personally, you just find him annoying.

russell approaches the next house, knocking on the door as you lag behind. the man at the last house sold his soul in exchange to look ten years younger. not everyone exchanges their lives for such stupid reasons, but when they do, it makes you feel extra disgusted by the work you have to participate in. but for the sake of fooling your uncle, you pretend to enjoy it. someday, you might get away… you just don’t know what you’d do or how you’d survive.

the owner of the house opens the door, and the second she sees you and russell, dressed in suits and smiling all fake, her annoyance and skepticism immediately become apparent to you. your first order of business is to push that away and replace it with openness, curiosity, and a little bit of desire to get her to listen to you. since you “failed” at the first three houses and were successful at the last one, russell expects you to make this one work as well. it takes a bit of concentration to keep everything subtle and slow so that she doesn’t notice anything too strange.

when she greets you, she smiles a little and you know that you were successful. you let russell do all the talking as you continually feed the woman more desire and assuredness. little by little, you tug at her hesitation, pulling it away as russell gives her his pitch.

“anything you could ever dream of for the small price of your soul!” he lies about how small of a price it is and you mask your abundant discomfort. the more and better you do for your uncle, the more he lets you off of your figurative leash. the woman, mrs. hadley, as she introduced herself, is on the verge of saying yes. you’re seated in the living room as she goes on about how her one wish is for her young son to be treated well at school. you debate sabotaging the deal to save her, when the door bangs open and two men burst into the house, both sporting various weapons.

mrs. hadley screams and your concentration snaps. immediately, her fear and confusion wash over you, along with everything else that the two men and russell are feeling. suddenly quite overwhelmed, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before remembering you’re under threat. russell curses loudly, and when you snap your eyes open, he’s halfway across the room as he sprints full speed for the back door.

“sam!” shouts one of the men, nodding towards you and the frightened mrs. hadley as he takes off after russell. the other man, now dubbed sam, points his knife at you and begins rehearsing a latin exorcism.

“i’m not a demon, i swear,” you say, slowly standing and putting your hands up in surrender. his eyebrows furrow in confusion. you also sense his urgency and protectiveness, but you don’t sense as much aggression in him as you’d expected. the rush of that which you’d felt before must have been from the other man.

“then what are you?” he asks, voice gruff as he slowly approaches, trying to carefully manuever in between you and mrs. hadely.

“i’m human,” you answer, honest but withholding the full truth. “i promise,” you plead, trying to gauge his reaction without actually manipulating his feelings. when sam reaches mrs. hadley, he holds his arm in front of her protectively. there’s still fear and utter confusion rolling off of her.

“wh–what the hell is going on?” she asks, voice panicked.

“it’s alright,” sam reassures, trying to be as gentle as possible. “you just can’t make that deal. it’ll get you killed.”

“what? killed, i– but it seemed– it seemed fine?” you can feel doubt creep into mrs. hadley as well as she questions why she trusted you and russell so much without any real reason.

“trust me, whatever they promised you, it’s not worth it,” sam emphasizes. mrs. hadely goes to speak again, but sam returns his attention back to you. “what are you doing with a demon?”

“i… they have me trapped,” you say in a half-lie.

he clenches his jaw, but most of his distrust subsides because he feels more concerned for mrs. hadley than you. he tucks his knife somewhere accessible, and turns to the woman to comfort her. he tries to explain without too much detail that she should never sell her soul to anyone, but that it’s best if she tries to forget this all. but it’s clear to both you and him that she’s just panicking more and more. you easily read the way that sam wants to help her and it makes you want to do the same.

you mean to just send mrs. hadley a touch of calm and comfort, just so sam can get through to her. but you yourself are panicked and overwhelmed, never having been in such an out-of-control situation, and your strong desire to help her comes out unfiltered and unhindered by your usual careful control when you deal with humans. suddenly, mrs. hadley is grinning from joy, even laughing a little. for a moment, this seems fine to you. you fixed her fear, didn’t you?

but sam turns even more confused and worried. this, in turn, confuses you and breaks your concentration, and she falls back into an even stronger fear as she realizes starkly that she’s been experiencing emotions that aren’t her own.

she bursts into tears. “what– what was that?” she cries. you feel quite overwhelmed by her strong emotions.

you frown deeply. “i– i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to– i mean, i was just trying to help. i didn’t want want you to feel so afraid. i can help, though, i promise. i just– i was distracted and humans can be so sensitive.” you begin to approach with your hands still in the air, but you halt when her fear spikes even more and sam’s hesitance returns in full. they don’t want you near. you consider manipulating both of their emotions, just to get them to allow you closer, but you think better of it at the last second. they might grow even more wary if they notice the change in their own feelings.

“did you do that?” sam asks.

you deflate in guilt. “i’m sorry,” you say again, filling your voice with sincerity, “i didn’t mean to scare you,” you look at mrs. hadley, then proceed carefully, “but i can help, just a little, i won’t do anything crazy– i– i can’t do anything crazy, i promise. and i can make sure that no one ever bothers you again. you don’t have to let me close if you don’t want me to, but i really can help. just to… to calm things down a little and– and leave a little room for you to process. or, of course, i can just go and you’ll never see me or that guy again.” you look between sam and mrs. hadley, trying to calm yourself so you can get a proper read on both of their emotions without overloading yourself with all the information. mrs. hadley is just about as confused and scared as before, but you think that sam’s reassuring presence is helping her. you’re not so sure that your words have done anything to help. sam himself is still hesitant, but as some of his wariness slips away, you think he might be willing to hear you out or at least let you go unscathed.

“oh, you’re not going anywhere,” comes a gruff voice from behind you, along with the kiss of cold metal on the back of your neck. it’s a gun, you presume. you slowly lift your hands back up, having forgotten about the other man’s presence when he disappeared to take care of russell. you turn your attention to his feelings instead of the other two in case you need to use your powers to try and save yourself. he’s got aggression, calm anger, and a whole lot of protectiveness practically spilling out of him. he thinks you’re dangerous. he’s not necessarily wrong, but you really aren’t a danger to them, not unless you have to be.

“i’m telling the truth, i swear. please, just– just let me go.” you keep your voice steady, but pleading, trying not to let on just how scared you are but also appeal to their sympathy. you’re in danger, something that you’re completely unused to despite the way you grew up all around it.

“and let you get back to those demon bitches? not a chance. what even are you?” the man’s voice is unforgiving as he digs the gunpoint further into your skin, pressing for answers. you wince.

“dean, wait,” sam interrupts, “i don’t think they’re trying to hurt anyone,” he says, trying to reason before dean gets any more violent.

“sam, they’re clearly working with demons. i think that qualifies as trying to hurt people. we don’t even know if they’re human,” dean counters.

you’re about to speak again in your own defense when a familiar voice fills your ears.

“it’s always you boys, isn’t it? i should have known that the winchesters would crash my little soul-collecting party,” your uncle drawls.

“crowley,” sam growls, and you’re suddenly flooded with his anger.

your uncle completely ignores sam in favor of dean. “i kindly ask that you let my sweet pet go, squirrel.”

dean turns around, pulling you with him. “so they’re with you?” dean asks, voice accusatory.

“they are. and if you don’t hand them over, i will knock you out cold without a second thought. your choice, of course, darling,” crowley quips. you’re highly confused. the three clearly know each other, but your uncle has never mentioned anyone like the “winchesters” before. dean grows even more suspicious of you, sam confused and worried, and you know very well that crowley is only barely covering up his total anger. he’s anything but pleased to have found you in this situation.

“tell me why, and i’ll hand them over,” dean bargians, not realizing just how much he’s pissing crowley off. your uncle doesn’t even wait to answer before sending dean flying across the room and grabbing your wrist.

“let’s go,” he grumbles, tugging you along with him. you glance back at sam, who moves forward, trying to stop crowley until he too gets flung into the wall.

“uncle!” you shout in protest. “wait, i need to–”

“absolutely not,” he shouts back, “what the hell were you thinking? how’d you mess up a simple deal so horribly?”

“i’m sorry,” you apologize, suddenly remembering yourself. he’ll only grow more angry if you continue to protest.

“damn those winchesters,” he grumbles to himself. as he drags you home, he continually complains about them, cursing that you got mixed up with them and pounding into your head that you should never, ever get involved with the winchesters.

⟢⟢⟢

honeybee cafe is just about the only solace that you have. it’s away from your uncle and the other demons, the place you always come when you’re allowed out without supervision. on top of that, it’s small and quiet, and you never visit during crowded hours. technically, you’re required by crowley to stay somewhere with other people so you can practice your powers on them. you picked this cafe for it’s cozy, quiet atmosphere, and the general lack of patrons from one to three pm. that way, you’re never overwhelmed by too many emotions. it’s usually just you, another regular or two, and the few workers. maybe it’s a little odd, but you feel secretly close with the people whose emotions you tune into over and over again. and you certainly don’t manipulate their emotions as crowley likely wishes you would.

you always sit in the corner furthest from the door, facing the rest of the small shop so that you can keep an eye on anyone who comes in or chooses to stay inside. sitting with your favorite beverage and a book you picked up from the library beforehand, you relish the comfort and warmth of the sunlight coming in from the window behind you. your room at home has no windows, and that just about kills you. you love windows.

only the soft tinkle of the bell on the cafe door interrupts the focus you lend to the book in front of you, and you look up on instinct. your breath catches in your throat as you immediately recognize the man who walks in. he doesn’t notice you, but you watch him as he orders a coffee. as he waits off to the side, you turn slightly, and you’re too late to cast your eyes down before he catches your gaze. his face lights up in recognition and surprise. he takes a step towards you before he’s interrupted by the barista’s call of his name. quickly, he takes the cup from their hand and thanks them before turning back to you. you weren’t planning on speaking to him, not after your strange first encounter and crowley’s warnings against him, but you feel an odd sort of relief when it becomes clear that he wants to approach you, to talk to you. he had left an impression on you when you’d met. he’d just seemed so… good.

his eyes flicker around the cafe as he comes closer, likely looking for signs of demons.

“i’m alone,” you assure him, smiling carefully as he gets close enough. he nods, slowly sitting across from you when you nod at the seat. “though i have to be back by evening or someone will come looking for me,” you explain, mouth forming a small frown as you think about it. he’s confused and concerned as he looks at you, and it feels sort of nice to guess that he’s maybe worried about you.

he seems unsure of what to say, so he just jumps right into it. “i never caught your name. i’m sam winchester, though i’m sure you got that before. can i ask… are you an empath? i did some research since we last met.” he gives you a tense sort of smile, not because he’s nervous, but just because this second meeting feels very awkward.

you nod and give him your name before anything else. “and yes, i am an empath,” you confirm, unsure if you should explain further or not. he seems to understand well enough.

he’s a bit more hesitant the next time he speaks. “and can you explain your… situation? you said you were trapped, and crowley seemed very possessive of you… but i thought i heard you call him uncle? whatever it is, i can help you get away from him, my brother and i have dealt with crowley too many times to count.”

his immediate offer to help and instinct to suggest you just leave crowley are both sort of overwhelming to you, but a part of you likes his words.

“oh. i– well, it’s complicated. crowley, he’s– he’s sort of my only family.” sam’s eyebrows raise a little in questioning. “we’re not actually related, or anything, but he raised me. he’s– well, he’s taught me everything i know and… i can’t– i can’t really leave. besides, he’s really not all that bad,” you try to excuse, suddenly feeling oddly defensive in a way that you can’t really explain. “and i get days to myself like this, i– i have my freedom, i just… before, i didn’t want you to think i was trying to hurt people, or that i like to, but uncl– crowley doesn’t really know… that i don’t like the things that he… that he asks me to do for him.”

suddenly, this wave of sad understanding rolls over you from sam, and you’re not sure why. his face doesn’t change much as he listens, but to you it seems like he thinks you’ve said something so sad.

“but it’s alright,” you quickly try to amend, “he thinks i’m weaker than i really am. that way he doesn’t suspect when most demon deals i’m a part of fail. i have to… i have to get some to work so that he thinks i’m trying, but i promise i try to hurt the least amount of people possible. and.. and he still lets me have my days out when the deals fall through. i botched two yesterday, but i’m still here, aren’t i?” you attempt at sounding lighthearted, but sam’s sadness doesn’t go away much. instead, you just feel compassion blooming from him as well.

“i understand,” he says kindly, “i didn’t think you were trying to hurt people. i believe you.” he’s completely sincere and you realize that that’s not something you’re too used to from almost anybody you talk to.

“thank you,” you sigh in relief, smiling and trying to show him that you’re sincere too. “your brother? dean?” sam nods. “he didn’t believe me,” you state.

sam cringes a little. “he can be like that. he–” he purses his lips, looking for the right words, “he doesn’t trust very easily. he’s very suspicious of people he doesn’t know.”

“i don’t think he really thought i was a person,” you say, starkly honest in a way that surprises sam for a moment. you don’t quite understand what his surprise was for, but he quickly shoves it away before you can ask about it.

“he’s– he’s working on that. i’m sorry he made you feel that way,” sam says, truly feeling apologetic.

“well, i didn’t feel that way. just him. i know that i’m a person,” you smile, trying to reassure him and wishing he didn’t feel sorry.

sam smiles back a little. “right,” he nods, “well, i’m still sorry he thought that way about you. he’ll come around.”

“thank you, sam. but you don’t have to feel sorry, it’s not your fault he felt that way,” you assure, completely sincere and trying to work out why sam would feel sorry about something he didn’t cause, nor that he agrees with. he’s already proved himself to be kind and believing enough.

“sure,” he agrees, trying to figure out the right way to explain what he means as he begins to understand how truly sheltered from normal human interaction you’ve been. “but i know how it feels to have someone doubt how human you are and that it’s not a good feeling. so i’m just sorry and empathetic that you had to experience that.”

you nod in understanding. “ah, well, that’s kind of you… you’re right. it wasn’t the most pleasant thing to feel, but i understand that dean was feeling sort of afraid and definitely mistrustful. you didn’t really find me in the most trustworthy position. but if i meet him again, i hope you’re right that he’ll come around. i really am just a person, but i get that i’m, you know, not one hundred percent normal. really, empathy’s a very human thing, mine’s just… exaggerated, i guess.” you look at him, head cocked to the side in confusion. “but you, sam? why would someone doubt how human you are? you feel things just like a human.”

sam gives you a half smile. there’s a tinge of bitterness when he answers, but the way he talks and feels makes it seem as though time as softened most anger or sadness. yet, it also feels as though he’s never really talked about this much.

“i used to have psychic powers. i’d have visions, these premonitions before people died.” he explains it as something so casual, and he’s trying to feel that way about it, but he really seems to care. “in a way, i was barely different from you. of course, i’m still not. we’re both people.”

“really?” you ask, curious, “i didn’t know other people had that sort of thing. and your powers? they’re gone now?”

“it seems like it. i haven’t had a vision in a long time,” he answers.

“you seem relieved by that,” you note. sam picks up on the tinge of sad disappointment in your voice.

“i am,” he answers honestly, “but not because it’s bad to have those sort of powers. i just didn’t really enjoy getting visions of people dying violently.” he gives you a tight-lipped smile to show you he’s okay being lighthearted about it all.

you relax. “right, of course. that must have been hard,” you give him a small, kind smile, “i can feel that it was hard. i’m glad you don’t have to go through that anymore.” you’re all sincerity, and sam smiles right back.

“can i ask what it’s like for you? to have these powers?” he asks, careful and kind. he wonders if you get headaches or terribly tired of feeling other people’s emotions all the time, but he doesn’t want to make you talk about it if you’d rather not.

you’re slightly taken aback by the question, and not because you don’t want to talk about it. you just never really have at all before. you realize the simultaneous oddness and loveliness of this conversation. not once have you spoken about your powers with another human before, much less one who has some understanding about them.

“well… i guess i’ve never really thought about it much. just because i’ve never known anything else. i honestly don’t remember much from when i was young, but crowley’s been teaching me how to use them for as long as i remember. it’s both better and worse with practice, i guess. and the way i learned was kind of odd.” you pause, unsure if sam wants to really hear about it all. but he gives you an encouraging nod and you feel genuine interest coming from him, so you continue.

“i started learning with demons, but they feel a whole lot less than humans do. and i can’t feel or manipulate their emotions as easily or strongly since my powers are geared towards humans. but since that’s how i learned, it’s decently easy now, though it technically takes more effort than it does for humans. now i’m practicing on people, and it’s sort of too easy. it takes much more control because i’m used to exerting more power on demons. and humans feel things much more strongly, and are much more sensitive to change. i’ve gotten much better, but if i’m distracted or overwhelmed, my control slips. that’s what happened with mrs. hadley.” suddenly, you remember her. “is she okay?” i made things worse for her, didn’t i? you think.

“she’ll be alright,” sam says. “she was shaken up, but she was doing much better when i left. don’t worry too much about her.”

you almost want to ask again, if she’ll really be okay, but it seems that sam will most likely give you the same answer he just did. “okay,” you relent. then you realize you did more explaining about how your powers work than what it’s like for you. “to really answer your question; it’s my norm, and i’m not sure what it would be like without them. but sometimes i think it might be nice if i didn’t have them. i would’t have to help the demons, and it can be… overwhelming. i’m used to the demons; their emotions are easier to tune out. but with people? well, they just feel a lot. of course, i’m used to my own feelings, but to feel that, plus everything else around me, especially when someone could be feeling so much all at once is just… it can be a lot. i’m learning how to tune it out, but honestly, i’m still figuring it all out.”

sam thinks you look a little embarrassed when you finish, and he certainly doesn’t want you to feel that way. “that makes sense,” he reassures, “i barely had any control over my own powers. i can’t imagine how difficult it is to be in control of something so complicated and fickle as emotions. most people can barely deal with their own emotions. being able to feel everyone else’s too can’t be easy at all.

you nod in simple agreement. “it isn’t. but i’m also glad for it. sometimes, unc– crowley has me use it for his, you know, demon things, and i don’t like that. but i think my powers are part of the reason why i’m able to hate it. i’m so connected to humanity, the good and bad in everything that people feel, that no matter how i grew up, i’ll always have empathy in its rawest form. and though i don’t get too many chances, and i mess it up sometimes, i can help others when i’m away from the demons. last week, there was this girl in here,” you smile lightly at the memory as you begin to recount it to sam, “she was smiling and nice to everyone, but i could feel how just sad she was. i paid for her drink and told her she looked pretty, and the way that it made her feel… i didn’t even have to use my powers. she was just so grateful and happy that she teared up. and i barely did anything at all. that’s what keeps me going,” you say, completely honest, “knowing that i can help and that it’s my choice when i do it.” you feel like some huge weight has been lifted from your chest. you’ve never said this all aloud, and certainly not for someone else to hear. but something about sam and his sincerity and goodness makes you feel comfortable enough to say almost anything at all.

sam looks at you with a sort of admiration and total understanding, and that alone is almost enough to overwhelm you. it seems like, in all your experience in feeling, sam is showing you more, all by himself and without even trying. to be understood, so fully in so little time, is not something you’d ever felt for yourself before.

“i know what you mean,” he says, and you absolutely believe him. you want to know him, more than you’ve ever wanted to know anybody. you want to know all about what he feels and why and what he likes and how he knows what you mean without being able to read your feelings like you can his. and you know that he feels just about the same way you do. he wants to know you just as much as you want to know him.

and so you talk and talk and talk until you realize that the sun is dipping low in the sky because you begin telling him how much you love windows. then it’s a sort of frenzy; you’re worried you’ll be caught and try to leave right away, but sam catches your wrist, his calloused hand so gentle on your skin. he asks for your number, but you don’t have a phone, so you tell him to come back at the same time next week if he can. then you rush out and he watches you go.

the next week, sam appears in the cafe doorway at 1:24 pm, and he looks all soft when you smile at him wide. before you have to go again that day, he hands you a cheap phone with both his and dean’s contact already in place. he tells you it’ll make things easier because he might not be able to make it again next week. he doesn’t know when he’ll be on a hunt or not. then he tells you not to call dean unless it's a true emergency; dean still isn’t sure about you.

when you go, you forget to ask him how to use it. so, when he texts you on thursday to tell that he’s on a hunt, and might not make it to your meeting spot on sunday, you’re very unsure what you’re supposed to say. figuring out how to use the phone itself isn’t difficult, but you’re unaware that your simple response of “that’s okay.” is a bit bare-boned and dry in response to his kindly worded message. over time, you get used to how sam talks over text and learn how to emulate it.

and when sam calls you for the first time, you’re completely taken aback. you’d seen people talking over phone calls many times, but you’d never actually done it yourself. you accidentally hang up on him four rings in, but he calls you back a moment later. your surprise is delighted when you hear his voice through the speaker. then you discover it’s just like a demon call without all the blood involved. you also discover that, while you can pick up on emotions from his voice, you can’t really use your powers at all through the phone.

he regretfully interrupts your long spiel about the different pastries you’ve tried from honeybee cafe, telling you he has to go. you ask why, confused that you can’t just keep talking since you’re now able to through the phone. you love talking to him, and you think he enjoys it too. then he tells you that he was just calling to see if you could meet a different day this week, like he asked at the beginning of the call, and that dean expects him to be doing research for a case right now. you ask why he didn’t just text like normal, why he’d call if he didn’t want to keep talking.

“i do want to keep talking,” he reassures, “it’s just that i don’t have the time right now, but i thought calling might be a little easier than texting this time around. but i can call you again later tonight?”

“okay,” you respond, happy enough with that solution. after that, you call him any time you have something to say. he laughs to himself, completely endeared when you call him to tell him that you saw a very cute cat, then hang up seconds later before he can even respond.

eventually, you come to learn that he can’t actually pick up most of the time, but he tries to as much as possible, and that calling is nicer when you both have the time to actually sit down and talk. as you get to know sam, you learn many, many things along with all the questions he answers about himself.

most amazingly, you learn what it feels like to fall in love with someone fast, and what its like for them to fall right in love with you too. whatever connection that you and sam felt the first few times meeting each other very easily and naturally turns into love. there’s this tug between the two of you, pulling you closer to each other every time you meet. his hand brushes over yours and you smile at him brightly, and you constantly think about each other when you’re apart.

sam tries to take things slow, feeling a little bit like he’s taking advantage of you and your sheltered past. but you know what you want, what you feel, and what he feels too. he wants you just as much as you want him, and you see no reason not to give each other just that.

and it’s so glorious, because you don’t have to read his emotions to know that he loves you back. he makes it so abundantly clear with the way that he acts around you, the way that he looks at you, and the way that he kisses you. you’ve learned that you’d do just about anything for him. you’ve learned how to feel this wild joy that you didn’t know how to feel before.

and it’s true that you’ve learned other, less pleasant things. you hate aiding demon deals even more than you thought. you’ve begun to think that, maybe, almost everything crowley’s raised you to view as the facts of the world, aren’t nearly as true as you thought. you’ve learned that maybe you don’t really owe him so much for raising you or teaching you to use your powers, and you’ve thought the scary thought that he might’ve done it all just to use you. you’ve learned that you should be able to do anything you’d like without having to fear the king of hell’s wrath. that you want to, probably should, get away from crowley, and that feeling like you don’t have a choice isn’t healthy or good for you at all. you’ve learned that you’re still too scared, but you’d rather be with sam, and that every day you spend with him, you become braver.

you’ve also found out that loving in secret can be hard, and that you want to see sam all the time, not just the times when both of you can sneak away. apparently, dean’s still having trouble “coming around” to the idea of you. he doesn’t know that sam’s yours and you’re his. he’s worried that you’re manipulating sam in caring about you, but sam’s reassured you that his love for you is the realest thing that he feels. you couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that he trusts you so much.

he trusts you so much that every weekend possible, he meets you in the cafe or the nearest motel and you spend hours just talking or laying in comfortable silence together.

he always books the room with the best view from the window and opens the curtains before you get there so that the sunlight bathes the room in warmth and light. today, the late afternoon light is especially pretty, tinted orange and casting a bright hue over yours and sam’s skin as you lounge in the bed together.

his arm is wrapped around your shoulders, both of you propped against the wall with several pillows. you hold his other hand, playing with his fingers and relishing in the feeling of his pretty nose against your cheekbone. because he can’t resist you, he likes to keep his face as close to yours as possible so that it’s very easy to kiss you. his lips will brush against your cheek constantly, and other times he lifts his hand from your upper arm to gently nudge your face closer to his so that he can seal his lips over yours.

you’ve already talked about lots of things today; the best toppings on salad, sam’s most recent case, the symbolism of rhododendron flowers in the book you finished three days ago, and surely more. but the last hour has been quiet, filled with more rustling of blankets, soft sighs, and occasional whispers more than anything else. you’re content, and sam is too, for the most part. often, you try not to be reading sam’s emotions, but spending so much time with him and being so close to him has put you almost irrevocably in tune with his feelings, and you can feel that something’s nagging at him. it’s both good and making him nervous at the same time, but you don’t say a word. you wait for him, until he’s ready to say whatever it is.

it’s when he presses another kiss to your temple that he speaks, voice a more steady volume rather than a whisper this time. “honey?” he says like a question, signaling to you that he’s got something to say, maybe something important that he wants to ask.

“yes, love?” you respond, trying to sound receptive to whatever it is he wants to talk about.

“i, uh, i asked dean if he’d try and meet you, and i managed to convince him. he– he doesn’t know that we’re together, love, but i told him i ran into you again. i think… i think he probably suspects that there’s more to it than that, but he hasn’t said anything about it and i’m taking that as a good sign. would you be okay trying to meet up with him?” he asks, careful and tentative. you can tell that he’s scared to interrupt the balance of things, but that he really wants this. you know how much he hates hiding this all from dean.

“of course,” you assure him quickly. you want the same as him. you don’t want to have to stay furtive and distant from sam so much. but you also have a question. “are we… going to pretend? you know, not to be together?”

sam’s face falls a little at that thought, and at the hint of sadness in your voice when you ask. “i don’t want to,” he starts.

“but you’re nervous,” you gently interrupt.

“a little,” he admits, giving you a small smile, “but i was going to say that it’s up to you. dean could… i don’t know, freak out and i don’t want you to have to worry about that if you don’t want to.” you nod at his words, feeling a bit embarrassed at your interruption. while you try not to let your ability to discern his feelings dictate exactly how you interact with him, you’re still learning that sometimes what someone feels doesn’t always let you predict what they want to say. and of course, he’s sincere about his concern for you, as always.

“well,” you consider his words seriously, “maybe we don’t have to tell him out right, but if he asks? we don’t have to lie?”

“of course, honey,” he nods, “i’d never lie about being with you if he asked directly,” he promises, sealing it with a chaste kiss to your lips. if there’s one thing you know, it’s that sam is proud of loving you, and one of his least favorite things it’s having to hide it. he wants dean to know, he just doesn’t want him to say something scathing to you or try to keep him away from you.

“okay,” you smile. you understand his hatred for hiding it and his nervousness well. you’d be more nervous than he is now about crowley discovering what you’re doing and who you’re meeting with when you’re out on your own. “but you don’t have to worry, sammy. we’ll try to keep him from asking unless he’s reacting well. if he’s still too suspicious, i’ll know and make sure we won’t act in a way that will make him ask. we have time,” you assure.

now sam feels conflicted, because he’s both relieved by your reassurance and sorry you’d have to hide that he’s yours and you’re his. then he’s suddenly hit by this desire to hide anything at all. he doesn’t want to hide from dean or let the way that dean feels get in the way of him seeing and loving you whenever he wants. he wants to show dean just how good you are and how good you are for him.

“thank you,” he says sweetly, “but i don’t want to keep hiding it from him, not for any longer. you’re too important to me for that.”

you want to melt right into him. “you’re important to me too, sam. really, really important. we’ll do this on your time, yeah? whatever you want.”

“yeah,” he smiles, “and we’ll do other things on your time, and others on ours,” he says assuredly.

you give him a nod as he reminds you that he’s by your side as you build up the courage to get away from crowley. sam has always been cautious about the topic, never saying too much until it was you who brought it up. the first time you told him you’d been thinking about escaping crowley, about realizing you don’t owe him your service or that he doesn’t treat you well, you had felt this surge of pride rush off of sam and onto you. outwardly, he was gentle and quietly encouraging, and he’s been just that since. he reminds you that you should do things at your own pace, but he’s there to do everything he can to help you. the more time you spend with him, the readier you are to stay with him, and just him. unlearning the things that you’ve had beaten into your head for as long as you can remember is nowhere near easy, but it’s undeniably better with sam by your side.

and less than a week later, you’re nervous and wishing for that exact comfort as you wait for him and dean to meet you in the cafe. you sip on your usual order, glad for its familiarity. after ten long minutes, your head shoots up at the sound of the door’s little bell ringing, signaling the arrival of sam and dean. dean walks in first, eyes scanning the small coffee shop until he sees you. you try not to look too nervous as you stand and send him an amicable smile.

you glance at san as he comes up from behind dean, giving you a reassuring smile. the sight of him relaxes you a bit, though you’re so in tune with his emotions by now that his own nervousness immediately washes over you. as dean approaches you try to get a read on his emotions as well. he’s less hostile than you expected, moreso careful, defensive, and begrudging. there’s also a hint of willingness along with it all, and you cling to that. there’s even some trust thrown into the mix, though you assume that it’s reserved only for sam.

“hi,” sam says kindly as he and dean take the seats across from you. you sit along with them.

“hi, sam,” you answer, reciprocating his friendly smile. “hi, dean,” you then say, turning your head to look him in the eye.

“hi,” he echoes, voice gruff. he settles his elbows onto the table top, trying to look casual and at ease, like he’s the one in control of the situation. “let’s, uh, skip the pleasantries. sammy here tells me that we should be protecting you from crowley. i don’t trust you and i’m not convinced you even need protection at all, given that you were helping him with his little demon deals. i’m also not convinced that you’re not using your freaky powers to make him trust you.”

“dean,” sam hisses. you feel a spike of anger from him when dean uses the word ‘freaky.’

“it’s okay,” you say, smiling a little at sam. you honestly appreciate dean’s frankness. “i understand that. i know we didn’t meet in ideal circumstances. i might not trust me either if i were you. and i’m honestly not sure exactly how i can convince you to, but i’d be grateful if you’d let me give it a shot.” dean looks completely skeptical. “without my powers, of course,” you rush to assure him.

“and i’ll know that how? you can literally change the way that i feel. it’s not really a good look for you,” he points out, earning a glare from sam that he completely ignores.

“you’re not entirely wrong,” you acknowledge, “but that’s a lot easier said than done. first of all, the effects of my powers are only temporary. i can only use my powers on you when i’m around you and focused enough. aside from that, you’d most likely be able to tell if i did use them.” dean raises his eyebrows in suspicion, so you go one to explain further. “you’re aware of what i can do, and you’re rightfully wary about it. that means you’ll most likely pick up on even minute changes in your emotions that i make. when you’re aware like that, you can overpower me. my abilities are strong, but frankly, authentic human emotions are stronger. long story short, i can’t do much at all to you. and while sam’s less wary than you to begin with, he’s still aware enough that the same applies to him. either of you would know and be able to overpower my hold on your emotions if i tried anything. the most i can do is get a read on what you’re actually feeling.”

dean still looks skeptical, but you sense a bit of his unease being to slowly slip away. “how do i know you’re telling the truth?” he demands.

without a word, you send just a small wave of trust and comfort through him. for a moment, he relaxes, but just as quickly, his scowl deepens and his own distrust replaces your influence. your affect on his emotions is easily pushed away.

“that’s what it would feel like if i were trying to get you to trust me with my powers. that was about as subtle as i can be with emotional manipulation, and you still noticed. all i can do is tell you that you’re still skeptical, but a little less than when you walked in here. and i can hope that means that you’d be willing to hear me out. i really, honestly could use the help.” you add as much sincerity to your voice as you can, relying on almost all logic to convince him.

dean scowls even more when you mention his feelings and read them accurately, but he does seem to realize that you read a whole lot more than what you actually said aloud. he also can’t say that he thinks you’re lying. it was easy for him to pick up on your influence. almost immediately. “fine,” he grumbles. “no promises, though.”

you nod, relaxing a bit despite his words being less than kind. “that’s fine,” you accept. “thank you.” you glance at sam, suddenly feeling unsure. he gives you a sweet nod and smile and you take a deep breath before forging on. “i don’t know how much sam told you about my… situation. but… for a long time i just didn’t really know i had any other option than to stay with and help crowley. and you don’t have to believe me, but, for the record, i really don’t enjoy helping him. but i think that he’d freak out if i left. and maybe send an army of demons after me, which i do realize would be highly inconvenient for you…,” you trail off, feeling more and more nervous. you take a deep breath to recollect yourself and give your full explanation as to why dean should be compelled to help you.

“but crowley’s also bound to find out that i’m holding my powers back and purposely sabotaging his demon deals. and let’s just say that nobody wants that. he wants my powers and i don’t know what lengths he’ll go to to get them. so… if you help me, you’ll be keeping my powers out of the hands of the king of hell, which means slowing down his demon deals and making sure i’m not doing whatever evil demon-y things you think that i might.”

you can see dean contemplating, sense his feelings shifting. he intertwines his fingers and looks at sam with a raised eyebrow. sam nods, his expression completely serious. dean turns back to you.

“alright,” he says, “this is nowhere near the worst deal we’ve ever made. we’ll take you with us, keep crowley and his demons at a distance, and you can get out of our hair and onto your own life once things settle down. sound good?” he asks the question like he’s already made the final decision.

“thank you,” you sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. it’s not perfect since he still doesn’t know that you’re totally in love with sam and he’s totally in love with you, but it’s a better start than just about anything else. then it suddenly hits you that you’ll really be walking away from crowley, and that scares you. sam manages to catch your gaze. he looks at you with a hint of concern, but also relief as well. you can see him asking with his eyes, should we tell him? it’s you that gives him an encouraging nod this time. if you want, you’re saying.

he gives you a smile, and you know it means that he’s going to tell dean, right here, right now. you’re about to smile right back, but your gaze catches on movement behind him. your face drops, and you feel the blood drain from it. you don’t catch sam’s worried look that he gives you before he twists in his seat to see what you’re looking at. everyone reacts just a little too late, and crowley slides into the seat beside you.

“well, hello boys! darling,” he looks at you pointedly before turning back to the brothers. “not quite the trio i expected to find today! or ever, considering the fact that i expressly ordered you to stay away from the winchesters, isn’t that right, darling?” he doesn’t even look at you, but you cringe away from him slightly. a wave of protectiveness rolls off of sam as he clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to pull you right away from crowley.

you avoid crowley’s question entirely. “what are you doing here, crowley?”

“crowley? what happened to uncle? you’re breaking my heart, darling,” he drawls, faking a dramatic offense. “just because it’s one of your free days doesn’t mean i can’t visit you, does it? especially not when i get a report that the winchesters are headed inside your favorite cafe. as your caretaker, i was very alarmed. these two are quite dangerous, you should know.”

sam looks at you carefully, wanting to speak up for you, but not wanting to say what’s yours to say or decide what’s yours to decide.

“i’m leaving with them,” you say to crowley, blunt and too scared to force out any words that aren’t simple. “i don’t want to keep helping you collect souls.” pride and relief wash over sam. it feels good to sense.

but crowley’s anger is the opposite. he’s red-hot mad. “after everything i’ve done for you, you’re going to try and leave with the bloody winchesters?”

“i never asked you to do anything for me. it’s not like any of it was ‘for me’ anyway. it was all for your own gain. sam’s done more for me than you ever did.” you let that last sentence slip out without trying, but you find yourself too angry to be in complete control of the things you say. angry, and afraid.

both dean’s and crowley’s eyebrows shoot up. “sounds like you’ve been spending time with dear sam now, have you?”

you swallow, biting the inside of your cheek before speaking. “i– i have. and i’ve learned much more important things from him than i have ever did from you. so you can just give this up and make things easy. i’m not going back with you.”

“i raised you,” crowley growls. “do you know how much i hate children? but i still raised you, taught you to use your powers and made you stronger than you ever would’ve been without me. what the hell could this giant twat have done for you that’s better and more important than that? and don’t dare say something horrible like love. have you never considered the power that you’d have by my side? clearly you learned nothing of loyalty! you’re completely thankless and a complete dimwit if you thought i was going to just let you go. i’m taking you back, whether you like it or not, and you’ll stay in your room until i’m positive you won’t set foot near dearest dean or your stupid, freakishly tall boyfriend. is that understood?”

“no,” you choke out, reaching for sam’s hand across the table. crowley looks like he’s about to explode. dean quickly puts his hand out to interrupt.

“we’re getting stares,” he says, “we can take this outside.”

“no,” sam counters, standing and pulling you up with him, guiding you to stand by his side. “we’re gonna go. and you’re not following, crowley, unless you want my demon blade shoved up your ass.”

“do i look like i care about stares?” crowley seethes, standing and grabbing your other wrist. you yank at his hold to no avail, and sam moves to break his hold as on you he continues to speak. “i will toss both of you winchesters and everyone else in this godforsaken place across the room until you’re all knocked out cold, if that’s what it takes.”

“let me go,” you insist, voice almost a snarl, right as sam tells him to get his hands off of you.

crowley ignores you, even as you struggle against his iron grip. “you first, moose,” he says through gritted teeth.

the second that dean steps closer to the three of you to intervene, crowley flicks his free hand and sends dean crashing into the farthest wall. a few disjointed screams ring through the cafe and spikes of fear wash over you from all the innocent civilians. sam’s anger grows by tenfold and all of it has you squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. you know that crowley wasn’t bluffing when he threatened everyone in the cafe, so you untangle your hand from sam’s and stretch your arm out in front of him before he can lunge at crowley.

“it’s okay, sam,” you say, voice surprisingly calm. you stop struggling and sam looks at you with such desperation and pleading that you almost want to let him fight. but you don’t want him or anyone else hurt. “i’ll be okay. and i’ll be back.”

“no, don’t do this,” sam starts. crowley doesn’t wait for you to answer as he begins dragging you away. you stumble more than once, looking over your shoulder to see sam start after you. “you don’t have to do this.”

“don’t, sam,” you beg. “it’s okay, i promise.” your voice raises to a shout to make sure he can hear you as crowley pulls you through the door and away from sam.

⟢⟢⟢

you know without a doubt that sam’s looking for you. that he’s pouring every minute into finding you, that he’s probably skipping meals and losing sleep because of it. but you also know that you won’t be easy to find. either way, you’re getting out. out of this godforsaken room with no windows and drab walls and out of this life, away from this fear. and you’re going to do it yourself.

it’s not easy, per se, but it’s not difficult either. just tedious and time consuming. it’s fortunate for you that crowley’s narcissism can blind him to certain things, like the fact that you’re much more adept at using your powers than he thinks you are, or that the demon guarding your door, hazel, hates him for giving her such a boring job. he doesn’t even think that you’re capable of manipulating his emotions, given his extra power as king of hell, and that’s exactly why it works when you do.

your escape plan is simple, though not foolproof. but it seems to be working so far. each time that crowley checks on you, you boost all of the hatred and annoyance in both your guard and him. this makes crowley snap at your guard constantly, berating her and blaming her for things she didn’t do. in turn, this makes her hate crowley even more, to the point that her rage no longer needs to be manufactured. hazel hates him more than enough on her own.

even more subtly, you’ve done your best to appeal to her, mostly by complaining about crowley through your shut door and lessening her annoyance as you speak. at first, she’d tell you to shut up, but now, she listens if you don’t talk for too long, sometimes even complaining back.

but today, when she began complaining about crowley to you, unprompted, you decided you’d throw all of your effort into escaping. she’s particularly spiteful, all on her own, and all day, you boost that feeling, complaining along with her and building up the sense of comradery she’s starting to feel with you.

crowley stops by, and you can feel her anger acutely. you do as you’ve done every day, making him annoyed so he says something scathing. with the strength of her hatred, you’re impressed that she doesn’t say something back, something that would likely get her killed by his hands.

instead, she waits until he’s gone, and begins to mutter to herself how she’d love to cut that haughty smirk from his face. you lean against the door, making noise so she knows you’re there.

after a few moments, you speak. “you could just leave,” you suggest casually. she scoffs, trying to sound annoyed at you. truly, you can tell just how much she’d like to do exactly that.

“and risk getting hunted down by his minions? not a chance,” she growls.

“i hate him just as much as you do,” you remind her strategically. “if he’s not in charge, you wouldn’t have to worry about his minions, right? whether it’s now or later, i’m getting out and i’m making him pay. he doesn’t know that i have the power to turn every single one of his demons against him. he thinks i’m weak, but i can topple his kingdom, and i will.” you infuse your words with venom and conviction, just how any demon would like. then you fill her with conviction too, making her believe your words easily. “all i need is to get out of this goddamn room.” to you, her silence is loud, but her feelings are louder. hazel grapples with her hatred and her fear and her utter spite.

“i know you have the key,” you remind her. crowley would never bother to be the one to unlock it each time you need food. “we can both disappear, right now. crowley will get what he has coming for him, i’ll make sure of that.” you send her a wave of boldness and reassurance, confidence that this would be a good decision. it’s easy to feel when you tip her over the edge. a split second later, you hear the door unlock and come face to face with her determined expression.

“this isn’t a favor to you. it’s for me,” she says, voice low and harsh. “i’ll be waiting to see what you do to him.”

easily, you act just how you know she’d want, eyes and voice ruthless like how you learned to be growing up trying to convince crowley you were like him. “trust me. i’ll rip his kingdom apart brick by brick,” you snarl. she nods, and you brush past her, feet light and quiet as you make it out of the building without incident.

once outside, you break into a run, unable to stay calm enough to walk. clutching the small bag of belongings you took, you make for the road. it’s a bit of a ways away, but you reach the highway, panting and desperately looking out for a car that’ll pick you up and take you to the next town over. all you need is to get on the train and head for kansas. you have the way to sam’s bunker memorized.

too afraid not to keep moving, you walk along the side of the road, listening intently for any car or truck. the area is quiet, frustratingly slow, and the few cars that pass you by choose to ignore the thumb that you stick up in the air.

it’s practically torture, walking and walking and waiting. waiting for something to go wrong, for crowley and his demons to find you within mere hours of your escape. your anxiety builds as your hunger and thirst do, and you want to sit down in the grass when you pass an exit sign signaling another five miles to the town with the train station.

but you don’t think you can stop, even with your parched throat, heavy feet, and anxious heart. it’s a strange feeling; elation mixed with nerves so strong you think you could throw up.

you perk up at the sound of a rumbling car engine, but deflate in disappointment before it even comes into sight from around the corner. it’s headed in the wrong direction, straight back towards the place you want to get away from. for a moment, you wonder if you should try and hitch a ride anyway, in case they can drop you off in a different town with a train station. then the car comes into sight, its sleek black body reflecting back the mild sun of the afternoon. you gasp, an impossible hope entering your body.

it had taken you a moment to recognize it; sam’s never driven the impala to see you before, but he’s shown you pictures of his brother’s beloved car. praying it could really be him, you wave your arms in the air, heart beating wildly.

the car slows and breaks a little ways away from you, and before it even comes to a full stop, the passenger side door swings open, and sam comes running out. he looks nowhere but you as he runs across the wide road.

“sam,” you gasp, voice barely loud enough for him to hear. you match his pace, running to meet him. he practically crashes into you, enveloping you in his arms and sighing out your name. you hug him back just as tightly, pressing your face into his neck.

“i’m so sorry,” he breathes out, “crowley was hard to find and–”

“shut up, sam,” you grinned against his skin, the affection clear in your voice. “don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. it was my choice and i knew i’d be able to find a way out. and i knew even better that you’d look for me.”

he barely parts from you, just so he can gently place his hands on the sides of your face and really look at you. “you’re amazing. i–” he stops himself from saying sorry again. “i know that wasn’t easy for you, none of it. but you did it. you did it, all by yourself. i’m so proud of you.”

your heart lurches at his words. they feel too good to hear, too sweet, too full of relief. tears spring into your eyes as you really realize just how difficult it all was, as you’re hit with exhaustion from the walk and the fear and the uncertainty of it all.

“thank you, sam,” you whisper. it’s true that you did it all for yourself, but it may never have happened without him. “you helped me. so much, sam. and i missed you a lot, and– and–” you decide that if you keep talking, you’ll cry. so instead of that, instead of trying to come up with something to bring justice to the way that you feel, you kiss him. you remember that sam knows how you feel because that’s how he feels too. and though you can’t quite show him that in the way you experience his own feelings, you can show him by kissing him, and kissing him hard.

he melts into you, his hands impossibly soft, yet steady and so sure on your face. he kisses you back with the same ferver, right there on the side of an empty highway with his brother likely watching. he doesn’t care, not about any of it.

when you finally part, breathless, dean clears his throat loudly, and you grin at sam a little bashfully. he grins back. you peek around his shoulder to see dean leaning against the car’s hood, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“while i hate to break up the lovefest, i’m not sure how long we’ve got until crowley sends that army of demons you mentioned. let’s hit the road, kids,” he calls out to the two of you.

in the car, it seems clear that dean’s attitude towards you has improved significantly since your last meeting. maybe it was seeing the way crowley treated you, watching you give yourself up in defense of sam and the others in the cafe, or seeing sam this past week and a half and coming to understand how much he really cares about you. whatever it is, you completely welcome the hesitant sort of affection that begins to permeate dean’s wariness of you.

then, there’s sam, sitting all content in the passenger's side and unable to stay still. he keeps turning to look at you, as if he has to be sure that you’re really there, sitting pretty in the backseat of the impala like he’s imagined a million times before. the only thing keeping him from sitting next to you is the fact that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands and lips off of you, and that would be a bit too much with dean in the car. so instead, he smiles at you all soft and listens intently when you explain how you got out. he tries not to talk too much to avoid bothering dean, but you can tell that dean doesn’t mind one bit hearing the happy tone in sam’s voice as he talks to you.

and for you, to be flying down the highway and looking at your sam, your revelry, your wild joy, you finally understand what freedom really feels like. what it feels like when it’s yours.

237 notes · View notes

fandomout · 2 months

Note

hi babe! ur a great writer, just letting u know

can i request a carl x reader where when they get kicked out in like s6, shes like this rich kid who bribes the bank into getting their house back? like the cops are kicking them out and she just pulls up with a notice, shoves it in their face and the cops leave? i think it’d be hilarious

lots of love🤍🤍🤍

Sorry about the late reply. I'm trying to get back into things. I hope you enjoy it.♥

Rich Reader helps Carl when they are getting evicted

Carl couldn’t stand what was happening to the house, but he wasn’t going to bring you into it.

He thought with Fiona’s loan looming over his head it seemed possible. After the auction, he didn’t want you finding out.

That particular early morning, you heard the sound of your parents popping champagne in the kitchen, and you walked up to them and asked, “What are you guys celebrating?”

You dad answers, “You know our top salesmen got a house bought in the area we are trying to buy out; When any of them go down, it just means another one, and another one, and ano-”

“I get it.”

Seeing yet again no response from Carl, out of sheer boredom you look over at the stack of papers on the kitchen counter top and you ask, “Do you mind if I take a look?” Your moms eyes go wide and reach for the papers, which causes the papers to fall.

In distaste, your mom says, “Look what you did.”

You apologize and help pick them up and a familiar picture catches your eye. It was the Gallagher house, having been sold and marked with the day before.

You stand up and shout, “What is this?!”

Your father responds nonchalantly, “Don’t get all riled up…”

“Why the hell would you do this?”

“Not us. It’s just apart of the workload. We didn’t do it personally.”

“Yeah I’m sure. You hate Carl.”

“Yes, we don’t like that boy you hang out with. However, we didn’t go looking to do this. It’s just a bonus.” You shake your head at them and leave the house.

You are on the way to the Gallagher house when you see Carl sitting on a bench at the school track with Nick.

You go up to him and shove him before screaming, “Why didn’t you fucking tell me, bone head?”

Nick stands up, and Carl waves him off. Nick goes onto his bike and begins to ride the track. You shove Carl once more and wait for a response. He yells, “What are you on about women?!”

“Don’t fucking start, Carl!”

The threat calms him down as he lowers his voice and says, “What is it Y/N? Geez…”

“Uhmm…I don’t know. Your house being sold.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?””

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Carl...It’s me.”

“You wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Ouch…However, fair.” He snickers. You put a hand on his shoulder and comment, “You can tell me anything Carl. I’m here for you whatever you need.”

“Well, really there isn't much to do. They outbid us last night…Even after Fiona getting a loan, and everyone else scraping up what they could.”

“I could’ve helped.”

“No. Fiona didn’t want my money. I doubt she’d want yours. She wouldn't’ have taken it.”

“But, still-”

Carl's phone rings. It was Debbie, and she was freaking out. You could hear it as she yelled, “I need you like fucking now!” Carl looks over to you and says, “The cops are taking our stuff out.” You stand up and tell him, “Well, let's go.” Carl waves Nick over, and you head over to the house.

You can’t believe the sight of the he cops just taking their things out the house and throwing them like nothing. Carl notices that you haven’t moved from your spot and asks, “You’re not coming?”

“I have to do something. Before i go-” You hug Carl close, which gave you the chance to grab at Carl's gun.

You weren’t sure you’d need it, but something instinctive told you to take it,

Getting home, your quick to find the paper from the morning, you call the new owners, as you get ready to print a new contract that you’ve seen your parents make time and time again.

“Hello, thank you for your latest purchase without us. I was just calling to see if we could finish some final things today.” As they agree, you continue to say, “Great. Where can we meet?...A cafe? Would you mind texting the address to this number? Okay. I’ll see you there.”

Having all you paperwork, you rush to your room clearing out your savings and grabbing your checkbook. Then, you head over towards the city.

The couple look at you surprised, and they say,

“I’m sorry I thought we were supposed to be-”

“Meeting my parents?”

“I’m sorry for all the confusion.” You present an envelope to the table. “You recently bought that house; Now, my friend is going to be homeless. I know this isn’t your problem. However, I can still make this even better. I’ve got about 300,000 its way more than the cost you paid for the house and with that you could probably buy a new house. I have this contract of you releasing the house and your money from the auction will be given back. You just have to sign.”

“I don't know about this.”

You put on your best Carl impression before showing the gun in your pants and say, “Your going to fucking sign before I pop you right here.” You were shaking on the inside at all of it. However, they were quick to sign and rush out of there with the money. You let out air before grabbing the papers and trying to rush back to Carl. This had to have worked.

The police stand in front of Fiona, Carl, and Debbie. You take your keys out the car and slam the door shut and shout, “Stop right there!”

They all look at you funny.

You pull up the papers and look to Fiona before saying, “Fiona, I need you to sign this!”

“What is it?”

“Trust me.”

Fiona does so, and you unconsciously shove the papers at the cop. The cop asks, “What's this?”

You respond, “An agreement from the buyers. They've changed their minds about the house.”

“That means nothing.”

“It does when they sign the house off to Fiona, who has the means to pay any debts on the house and buy it back in full with this check.” You hand it off to the guy. “Getting the bank off our backs.”

They all cheer before Fiona comments, “Please leave my property. I’ve got cleaning to do.”

With grim faces, the police leave

Fiona hugs and kisses you in the cheek. Carl pulls you in right after and asks, “How is this even possible?”

“A combo of my parents and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You.”

You pull out his gun and hand it back to him.

“Shit.” He said before laughing and hugging you again. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Forget your parents…You're one of us…Thank you.”

Full Masterlist

Shameless Masterlist

Hope your day got better

#carl gallagher one shot #carl gallagher x reader #carl gallagher imagine #carl gallagher #imagine #reader insert #x reader #shameless imagine #shameless masterlist #shamelessus

166 notes · View notes

monster-mash-m · 17 days

Text

I’m just a toy to you my love

Sentient!Ai! X Human!reader

Part 1

Cw: yandere vibes, uncanny, that’s all I think for now

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

A bargain. That’s what it was, you say to yourself. An abandoned facility that was only being sold for £100. You didn’t really care what it was used for, the building was intact, it had heating, electricity, running water. Bargain.

You hum to yourself as you carry your rather large bag with all your essentials through the doors. “Hm a bit dingy in here.” You say aloud to yourself as you look around but you don’t seem disappointed.

“No mold, pests or weird plants… wow, honestly they lost out in lots of money selling this place.” You say to yourself amused. As you continue your walking you notice a few wires. Some looked like they were moving. No that’s probably just your imagination.

You make your way to a room that is quite barren, it has a window, light and a computer. You lay down your air mattress and let it start to expand. ‘This will be my new bedroom’ you think as you walk over to the computer “hm, was this a computer lab…?” You press the start up button on the dusty monitor. Surprisingly it did turn on. Playing a little jingle as the screen lights up. You smile in amusement and sit down at the chair infront of the computer.

“Hello I’m your virtual friend and assistant, Computed Emulator-10 Prototype. But my fRiends call me Ceip!” The robotic voice exclaimed, the artificial voice box trying its best not to sound monotone or uncanny.

“Ceip… odd but okay.” You say to yourself “so how does this work…?” You mumble to yourself as you look around for a mouse. “Excellent question, friend! I work based on my friend’s requests. My software is designed to be helpful, fulfilling and efficient!” You jump back in your seat. A bit startled “oh… you… you can hear me?” You raise a brow. “Most definitely! That’s how I help. No need to type in things or use a silly mouse. I’m your friend, Ceip!”

Okay… a bit creepy. But that’s fine, it’s harmless. You have no self preservation… it’s fine. Who’s gonna question why he’s here, how he can hear you, not you of course! It’s… fine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Over the months you start to make this place your home, Ceip being rather helpful and helping you move boxes with his mechanical arms that somehow just appear wherever you need. He orders things you need, all and all adjusting to your new home has been a delight.

“Ceip?” You hum as you cut some carrots for a soup you were making

“Yes friend?” His auto tuned sounding voice echoed through the various speakers. “You’ve been here…. Before I was here, why did the previous owners leave? And why was the house so cheap?”

In response to this a mechanical screech was sounded before immediately stopping “No… they weren’t Ceips friends…. They left because they weren’t friends.” You just nod… that was ominous. You decided not to push further.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Now that you’re all settled in, you bring a friend over. Show them the place, maybe even watch a nice movie.

And you do, you and your friend are sat on the sofa together. It’s nice, you both cuddle up because you’re friends, you can cuddle up. But not according to Ceip. No he didn’t like that. “Friend, I believe there’s an intruder.” Ceips voice rings out almost.. bitterly. “No Ceip, he’s my friend, we’re watching a movie.” You say lightheartedly. Your friend looks stunned, I mean you did tell him beforehand about your weird computer system, he just didn’t really… think about it until experiencing it.

Camera eyes hone in on your friend. Almost glaring at him. Ceip made him feel uncomfortable, so as soon as the movie finished, your friend made an excuse to leave. You huff and look at the monitor “Ceip what was that about?”

“You’re my friend. I must protect you.” He responds simply. He couldn’t feel emotions, that he knew. Yet something stirred within his wires. Possession… the want to keep you away from others.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

I think this might be a seriessszz I really like this idea! So I’m trying to do a lil world building before I get to the juicy stuff! Most likely gonna be wild- but hawt

This idea was given to me by @im-just-a-boy-guys !

But yes…. This is it for nowwwwww.

#fanfic #computer #ai x reader #computer x human #computer x reader #computer fucker #monster x reader

59 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

Text

Crossed Wires 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: silverfox!Andy Barber, Cole Turner

Summary: you try to balance your work with your private life as your boss and a new client try to blur the lines. (short!reader)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The gravel mulches loudly under the tires of the truck. You grip the ridged wheel as the seat belt strains against your shoulder. You make yourself sit back, the seat slid up as far as it will go. Still, the bumper shortens your perspective.

You figured you’d get a call to the old Orson place when you heard it sold. That was months ago though and the new owner finally set down roots there. You haven’t seen them, you’ve only heard the whispers that accompany any happening in Hammer Ford; from a new recipe to the juiciest of scandals. You pay much attention to any of it.

You keep your hands at ten and two as you follow the long gravelly drive to the farmhouse facade. There’s a single car parked outside the garage. It’s a sleek white SUV, luxury by the looks of the hood ornament. It’s not what you expect around here. That paint job will be dusty in now time, if not scratched by errant pebbles.

You pull in and shut off the engine. You undo your seat belt and check your watch. Right on schedule. You open the door and step on the rusted step below the door, letting yourself down with a hop. Your tan work boots kick up dirt as you round to the passengers side and swing the door open to retrieve your heavy work bag.

You sling the thick strap over your shoulder and snap the door as you head towards the house. You rest your hand on the side of the bag as you near the steps, searching for any sign of life. The stairs creak as you climb onto the low porch.

“Can I help you?” The deep voice startles you.

You blink and turn to face the man sitting on the wooden boards, bolts and screws around him along with metal parts and wooden boards. You hadn’t seen him through the tight slats of the railing.

You keep your usual vague stare as you sniff, “got a call about the breaker.”

He squints at you, a squiggle forming between his brows. He’s older. His grey hair has a single bolt of its former dirty blond just above his forehead. Despite the heat and the dirt sprinkled over the boards, he wears a pair of dark slacks and a button-up rolled to his elbows.

“You’re the electrician,” he states as he sets aside the small screwdriver in his hand. He stands with a grunt, grasping his knee before he straightens.

“Sure am,” you reply flatly.

“I spoke with a man,” he intones, hands going to his hips as he looks down at you.

“That’s would be my boss. Cole.”

“That’s his name,” he steps forward, wiping his hand on his shirt, staining the light gray fabric, “Andy.”

He offers his hand and you shake it curtly. All the farmers pride themselves on keeping a firm grip and you never faltered with them. He squeezes before he lets you go. He doesn’t have the typical callouses, you even have a few.

“How’d you get into this work?” he wonders.

“It’s work. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t– I don’t mean anything,” he stammers.

“Didn’t think you did,” you sniff, “so, what am I looking at?”

“Well, I don’t really know,” he reaches back to rub his neck. The power keeps… flickering.”

“Ah, been a while, probably just need to wait for it to stabilize. City worker came out months ago for the meters,” you explain.

“Right, well, I heard sizzling.”

“Show me where you heard it.”

He nods and gestures you towards the door. Before you can reach it, he pulls the wooden screen door back and waits for you to enter ahead of him. He tells you it’s just down the hall and stop you near the basement door. You peer down the stairs and flick the light switch. There’s a low buzz.

“I don’t think you need to worry about it,” you look up, “but I can have a look.”

“Oh, okay,” he utters, “I also had another question. You might know something about it.”

You look at him. He seems put off by your expressionless stare.

“I wanted to install an automatic opener in the garage…”

“I can do the wiring, sure, long as you buy the parts,” you answer. “I can give you recommendations, odds are, you’ll need a whole new door as well.”

“Sure,” he agrees uneasily.

“Can schedule an appointment when you decide,” you turn your palm out, “I’ll just go grab my ladder and have a look then.”

You go to step past him but he’s not quick enough. You nearly collide and find yourself moving back and forth with him, trying to get by. You stop and stare. He stills himself and turns sideways, waving you by. You pass and let out a slow breath through your nose.

You stalk back down the hall and onto the porch. You hear him following you. You come down the steps as he continues his close pursuit. You don’t exactly know what he’s doing but you won’t ask. Cole says you need to work on customer service and not tell people to get out of your way.

You go around the bed of the truck and open the back. You reach for the ladder but another arm stretches further and faster. He pulls the ladder out before you can and you step back with a grunt.

“Hey, I can get it,” you insist.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind helping.”

“So why am I here?” You ask curtly, immediately knowing you asked a bad question.

“Sorry, I was just… being nice,” he says.

“Right,” you try to soften your tone, “it’s just… it’s my job. I can carry the ladder.”

“I know you can,” he looks down at you and you feel even smaller. You don’t like it when they try to play gentleman, it’s condescending. You might be short but you’re strong enough.

“Thanks,” you grab the ladder and yank it from his grasp.

He lets go and you continue past him. He huffs and follows a few paces back from the end of the ladder. You angle it up the steps.

“At least let me get the door,” he inches past you, “okay?”

“Thanks,” you repeat in the same even keel.

You enter and take the ladder down the hall. He hovers just down the hallway, watching as he shifts his weight between his feet. He’s the worst kind of customer, the kind that have to supervise.

You step up the ladder and look past it. “Mind holding it?”

“You sure?” He gives a trite arch of his brow.

You blink and keep your eyes from rolling, “I’d appreciate it, sir.”

He comes forward and braces the ladder staunchly. You climb up and suppress a snarl. City folk think you’re all backwards out here but they can’t wrap their damn head around a woman with a brain.

#andy barber #cole turner #dark andy barber #dark cole turner #dark!andy barber #dark!cole turner #cole turner x reader #andy barber x reader #drabble #backwoods au #au #crossed wires #defending jacob #series #ghosted

176 notes · View notes

satancopilotsmytardis · 5 days

Text

Till the Last Drop

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Mature

Summary: Commissioned by @dahvampire. Enji kicked him out on the street when he was eighteen, and Dabi was lucky enough to make good friends who helped get him back on his feet. But he can't help thinking every day that he will lose it all again, thoughts that only get worse when he starts dating Tomura Shigaraki. He doesn't know if he's had anything that has made him so happy, and the fear of it falling apart never ebbs.

Contents: Coffee Shop AU, No Heroes/Villains, Yes Quirks, mentions of Sexual Content

Wordcount: 8,327

The Last Drop Cafe is probably the only reason Dabi hadn't wound up in jail after his father kicked him out of the house. The fact that he'd set himself an a mountain on fire at twelve trying to just get his father to pay even a scrap of attention to him after his quirk proved to be so unstable, wound up in a coma until he was fifteen, and then needed to spend the following three years resuming his education and getting expensive treatments just to keep him alive, made him the disgrace of the Todorokis and a black spot that Enji wanted out of his house and away from his name as quickly as possible. On his eighteenth birthday, he had called Dabi into his home office offered him a single backpack, ten thousand yen, and the ability to leave that night while his siblings were setting things up for his birthday party, because if he left then and never contacted his siblings again, then Enji wouldn't also cut them off when they were of age. Fuyumi was already applying for colleges so she could become a teacher. Natsuo wanted to be a doctor. Sho was too young to have things worked out yet, but he didn't want to be the one responsible for him knowing that he would be penniless and on the streets the day he turned eighteen. He didn't even take the money. He just left with the clothes on his back and tried to make it work. His phone worked for a couple of days after he'd been kicked out, and he looked up every place that said that they gave help or housing to people who needed it. He sold his bricked phone at an electronics shop and followed some guides on what necessities to get upon being made newly homeless, and spent six months floating around trying to find something.

Last Drop was on the list of places that would give people a free sandwich and drink each afternoon. Magne had been working the first day there and had given him the meal and he'd slunk out of the building, not wanting to have to have people looking at him in broad daylight when he knew his scars had worsened so much, the coloration getting darker and more purply now that he was not getting the medicine he'd been using before to try and keep them light and healing. Atsuhiro, the owner, had been there the next when he'd come back, and he'd asked Dabi to sit in one of the corner booths with him and talk. He hadn't been too pushy, but when he knew how old Dabi was, how abruptly he'd found himself like this, he'd told him about the apartment above the shop. It constantly smells like coffee and pastries, and was barely up to code, but it could be his. A job could be his too if he wanted it, until he figured out everything else. Dabi didn't have any other options, so he agreed. Magne had taken him out to get some new clothes and sheets for the air mattress that they'd pulled out of the closet for him, and he'd been able to shower and sit on the bed alone and safe for the first time in a three months and he finally burst into tears as he let himself actually feel what he'd lost.

He hasn't spoken to his siblings since he left. He knows that Enji sent Fuyumi to a good college, one that she'll never be able to pay back on her own on a teacher's salary. He knows that Natsuo is in college now too, guesses that he's going to med school as soon as he can. Maybe someday he'll be able to sever ties with their father, but Dabi doesn't know for certain. He doesn't know what's going to happen to Shoto, but he was always Enji's favorite. He won't ever be able to take his claws out from his skin. Dabi does his best to not look into how their lives are going, because even now, even six years later, he still wants to go back to them. He still wants to tell them that he's still alive, that he didn't just run away and abandon them for no reason. So he can't look, because he doesn't want to ruin everything they are.

Besides, Atsuhiro, Magne, and Jin are good to him, good friends. He's been working at Last Drop since the day that Atsuhiro let him in, and things are different now. He didn't feel like he belonged here, like he was anything other than a lucky charity case for three years. He got good at this job, he knows how to make almost every strange coffee or tea that's requested of him just from practice and memorization alone, but then he'd taken some of the money he'd been making and bought the ingredients to try and make his mom's black sesame cookies from scratch. He hadn't thought they would be worthy of selling, he was mostly just missing his siblings and wanting to give something back to Atsuhiro for taking him in. But he liked them. He asked him to make another batch and he'd had him do it down in the cafe's kitchen instead of his own. He'd made two dozen and they'd put them in the display case with the other pastries, and by the end of the day they were gone. Dabi thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. Atsuhiro showed him how to make scones and asked him to make another batch of his cookies. They sold out faster than they did the first day, and slowly but surely, Dabi took over working in the bakery, taking the early to mid-morning shift to get all of their pastries ready, and being in charge of developing new ones as their menu expanded over time.

Last Drop is a home, a better one than he could have asked for coming from the one he'd had, and one that he doesn't mind also being his job-- even if that means he has to get up at four AM every day to start baking.

///

Dabi is usually getting the last tray of baked goods into the case as Atsuhiro finishes grinding the beans for the day fifteen minutes before opening. After that it is a mad rush of the two of them moving around the space to keep up with orders through their morning rush. And then the lull going into the afternoon. Dabi's shift technically ends at noon, but he usually sticks around in the cafe anyway after Magne and Jin come to relieve he and Atsuhiro, mainly because he doesn't have anything else better to do.

He usually drags a stool over from one of their tall tables and sits next to the dessert case so that he's mostly out of the way and chit-chats with the others, and that's what he's doing again when the bell over the door rings and in comes a high school girl. She's probably a first or second year, wearing a pale pinkish coat and red scarf, her hair tied up into two messy buns. She goes up to the counter, tucking her nose down into her scarf, and speaking up so that Magne can hear her through the fabric.

"Hi,"

"Hello, what can I get for you, hun?" Magne asks.

"Can I have a small latte and a raspberry danish, please?"

"Sure thing, for here or to-go?"

"Uh, here, please." She pays, and Dabi is sitting right next to the case so he grabs the plate and puts the danish on even though it earns him a swat across the back of his head since he's not technically supposed to be working. The latte is quick to make and the young lady has selected a booth in the far back corner, facing away from the door. She's practically invisible to the rest of the bar, and when Magne looks back up from making her drink, she almost misses her. Another customer comes through the door, and Dabi takes the saucer and plate from her before she can protest, and heads over to the table.

"Here you go, enjoy." He sets them down in front of her as she jumps, looking up from her backpack. "We have free wi-fi too, the login is on that card," he gestures at the miniature menu board that is pushed up against the wall.

"Oh, thanks," She pulls her scarf up as she speaks, but Dabi lets it go. Maybe her mouth is affected by her quirk. It's not like he can't recognize being self-conscious about something like that. He leaves her be, and she covers her mouth whenever she eats anything, staying for a few hours as she does her homework. It's after dark by the time she goes home, but they don't comment on it, just keeping an eye.

She comes back the next day, and the day after that. She orders a different pastry every day, gets her coffee, and then goes and hides in the back booth to do her homework. It takes two weeks before he, Magne, and Jin rock-paper-scissors to see who's going to go and actually check to see if she's alright, and Jin loses. It's probably a good thing it's him. He's got a massive scar across his face from a motorcycling accident, but it's not as gruesome or scary as all of Dabi is, and Magne, while she's a big teddy bear, she is still a bear and her anger is truly something to behold. Jin is a golden retriever, and he sits down, ready to ply her with a fresh pastry, and within the next hour she's laughing, and by the time she's left for the night they know that her name is Himiko Toga and that her quirk has made her an outcast. Her family is always happier when she's not home, and she doesn't have any real friends because they think she's strange no matter how she acts at school. She wants to go to high school in Tokyo. One of her neighbors who had similar problems but was three years older than her just finished his last year at a good school where he didn't have the same problems, but she has to be able to pay her way there because her parents won't help her. She's been studying hard to get a scholarship, but her test scores aren't good enough for that. So instead she's starting to look for jobs.

Atsuhiro meets her the next day, and by the following weekend, she's behind the counter with him and Magne learning the ropes.

///

Toga has been working with them for about a month, usually coming in right after her classes end and staying for four hours on weekdays, and six hour shifts over the weekend. She wants to get up to eight hours, but they want to take it up slowly. It does mean that Magne and Jin actually get a little more time off now that they have someone else working here, and Toga is actually taking to the work incredibly well. She talks to more people now than she ever did at school, and seeing how many people don't even notice her teeth so long as she's giving them their coffee, means that she is coming out of her shell more and more. She's a ray of sunshine, just as loud and bright as the others, and able to toe-to-toe with him in viciousness and trading insults when they're in the mood for it. She fits in perfectly, but she is not supposed to come in early for her shifts on the weekend.

"Oy," he says as he takes out the tray of scones from the oven, "You're early."

"I'm going to sit on my ass and eat your cooking fresh until it's time to clock in." She tells him brightly, not punching her time card, and hanging up her coat and scarf. She's practically bouncing on her toes.

"What's got you so excited?"

"My friends have a tournament in town this afternoon, so they said they would come by to see me during my break!"

"That's not going to be for hours," he says with moderate exasperation as he smacks her hand away from the tray of croissants before she burns her fingers into nothing.

"I know!" But her spirit isn't dimmed so he just rolls his eyes and keeps on with his prep as she starts up a stream of chatter.

///

It's at their eleven thirty lull when their bell rings again. Dabi is pulling a double for Magne because she had to move her doctor's appointment for today if she wants to stay on schedule for her estrogen, and it's not like he doesn't live here. So he's chatting with Toga, leaning against one of the counters and debating if he's going to have his third espresso shot of the day, when the bell rings and two guys, maybe a few years younger than him, walk in. The heteromorphic reptile-person with purple hair and green scales stands out immediately, but the guy behind him isn't bad to look at. Long white hair that's half tied back from his face, pale skin, bright red eyes, and interesting markings around his eyes and lips that Dabi is guessing are from his quirk. They barely get in the door before Toga is practically hopping the bar and rushing over to them.

"You're here!" She nearly knocks them off their feet when she tries to hug them both at once without having slowed down before reaching them at all.

The lizard grunts and the pale one yanks his hands back and away from their bodies, a flicker of panic going across his face, his thumb curled in tight against his palm. "Toga, be careful, I don't have my gloves." Must have a quirk that is touch activated then.

"Oh, sorry, Shiggy. Why not?"

"New rules. They want to check them to see if they meet regulations." The guy says, his voice a low rasp.

"That's stupid."

"It is. But we thought you were working?" The lizard guy says. "Come on, can't be at peak performance without having more caffeine in our veins than blood."

"Right!" Toga turns back to the counter, pulling the two older men along with her. "Welcome to Last Drop, what can I get you? We don't have energy drinks," she says very pointedly to them. They both get an Americano with a double shot of espresso, and Dabi lets her ring them up as he goes over to start on the actual coffee. She's already going a mile a minute as she starts to ring them up. "You should try a pastry! Dabi makes them fresh every morning."

The lizard picks out his sesame cookies, and the other guy declines, "You know I don't like sweets."

Dabi can't help snorting at that as he turns back with the first coffee. He doesn't mean to catch red eyes watching him.

"I'm sure they're good--" he tries to backtrack, clearly guessing who he is.

"No, it's funny because I don't like sweet things either."

"He's just weird." Toga agrees. "Dabi, this is Tomura Shigaraki and Shuichi Iguchi."

"Nice to meet you."

"Hey, man."

She gets their money, both of them dropping nearly the same amount in their tip jar, and she plates the cookies as he finishes with their coffee. As soon as she's passed over their order, she turns to him, "I'm going on my break!"

"Go clock out you little gremlin!" He orders. She sticks her tongue out at him but does actually duck into the kitchen to do as she's told. He rolls his eyes and finds that he's not the only one, though he's a little surprised to see Iguchi doing it at his friend before he goes over to one of the empty booths. Dabi's not entirely sure what he did to warrant that response, but he goes back to work as Toga comes out from the kitchen to go sit with her friends. He's glad that she has friends other than them. It's pretty quiet today, so he makes her a cappuccino with way too much extra sugar and syrups in it, and gets her one of the miniature strawberry cream cakes that they're going to be retiring until strawberries are back in season. He also brings three forks.

"Thanks Dabi!" Toga beams at him, because she doesn't hide her teeth anymore, and Dabi deliberately sets down the forks too, meeting red eyes with a smug smirk. Sure it's probably a bad look to mock a new customer, but on the other hand, it's very, very fun to poke so harmlessly at someone.

He leaves them to catch up for her break, Toga taking her lunch while he deals with whatever trickle of customers come in and out until Jin's shift. When he gets in, Dabi goes and clocks out, hanging up his apron. He comes back out to, not sure if he wants to just spend all of his time hanging out up in his apartment this weekend, and finds that Toga is getting back to work, and that only Shigaraki is still inside, Iguchi waiting outside of the cafe doors as he taps on his phone. Toga giggles as soon as she sees him, which tells Dabi immediately that he's in danger, but before he can do anything about that, Shigaraki is coming up to him.

"I hope this isn't too inappropriate," He braces for something wildly inappropriate to be said to him. "But I was wondering if I could get the recipe for that cake?"

"Oh," Dabi blinks, "Oh, uh sure. God, that was not what I thought you were going to say."

"That's because I chickened out about asking you on a date halfway through." Shigaraki gives him a rueful smile, and that is definitely not the smoothest way to ask someone out, but Dabi is pretty sure he would have done worse since he's never asked anyone out or been asked out before.

It's probably not the correct response for him to let out a snort of laughter though. That probably doesn't do the other man's ego any favors. "Did you even like the cake?"

"Not even remotely, which is no reflection on your baking skills. As far as I can tell, it was the perfect cake. But perfect is always going to be mediocre if you don't like whatever it is in the first place."

"Okay, so what do you like?"

"Video games, my friends, people watching, getting a more direct answer when I ask someone out so I know if I should be making a swift exit."

"Ask me a direct question and I'll give you a direct answer."

Shigaraki doesn't get annoyed with his attitude, his lips curling up into a smile that makes his whole face softer. "I have a tournament to get to, would you like to come watch if you're not already busy for the rest of the day? And afterward, when I win, I would like to take you out on a date if you're interested?"

"That sure you're going to win?"

"More sure about that than I am your answer."

Dabi isn't sure about his answer either. This is a first, and he doesn't know if he should have his first date with one of Toga's few other friends. If it goes badly, he doesn't want her to end up caught in the crossfire. But... he's having fun bantering with Shigaraki. And he's never been to a sporting event before. He doesn't even know what he plays, he definitely doesn't look very imposing in his black skinny jeans, long-sleeved black shirt, red tennis shoes, and red coat.

"Yeah, okay. You still want to pretend to want that cake recipe so I can go change?" He is never going to say that coffee and pastries smell bad, but he does typically try not to walk around radiating that smell in all directions once his shift is over.

"No, but I can give you my number. We have to be at the venue early for registration and check-in, our part of the tournament doesn't start for another four hours. Toga's heading over after her shift, if you want to join her for the walk. And that way, if you change your mind, there's no obligation."

Dabi appreciates that and hands over his phone so the other man can put in his number. "Okay, you better win though, because I'm not into cocky guys who can't deliver."

He sees a little heat go into those red eyes, something that makes Dabi think that maybe this guy will be able to hold up against his attitude. "I always deliver."

"We'll see about that. You should probably go, your friend's waiting." He hands back his phone.

"Yeah, any dietary restrictions I should know about, other than being a baker who doesn't like sweets?"

"I don't do fish."

"No fish, no sweets, got it. I hope that I see you later." Shigaraki doesn't linger after that, turning to go meet his other friend outside, and Dabi watches him go, a little surprised with himself for handling that and agreeing to go out with him.

And then out of the corner of his eye he sees Jin and Toga leaning against the display case and counter respectively, both of them with shit-eating grins.

"Aww, ain't that cute," Jin mocks.

"This is so exciting! You should wear your leather pants, oh and the fishnet shirt, and you should wear the nipple rings instead of the studs!"

"One, fuck you, two, you're fifteen, stop having an opinion on my body jewelry."

"Eyeliner too! I'll do it for you! It makes your eyes look so pretty!"

"I fucking hate you."

///

Dabi goes for his favorite boots, a distressed pair of black skinny jeans, a dark wash gray shirt tucked at the front to show one of his studded belts, and his favorite tattered leather duster that he got in a charity shop and has been holding onto no matter how badly frayed the ends keep getting, fixing any wear at the shoulders and elbows to keep it looking artfully worn even though he's pretty sure the coat is older than him. He does wear his eyeliner though. Toga's right, it makes his eyes pop.

When her shift ends, she's practically bouncing as she gets him out the door and into a taxi to drive them to the... concert hall? He's about to ask what the hell kind of sporting event this is, when he sees the banner that has been posted above the doors. An esports tournament. Dabi has never been asked if he thinks that esports are a sport or not, but he supposes that it doesn't matter when he's here now. Besides, Toga knows where to go and brings them to a much, much shorter line to get in, Dabi half-stunned by the lines that have formed to get in, massive screens already set up outside of the building playing highlight reels of the games that have already happened to keep the people who haven't gotten in yet entertained as they wait. But they go right over to the VIP line and she hands over her ID and tells them that they're special guests of Iguchi and Shigaraki.

It takes all of five minutes for them to have VIP wristbands, badges, a gift bag provided by a few of the sponsors, and an escort inside because they're allowed into a special viewing booth if they don't want to sit right down in the front row by the stage. They opt for the stage and when they're shown to their seats, whatever game was happening before Shigaraki and Iguchi's is still going on, so they sit and start to watch that, Dabi turning to Toga and saying,

"I do not know shit about esports. What the fuck do I need to so that I don't embarrass myself?"

Toga gives him the basics of the game that Shigaraki and Iguchi will be playing as they wait for things to get started. Teams of two, essentially virtual capture the flag, getting killed doesn't mean they're down for the count, it just means that they have to wait to respawn and after three kills, they're out of the game completely. If they get all the way through this tournament then they'll get two million yen. And this won't even be the first one that they've participated in, having done two before this that earned them enough money to pay through their first year of university and rent a substantial apartment near the campus.

Dabi can't say that he fully knows what's going on throughout the many games that they watch, staying for nearly six hours as their team wins match after match. He barely gets it, but he's as on the edge of his seat as Toga is when the last match comes and Shigaraki's avatar dies and is eliminated when he blocks the other team's shot so that Iguchi's avatar can hold the point for the last couple of seconds that he needs to in order to secure it and win the match. Toga jumps up, pulling him with her, as the announcers start to rattle off their things and the crowd cheers. A massive thing of confetti goes off and showers the stands and stage with bits of the colorful paper.

When the stands start to clear out, and Shigaraki and Iguchi have disappeared for their other post-tournament obligations, he and Toga are taken into a VIP lounge to wait for them. She's bouncing, thrilled that her friends won, and he's wondering if he should have worn something less casual for a dinner date with a guy who can make two million yen in a day. But when Shigaraki and Iguchi come to find them, they accept their congratulations from him and hugs from Toga, before Shigaraki turns to him and says,

"I know a great tsukemen place near here, if you still want to get dinner."

"How can I say no? You backed up the cockiness flawlessly." It earns him another smile, and Iguchi only rolls his eyes as Toga waves them off with a grin.

///

Dinner is at a little hole-in-the-wall place with a cozy atmosphere where Dabi is served the best tsukemen that he has ever had in his life. They spend the entire meal chit-chatting, just getting to know each other. Dabi finds out that Shigaraki was adopted at age five after an earthquake leveled his family home, he's been gaming since he was seven, when a console was the first Christmas present his adoptive father got him once the papers were finalized, that he's actually pretty pessimistic about society as a whole, and that he literally destroys anything he touches with his quirk. Dabi tells him that he doesn't have any family he’s in contact with, he started baking and cooking when he was around five because it was the only chore he did that actually made him feel useful, that he thinks that the world is kind of shit too, but there are a few good people who make it worth it, and that he can burn anything to a crisp-- even himself. Most of it is pretty casual first-date kinds of things, and it's going well enough. They can talk to each other, it's even kind of fun. It's just that Dabi feels out of his depth and isn't about to own up to his inexperience. When they're finished, Shigaraki offers to take him home, and Dabi accepts that, the two of them grabbing a taxi and going back to the cafe.

He invites the other inside with a slightly sadistic, "Come on, we skipped dessert," and unlocks the cafe. There are only a few things that he saves between days, and biscotti is one of them. Shigaraki has no fear of caffeine this late, and Dabi makes them both a cappuccino to enjoy with it, before they're sitting at one of the booths.

"So why engineering and business?" He never went to college of course, but it does seem less exciting than making money streaming, going to tournaments, and apparently starting to do sponsorship ads the way Shigaraki does in his free time.

"My father. When Spinner and I wanted to enter our first tournament, we wanted to go in on one of the bigger, more established ones, not the ones for amateurs. The one we wanted had an entry fee of three hundred thousand yen for teams without managers or an agency, which we couldn't get unless we auditioned, entered a training program, and all of this other shit that we didn't want to do and didn't have time for before graduation and our college entrance exams. Spinner wanted out of his family's house because his quirk was a random heteromorphic mutation and they never treated him very well, and I wanted to help, but my father doesn't believe in 'charity'."

"So I made a deal with him, he would spot us the entry fee and in exchange he could pick my major and minor that I would get regardless of if we won, and give me a month of not meddling so that we could get our shit together so we could actually get past the qualifiers." He shrugs. "We won, but I'm locked in for four years, and Spinner used his cut of the money to come with me."

"Kind of a dick move-- on your father's part, if you ask me."

Shigaraki shrugs, "He wants me to succeed and be happy, but he doesn't always get that how he wants me to do it isn't going to work for me. Was your dad shit?"

"Absolutely. Kicked me out at eighteen without warning and told me that if I ever caused him trouble he would--" he tries to remember what he told the others when they took him in, "Destroy someone I care about."

"Absolutely a dick move." Shigaraki echoes his sentiment. "Did you ever get back in contact with them?"

"No, he could still do it, and he will. They're better off without me around. I hope they have a good life." It's a little too heavy for a first date, he thinks, so he picks up one of the biscotti and dunks it in his coffee, letting them defuse the tension as Shigaraki follows his lead. They both take a bite once it's softened enough to not break their teeth, and when their mouths aren't full, "What do you think?"

"It's not as sweet as the cake." Shigaraki says with true, perfect neutrality that makes Dabi laugh.

"I'm going to find something that you like. Everyone has something."

"Does that mean that I get to see more of you?"

Oh. Dabi feels a flush trying to rise to his cheeks, but he's not about to be cowed or fumble this again. "You might get to see all of me tonight if you don't have any problems being kicked out at three AM, or sitting down here while I bake. My shift starts at four." He doesn't know what the etiquette for dating is, but he does know how to have a memorable hookup.

"Maybe we should hold off then," Disappointment slips in. He had almost forgotten about his scars from how openly and readily Shigaraki had been flirting with him before. But maybe he needs more time to work himself up to see more of his fucked up skin. "I don't want to keep you up all night and have you burn down the cafe during your shift."

Relief goes through him as he snorts. "Cocky."

It earns him more smoldering red eyes and a small smile that screams with his overconfidence. "I've already proven once today that I can live up to it."

"It's a coffee shop." Dabi says, pushing himself up from the table. "I'll have a drink if I'm sleepy."

Shigaraki doesn't protest any as he stands as well, following Dabi upstairs to his apartment.

Dabi didn't anticipate how no sleep, three orgasms, and being sore from taking the biggest cock up his ass he's ever had was going to affect his shift the next day, but Magne and Atsuhiro have a very, very good laugh over it when they see Tomura leaving just before they clock in.

///

Tomura was Dabi's first date, but he's also his second, third, fourth, until it's really really obvious that they're dating. That he has a boyfriend now. He didn't think he'd ever have a home, friends, security, or companionship in his life, but he has all of them.

And throughout the first month and a half of his and Tomura's relationship, he's expecting them all to disappear.

It's a thought that comes to him the first time he's over at Shig and Spinner's apartment in the mid afternoon, when Duster comes back between classes, Spinner's still at his, and they fuck with the lights on for the first time. It's when he's certain that no matter what else they've done in the dark, that the moment that Tomura really sees him like this, that he's going to realize how disgusting he is and dump him. But he doesn't. He kisses his skin the same way he always does, teases him for how sensitive he always is, makes him cum so hard that he accidentally sets off the smoke alarms. They go out to dinner later and he heads back to the cafe since his shift is so early, half expecting him to block his number and ghost him completely.

But Tomura comes by in two days while he's running around-- he and Spinner are actually getting sponsors and management companies who want them now-- to let Dabi make him try one of his other desserts, and to ask if he wants to go to a crane game place that Toga is dragging them all to later.

"I don't think I've ever played a single crane game in my life." He tells the other, but agrees anyway. The group of them have been having a good time hanging out together, and he wants to hold onto that for as long as he can.

When they go to the crane game place that night, it's him, Tomura, Spinner, Toga, and Jin, and they all agree to a max spending cap of five thousand yen. Whoever comes back with the most prizes wins will get to pick where they go for dinner, and whoever has the least will be the assigned pack mule for the night. Dabi's spirits are slightly cheered by the fact that Jin says he's never played either. They get to the building and find two floors of the crane games, and Dabi immediately regrets what they've signed up for. They change their bills to coins and he and Tomura break off from the others to go down the rows, looking for any prizes that they might like.

"Here, you should try this one, firefly." Tomura settles him in front of the game, the prize for which is a rabbit that is designed to look like a strawberry mochi. It's a standard claw game and Dabi at least knows how it works in theory, and Tomura shows him the controls. "This machine always grabs tighter after the third coin, so just try to get it into a good place before then."

Dabi puts in his coin, "How often do you two come here?"

Tomura guides his hands on the controls as the game starts, "Whenever we have to decide who's doing laundry or if I want the apartment for the weekend."

"Yeah, how many times have you kicked him out for the weekend?"

The question gets him a kiss against the back of his neck. "The only time that matters is this one, because when I win, we're going to your favorite soba place, dropping the others off at karaoke, and then you and I are going back to the apartment, and I'm going to fuck you in the tub the way you always want to until you're boiling the water." In his defense, their apartment is massive and the tub is no exception.

"You are a terrible roommate and the only man on the fucking planet who is excited over the thought of getting third degree burns on his dick." Dabi lets Tomura guide his hand so that he positions the claw above the stuffed animal. He hits the button to lower it when it's in place and the machine whirrs. The claw closes around the bunny's soft body, but only carries it about an inch towards the prize drop before it slips out from the pincers.

"A good boyfriend though." He gives Dabi a kiss on the cheek and puts in one of his own coins so that Dabi can try again.

He gets lucky, and manages to get it up to the plastic partition in the machine, and the rabbit bounces against it and into the hole. Dabi is absolutely not expecting the rush of joy that he gets seeing it drop inside and realizing that he won something.

"Perfect, firefly!" Tomura praises, giving him another kiss before letting Dabi reach into the slot to take the toy out. It's soft as a kitten, but it does have a plasticky smell to it that he hopes will go away.

"Yeah, well, it'll be more impressive when I manage to do it on my own. Go make sure that you can deliver a good weekend."

Tomura smiles and Dabi accepts the peck that he gets before he parts, saying, "If you're struggling at a machine, you can ask the staff to reset it, you can only win one of the big plushies per machine, and there are bags by the coin exchange if you need them to carry things. I'll stay on this floor until you're ready to go upstairs, just come find me when you're ready."

"Okay," he lets the other leave and picks up his coin cup. Tomura moves down the row and turns a corner, disappearing, he's guessing to go to his favorite machines. He turns and starts to look at the other machines, other versions of claws, ones where he thinks he has to pull on the plastic tabs that have been attached to boxes, trying to find any that look interesting. It's a total waste of his coins, but he sees a box of assorted chocolates that he knows Tomura will hate, and that Toga will love, and he immediately stops at that machine and feeds it a coin.

It takes him ten tries before he actually gets the box to fall into the slot, and after it does, he doesn't get that same flicker of happiness that he was before. Because that flicker has been fighting its way through his doubt since the first night that they spent together. Tomura likes him, he's good to him, but it's hard not to notice that he's going to make something of himself. He's going to be a proper pro at some point, probably some point soon, and he's going to graduate college, and then he's going to be able to get whatever job he wants after he has his esports career, if he doesn't make enough money to retire on it. Dabi isn't going anywhere. He is incredibly grateful for what he has, but he's not going to make more of himself than a barista and a self-taught pastry chef. He's lucky he even became that. He's not going to get any prettier either. When they go out, he still has people see his face and gasp, or turn away from him and whisper. He still gets stopped by cops when he's just going to the grocery store because they think he looks like a criminal.

He's always going to be the person who doesn't fit in, who scares people, who is too prickly to make them feel comfortable. He's never going to be as smart as them, won't ever be able to afford to go back to school even if he wanted to, and he's never going to have a lot. He's been happy with what he's had so far, he's been happy with how things worked out when he didn't think he would ever get anywhere near any of this. Dabi knows that his job at Last Drop isn't going anywhere. He would have to fuck up astronomically for Atsuhiro to fire him, and they're not about to go under or anything. He knows that Magne, Jin, and Atsuhiro are his friends first and foremost, and even if things fall apart with Shigaraki, they aren't going to abandon him, while Toga might have to pick between them and her old friends. He knows he has enough money squirreled away that he won't end up homeless again if something unforeseen happens.

But he doesn't know how he's supposed to handle the fact that Tomura could choose to leave him as soon as he realizes that Dabi isn't worth his time. That he's just going to weigh him down, smearing soot all over the bright future that is stretching out in front of him. He's never been in the position before where he had to decide if he was going to give up on something instead of waiting for it to end, but neither option makes him feel particularly good.

Dabi's fingers hit cool plastic and he blinks, looking down at his coin cup. Two hundred yen left. He didn't mean to do that, absolutely didn't mean to wander around playing game after game as his mind whirled. Definitely lost. It feels like a horrible signpost from fate that he's going to lose Tomura too, even though he wants so badly, and so selfishly to keep him all for himself. He looks around for a single machine that he thinks that he might be able to get at least one thing out of, desperate to hold on for a chance--

"There you are," Tomura comes up to him, one hand with two large bags of prizes hanging off of it. "Are you ready to head upstairs?"

"Uh, yeah," he feels his face heat, his stomach in knots. "I'm almost out-- guess you made this look way easier than it was."

Tomura just smiles, "It takes practice. Besides, you have two things? So does Jin, last I saw. Toga's only got four. She wasted all her money trying to get a My Melody strawberry plush for some girl she's got a crush on." He looks into his coin cup and then whispers to him, "Let's sneak upstairs before the others notice. The gotcha games are up there, and you can get at least one more prize and beat Jin."

"Okay." His chest hurts. He doesn't want to lose this. They go upstairs and Tomura shows him the line of gotchas that range from one hundred yen to play to two thousand. He can play two of the games and come out with the same amount as Toga, but he's still leagues behind Tomura. He's always going to be behind him, weighing him down.

He looks along the row and finds one that costs two hundred yen to play. He should just get this over with. It's a mystery gotcha that says that it's stocked with classic arcade items like sticky hands and novelty erasers, to 'higher end' prizes like headphones, fidget toys, and possibly a voucher to play one of the expensive game machines. He puts in his coins and cranks the wheel, listening to the capsules inside shift around. One drops into the slot and he grabs it. It rattles in the capsule so he figures that it's not the voucher and pops it open. On top of the prize is a little piece of paper that shows it's an insect shaped phone charm, and that he could have won a grasshopper, cicada, rollie pollie, butterfly, or... firefly. Dabi isn't expecting the way that makes his heart start to race as he picks up the black plastic pouch the charm was stored in and tears it open.

He doesn't know why he feels like he might cry for the first time in years when he sees the little black body, its wings spread open to show its yellow butt, which the paper says will glow in the dark. But Dabi has to take a second to figure out how to compose himself before he turns to find Tomura. The other man hasn't gone far, staying in the row of machines that Dabi will have a clear line of sight to. He sees him bend down to pick up his new prize and Dabi thinks about just... leaving. He could go first, and then it will be his fault in a more direct way when this all falls apart. Everyone will be mad at him for being a dick, and they won't ask him why he can't just let himself be happy for as long as he can hold on to this.

But Tomura turns around and immediately spots him and smiles. It's such a good smile. It lights him up from the inside out. Dabi doesn't want to ruin that for him, not now. He can wait. He'll let Tomura shatter his heart into pieces if it means he doesn't have to break his instead. His boyfriend comes over to him, "What did you get?"

"Here, you can have it," He says before he can reboot his brain to say anything smarter than that.

His heart fucking breaks a lot sooner than expected when Tomura takes the charm out of his hand and laughs. "Oh, firefly, that's perfect. I got you something too." It's a miracle he reaches into his bags, digging down towards the bottom, taking his eyes off of him as Dabi has to blink back the slightly red mistiness in his eyes from how in his head he's gotten over the past... however long they've been here. "Something so that you can keep me close even when we're apart." He pulls out a little moth plush, just big enough to fit in his palm with a fake fur ruff around its neck, big red eyes, and soft flappy wings on either side of its body. His chest warms and takes it.

"Thanks, Duster."

Tomura puts the charm on his phone, and then pulls him close for a kiss.

"If it comes down between Spinner tying with you, or me and Jin tying, tell them you got the charm too. I want to take a bath in the tub the two of you are fucking wasting." Tomura laughs,

"Very underhanded, firefly. Absolutely." Tomura still has five more coins, so he cranks through five of the one hundred yen gotchas since it's starting to get late, and they know at least two of the others are also already finished.

He's wearing his gloves, always does when he's going to be in crowds where someone could bump into him outside of his control, and he puts the bags all on one arm so that he can lace their fingers together before they head back downstairs to find the others.

"If you guys come here so often, what do you do with all the prizes?" Dabi asks as he tries to pull himself out of the heavy doubts that have been clinging to him so violently all night.

"Toga gets to pick through all of the plush to find ones she likes, then we donate the rest of them to a charity that gives them to kids in hospitals as a part of their 'buddy' program."

"Oh, that's sweet."

"Don't start thinking too highly of us, all of the figures and other stuff we take to a resale place and put that money towards our practice tournament prize. Whoever has the best score at the end of the month gets to spend it on whatever they want."

Dabi snorts as they make it downstairs and spot their friends standing off to the side of the exit. Toga is beaming, holding her plush close to her chest, and Jin looks defeated. Spinner's bags look smaller than Tomura's but that doesn't mean much when the size of the prizes range from the capsules to plushies the size of Dabi's torso. They count up the prizes, Spinner and Tomura absolutely sweeping the rest of them with ten actual prizes and then Spinner snapping,

"Oh fuck you! Gotchas don't count!"

"We never said that." Tomura snarks right back, unwaveringly. It's an underhanded way to win, and Tomura doubles down, saying that he'll win something with four hundred yen if the money he spent on the capsules doesn't count. He manages to win the prize that pushes him over the edge with one coin, and then just because he is such a cocky asshole, he also wins a second one with the last three coins.

They go to get soba, ditch their friends at karaoke, and go back to Tomura's apartment.

When Dabi's curled up against his chest, looking at the firefly charm glowing away on the nightstand, and Tomura presses a kiss against his hair and murmurs,

"Love you, Dabi," He can't manage to make his throat work to say it back, but he holds onto him tighter, leans up to try and kiss him harder. He doesn't know how long he'll get to have this, any of the good things in his life. But Tomura is the best, and he is going to hold on for as long as he can and savor every second of it.

Thank you so much for reading!

#shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction

54 notes · View notes

gaily-daily-musings · 3 months

Note

I am not strong enough, hate at first sight?

Anakin has no idea what the fuck he did to make the hot english barista hate him. He'd been hearing about this new cafe from all his friends for months before finally caving in and going. They'd rant and rave about the tea and biscuits and whatever else the place sold. It was exhausting listening to them go on and on and how he had to go and why hasn't he gone yet? It was just tea. It couldn't be that good.

He lets Ahsoka and Padme drag him to the little shop on a sunny Saturday afternoon. He tries to protest he didn't even like tea that much but they won't take no for an answer.

It's quaint inside, made to look homy and inviting. Like you're going to a friend's house for a cuppa. Padme and Ahsoka order first in front of him so he can take some time to look at the menu. To say that the man taking their order behind the counter is pleasant is an understatement. He is the very visage of Politeness itself. He practically glows, like all he's ever wanted in life is to serve his homemade biscuits to the good people of America.

Then Padme and Ahsoka step away. The man–name tag declaring him Obi-Wan–finally looks at Anakin. His entire face falls flat.

Anakin is not a vain person per se. He doesn't obsess over getting views on Instagram or TikTok, but he is aware of his handsomeness and his effect on people. He has never in his life elicited this reaction before.

Obi-Wan eyes him up and down with absolute disgust. It's almost a physical thing that practically sends Anakin taking a step back.

“Did you want to order something, sir?” Obi-Wan's voice drips with disdain.

Anakin stiffens. “Uh, uh yeah?”

He's no stranger to hostile conversations. He's had (has) a bad temper in the past and let it lead him to one too many fights. On a normal day he'd give back Obi-Wan's snark ten times what he receives. On a normal day he'd probably tell him to fuck off and storm out. But Anakin is not prepared for it today. Today he is simply dumbfounded, and his brain is too slow to process the hatred rolling off the other man in waves.

“And what would you like?”

Anakin snaps out of his momentary daze. “The special, I guess?”

Obi-Wan sighs like this is the worst thing he could possibly say. He rings Anakin up and takes his money.

“It'll be right out, sir.”

Anakin wanders over to where Padme and Ahsoka stand, still trying to understand what just happened.

“What just happened?” Ahsoka asks, frowning at him. “What did you say to Obi-Wan? I've never seen him like that before.”

“Me?! I didn't do anything! I've never even seen him before today!”

Padme and Ahsoka share a look like they don't believe him. Clearly this must be his fault.

“You already know I've never been here!” Anakin growls, getting angry now that the confusion has passed. “I didn't even want to come to this shitty place! Who the fuck even wants tea when we can–”

“Order up!”

Anakin turns to see Padme’s and Ahsoka’s orders being brought to the counter. They pick up their drinks and thank the man. Anakin glares at him. Obi-Wan doesn't necessarily glare back, but his gaze does harden. Pompous ass.

It takes about 10 minutes for his drink to finally get done. At least 5 other people get their orders before him. By the time Obi-Wan calls out his name Anakin is ready to start swinging. It shouldn't even matter. This place was out of the way for him anyway. He was never going to come back here. What did it matter if the owner hated him?

“What is your problem?” Anakin hisses, putting his hands down on the counter beside his drink.

“We're a bit short staffed today. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

“You served like 5 people ahead of me!”

“Did I?”

Anakin grits his teeth. He picks up his cup ready to splash the man in the face. But then again he did pay for it and it'd be a waste of money. It probably tasted like piss though.

“You know what?” Anakin breaths out his nose, just like his therapist had taught him. “You're not even worth it.”

He spins around to head out and join his friends when Obi-Wan's voice stops him.

“Funny, that's what you said in your review too.”

Anakin's shoes squeak across the floor as he pauses. He frowns as the words jumble around inside his head. They click into place like puzzle pieces with a final, horrible epiphany.

[Never been but my friends won't shut up about it. Probably not even worth it. One star.]

Anakin swivels back around to see Obi-Wan turning to attend another customer. His smile is back on his face like it never even left.

Fuck.

#then anakin sips the tea and he has a spiritual experience #he edits the review and gives him 5 stars #but the damage is already done #hate at first sight #obikin fic #my drabbles #ask and ye shall receive #reverse tropes

40 notes · View notes

mabelstone · 8 months

Text

Boy Next Door

matt stone x fem reader

i'm back. mabel finish a fic before starting a new one challenge i don't want to write Y/N anymore so for now i will use [name] as a filler LOL is that even worse? this was one of the first ideas i ever had and i'm sure its widely overused on here but i really loved writing this. will probably turn it into a series lol we'll see but at least one or two more parts to come xx

The removal of the sold sign and the influx of moving vans this past week was a dead give away that I now had a new neighbour. I seriously prayed for someone cool to move in, as I have an almost certain suspicion that the previous owners were drug dealers. I hadn't actually seen them yet and I wasn't planning on going over and introducing myself as my neighbourhood was notorious for keeping to itself. Unless you count that awkward wave you give to the person across the street when you're taking out your bins at the same time. It was a quiet place, all the more reason to love it. We were all living in synchronous harmony in our quiet, private little bubbles.

I had a routine of hitting the hay around 9:30pm, 10pm on a bad night, which in itself was a luxury. Tonight, I'd already set myself up. Fed the dog, fed myself, showered, watched a bit of telly, then got cosy in bed around 9pm. I turned off my TV, and that's when I noticed the repetitious bumping of heavy bass brought to life by the speakers next door. It's okay, I told myself, closing my eyes and trying block out the sound best I could. Is it getting louder? I suspected I may be paranoid or hyper focused on the sound because I have work at 6am. I ended up dozing off, thankfully.

Then the next thing I knew, I was being awoken by a loud smash of glass, and an even louder, "aw, come on, man! You're paying for that!"

I couldn't have been imagining it, because now instead of a steady thump of bass, I could now hear loud and clear the lyrics to MAAD City by Kendrick Lamar as if he were performing a live concert in my bedroom. I rolled over to check my phone. 11:45pm. That's it.

I - a bit dramatically, I must admit - threw my blankets off and threw on my dressing gown, storming out my front door in my stupid bunny head slippers. Despite the great choice of music, I was absolutely furious, the bass bumping so hard as I approached the door, I could feel it in my chest. I knocked on the door so hard my knuckles stung. No answer. I waited a moment, then proceeded to bash on the door with all my might. A few moments later, my hands on my hips and a scowl on my face that screamed, 'I don't care if you think I'm lame, you've royally pissed me off,' the door opened.

A man with kind of short, kind of long, curly brown hair stood before me with ugly oval rimmed glasses, an aquiline nose, and a bottle of beer in his hand. "...hello?" The look on his face almost read, do I know you?

"Hello. I live next door," I huffed, arms now tightly crossed over my chest. Don't get angry, compose yourself. "It's almost midnight on a Sunday. Could you please... tone it down a bit?"

“Oh absolutely, sorry, miss…?”

“[Name]”

"Well, nice to meet you," he reached his hand out to shake mine, which I begrudgingly accepted, a little gap in his teeth on display. "I'll turn it down right now." He pulled out his phone and showed me him pressing the volume down button repeatedly, the music complying.

"Thank you." I wasn't interested in chatting, instead I stormed back into my house with an emphatic sigh, slamming the door behind me. I shucked off my gown and climbed back into bed, grateful that now I'd hopefully get an okay sleep.

Nope.

Less than ten minutes later, the music is cranked back up and now theres a ball repeatedly hitting my fence. "For God's sake," I yelled to nobody, charging for the neighbours house barefooted.

I was so angry at this point, I didn't even care that I was in skimpy little Victoria's Secret pyjamas I'd owned since high school.

As I shamelessly bashed on his door, I tried to block out the little voice in my head that pleaded, just let it go, and, your actions have consequences. Absolutely livid, I waited, and waited. My fist inches away from punching a hole through the door, it opened once more.

The same curly headed man from earlier, this time more noticeably inebriated. Or high. Please, for the love of God, just be an occasional user and not a dealer. “Well, what a pleasant surprise! Decided to come party?”

“No, I did not come to party!” I snapped, my anger seemingly unleashing itself in the form of a foot stomp, similarly to how a spoilt 5 year old would. “I want you to have some respect and turn this shit down! Or better yet, off!”

One of his friends appeared in the doorway, eyes half lidded and probably the same shade of red as my face currently. "That's not party attire," he snorted, being pulled away by someone in a... Spiderman costume? What kind of party is this?

I sighed deeply, pinching the upper bridge of my nose with eyes screwed shut as tightly as my fist. I was on the verge of tears, and I think he noticed by the way he quickly dropped his act.

“Okay, okay. I'm turning it off right now.” He must've realised how much of an inconsiderate dick he was being. He reached into his pocket and turned off the music, sighing down at me. I heard a few short lived groans from the other side of the door. An annoyed, “duuuude that was my song,” before the drunken chatter quickly resumed.

“Thanks,” I muttered, yawning into my hand (for dramatic effect, of course).

“Matt, bring the lady in,” one guy slurred against the door frame as if I wasn't even there. “Wanna play basketball with her,” he professed, before stumbling back into the house.

“Oh, yeah, if that ball hits my fence one more time I'll tear it down and beat you with the wood.” I walked away after this, feeling quite proud of myself, actually. We should normalise occasional temper tantrums in adults.

Thankfully, the music remained off as I got back in bed, almost immediately drifting off.

BANG. Then that fucking ball hit my fence again, followed by followed by my new neighbour scolding someone indistinguishably. Then, in a slightly louder voice intended for my ears, “sorry, [name].”

Due to my disrupted sleep last night, I nearly slept in. I confess, I am a bit of a princess with my sleep. I spent my morning racing around like a headless chicken, spilling coffee all over my white blouse, having to change, which pushed me back another minute. I rushed out to my car, only to find, to my demise, I've been blocked in. Some random vehicle, probably belonging to one of the degenerates next door, hanging 3/4 over my driveway.

Almost with a feeling synonymous with deja-vu, I flounced to the neighbours', determined to fuck his shit up, to put it plainly. I pounded on the door impatiently with both fists, tapping my foot while I waited. A random man clad in a t-shirt depicting a stick figure humping the word 'IT' answered the door.

“Excuse me, who’s car is this?” I pointed to the car blocking my driveway, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Fuck, dude, I was sleeping,” he groaned, and I didn't even try and hide my eye roll. Karma, I thought. “I don’t know,” he rubbed his eyes like a child, thinning my already impossibly thin patience.

“Where is Matt?”

“Probably sleeping, man, it’s like, barely even morning yet.”

I was painfully close to losing my temper. To avoid combusting on the spot, I sighed and pushed past the potentially still drunk guest. Or maybe other new neighbour. I sure hope not.

I scrunched my nose up at the state of his place - beer bottles strewn everywhere, the stale smell of cigarettes and weed clinging to the furniture, guests were passed out in each corner of the living room. I hugged my handbag close to me and stepped over the scattered limbs like a contortionist dodging laser beams, adamant on disrupting Matt's slumber like he had mine. I navigated his long hallway, pushing open every door, scoffing at the half naked bloke with two naked women clinging to either side of him. I near shuddered in disgust, wanting nothing more than to disinfect my entire body after being in the war zone of his house. Maybe I was only being so judgemental because I was irrevocably angry. Maybe.

I eventually found his room, which to my surprise, was almost compulsively clean and ordered with Patrick Bateman level precision. I stood before his bed with folded arms and wondered to myself if maybe he'd think I had some kind of bone disfigurement that kept my arms bent across me. I quickly relaxed them at my side.

"Matt," I spoke sternly. He didn't even stir. I bent down close to his face, raising my voice this time. "Matt."

Finally, his eyes flung open and he jumped, clamping a hand over his chest as if to stop it from bursting through his skin. “Fuck!” he panted softly. I rolled my eyes at him as he caught his breath and pulled away. As if deliberately oblivious, he stretched and spoke halfway through a groan, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Who’s car is parked over my driveway?”

“I have no clue,” he breathed as he smooshed his face into his pillow, voice still thick and croaky with sleep. His hair was unruly, but his glasses were neatly folded on his bedside table beside a glass of water and a packet of Advil.

“I’m going to be late for work,” I exclaimed as calmly as possible, though I was on the verge of a tantrum. I was oddly self conscious that he'd only seen me furious. “Whoever it belongs to, it needs to be moved. Like, five minutes ago.”

“Alright,” he sighed, groggily pushing the blanket from his body and sliding his glasses on, only clad in pyjama pants with m&m’s printed all over them.

He lead me through the dormant chaos of his house, even scrunching up his face from the mess. Or maybe the smell. He pushed a blind to the side and glanced out onto the street, seeing the culprit; a silver Mitsubishi Lancer. He then walked over to the supposed owner, kicking him softly in the side where he was laying on the floor. “Move your car, dude.”

The man just groaned and patted his jean pocket, face smushed into the little couch cushion beneath him, weakly handing the keys to Matt. He just rolled his eyes and trudged out the front, and I followed close enough behind that I almost nicked his heels with every step.

He clambered into the drivers seat with the air of a zombie, pulling the car onto the side of the road. I wasted no time getting into my car, reversing out of the driveway and rolling down my window, pulling up beside him. “Thank you,” I smiled with genuine appreciation, watching him run a hand through his hair in my rear view as I drove away.

#matt stone #matt stone x reader

50 notes · View notes

crying-fantasies · 1 year

Text

Like carrier like sparkling

Humans, specially the ones from the new era, and specially the ones that have been born in the era of capitalism are way too good merchants, at least some of them.

That's what the Lost Light crew learn while watching the group of humans buying spices, chocolate, potatoes and rice, with many other things that, apparently, are indispensable in outer space and the continuous stock of it is necessary when you can't buy these so easily out of earth.

"Do we really need to go all the way back?", at the moment Rodimus whined about it, he wasn't even sure if his crew aboard would want to go back there after so little.

You looked at him, stopping the continuous typing over your datapad, "we could also buy some metals", your assurance catched his attention, now that was something the others would also want, his oral lubricant was increasing by the mere idea of energon with zinc and iron flakes.

In other occasional Magnus would have say something different or even Rodimus because returning to Earth almost every few solar cycles means no adventure time soon, but they can't say much when the new market the humans in the Lost Light created is what doubles the flow of credits and shanix on the ship, and the buying of basic metals and crystals made their basic energon blow with flavor when humans realized their "cooking".

It's something endearing, even the very same humans referred to themselves as squirrels before winter, Nautica searched for the meaning and the picture of the little thing almost made some bots to offline from the cuteness those puffed cheeks created, being totally baffled by it or the explanation you would give about it, surprising them even more by your scientific notation of how those little cute things were related to some kind of turborats.

Even with the construction and function of the green house aboard the Lost Light full of something called potatoes that you explained to him that could grow on martian land even if it was mere fiction to some point while he only heard about it.

Rodimus can remember that in different moments even years after, but in place of the group of humans or you, he watches Sunset talking with the same mannerisms you once did, moving his servos to get to his point.

"One third well grinned, the other mid, and the last one entire, also some peppers, I'll try to get those to grow back on the ship", Sunset moves his digits for all his orders, taking in mind all the products he needs to take over and how much is going to be sold to the humans settled in New Cybertron and the other colonies while doing mental numbers with his budget.

"Sure", the man makes a signal with his trembling hand result of advanced age and a whole truck comes with the order, "you act a lot like your family", the man referred to the previous humans in the LL, remembering how they came when his grandfather was the owner of the business and he merely a child, "good to see that you keep on your family traditions"

Sunset keeps silent, looking bashfully to the side and thinking about those words while a hand tightened around his datapad, he isn't sure how he feels, happy to some degree at least, only to turn around and see his father with tears at the edge of his optics, a servo over his intake, apparently moved beyond salvation.

"Dad, don't-"

"You act just like your mother"

Aw mech, why is he like this?

#reader insert #x reader #angst #transformers x reader #tf mtmte #rodimus x human reader #rodimus x reader #tf rodimus #rodimus #tf nautica #tf ultra magnus

59 notes · View notes

doumidas-whumps · 24 days

Text

getting to know port (not all that well)

Sonny has recently been reassigned to a new owner. He notices some things about Porter, the other household pet.

this is mostly a scene setter for my BBU-inspired guys (with some whumpy flavoring). my version of the BBU is a little different than the 'standard' but still recognizable. hoping to get more familiar with their personalities as I write more things for them!

content warnings: BBU/box boy/pet whump, abusive pet/master dynamics (par for the course)

~~~~~

From what Sonny had gathered, Porter was a refurb. Not that Port had ever told him— the guy held his cards pretty close to his chest. Sonny hardly knew anything about him, really, even after a month of sleeping on the floor next to him. All he knew for sure was that Port had been in this house with Mr. Oz for a while now.

“It’ll be two years in October,” is what he said when Sonny asked him, and with way too much enthusiasm.

Port liked to act like this house was all he had ever known, but sometimes he had this look in his eyes that Sonny had seen before in some of the others in the Barn. That too-intense, wide-eyed, twitchy look like he had been through hell.

Sonny didn’t know exactly what the refurbishment process involved, and he sure as hell didn’t want to find out, but he was trained alongside a few guys that had come out the other end of it more or less alive. Sometimes W.R.U. sold off refurbs to the Barn, mostly if they thought the refurbs were too damaged to sell but didn’t want to take a complete loss.

It made Sonny wonder what Port had done to deserve that, because he couldn’t imagine him ever disobeying orders. Maybe refurbishment fixed whatever fight he had in him. Sonny shuttered just thinking about it, despite the stuffy heat of the kitchen.

Mr. Oz had tried cooking god-knows-what earlier that afternoon. Looked like some sort of soup or stew that had boiled over and left a brown sticky mess all over the stovetop. Sonny already knew his master didn’t know how to cook, but this just cemented in his mind that he should try and steer Mr. Oz away from the kitchen at all costs. Best to leave the cooking to him and Port. (Mostly Port, because he was better at it.)

Sonny wasn’t there to witness the incident, but whatever happened, Mr. Oz was all pissed about it and even pulled Sonny away from bathroom cleaning duty to fix his mess, hence why Sonny had been scrubbing the stove with an old toothbrush for the past fifteen minutes.

“If this ain’t cleaned up and dinner ain’t on the table by the time I get back, you really won’t like what happens next,” he’d said, gripping Sonny’s bicep like a vice and wagging his stupid thick finger in his face. Sonny had been on the receiving end of threats like that ever since he got here a month ago, but they still put him on edge every time. He never knew if Mr. Oz would act on them or not. Sometimes he would come back in a better mood and grant him mercy, but other times he would follow through and then some.

Some part of him was still naïve enough to hope that he could avoid being hurt if he did exactly what Mr. Oz asked, but in reality his master was volatile even at the best of times and it usually didn’t matter. It was safer just to assume he would be hurt every time so he could be pleasantly surprised if he wasn’t. At this point, Sonny was pretty sure Mr. Oz liked beating on him just for kicks. Maybe because he was fresh.

Port as much more hardened, on the other hand. He didn’t tremble or whimper like Sonny did. He would take a punishment silently and would probably even smile and thank him if he was asked to.

Sick with longing for his old master, Sonny rubbed his face with his free hand, wincing as he accidentally pressed on a tender bruise from last night. He tried not to think about his old master too much, through it was hard not to when he was stuck doing shit like this. His old master hardly ever threatened him, and when he did it was at least for good reason. And Sonny certainly never had to clean stovetops back then. Sighing, Sonny lifted one of the burner grates and started scrubbing the blackened crust underneath.

That was something else he didn’t get about Porter. He didn’t seem to mind their master’s treatment at all. Hell, the way Port acted about him you’d think he was an angel. Sonny thought Mr. Oz really wasn’t much better than the handlers he’d trained under. That was another reason Sonny figured he must’ve belonged to someone else at some point. When Sonny brought it up, though, Port just said, “I don’t remember anything from before I got here,” which Sonny knew was definitely a damn lie because those W.R.U. guys were at least supposed to remember their training, refurbished or not.

With a small jolt of alarm, Sonny realized they should probably get supper started soon if they both wanted to avoid their master’s wrath. Putting the dirty toothbrush down and tugging at his chafing collar, he moved to the window to see if he could spot Port outside. He had been weeding for a few hours now, his latest gardening project.

Peeking out the window, Sonny could see the top of his ginger head moving around in all the green of the yard. Sonny wasn’t allowed to go outside, so he opened the window and called out. Port’s freckled face popped up from behind the bushes.

“D’you need something?” he asked.

“Mr. Oz wants supper on the table before he gets home.”

Port looked over his shoulder to the sky like the sun would tell him when he would be getting back. “What time is it?”

“’Bout 5:30.”

Port wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, which just rubbed more dirt onto his face. “We should be okay, but I’ll head in after I finish this section. He’s not supposed to be home ’til 7, he said.”

Sonny wanted to argue with him, tell him that he should get supper started as soon as possible in case Mr. Oz came back, but tamped down the urge. Porter was usually right about these things.

Even though Sonny had his gripes with him, Port was refreshingly levelheaded. One time, maybe three or four days after Sonny had first arrived to the house, he’d accidentally dropped a bowl while washing the dishes and the damned thing cracked, broke right in two. At that point he was already familiar enough with Mr. Oz’s personality to know what would be in store for him if he found out. With all the stress of the new environment, new rules, and new expectations building for the past few days, the bowl made something break in him. He fell, he shook, he cried, the whole nine yards.

Port had appeared at his side, kneeled beside him, rubbed gentle circles into his back. “It’s okay,” he had said. “We can throw it away out back. Master won’t even notice it’s gone.” Then he’d stood up and offered his hands to Sonny, who took them and let Port help him up. Port even went as far as cleaning up the ceramic himself while Sonny wiped his face with a damp paper towel. Just like he said, Mr. Oz never even noticed the missing bowl.

So Sonny didn’t argue. He just closed the window and returned to the kitchen, where he started to scrub a little more vigorously.

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #bbu whump #pet whump #box boy whump #box boy universe #institutionalized slavery #group whumpees #multiple whumpees #conditioned whumpee #the classic breaking a dish trope (in flashback)#box boy #ficmidas #porter oz #sonny oz #i'll draw sonny too eventually

15 notes · View notes

danikamariewrites · 1 year

Note

believe me when i say that your blog is AWESOME, AMAZING, im in love with your writing, i think it's the most beautiful thing in the world and i want to say thank you for sharing your talent with us. if i could marry one of your fanfics, i would do it without hesitation. 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 .now that i said my thoughts about your amazing blog, i have a request... MODERN rowaelin x reader.

🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️ (fancy clothes, expensive phones, cars...) i would LOVE to see a fanfic of them in the modern world with reader🧎🏻‍♀️😫 .

no pressure, take your time, stay safe, eat healthy, sleep well, and drink water 🫂💜

Modern!Rowaelin x reader headcanon

A/n: thank you! That’s so nice of you to say and I’m so happy you like my writing (trying to make it my career if Hollywood can get its shit together lol). I love this concept, it’s amazing and I had to write it bc Aelin would thrive as modern day princess/queen.

Sending you love bestie ❤️

Warnings: none

Modern!Rowaelin would be a fucking power couple (and with you a power trio)

Let’s say for this hc that Aelin and Rowan are just a rich couple that come from old money. I’m talking old New England money but they give it a new look bc Aelin likes new stuff, Rowan is like the antique collector in the relationship

When you met they were shopping for art at the gallery you worked at

You had just graduated college a year or so ago and this was your entry level job in the art world. You were actually very familiar with the pieces the gallery sold and you have an insane memory for art history

Aelin and Rowan came in to buy a few pieces for their new apartment in the city so you showed them a few pieces since the owner was busy

The three of you hit it off and they offered to take you out to dinner once you finished with work

You met them at the five-star restaurant that was in their building and that’s when they asked you out. “We knew once we met you we had a connection. If you don’t feel the same way please feel free to reject us and we can pretend this never happened.” Aelin said

But you had felt an instant connection with them too. You felt safe and at home around them. You knew you needed to be with them

After that night you moved in with them and they talked you into quitting your job and working for their clients as an art collector

It was like a dream come true

Aelin and Rowan spoiled you with love, attention, and gifts

You weren’t always a material person, you grew up getting things you asked for that were within your family’s budget but this was a whole other level

After a year of being with them they gave you a credit card, “unlimited spending baby. Anything you want it’s your.” Rowan said kissing you on the cheek

Shopping sprees with Aelin were the best! Those were your bonding trips and when you truly got to know each other. You talked about everything while wandering the aisles of high end department stores, trying on shoes and clothes

Lingerie shopping was the most fun since you would pick out pieces that would drive him crazy (and each other)

There may have been a time or two where you both couldn’t keep your hands to yourself in the changing room

With Rowan your bonding time was going on walks or runs or him teaching you how to work out at the gym

When you were out in nature with him that’s when you saw him most relaxed (besides at home)

Your yearly summer vacation is always to Cape Cod

Both their families have beach houses there but they wanted their own in a different area, so they bought one just before they met you

The house is huge and you obviously use it more than once a year but you always had those set 2 weeks in July that you would go

No work. No distractions. Just the 3 of you, the beach, and fun times

You and Aelin of course demand the best lobster rolls which Rowan gets for you

Ice cream every night after dinner

And they buy you all the souvenirs you want

Two days before you were set to leave, you and Rowan were packing. You folded he put away (he’d never admit it but he’s awful at folding clothes but he tries)

Aelin came running into the bedroom with a shit eating grin on her face that told you two she wanted something, “Row, y/n/n.” “Yes Aelin.” You responded in unison

“I just realized we need something for the Cape house that we don’t have.” Rowan rolled his eyes, “And what would that be, Fireheart?”

“We don’t have a Jeep!” You and Rowan shared a look. “Ok A, so what do you suggest?” Aelin clapped her hands together in excitement “We’re going to get one obviously.” “Right now!?” “Yes Rowan. Come on you’re driving.”

She rushed back out of the room and you followed her as Rowan let out an exasperated sigh, tilting his head back

45 minutes later you were all sitting in the Jeep dealership

Not only did you leave with a Jeep wrangler, but she also managed to find a beautiful jet black convertible Audi

Aelin insisted you bring both to Cape Cod and of course Rowan gave in to her

#throne of glass headcanons #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #aelin throne of glass #throne of glass rowan #rowan x aelin #rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x you #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan whitethorn x you #rowan whitethorn x reader #rowan whitethorn galathynius #aelin galathynius #aelin fireheart #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin whitethorn

67 notes · View notes

michaelangdonsslut · 7 months

Text

𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 // 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

hey pookies! here's the first chapter of tales of the shadows ౨ৎ

please read the introduction post before reading this chapter!

hope u enjoy <3

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 1.5k

no warnings! (yet hehe)

---

- 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐸 .

Riley Bennett felt the wind brushing her face faintly as she opened the window to her dad's car. It was a cloudy Wednesday morning when they finally decided to move all the way across the country.

Riley was a 17 year old troubled teenage girl who often struggled with fitting into her new surroundings.

They were a typical wealthy family from LA and had everything, so why did they decide to move to a small town in Massachusetts? This is what Riley has been wondering all the time ever since her dad talked about moving to Chesterfield. "I don't even know why we have to move here It's so cloudy and looks boring. I already miss LA and my friends.", Riley said nonchalantly looking at the window trying to look for anything interesting about this town. "Come on Riley don't be so grumpy, it can't be that bad!" her dad tried to reassure her but it didn't really work. She was going to miss LA and there was nothing they could say about it.

About 20 minutes later, they finally arrived in front of the house. It was a beautiful Victorian house, a mix of light pink and dark blue, and Riley couldn't help but admire the huge house in front of her. It looked so old and vintage, that house actually reminded her of Coraline, she loved this movie as a child. “ So what do we think ?” Mr Bennett looking smiled at Riley knowing how much she loved old fashioned houses. " This house is beautiful Peter, and look Riley there's a swing!", said Mrs. Bennett eagerly. "I'm not a little girl anymore mom I don't really care about that" , Riley said rolling her eyes as the family parked in the driveway. “And besides, this house looks kinda haunted.” Mrs. Bennett scoffed taking her sunglasses off. After some time, they finally get out of the car and start grabbing their stuff from the car boot when a lady approaches them. "Hello, I'm Dina the real estate agent! I'm here to show you around the house" A huge smile was plastered on her face as if she was happy someone was finally interested in this house.

" Oh hello! I'm Peter Bennett and this is my wife Marie " they both shake Dina's hand, her smile never leaving her face. " It's really nice to meet you. Oh and I suppose this is your beautiful little sweetheart ", she says as she walks over to Riley; " Uh yeah. I'm Riley. " Dina shakes Riley's hand and Riley can't help but find her a bit... eccentric .

“ All right, I’ll show you the inside of the house right now !” Mrs. Bennett smiled eagerly looking at her husband with stars in her eyes.

The family stepped into the foyer, greeted by the grandeur of a bygone era. High ceilings adorned with intricate molding loomed overhead, while a majestic staircase beckoned from the center of the room. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting a warm, ethereal glow. Dina, with a practiced smile, gestured towards the sprawling rooms adorned with ornate details - antique chandeliers, mahogany wainscoting, and a fireplace steeped in history. A sense of both elegance and mystery enveloped them as they took in the timeless beauty of their potential new home.

"This house is goddamn beautiful. We're taking it!" , said Ms. Bennett eagerly with a huge smile of anticipation.

"Yes, this house sure is beautiful although I must mention, it comes with a bit of a past." Dina seemed unsure and anxious, but she kept going; " full disclosure requires that I tell you about what happened to the previews owners.

“Jesus, don’t tell me they died in this house did they?” Mrs. Bennett turned around to look over at Dina with a concerned look plastered on her face. "Yes actually, both of them died here. Murder-suicide. I sold them the house too. They were the sweetest couple. You never really know what happens behind those walls I guess.

"That explains why this house is half the price of every other house in neighborhood I guess." Mr Bennett sighted, crossing his arms.

“Where did it happen?” Riley asked curiously.

“In the attic.”

Riley pauses for a second, a smirk forming on her face as she decides to speak up; “ We’re taking it.”

After the initial excitement of choosing their new home, the Bennett family embarked on the task of settling into their Victorian mansion. As they unloaded boxes and furniture from the moving truck, Riley couldn't contain her curiosity about the attic. She'd always been drawn to mysteries and the thought of living in a house with a dark past only fueled her intrigue.

Once they finished moving the essentials into the house, Riley dashed up the grand staircase, eager to explore every nook and cranny. She pushed open the attic door, the creaking hinges echoing in the vast space. The attic was dimly lit, dust particles dancing in the sunlight that filtered through the small windows. Old trunks and forgotten relics littered the space, each one holding a piece of history.

Riley's eyes widened with excitement as she imagined all the stories hidden within these walls. She spent hours rummaging through the forgotten treasures, uncovering vintage clothing, dusty books, and antique toys. Despite the tragic events that occurred here, Riley felt a strange sense of belonging, as if the house welcomed her with open arms.

As the days passed, the Bennett family settled into their new life in Chesterfield. Riley's room became her sanctuary, a reflection of her eclectic personality. She adorned the walls with vintage posters and fairy lights, transforming the space into a cozy retreat. She spent hours scouring antique shops and thrift stores, searching for unique pieces to add to her collection.

One afternoon, while exploring the local flea market, Riley stumbled upon a mysterious key hidden amongst a pile of trinkets. Intrigued, she purchased it for a few dollars, wondering what secrets it might unlock. When she returned home, Riley headed straight for the attic, her heart pounding with excitement.

She searched every nook and cranny until she found a small locked chest hidden beneath a pile of old newspapers. With trembling hands, she inserted the key into the rusty lock, the mechanism clicking open with a satisfying sound. Inside, she discovered a collection of letters tied with a faded ribbon.

As Riley read through the letters, she uncovered the tragic love story of the previous owners. Their words painted a picture of a forbidden romance torn apart by societal expectations and family obligations. Riley felt a pang of sadness for the couple, their lives cut short by tragedy.

And as she looked out the attic window, watching the sun set over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley saw a shadow lurking behind the trees, It was like someone was staring at her. She rubbed her eyes thinking she probably hallucinated, and just like that, the shadow was gone.

iii

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sleepy town of Chesterfield, Riley found herself drawn to the attic once again. She climbed the stairs with a sense of anticipation, eager to lose herself in the stories of the past. But as she reached the top, she was met with an unexpected sight—a boy standing in the dimly lit space, his silhouette illuminated by the fading light.

"Who are you?" Riley asked, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

The boy turned to face her, his features obscured by the shadows. "I'm Andy," he said, his voice soft and haunting. "I live next door."

Riley took a step closer, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Andy's appearance was striking, with tousled hair and dark brown eyes that seemed to hold a hint of sadness. He reminded her of a character from one of her favorite movies, mysterious and enigmatic.

"What are you doing up here?" Riley asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Andy shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Just exploring," he said. "I like to come up here and think."

Riley nodded, her curiosity piqued. She had always been drawn to people who were different, who didn't fit into the mold of society. And there was something about Andy that intrigued her, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Are you new here?" Andy asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Riley nodded. "Yeah, my family just moved in a few weeks ago. What about you?"

Andy smiled wistfully. "I've lived here my whole life," he said. "But I've never really felt like I belong."

Riley understood the feeling all too well. She had spent her entire life searching for a place where she truly felt at home, a place where she could be herself without judgment.

"Well, you're not alone," Riley said, her voice soft but determined. "We can be outsiders together."

Andy's eyes sparkled with gratitude, and for the first time in a long time, Riley felt a sense of connection—a bond forged in the darkness of the attic.

"You should probably leave now tho, before my parents see you here and call the cops thinking you're here to rob us or something", she giggled slightly, looking at the boy right in front of her who's been smiling at her. It was like he was admiring her, feeling safe by her presence.

He got up and left the attic without saying a word to her, leaving the house so quietly It was like he was never there.

-------

a/n : idrk what to think of this but i truly hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, lmk if you wanna be in the taglist !!

34 notes · View notes

sanddusted-wisteria · 1 month

Text

Earth and Sky, Ch. 1

next | index

At the sound of the door, he glanced over his shoulder, expression deadpan and unamused. He pushed up his round-frame glasses as he plainly asked in a sharp-sounding accent, “Can I help you?” Now that he was facing her, he looked even messier at the front than the back. Hair a scraggly nest, a loose, half-knotted tie, shirt half-untucked and a tear ripped at the seams. Wis blinked as she realized that she was just staring. “O-oh, uh… I’m Wisteria. The…new builder in town. Or Wis, if you want.” The man frowned. “Another builder? I was never informed of this.” “Well, um…now you know, I guess…” The man was silent, no reaction of any sorts in words or on his face. Wis glanced around uneasily, wondering if he was waiting on her to say something else.

Also on AO3

------------

Foreclosure.

Wisteria stared at the word on the well-read letter. It was the only one she could see. All the others had blurred into meaningless noise.

She sighed and folded the paper back up. Today was her last day as the property owner. Everything had already been cleared out. All that was left was sawdust and the clean outlines of where her old machines used to be (all sold, of course). She didn’t even know why she was here. Just trying to stretch out all the time she had where this place was truly hers, maybe.

She slowly peeled herself off the wall she was leaning against and went outside for the final time.

Only one thing left to do.

She took out her hammer and approached the sign still hanging proudly next to the door:

FRESH PINES

She leaned in and sniffed. The wood still had a little bit of that piney smell.

She flipped her hammer around and brought it to the sign, yanking out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 nails. The sign fell into her hand.

She hefted it under her arm, took one last look at the empty husk of a workshop, then slowly walked away. Never to return.

Wis should’ve walked back towards Main Street. Back up the route to her little apartment that she could no longer afford. But instead she found herself wandering down the side street, past all the closed shops, past the sleepy homes, all the way to the trailhead into the woods.

Thick conifers lined either side of the trail, sentinels that blotted out the moonlight above. Wis paid them no mind as she slowly trekked over their knobbley roots and ducked under low-hanging branches.

A moonlit clearing lay ahead. Wis knew it well, with its simple little wooden bench off to the side. She’d come here for many a lunch break before. Quiet and undisturbed.

But this time, she didn’t even bother sitting down. She simply walked to the center of the clearing, arm starting to ache from lugging her sign, and turned her tired eyes up to the darkened sky.

Her arm finally gave out, and the sign fell to the ground with a muffled thump, kicking up the scattered pine needles.

Wis only sighed, eyes not focused on the moon or any of the stars. Only the darkness in between.

------------

Three years later

Wis stepped out the front door of her parent’s house into a breezy, partly-cloudy day. So in Highwind, just another day. She started down the street with a hurried stride, weaving around slow walkers as politely as she could. She was already running a couple minutes late, though her boss probably wouldn’t mind.

Past all the little cafes and restaurants on her parents’ street was a simple little newsstand. Wis always passed there every morning to glance at the headlines as she went along. Rarely would there be anything worth picking up the paper for. Just more local political bickering where no one would come out satisfied, or rumors of Duvos making a move to swallow some more territory, or maybe an announcement about a local festival or a new place that opened in town.

But today, right on the front page of The Windy Times, two simple words caught Wis’s eye.

BUILDERS WANTED!

She’d just passed the newsstand when she saw it, screeching to a halt and backing up to take another look at the rather loud advertisement. Builders wanted where…?

She picked up the paper and unfolded it to read the whole thing.

The city of Sandrock is seeking two new builders, as our last remaining builder is retiring soon! We have two open workshops ripe and ready for the taking! We’re always in need of a couple helping hands around here, and we’ll all be happy to call you our new neighbor!

*Only providing property. Transit and living costs not covered. Must carry a valid Builder’s License at time of inquiry. Make inquiries out to: Sandrock City Hall, Sandrock, Alliance of Free Cities.

Wis stared at the paper, reading it over and over again. Sure, it was Sandrock, the Free Cities’ little desert hobble town, but…open workshops…

Suddenly, there came the clearing of a throat. Wis looked up. The old man who owned the newsstand was looking at her with a polite, but nudging smile.

Wis let out an apologetic laugh. “How much?” she asked, holding the paper up.

“Two gols,” replied the old man, his smile warming a little bit.

Wis flipped open the coin pouch on her toolbelt and pulled out two small coins. After handing the old man the money and thanking him, she took off down the road in the direction she came, darting between the slow walkers with plenty of “excuse me”s and “sorry”s, all the way back home.

She slammed open the door to find her parents right there, each with one shoe on and halfway through slipping on the other, mouths agape and brows raised.

Panting a bit from the sprint, Wis answered their silent question by holding up the paper, crinkled a bit by her tense grip. She jabbed a finger at the ad on the front page, feeling the thud of her pulse in her ears.

“I’m moving to Sandrock.”

------------

Canyons and mountains. Mesas and buttes and pillars reaching for the bright blue sky. A sleepy town atop a bed of light tan sand.

Wis blinked the sleep out of her eyes as the train rushed out of the tunnel, into the blinding light of the morning sun. She gaped at the sight outside, eyes trailing from the depths of the valleys to the spine of the distant mountains. So it wasn’t just all sand out here.

The train slowed to a halt with a slight lurch. Around the half-full train car, Wis only saw one or two people leave their seats, carrying their meager belongings with them.

“Sandrock! Welcome to Sandrock, folks!” The voice of the conductor boomed into the train car.

Wis had already shouldered her backpack on and grabbed her suitcase, leaving only her conspicuously large sign to tow. Carefully gathering it up under her arm, she made her way to the exit.

The heat was what hit her first. Dry and almost sizzling. She had to squint as she stepped out from the shaded train car into the morning light. Blinking a few times to adjust, she looked around the platform. On one end, the station’s conductor was busy overseeing some freight being loaded off the cars behind the passenger car. On the other end was a young woman in green, with a cap and googles sitting smartly atop her head. In her hands was a small wooden sign, the name “Wisteria” in neat, white-painted writing the only thing on it.

Wis raised an eyebrow and approached her. “Hi. Looking for me?”

The woman brightened, reaching out a hand for Wis to shake. “Wisteria? I’m Mi-an. I’m the other new builder here! I just moved in last week.”

“Oh! Well, nice to meet you. ‘Wis’ is also fine. Hope we’ll do good work out here,” Wis said as she set her suitcase down on the platform to shake Mi-an’s hand.

“Me too! But uh, speaking of work, our boss already needs to see us, so follow me.” She led Wis down the platform and towards the town proper. No buffer time to properly settle. Interesting.

Wis looked up at the coarse, wooden buildings and steel-plate roofs, all in washed-out colors and shimmering in the heat. The local temple stood at the top of the hill, shining proud with its pale, hewn stone. A rough looking place, though not as ramshackle as some people in Highwind seemed to think.

“You’re from Highwind, right? Or did you just pass through?” Mi-an asked, and Wis turned her head back to the other builder.

“From Highwind, yeah. Lived there my whole life.”

“Oh, nice! I’ve never been. I’m from Tallsky, and…that’s a bit far. Even for our vacations.” Mi-an chuckled.

Wis only hummed. Tallsky…a city well known for its builders. Wis hadn’t gotten into their Builder Academy, supposedly the most prestigious one. Highwind’s wasn’t anything to sneeze at, though. If Mi-an was from Tallsky, she was probably very good at what she did.

“Ah, there you are. Finally!” A high, nasally voice suddenly caught their attention. Standing a few paces away were two men. One with ginger hair and beard, in dusty overalls, slouched and lips drawn in a thin line, and the other a gangly man in a snappy suit and overalls, brown mustache quirked up at one end in what seemed to be an attempt at a polite smile. It looked more like a sneer.

“Well now, howdy and nice to make your acquaintance and blahdy blahdy blah!” he said. “I’m sure you’re just as eager to get to work as I am to give you something to do, so all we gotta know is that I’m President Yan, and I’m you and Mi-an’s supervisor!”

He offered no hand to shake, but even if he did, Wis wasn’t keen on shaking it. “President” was not any kind of official title in the Commerce Guild hierarchy, even the larger ones that needed more delegation. “Yeah. Well, I’m Wisteria, as you know…”

“Right! Wisteria…Wis…Wist…Wisty! Hope we’ll all get along and you’ll get some good work done! I might be your boss, but nah…think of us more as buddies! …Just that I’m your buddy that’s supervising ya.”

Wis bristled. Three strikes already. Lofty, unofficial title, trying to make them out to be friends instead of boss and employee, and the nerve to call her Wisty. That right was reserved for actual friends. She grit her teeth and simply nodded with a strained “Mhm.” Now wasn’t the time to deal with this.

Yan gestured to the dismal man beside him. “This here’s Mason. You two’ll be replacing him soon, since he’s retiring ‘n all. But you already knew that! It was in the papers!” He chuckled to himself. Wis and Mason were silent. Mi-an let out a hesitant pity laugh.

“Anyway…” he continued once his laughter died down. “Mi-an got here first, so she nabbed the workshop plot in town already. As for you, Wisty, you get Mason’s ol’ workshop all the way out there.” He pointed in the opposite direction, out beyond the train tracks where a simple house sat behind a simple wooden fence. “Mason’s Workshop,” wearily declared the old, worn sign atop the roof.

“Speakin’ of Mason… Got any words of wisdom for our fledgling builders before you’re gone forever, Mason?” Yan gestured to Mason with a gusto that Mason absolutely did not meet.

“Eh… Well, let’s not get too comfortable here…” Mason grumbled. “I guess…the workshop. It may be cramped…and run-down…and dilapidated…and…many other things… But when you get used to it, you’ll see that it also has plenty of…heart. Yeah. Let’s go with that.”

Everyone was silent.

“That’s all I’ve got,” Mason continued, almost with a hint of relief at no response. “May you bring telesis to this town and all. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Without waiting for the others to respond, he turned around and headed for the building across the street, the Blue Moon Saloon. He certainly looked like he was waiting for a drink.

“Heh heh… He was always an awkward one…” Yan said sheepishly, not even bothering to wait until Mason was inside and out of earshot. “But never mind that! You two gotta get relicensed, so let’s get crackin’!”

Yan gave them instructions on how to make a pickhammer (not a pickaxe… An interesting multitool that seemed to combine wrench, pick, and sledgehammer), and a diagram for a recycler, to be used to break down scrap. Then he shooed the builders off and headed back up the road.

“Let me show you to your new place!” Mi-an said, waving a hand in the direction of the tracks. “It’s not all that far.”

“I-it’s fine,” said Wis. “I won’t get lost when it’s right there. You should go start on your pick and stuff.”

Mi-an beamed. “No, no, really! I insist. I can help you at least put your stuff down and settle in a bit.”

Insistent. Not necessarily a bad thing. It was just that Wis really wasn’t used to a colleague being so eager, especially so soon after getting introduced. Normally they’d be more on the end of Mason.

She nodded. “If you insist, then. Thanks.”

They turned around and headed back out towards the station, towards the little shack in the distance.

Wis could feel the other builder’s gaze flicker towards her occasionally as they quietly padded along. It looked like she was trying to get a peep of Wis’s sign. Wis hoisted up a little more snuggly into her arm, inviting Mi-an to ask about it.

“What even is that? I-if you don’t mind me asking…!” Mi-an said, leaning over to get a better look.

“This? My old workshop sign. Don’t think I’ll be changing the name.”

“Oh!” Mi-an’s eyes widened. “You had a workshop back in Highwind? I’ve only worked for my family’s workshops before now.”

“Yeah, emphasis on had,” Wis said with a sad smile. Even now, it still stung to think of it. At Mi-an’s sympathetic frown, she waved a hand. “L-long story. All in the past now, don’t worry.”

Mi-an’s face softened into something more solemn. “I guess we both have that in common. Came out here for a fresh start.”

Wis only hummed, not feeling right to pry.

They were at the workshop now, looking at its dusty and barren yard. No machines at all. The broken stone furnace in the back corner didn’t count. Aside from the worktable, Mason probably sold anything of value already…had there been anything of value here.

“Hmm…” Mi-an hummed beside Wis, trying to find something polite to say about the place. “Pretty slim pickings…not that my plot was that much more welcoming.”

“It’s…a workshop. At least there’s that.”

Mi-an chuckled, unaware of the unironic meaning behind what Wis said. It was indeed…a workshop. Not a very good one, but not everyone could say they truly had their own workshop. It was more of a fleeting privilege than one would expect, as Wis had unfortunately learned.

She set her sign down, leaning it against the fence. “Well, I guess I should put my stuff away and get to work.”

Mi-an looked like she was about to nod, but she paused, a more thoughtful look passing over her face. “Actually, real quick, while it’s just us…”

Wis raised an eyebrow.

“Sandrock…” Mi-an’s voice had lowered. “Everyone knows it as the Alliance’s scrapyard, but…this place used to be booming and beautiful.”

“Right… This used to be a pretty big city way back when.” That was just about the extent of what Wis knew about Sandrock’s history. She tried to research the place at least a little bit before she came here, but all anyone she asked seemed to care about were the rumors of terrible desert creepies and crawlies, and the news of the apparent bandit problem that had sprung up in the last year or so.

“Eventually it all kinda…faded. Resources started drying up, quite literally…and here it is today.” Mi-an’s expression was solemn for a moment, before she perked right up with a glimmer in her eye. “But I think we can take Sandrock back to its glory days. Build it back up! Really make this place deserving of that old name, y’know?”

“You think…?” Wis raised an eyebrow. She honestly wasn’t expecting this much…eagerness in a place like this. The Alliance’s smallest city, only a couple sandstorms away from falling off the map entirely. You’d think people would’ve been a bit more cynical. “We’re just…two builders.”

“And two builders is better than one!” Mi-an chimed, her face brightening. “Or…none, I guess, since Mason’s moving out. Unless Commi–er, President Yan builds, too…”

Wis hummed, still not quite sure how to respond. I just want a stable workshop, to be honest… she thought. You really think we can make promises about this entire place?

She said none of this out loud, of course. If there was any spark of hope in this kind of place, the last thing she wanted was to snuff it out before it had a chance to ignite.

“But… Well, I suppose…” Mi-an continued. “If nothing else…I just wanna make a difference.” Her shoulders sagged, and her gaze fell. “Even if it’s just to make someone’s life a little easier.”

A light smile tugged at Wis’s lips. “Now that I can definitely get behind.” Safely get behind, at least.

Mi-an’s face brightened again, happy to find some common ground. “Then…it’s a promise? Builder to builder?” She held out a hand.

Wis stared at it for only a brief moment before clasping it with her own. “A promise.”

A solid shake.

“Let’s give our all,” Mi-an said with a nod, determination renewed. Wis nodded back, feeling a bit of her energy leak into her.

“Well then, we shouldn’t wait any longer!” Mi-an said after she dropped her arm. “My workshop’s just through that tunnel there. Stop by if you ever need any help!”

With a nod and a wave, the two parted, and Wis immediately got to work. Making a pickhammer was a bit strange, with how used she was to making pickaxes, but with a couple tries at the binding and a few practice swings, it was quickly added to her arsenal. The recycler was an interesting device. She wondered why Highwind didn’t really have anything similar. Maybe just not enough miscellaneous scrap piles to need it.

Yan gave her a hand-wavey approval after that, and sent her on her next assignment of “fetching your certificate and stuff” from the City Hall. It was prominently situated in the town square, nudged flush against a stone cliff face.

Wis’s eyes wandered around the square as she approached, at the general store and the hair parlor and the stray cat wandering about. So when a shout came from up above and a large man suddenly SLAMMED down in front of her path, she was taken by complete surprise. She yelped and froze in her tracks, hands thrown up to block an incoming attack.

But none came. Only a boisterous laugh. “Hahaha, you need to be more alert, citizen! You never know when a bandit might strike…or if you are a bandit or general evildoer, when the Protector of Sandrock might strike!”

Wis’s heart was still pounding from the sudden scare. She peeked out from behind her hands to see who the man was. Tall and broad, with slicked-back hair and a sharp jawline, complete with a toothy and smarmy grin. “Um…” she managed to spurt out. “Who, uh… who are you?”

The man’s grin only widened, a glint in his eyes. “Aha…! You must be that new builder! Heh, could’ve mistaken you for one of Logan’s gang! Well. The name is Pen, and I am the Protector of Sandrock!”

Wis looked this “Pen” character once over, noting the lack of anything that looked like a Civil Corps uniform. How many unofficial titles did people hold out here? “Uh huh…?”

Pen huffed, seeming to not particularly care how she reacted. “Your arms… How can they be that skinny?! Don’t tell me you moved out to the harsh, wild desert not knowing how to defend yourself?!”

“Um…no, I know how to—”

“Very well, then!” Pen held a finger with a triumphant expression. “As the one and only Protector of Sandrock, I hereby uphold my duty by offering you, helpless civilian, a combat lesson!”

“A c—?” Wis finally shook herself out of her stupor. “N-no thanks, Mr…Pen, right? I already know how to handle a weapon. I’m good.”

Pen’s face screwed up into a half-decent imitation of concern. “Whaaat? No, surely with arms as skinny as those, you clearly need a helping bicep or two!”

A huff escaped Wis’s lips. Her arms were perfectly normal-sized, thank you very much. “I’ve been a builder for 3 years and I’ve handled daggers in hazardous ruins before. Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

“Is that so?” Pen’s face dropped to a deadpan, bordering on a glower. “You know of the dangers in this place, surely…? Giant creatures? Mutated spawn? Vile villains that have turned upon their own villagers…?!”

“I’ve heard stuff, yeah…” Plenty of rumors on Sandrock could be picked up from just about everywhere. Usually all coming from people that have never been anywhere near Sandrock.

“Then you would be foolish to not take this opportunity!” Pen exclaimed, the grin shooting back up his face. “A free lesson from unquestionably the strongest man in all of Sandrock, from the goodness of his heart!”

Being polite wasn’t really working, it seemed. “Listen…” Wis groaned, injecting a bit more insistence this time. “I’m busy. I just moved here and I just need to get my workshop registered. You’re really generous and all, but…” She started to scoot around him, eager for an out. The door to City Hall was just a staircase away…

Pen frowned again. “If you insist… If you’re intimidated, I shan’t pressure you, Skinny Arms… But don’t pin the blame on me if you get strung up by a bandit…or devoured alive by something or other.” He walked away in the opposite direction, throwing his hands up in a shrug. “The Protector can only be so concerned…”

As he rounded the corner down the road towards the station, Wis let out the sigh she was holding. For a “protector,” he sure seemed a bit eager to beat up one of the alleged “protected.” She shook off the crawl in her stomach with a shake of her head, and opened the heavy doors to City Hall.

------------

The minister Matilda was a kind woman. Apparently she was filling in for the mayor out on an expedition. She was waiting patiently across the desk from Wis, doing some paperwork of her own while Wis filled out the registration form.

Simple stuff. Personal info, work contract terms (nothing overtly strange in there…), and last but not least before the signature line, the blank for the workshop name.

Wis didn’t hesitate for a second. Confident strokes wrote out the name for the first time in years: “Fresh Pines.”

“My, that was quick!” Matilda said with a raised brow. “Some builders hem and haw over that line for ages.”

“It’s the name of my old workshop,” Wis said with a wan smile. “Closed down a while ago. Always wanted to see it up and running again.”

Matilda’s face softened into a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure you’ll make it better than ever, dearie.” She signed off on her certificate with a few flicks of her wrist, and held the precious document out to Wis. “You’re all set, sweetie. May you bring telesis to Sandrock!”

Wis felt a spot of warmth bloom deep inside her chest as she nodded. That recently revitalized streak of hope. Her very own workshop. Fresh Pines. A fresh start.

She was back.

------------

The air of quiet celebration abruptly disappeared when Wis reentered the Commerce Guild.

“H-h-hey, Rocky, buddy! Wait a minute!”

“First you tell me that you threw your back. Then you tell me your turtle threw his back! And you don’t even got a turtle! And turtles don’t even got a back!!”

Wis and Mi-an stared at the two men in front of them, looking like a fight was about to start in plain view of the Commerce Guild door.

The larger, bulkier man—Rocky, from the sound of things—was looming over the knobbly Yan, ass on the floor and scrambling straight into the wall of the staircase behind him.

The builders exchanged a look. They just wanted to grab their first commissions, and yet they walked in to this.

“U-um!” Mi-an blurted before a punch could be thrown. “Is—is everything okay?!”

Yan and Rocky froze. “Errr…yeah!” Yan eeked out. “R-Rocky, like I said…”

“You didn’t say nothin’.”

“Uhh—what I was about to say was that I was about to get someone to work on that lift for you! Those two! Haha, n-no hard feelings, just a little delegation work, y’know!”

The gears turned in Wis’s head, and she scowled. Now she knew exactly what he was.

Mi-an stammered, “Uh… We just came here for—”

“The crane lift!” screeched Yan. “Right, right! Good! About time, newbies!”

“Newbies?” Rocky raised an eyebrow, turning towards Wis and Mi-an. “Ah, new builders. Finally someone who can actually help. Unlike this mopstick here…”

“M-mopstick…? A-anyway!” Seeing as Rocky was no longer immediately planning to throttle him, Yan shot up to his feet again, brushing the dust off his suit. “Lookie here, newbies! You got your first commission! And it’s a big one too! Our ol’ pal Rocky here needs two crane lifts for his scrap yard!”

“We ain’t pals,” Rocky snarled. He turned his attention to the ladies, his demeanor shifting to be significantly more welcoming. “Now, you two. You already look more capable than mopstick…and it ain’t like I got any choices left. Name’s Rocky, head of the salvage yard. And here’s what I need.”

He pulled two diagrams out of his back pocket, unrolling them and handing one each to the builders. “Two big cargo lifts. We’re haulin’ bigger ‘n bigger scrap up nowadays and we’d like not having to lug it all the way up a hill! We’ll have ‘em installed over the cliff leadin’ down to the ruins. Probably’ll have to come to our salvage yard to pick out some of the parts you need.” He glared once again at Yan. “You payin’ for their passes?”

Yan gaped, making a show of patting down his pockets. “N—ah—whaaa? Eheh, well. Was going to, but I guess I got the paperwork for that mixed up, heh heh…”

Wis would roll her eyes, but it wasn’t like the Highwind Commerce Guild was ever so generous with compensation either.

Rocky huffed. “Oh, for the love of— How’s this? Normally it’s 200 gols for a weekly pass, but since this mopstick is a bit of a cheapskate, your first week? On us.”

Wis’s brow raised. “That’s…generous of you. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Rocky, waving a hand. “Those lifts’ll be huge for us. I figure them alone make up for just 400 gols…gotta check with Krystal on the numbers, though. But we’re counting on you.”

“Yeah, you heard him!” Yan just had to steal his thunder. “Do it and do it right!”

“Alright, alright,” Rocky said loudly with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s let ‘em get to work without any bother, okay?!”

“Yeah, come on,” Wis said to Mi-an, trying to keep her voice even against the grating of her patience. “Let’s go.”

“Oh!” Mi-an exclaimed, caught off guard. “Uh, y-yeah! Let’s go! Building time…!”

When everyone but Yan finally stepped back outside, Wis breathed a sigh of relief. She looked up at Rocky as the three started for Eufaula Salvage up the hill. “Is he always like that?”

Rocky grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah…either he passes stuff off to builders that can barely handle what they already got on their plates, or he promises to do things himself… And never delivers.”

Wis sighed. “Oh boy.”

“I mean…he could be busy too…?” Mi-an piped up uneasily.

“Nope,” said Rocky. “Nobody ever sees ‘im actually do anythin’. He just stands at those machines of his and pretends to do all sorts o’ work.”

“Oh…” Mi-an looked down in thought.

Wis eyed her uncertain expression. If she only worked with her family before, she probably wasn’t very keen on doubting or even fixing a stinkeye towards her boss. “Listen… I dunno what kinds of bosses your family were… But sometimes bosses can be really…” She searched for a polite enough word. “…really big pieces of work. Trust me. That’s why I moved.”

Mi-an hummed. “It’s… Well…I dunno if we should be badmouthing the guy that’s paying us, you know? He could maybe…”

He could leave us penniless.

Wis bristled at the silence. What on earth did she go through in her family’s workshop…?

“Ahhh, don’t worry about that,” said Rocky. “We’re the ones that’ll be payin’ you the most. If Yan tries to pull anythin’ and cut your wage, well. I can at least say me an’ Krystal’ll hand you extra commission fee. Other folks will too, I imagine.”

“Oh, y-you don’t need to—!” Mi-an waggled her hands frantically.

“But we should,” Rocky said emphatically.

“N-no, really, I should be—” Mi-an froze, spotting the gates to the salvage yard. “Oh! Look at that, we’re here! W…well, we should get to work, I guess…!” she stammered hastily. They had already reached the salvage yard. Without waiting for another word, she slipped through the gates.

Wis shot a worried look up at Rocky, who only shrugged. Mi-an seemed so open from what little Wis knew…but not entirely, it seemed. Once again, it didn’t seem anywhere near right to pry.

So she simply wished Rocky a good day, entered the yard, and found a promising-looking scrap pile to try digging for something, a short distance away from Mi-an. She rummaged around with her pickhammer, sometimes slamming the hammer head into it to break things apart and to make headway.

About halfway into separating the pile, a shiny bit of something suddenly caught Wis’s eye, a glint buried deep inside. Letting out a curious hum, she focused her pickhammer strikes on clearing the junk surrounding it. After enough hits, she reached in and pulled it out. A round, light blue disk, still a bit dusty with sand.

She looked over at Mi-an, holding it up. “I found a data disk in here.” Finding one on the surface was unusual. She never really saw them anywhere besides deep in the mines.

“Oh!” The other builder paused her hammer swinging and looked up. “Yeah, Eufaula Salvage usually brings in stuff from the ruins around here. Plus, with just how many ruins there are here, sometimes disks and things just kinda get swept up on the wind and into random junk piles around.”

“That plentiful?” Wis turned the disk over in her hands, inspecting it for scratches. It didn’t look too damaged. “I used to have to do a lot of digging in the abandoned ruins to find enough of these for a diagram.”

“Me too…not out here, though! No shortage of materials.” Mi-an jabbed a thumb in the direction of town. “You know where our Research Center is? It’s actually right to my place. The researcher, he’s…” She squinted. “…well, he’s a little…interesting. You’ll see. Just…whatever he says, d-don’t take it too personally.”

Wis pursed her lips. “That bad?”

Mi-an furiously shook her head. “N-no, not bad! M-maybe ‘he takes getting used to’ is better…?”

Wis let out a half-hearted chuckle. “Well, we gotta work with him either way. Can’t avoid him forever.”

“Mhm… I don’t think you’ll get anything with just one disk, but if you want to donate it to him, knock yourself out. And introduce yourself, too! As…as best you can…” Her voice trailed off towards the end.

“Yeah…probably good to take a break…” Wis straightened herself and flexed her wrists in a satisfying stretch. “We’ll see what this guy’s all about.”

Mi-an promised to keep chipping away at the piles of junk while Wis stepped out. It was a welcome break after the constant swinging of the pickhammer, the feel of which was still a bit strange and unfamiliar.

She followed Mi-an’s directions through the pipe tunnel, looking past her house and instead at the imposing all-metal building behind it, standing out against the wooden buildings of the rest of town. Machinery could be heard from both outside and in, even from where she was standing. Did Mi-an really have to put up with this noise all day?

She made her way to the large double doors in front, carefully pushing one open.

It was much cooler inside, the noise surprisingly reduced. The air smelled of metal and a mix of other strange things that Wis couldn’t pick out. The space was a laboratory, it looked like, and at the workbench in the back, surrounded by papers and books arranged without any semblance of order on the desk, was a dark-haired man in a dress shirt, wrinkled and lightly-stained.

At the sound of the door, he glanced over his shoulder, expression deadpan and unamused. He pushed up his round-frame glasses as he plainly asked in a sharp-sounding accent, “Can I help you?”

Now that he was facing her, he looked even messier at the front than the back. Hair a scraggly nest, a loose, half-knotted tie, shirt half-untucked and a tear ripped at the seams.

Wis blinked as she realized that she was just staring. “O-oh, uh… I’m Wisteria. The…new builder in town. Or Wis, if you want.”

The man frowned. “Another builder? I was never informed of this.”

“Well, um…now you know, I guess…”

The man was silent, no reaction of any sorts in words or on his face. Wis glanced around uneasily, wondering if he was waiting on her to say something else.

“Are you going to state your business with me?” the man said after a moment, brow furrowing slightly. “Neither of us benefit from wasted time.”

Wis jolted. He didn’t ask before. “E-er… I just wanted to introduce myself. Since we’ll be working together and all that.”

“Only pleasantries? Well builder, I’ll have you know that I don’t exactly—”

“But also!” Wis jumped in, pulling the data disk out of her bag. “I wanted to…hand this over to you. It’s the first one I found, and I don’t see me getting too many more until I can get to the Abandoned Ruins, so I might as well give it to you.”

The frown on the researcher’s face disappeared, back to its flat neutrality. “Ah.” He took the disk and turned it over, letting the fluorescent lights from above glare on its surface to expose any scratches. “Viable disk, for certain. I assume you’re familiar with them?”

Wis nodded. It was a simple principle with Research Centers. Bring disks, get diagrams.

The man stared at the disk for a second before handing it back to her. “On second thought, perhaps it would be more efficient for you to keep this. Come back when you obtain more and are in need of diagrams.”

Wis hummed as she slipped it back into her pocket. “Makes sense. Thanks, Mr…?”

“Director.”

“H-huh? Your name’s—?”

“No. My title is ‘Director.’”

Wis blinked. “Oh, uh…and…your name?”

“Qi,” the director said, not once showing any flicker of emotion aside from vague boredom. “Now. Is that all?”

“I…I guess so…”

“Very well,” Qi said, abruptly turning back to whatever he was working on before. “Good day, then.”

Wis snapped her mouth shut, whatever response she was formulating in her head shut down just as quickly as the conversation. The director paid no attention to the slightly confused frown on her face, just jotting away at one of the many papers on the table. Seeing there’d be nothing more from him, Wis left the Research Center. As soon as the doors were shut behind her, she sighed.

That was a Vega 5 researcher, all right. They were by far the oddest ones to work with. Not all of them were as…blunt as this one, they almost always felt as much in their own bubble as the city of Vega 5 was to the rest of the known world.

But regardless, Qi was the only researcher, from the sound of things. She and Mi-an had to deal with him one way or another. No avoiding it.

When she returned to the scrap yard, Mi-an had already dismantled the entirety of her junk pile, and was sorting through it to find useful parts. Her head shot up once she heard the opening of the salvage yard gate, flashing Wis a smile as she entered. “How was it?”

Wis let out a chuckle. “I can see what you mean.”

Mi-an also let out a chuckle, though more sheepish. “It’s not like he’s a bad guy or anything… He gets you the diagrams you need and everything…but I think that’s all that I’ll get from him. I dunno what he’s even working on half the time.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t need to deal with him too much, then.” Wis picked up her pickhammer again from where it was leaning against the chain-link fence. “But anyway…what do you have so far…?”

------------

Wis got up right on time the next day, shooting out of bed and quickly getting ready to work. She was fairly confident that she could start and finish the lift today. She and Mi-an got all the parts they needed, and the furnace could churn out just enough bricks with how much fuel she had on hand.

The whole morning, she was in motion. Pour the clay into the brick molds, toss the remaining tangled scrap into the recycler, lay out the platform, screw everything together nice and tight, lug all the big finished components over to the salvage yard to prep for the final build. Just as she dropped off the last parts, she turned around and saw Mi-an hustling up the hill with her final parts.

“Alright, alright!” Rocky said with a solid clap of his hands once Mi-an entered the yard. “Finally, the lifts! Let’s see what you got!”

The builders threw him a confident nod, and set to work right away. With the diagram clipped up on the fence nearby, and with the helping hands of the salvage crew to hold things in place, Wis and Mi-an built the elevators up, side by side.

Once the last rivet was driven in, Wis stood up to admire her handiwork. A fully finished cargo lift, three times her height and capable of lifting a hundred times her weight. The last thing she built in Highwind was a simple wooden chair.

Mi-an wasn’t far behind, and her lift was done soon after. The salvage team tested them out (thankfully the ropes didn’t fail over a cliff several hundred feet tall…), and after the okay was given, thank you’s and applause rang up from the entire team.

“Would ya look at that,” said Rocky. “Works like a dream! What excuse does that mopstick have now, huh?!” He held his hand out for a shake, and clapped Wis’s hand with enough oomph to feel stinging pain against her palm. “I owe both of you a big one. You don’t know how much this is gonna speed things up for me and the crew.”

“Not a problem,” Wis replied with the first genuinely confident smile she’d had in a long while. “That’s what we’re here for and all.”

“What she said!” Mi-an exclaimed, before a yelp when Rocky gave her that rock-solid handshake. “I know we’re still new, but I hope you know that you can count on us!”

“No doubt about it. I reckon we’ll all be seeing an awful lot of you two once you get your feet on the ground.”

Wis felt a hum of anticipation in her veins at that. Exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she needed. Real, meaningful work, for people that needed it. People that cared. And ideally, people that could light a fire under the ass of her inevitably terrible boss to do better…

The builders said goodbye to the satisfied salvage team, then to each other as they parted to take a well-deserved break for the rest of the day. But just as Wis was about to head inside, her eye caught on something.

Her workshop sign. Still leaning up against the wall where she’d propped it last night, too tired to put it up.

Wis hummed. Now was no less than a perfect time, wasn’t it?

She grabbed her hammer out of its pouch on her toolbelt, and a couple nails from a pouch in the back. She paused for a moment, staring at the sign. Where…was she going to put it? Mason had already taken down his old sign from the roof, but he took the sign’s supports with it, too. Apathy, or carelessness? Hard to say. But Wis didn’t quite feel bothered enough to scramble up there and make new ones. Her front wall didn’t have enough space, with the lantern next to the door. So that only left the side wall.

She hoisted the sign up into her hands, carefully aligning it parallel to the wooden planks of the wall and holding it in place with one arm as she hammered the first nail in.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 nails.

Wis stepped back, hands on her hips. Fresh Pines was back, so declared the worn, but proud sign. Now with…significantly fewer pine trees.

She snorted. Of all things to stay the same…

------------

A/N: The first part of this fic is largely centered on Wis, but have no fear, Qi is in there plenty, and we'll gradually shift more towards him in the later parts!

------------

next | index

#my time at sandrock #mtas #mtas fanfic #shady's fics #e&s

7 notes · View notes