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babbushka · 5 years

Text

Dead Man

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

(word count: 2.5k ; warnings: N*FW babey)

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You were zipping down the main road, convertible top down, wind in your hair and radio blasting. There was not another soul in sight, and you had just done some serious damage at the grocery store, taking advantage of all the new sales for the week.

Dolly Parton’s new single had just hit the airwaves, and you could not get enough of it. You sang at the top of your lungs along to the heart-wrenching ballad, grateful that no woman could tempt your man the way Jolene seemed to be able to tempt Dolly’s.

You were so caught up in the song and the atmosphere of the beautiful Colorado mountains that you were driving through, that it wasn’t until the commercial on the radio started playing and you turned the volume down that you noticed the flashing red and blue lights behind you.

“Oh shit.” You cursed to yourself, checking your speed.

A decent twenty miles over the limit, you saw, and you groaned.

You pulled over and turned the radio all the way off, hoping it was one of Flip’s friends in the car behind you, hoping that you could maybe maybe maybe sweet-talk your way out of a ticket.

You fixed your hair in the rear-view mirror, and waited patiently for…well speak of the devil, you thought, when your very own husband took his time walking over to your door.

Those cowboy boots of his crunched on the gravel of the side of the road, and you really couldn’t help but admire how good he looked in those sunglasses of his, cigarette poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“License and registration, ma’am.” He said, voice deep deep deep, the kind of voice that made you weak for him.

“Honey? What are you doing out here?” You asked, slightly confused.

“That’s Detective Zimmerman to you.” He licked his teeth.

You knew what game he was playing, you knew. He knew you knew.

You wanted to be difficult.

“Is Jimmy with you?” You asked, craning your neck around to peer through the windshield of the car behind you, the lights stopped flashing for now. Sure enough, there was your friend, looking as amused as could be. “Hey Jim!”

“Hi (Y/N)!” He shouted back at you, and you could hear the laugh in his voice.

Flip tapped on the side view mirror to capture your attention again, and you gave it with a raised eyebrow.

“Ma’am, do you know how fast you were speeding?” Flip asked, face perfectly stoic, perfectly professional.

Your man was nothing if not professional.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” You rolled your eyes, being a brat, being difficult, knowing you’d pay for it, knowing he’d pay for this.

“I’m perfectly serious.” He said, and there it was – the barest hint of a smirk, of a smile, as he sucked the last of the cigarette down, as he snuffed it out between his heel and the coarse gravel below.

His tone brooked no argument, so like a good, law-abiding citizen, you fished out your license and registration, handed it over to Flip who thanked you and took it back to his cop car.

Jimmy was shaking his head fondly when Flip returned, pretended to run it through the system, just to stall for time and annoy you even more. Hopefully you’d be feisty, you’d be aggravated enough to punish him later for it.

“You’re going to be in so much trouble, Zimmerman.” Jimmy laughed, smoked his own cigarette.

Flip didn’t tell him that that was the whole point.

“Drive her car back home?” He said instead, and Jimmy just shook his head again.

“Sure thing.” Jimmy replied, the two of them walking back to your car.

You had gotten out of the car in the meantime, had turned it off and was twirling the keys around your finger. This wasn’t the first time he had pulled a stunt like this, not even close. You knew what you were in for, and you couldn’t help the fluttering in your stomach.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to bring you down to the station, there’s a warrant out for your arrest.” Flip said with mock disappointment.

“Is that so?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Yep.” Flip nodded, “Being too goddamned beautiful. Can’t have a menace like that running loose on the streets.” And there it was, there was that big smug fucking grin that had you rolling your eyes, had you handing your keys over to Jimmy, had you grow wet between your legs.

“There’s ice cream in the trunk Jimmy, could you put it in the freezer for me?” You asked sweetly, innocently, as Flip’s hands already started roaming over your sides, as he already started pulling you towards him, right there off the interstate.

“Yes ma’am, you two have fun.” Jimmy winked, getting into the car and driving away.

As soon as he was out of sight and there were still no cars coming in either direction, Flip was on you, big hands crushing your arms and pulling you to the cop car.

“Flip I’m going to kill you!” You laughed, because he was ridiculous, because he was so fucking handsome, was going to treat you so right, you just knew it.

“Threatening an officer? Now you’re in real trouble.” He said, gripping your jaw, bringing you in for a deep wet sloppy kiss.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You asked once he pulled away, taking your breath with him.

He dipped his big thumb into your mouth, and you sucked on it, entirely too suggestively, right there out in the open where anyone could drive by and see.

“I haven’t decided yet. Hands behind your back.” He ordered.

You figured you’d let him have this, let him have you like this. At least for now.

You turned around, leaned your tits against the cop car and crossed your wrists. He cuffed you tight, tight enough that it was going to chafe, tight enough that you wouldn’t be able to break free. He pressed himself right up against you as he did it, as he slowly clicked the metal into place, and you could feel his cock grinding against your ass.

He sat you in the back of the cop car, locked the doors and drove down the main road a ways before pulling off to a lesser known path, one that wound the two of you up in a nice clearing just on the outskirts of the big mountain trails.

The clearing was beautiful, tall wild grasses and flowers lining the road, old asphalt bleached from the sun that came with the summer months. You were going to get dicked down, you knew that, knew it as you pushed your chest out, tried to make yourself look good.

“My husband’s gonna be looking for me.” You said with a glimmer in your eye as he parked the car.

“Oh yeah? He a big guy?” He asked you, meeting your gaze through the rearview mirror. He didn’t look down at his hands as they undid his belt, he didn’t need to, he’s done it a hundred times.

You licked your lips.

“Mhm, real big. Strong. Knows how to shoot.” You noded, and he huffed a laugh at that, one that turns into a groan.

You try and peer over the seat, try to get a glimpse of his cock, because you know he’s jerking off, you know. You can see it in the way his arm is moving, how his shoulders are tensing. You wish you could do it for him, fuck your way out of this speeding ticket.

“He take care of you?” He asked, breathy, and you nod, rubbing your thighs together.

That tone of his voice does shit to you, it’s the same tone he uses when he begs for you, when he pleads. You’re going to make him beg tonight, you decided, as he spits in his palm and tugs at his cock a little faster.

“Yeah he does. And he’s not gonna be too happy that I’m not home working on dinner.” You pointed out, making him laugh again.

“Maybe I’m hungry now.” He said, eyes dark with lust, face flushed.

“Are you?” You ask, and just like that, he’s out of the driver’s seat, out of the car.

He rounded on you, pulled the door open and yanks you out, shoves you roughly against the side of the car. He could fuck you on the hood, but that’s no fun, not when he’s got you cuffed like this.

He kicks your feet apart with those heavy boots, and you comply eagerly, spread them and stay still as his hands slowly slowly slowly push up your skirt, as they smooth over your ass. He pulls back the elastic waistband of your panties and lets it go, lets it snap harshly against your skin, and when you whine, he does it again.

“Flip,” You’re fluttering all over, your pussy so wet, aching, desperate to be touched.

He’s hungry, he said, and he wastes little time getting his fill as he drops to his knees behind you, yank your underwear down so it’s caught between your ankles as he eats you out from behind. He’s got fingers and tongue prodding at you, massaging you, sucking and biting and licking in a way that’s got your knees buckling.

Flip spits on your cunt, uses it as lube even though it’s not nearly enough. He withdraws his fingers to keep your legs pried open, grip tight on your thighs as he buried his face in your ass, as he fucked you with his mouth. His facial hair is harsh and stinging in all the right ways, it scrapes and scratches against your inner thighs and you’re drooling from both ends at the rough treatment.

It’s not enough, not nearly enough, and you tell him so.

“If you don’t shove that cock in me soon I’m gonna scream.” You warn, wrists straining against the cuffs as you try and reach for something to ground yourself with.

“You wouldn’t dare – ” He pulls back, scrambling up to clamp a hand over your mouth when you absolutely do dare, when you take in a deep breath and let out just the tiniest fraction of a second of a scream loose. “Shit (Y/N)!”

“Told you.” You grin, muffled against his hand.

He growls, holds your head down against the side of the car with one hand and frees his cock again with the other, belt and zipper clinking together from the fury behind it. A stunt like that could get you both caught, could lure someone, anyone, to the scene. Some poor hiker might just find you getting fucked blind, and then what would you do?

“Fine, you want to be a brat, be a brat.” He sucked his teeth, growls at you as he guides his cock into you, shoves it in roughly, so so rough. You’re going to be bruised by the end of this, you know that, you moan for it.

“Yes!” You gasp as he splits you on his dick, all ten inches of it forcing its way into you, barely giving you time to adjust.

His hips shove you up and up and up, until you’re up on your tippie toes, and you’re moaning these breathy little whimpers, unable to move, can’t go anywhere with how he’s got you pinned to the side of the car, right out in the open clearing, right there.

He fucks into you fast, balls slapping your ass, and he wants to see your tits but he can’t, and that pisses him off.

“God you’re fucking filthy.” He hisses, seethes as you push back against him, meeting each of his thrusts in time.

“Pot calling the kettle black, c’mon detective, fuck me like you mean it.” You can’t help but laugh, tease, always teasing.

He grabs a hold of your hair and hauls you off the side of the car for a moment, before dropping you down onto the backseat inside the car. It’s easier to fuck you like this, easier for you to take his cock, and you’re moaning loud into the leather upholstery, hands grasping at nothing from where they’re bound behind your back.

You love being manhandled like this, love love love it, love it when he smacks you hard, the back of your thighs stinging from the blow. He does it again, watching as big red welts form, welts that are only going to chafe as he fucks you with his jeans still on his hips.

He bends himself over you, draped himself across your whole back. He covers your mouth with one hand and shoves some fingers down your throat, holds your pelvis down with the other, holds you in place as he rails you so hard that the shocks squeak.

“You gotta be quiet, be quiet for me, be good.” He says over and over, low in your ear.

Your hair is clinging to the sweat on your face, and you’re clenching so tight around him that he knows he’s going to come soon, he knows he will. He doesn’t give a shit, he knows he’ll come again later after his shift, knows you’ll punish him for taking control like this.

“Flip – honey please, please please please.” You’re muffled against his hand, drooling all over his fingers, crying now, because of course you are, because it’s too much, it’s overwhelming, it’s so fucking good.

He pets your hair back and kisses your neck, grinds his cock into you slowly, drags it against your gspot again and again and again.

“Shh, shh, be good. My good girl, c’mon.” He whispers, licks at your cheek, bites your ear. “You can take it, you can take me.”

You’re pressing your sweat and tears into the leather and he wants to make you lick it up, but you do without even being told, wanting to be good for him.

He yanks your head up by your hair and fucks you until he’s coming, until he can feel you gush on his cock and you’re coming too, until the both of you are panting and your throats are dry dry dry from all the gasps you’ve pulled from each other’s throats.

When you’ve both calmed down, Flip is quick to un-do the cuffs around your wrists. He kisses them, soothes them with massaging hands, lavishes love and apologies into the skin there. You let him, let him pull out of you and turn you over, let him fuck the come that’s spilled out back into you with callused fingers.

“You’re lucky we didn’t get caught.” You said, a big grin creeping up on your face.

He stuck his fingers into your mouth and you sucked them clean, and only once they were clean did he go back to carefully righting your clothes, fixing your hair, like you were both at home and not in the back seat of some cop car in the middle of a clearing off the interstate.

“Let’s get you home.” He said, ignoring you, making you roll your eyes and swat at his shoulder.

“Whose car is this anyway?” You asked, suddenly terribly curious as to whose property you just defiled in such a dirty way.

“Trapp’s. He’s sick, me and Jimmy were bringing it to the station for him.” Flip explained, hauling you out of the backseat and opening the passenger door for you like the gentleman he was.

You only shook your head and sat primly in the car, buckling your seatbelt while he went around to sit in the driver’s seat, as he lit his cigarette and turned the car back on.

“You better go through a carwash before turning it in, you asshole.” You laughed, making him grin, because of course he would.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll add on to your speeding ticket.” He teased, and for a minute you thought he was just joking.

“Wait, that ticket was real?” You asked all of a sudden, eyeing the little slip of paper in the cup-holder that had your name on it, literally.

He didn’t say anything as he pulled onto the main road, and it was all you could do but groan and let out an exasperated,

“Flip Zimmerman you’re a dead man!”

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Tagging some pals, lol sorry i just had to get this one out of my system! @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kylo-renne @callmehopeless @kyloxfem @formerly-anonhamster @thepilotanon @solotriplets @fullofbees @spinebarrel @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler @ladygrey03 @venusianmaiden marvelous-blog-221 @edwardseyelashes @softcrybabykid @tinyplanet-explorers

#reader insert #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #blackkklansman #my writing #sinday

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stusbunker · 5 years

Text

In Heaven Lies

For Better or Worst: Chapter Four

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Emery Simmons-Winchester OFC

Other characters: Bandit (their dog), Jack Kline, Dean Winchester, Naomi, Castiel

Season 14 AU

Word Count: 1424

Summary: Jack gets a day out. We catch a glimpse of Dean’s side of the deal. A sudden visitor rocks whatever framework is holding Sam and Emery in their bubble.

Warnings: Mind probes, suggested smut, mangled magic.

Series Masterlist

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“History never repeats itself, but it often rhymes.”

- attributed to Mark Twain

The Bunker was quieter than usual, Mary had the AW hunters on cases and oddly Castiel was nowhere to be found. Jack felt the loneliness as if it were a companion, solid and expressive beside him. Jiminy Cricket on his shoulder, whispering to him, that if he was going to do this, it was now or never. He squinted against the remnants of Sam and Dean in his mind, knowing they wouldn’t want him to go looking for them. But no one had, and it had been months since Naomi had whisked them both away, barely a day apart. Jack had learned a lot since they had left, he knew what he was doing. At least he believed he did.

He didn’t take the Impala, that would be too obviously missed. Instead, he took one of the antique motorcycles that Dean had tuned up in the short span between Michael and then Naomi. Once he was a mile down the road, he realized he wouldn’t be able to fit a Winchester on the small seat with him. He shook his head, thoughts getting ahead of himself. One problem at a time, Jackie. He made sure to follow the speed limit and pay extra attention through towns and on interstates. He wished for his powers the farther he got from home, the more phone calls he left unanswered. He just wanted to get there, to figure this out, to bring them home.

The playground was empty, no guardian angel or passersby. Jack paced the sandbox, uncertain what would happen if he stood inside without the usual bellhop, without permission and defiantly without invitation. He wished Castiel was there but stopped the thought before it became too prayerful. He didn’t want to get caught, never wanted to disappoint his dads. They had saved him, done the impossible; how couldn’t he do the same for them? He squared his shoulders and stepped forward, calling with his thoughts to the angels on the other end of the portal. A hopeful prayer heavenward.

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Dean’s body was still, lying on the sterile table where it had been for the duration of his stay. The macabre crown of electrodes around his head holding the angel inside him in place without being able to separate the man from the archangel. Dean Winchester, Michael’s sword, held fast to the cage in his mind and the angel held fast to his vessel. Michael’s presence had restored some balance to the power shortage in Heaven; Naomi didn’t have to force something that neither party was willing to give. Contrary to every inch of deal she made. It was unprecedented after all, discoveries took time. Trial and error and patience. Yes, she was being diligent in the waiting.

Behind the freckled skin and chiseled bone, within the eternal plane of Heaven but beyond their grasp, Dean Winchester sat with his hands on the wheel of an all too familiar black Chevy. Beside him, Michael sat in the passenger seat, wearing his face and that stupid cabbie hat, smug as ever.

“We’re going to have to stop for fuel eventually, Dean,” Michael said passively, eyes darting into the night, their other constant companion.

“Yeah, well, she’s not even half a tank yet,” Dean grumbled back, turning the volume dial. He let the cab fill with Zeppelin and kept his eyes forward, staying between the lines, true as ever.

^*^*^

Emery felt a broad swipe of warmth, from her knee to her waist, pinching as it went, pulling her back into a wall, full of heat and ridges. Sam nuzzled the hair at the nape of her neck, where it curled when she sweat, nipping at the salt and spice of her. He rocked into the softness of her backside, prodding and moaning with the pre-waking contentment. She reached back, tugging at his hair, rolling towards him and dragging those coaxing lips to hers. He caged her in, with unrushed hums and lazy grazes, stubble, fingers, knuckles. Weekends were bliss.

They showered, just to need another. Sam put every inch of their massive stall to use, making Emery feel half her age, for the eighteen or so hours before the sore muscles hit them both. Before that reality sank in, they let their day lead them. Finding new places in the city that they had come to thrive in. It was their third Saturday trying out dog parks and it seemed that Bandit knew what they had planned before they even managed to finish their post workout brunch. Like all the others, the park was crowded, people milling around as their fur babies fetched or chased after one another. Bandit stayed within eye shot of his people, he was just a bit overwhelmed and needed their reassurance as much as they needed his.

They recognized a few dog-owners from their neighborhood but knew that Jason and Trudy wouldn’t be meeting them this time. They were hunkered down, waiting for her to go into labor at any moment. Emery didn’t envy their waiting game yet was wistful for pieces she couldn’t say out loud. She walked to grab them coffees from a cart, trusting Sam to keep Bandit moving. Sam sprinted away from the cluster of people letting out a fierce whistle, earning a few replies from nearby dogs. But Bandit knew it was meant for him, running in earnest, mouth hanging open as he chased down those jean-covered legs. He got happy scratches and lots of ‘good boys’ that day. Bandit liked weekends too. Then a weird man approached asking questions in a deep level tone.

“That’s an interesting combination of breeds. How long have you had him?”

“Well, he was my wife’s first, he’s part Irish Setter, but not sure what else,” Sam replied to the trench coated man.

“You’re married?” The man asked in surprise.

Sam furrowed his brow at the stranger. “Uh, yeah. Sorry buddy.”

He held up his left hand and started to walk back toward the crowds.

“Wait, Sam,” Castiel called after him.

“Whoa, man, look, I don’t know you—” Sam turned and faced his pursuer once more whose face came into drastic focus now, bluer eyes than he had ever seen. Sam suddenly lost his footing, hands reaching to his head, the last thing he heard was his name said in muddied voices and Bandit whimpering at his knee. He smelled jasmine and coffee and felt the midday sun on his eyelids, but every thought left him like skipping stones across a wind-free lake. Then he heard it again, his name, no longer hoarse, but smoky and insistent.

“Sam! What happened?” Emery shook his shoulder, looking in all directions, heat flooding her cheeks as the onlookers continued to circle around them. “Hey, stud, can you hear me? You in there?”

Sam groaned, brain sloshing against the earth’s orbit and gravity itself.

“He’s fine, thanks.” She had her professor voice on. “Let’s sit you up. Sooner we’re out of here the better.”

If there weren’t dozens of sets of eyes on them already, perhaps Emery would have noticed the pair near the far patch of trees. Watching them with pursed lips and timeless patience, Castiel had found Sam at last. Instead, Emery ditched their coffees and dragged Sam to his feet, trying to balance his weight as she guided him back to their car. Embarrassed and annoyed as strangers tried to interject with help, she called Bandit, who instinctively took Sam’s other side, saving his people more unnecessary attention.

“There was a guy,” the first discernible phrase out of Sam came as they were nearly home.

“A guy? Did he hit you? Crap, I didn’t check for your wallet,” Emery scolded herself.

“I wasn’t robbed. He, uh, he asked about Bandit.” Sam squinted, trying to remember. “I think I knew him, but now, I don’t know it’s fuzzy. I can’t even tell you what he looked like.”

“Well, maybe you just whacked your head chasing after Banders, I mean, you get ahead of yourself sometimes.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam looked out the passenger side window, watching the trees and houses float by.

“You feel okay otherwise?” Emery appraised Sam at a red light.

“I guess so. Just my head is kind of fuzzy,” Sam shrugged, but his jaw kept working over something.

“Okay, well, take it easy tonight and we’ll play it from there,” Emery said down her nose before turning back to the road. The pale boat of a car behind them turned in a hurry, barely registering in their rearview mirror.

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Read On: A Husband of Integrity

#for better or worst series #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x emery simmons-winchester #sam winchester x ofc #supernatural fanfiction #simwin #sam x emery

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unholyhelbig · 6 years

Note

Prompt- Beca needs to go to get a check up on her arm from the dog bite. Aubrey takes her to the check up, they both later talk about were!chloe and how Beca feels about it.

[A/N: I’ve been quick to notice that there are super light parts of this series and incredibly dark ones. This is the latter.]

CHECK OUT MORE WERE!CHLOE HERE

Doctor’s offices all carried the same exact scent; a culmination of despair and antiseptic that burned the throat with each passing breath. Beca’s throat was numb, raw and coppery. The cold air making a layer of goosebumps coat her skin. She ran her fingers against them, trying to soothe them down.

Each move she made cracked through the air, a thick layer of paper covered a leather seat that looked like vomit. The green didn’t’ match the toothpaste colored walls or the tan floor. There was a framed picture of a beach that carried a gold perimeter. It made her yearn for the warmth of sand, even though she hated the coast with a strong passion. Anywhere was better than here.

Beca fiddled with the edge of the bandage that took up most of her arm. It was itchy. The adhesive pulling too far at exposed skin. Cold fingers grabbed at hers, brushing them away from the nervous habit. Beca cast her gaze to the blonde that stood close enough to hear her heartbeat.

“Relax,” Aubrey’s voice was a low growl that matched the hum of the overhead lights. “It’s a check-up, Beca. You’ve been healing well, nothing to worry about.”

It had been about a month since the ravenous animal had dug its canines into the tendons of her arm. It tore into open flesh and filled its mouth with a coppery edge of blood. A taste that it was sure to remember. She had been in the hospital for a week, maybe two. She had learned to hush her thoughts, quiet the mention of a wolf in the downtown area of Atlanta. If it hadn’t started a hunt, it would create a need for a rehab center.

Her nurses had stared her down, pressed their fingers against her cheeks to test her temperature in the more dramatic way. They thought she was crazy, she thought she was crazy. So, she stayed silent, getting released with the order of talking to a therapist on campus and staying out of any hard-physical activity.

Beca was timid when she asked Aubrey to take her to the doctor’s office. Her fingers shook too hard, and she had sat in her driveway for fifteen minutes before deciding she couldn’t drive herself. Aubrey was happy to accompany her.

There was a three-toned knock at the door before a soft-featured doctor walked in. He looked too young to have graduated medical school, a pristine blue button down over a broad chest. He wore a king smile and had blonde hair that brightened blue eyes. “Miss Mitchell, I’m Doctor Barns.” He reached out a hand and she shook it, wincing as the stitches pulled against her arm.

“Aubrey,” She took his hand, squeezing it.

“I suppose the wound is still bothering you?”

He asked a simple question, turning around the counter as he pulled on purple latex gloves, pulling his fingers towards the inside of his palm to stretch the material. Doctor Barns poured alcohol onto a cotton ball, soaking it all the way through. It was cold against her outstretched arm. The man worked away at the adhesive.

“Some days are better than others. It’s worse now that it’s cold outside.”

The baby-faced doctor nodded like he understood. He didn’t. Beca hoped he was more competent than he was convincing. The bandaged edged off and she drew in a sharp bout of air. Of course, it burned, her whole arm on fire. Aubrey’s breath caught, but she tried to cover it, clearing her throat.

“I know it looks grizzly,” Doctor Barns said, running his crystal stare over the length of the shredded skin. “But it’s actually healing quite nicely, Beca. You’ve done well, the swelling has gone done immensely which impacts the likeliness of permanent scarring.”

Aubrey squeezed her shoulder as the doctor soaked another pad in the alcohol mixture that hung heavy in the air. He cleaned the rest of the adhesive away before applying yet another heavy-handed bandage. “How are the nightmares? Are they still impacting your sleep?”

The blonde lifted a perfectly pointed eyebrow. Beca would shut herself in her room when she wasn’t in class. She hadn’t been back to the station since the accident and had no immediate desire to. She no longer lounged on the quad, the staring was too much. She didn’t study in the library, the whispers not so quiet when the objection is silence. She certainly had never mentioned nightmares to anyone in the house.

“Not so much,” She said, voice wavering as she begged Aubrey to drop it. “I can sleep through half the night now. It’s getting easier.”

“That’s fantastic Beca” He smoothed his hand over the bandage before peeling off those gloves with a smacking noise. He was charming, sending an even smile towards “I’ll renew your prescription for Etizolam that Doctor Perry had you on. You can continue to take Advil when you need it for the pain. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No, thank you.”

“Perfect, I’ll have Carrie draw up your prescriptions so you two can get out of here. It was nice meeting you, Aubrey. Beca.”

The door closed and rattled the picture of the beach that hung on the wall. They needed a stronger structure, or maybe a doctor that didn’t’ close the door with that much force. Beca winced, quickly going back to itching at the freshly applied bandage.

“You didn’t tell me you had nightmares.”

“Drop it.” Her tone was harsh “Please.”

Aubrey let out a clawed sigh, left Beca’s side, instead she leaned heavily against the cabinets that housed cotton swabs and tongue depressors that were really just craft store popsicle sticks. She crossed her arms over her chest, not necessarily staring at Beca, eyes tracing the coastline where waves met sand.

“When I was seven, I was in a car accident.” Beca’s midnight eyes shot up. She didn’t’ speak. “My father was driving, and my mom was in the passenger seat. I was behind her, reading some book ahead of whatever was assigned in class.”

She laughed bitterly at the memory.

“One minute the car was moving, and the next it wasn’t. We had stalled in the middle of the road, and a white Ford pickup didn’t’ stop in time. It hit the car head-on, shattered my mom’s collarbone. Hell, it broke my arm too.” Aubrey swallowed painfully “A piece of glass embedded in my chest and I almost bled to death right there on the interstate and the only thing I could think about was how I would never get to the end of that book. I wouldn’t’ know who won, or if the boy got his girl.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Tears were welled in Beca’s eyes, not yet pushing past her waterline as she searched Aubrey’s face.

“I had night terrors for three years after that accident, so vivid and realistic. I could hear the squeal of the tires and the crunching of metal against metal at eighty miles per hour.” She scoffed ruefully “I didn’t tell anyone either.”

“Why didn’t you?” Her throat was tight, and her fingers left little dents in the paper that she sat on.

“I was afraid, I suppose. Thought that maybe if I accepted the help that was offered to me I would be perceived as weak. Maybe I thought if I spoke out against it, I would somehow end up in a flipped car on the freeway again.”

“Did you ever…” Beca stalled “Did you ever ask for help?”

Aubrey stayed quiet or a bit, the only sound a deafening thudding from a clock mounted on the wall. It was too silent to forget the inner workings of the machine slowly moving along. Beca stilled herself, not wanting to make the paper crinkle or the vomit seat groan under her weight.

“Eventually I did.” She clenched her jaw. “I started talking to a therapist and the nightmares stopped. I didn’t’ have a panic attack every time I had to get into a car.”

“I see the wolf.” Beca’s throat was suddenly tight and her palms flooded with a cold sweat. Aubrey snapped her eyes towards the brunette, willfully begging for the doctor to come back. “It’s not like I’m afraid of dogs now. I’m not. One bad animal doesn’t define the whole entire breed.”

“What happens?”

“What?”

“In your dreams.” Aubrey shifted herself “What happens?”

Beca swallowed again like it could wet her dry mouth and her sandpaper tongue. It couldn’t. Nothing could cure that utterly cold ball of ice that melted through her veins. “It doesn’t feel like a dream, you know? It’s in the house, and everything looks normal. Sometimes things are different, though. Like the pictures on the wall, or where the spoons are in the kitchen. But nothing that doesn’t make it feel real.

“I’m in the living room sometimes, sometimes in the kitchen. Just doing normal things before I hear something growling. It’s not the wolf, it’s that black dog. The one that attacked me. But I can’t pinpoint it. That doesn’t seem to matter because the wolf always rescues me in the end.”

Aubrey nodded slowly, trying to piece together the dream, a constant reliving of action. One that kept Beca awake at night and turned her nerves into a tightly wound ball. “It doesn’t sound too bad, but it is.” Beca croaked out. “Because there aren’t any wolves in Atlanta.”

“Beca,”

“No,” She held up her hands “You’re right. Both you and Chloe are. I lost a lot of blood and was seeing things. It’s better to not mention this to people.”

She held that dusky stare long enough to let Aubrey’s shoulders lower from their defensive position. She had tucked her hands close to her side. Eyes darting to the soft wooden door. “Okay, Beca. I’m going to go warm the car. You going to be okay?”

“Yeah, Bree.” She forced a weak smile “I’ll be fine.”

#beca and chloe #Beca Mitchell #Chloe beale #Aubrey Posen #bechloe fic rec #bechloe #bechloe au #werewolf au #were!chloe #fanfiction #request #au

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roxywashere · 6 years

Text

Neon

Sequel to “Eighth Wonder”

Rey Walker recuperates after an intense battle.

Rey Walker’s first fight as a member of the most prestigious superhero group in the world had been a hard-fought victory. Though there had been considerable civilian loss of life, the death toll had been a mere fraction of that of the last time the group, much younger and unprepared then, had faced this same villain. Once the Demon King had been hauled off by the Archangel to be imprisoned somewhere beyond the bounds of this world, Astra’s League had immediately transitioned to providing disaster aid to the people of New York.

Rey wasn’t very good at this part. Her plasma-manipulation based superspeed had no real use outside of a fight. Her friends Hilda and Shailene, on the other hand, were very useful. Hilda, who could duplicate herself and anything she holds effectively infinitely, and Shay, who had an almost unparalleled telekinetic strength and skill, were very easily proving their utility to the League, by shifting debris and caring for injured survivors. Even Elle, with her fulgurkinesis, found use stop-gapping broken electrical lines and keeping the power on in the area.

Rey sat on top of a building and watched as the rest of the 42-person Superteam did their work.

One of Hilda sat next to her, futily trying to comfort her friend. “Look, Aradia tells me that her father was never of much use during the clean-ups either, and everybody still loved him anyway.”

“Aradia’s father? Isn’t he the one who mysteriously disappeared and everyone assumes died?”

“Uhhh...” Hilda stalled while one of her other bodies asked Aradia. “Yeah...?”

“Shows how great he was.” Rey sighed. “I’m gonna head home.”

“What, you’re just gonna fucking walk all the way back to Danesville? You’ve never even gone a fifth that in one go before, you’re gonna completely wipe yourself out.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stop to catch my breath when I need to, maybe grab a drink somewhere.”

“Well, be careful. Call me if you don’t think you can make the whole trip, I’ll ask Aradia to swing by and take you home.”

“You’re not my mom.” Rey activated her plasma-propelled superspeed, and ran down the wall to what remained of Times Square. She looked around, tried to orient herself, and then ran south a couple blocks, and then west until she hit the Lincoln Tunnel. She followed the highway west for fifteen minutes, and by then she was well into Pennsylvania.

She was also, as expected, exhausted. She pulled off to the side of the road, panting. She looked around at nearby signs, illuminating the late night with her rapidly depleting collected plasma, and saw one advertising a quaint roadside dive a few miles down the road. Rey shook off the sluggishness, and slogged the short few seconds it took to get there. It was still open, fortunately, a flickering neon sign advertising this fact.

Rey pushed through the front door of Baby’s Diner and saw a retro-styled red-and-white tiled interior, and for a second wondered if she had stepped 140 years into the past, to the 1950’s. She slumped into a booth, the neon sign hung up in the window next to it, and picked up a menu. She stared at it idly for a minute, before looking around the restaurant, wondering where the staff were. She spotted an old-fashioned plasma screen TV in a far corner, showing a news report of the fight back in New York, and spotted glimpses of herself in the footage they were showing on loop.

She realised something, and then then patted herself down looking for her phone. She pulled it out of one of her pockets, and quickly scrolled through her contacts. When she found the one labelled “Mom”, she double tapped it.

Rey silently cursed when the call went straight to answering machine.

“Hey, this is Trip’s phone, I’m obviously not here right now, but if you wait a while I might pick up before you’re done leaving a message.” Beep.

“Hey, ma. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news yet, but in case you did and saw me I just wanted to make sure you knew I was fine. Um... speaking of news, I’ve got some pretty big to break to you. I was inducted into Astra’s League, about an hour ago, and I’ve already helped save the world. So, that’s pretty cool. And it wasn’t just me. Hilda, Shay, and Elle were inducted too. Aradia Furst called me to her tower, and all of the League was there when I got there. I...”

Rey was interrupted by her mother picking up. Without even saying hello, she immediately asked “The Archangel, did she see you?”

“The- wait, what? How do you even know about her?”

“Did she see your face, Rey?!” Trip demanded.

“Well, I mean, yeah.”

“Goddess be damned...”

“Mom, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Now she knows we’re here, Rey. I risked my neck escaping her wretched clutches and you went and handed yourself to her on a golden platter!”

“Mom, what the fuck are you talking-” Rey was interrupted by her mother hanging up on her. She stared at her phone in confusion and incredulity. “What the hell was that all about?” She put her phone down on the table, frowning. She looked around some more. “Where the hell is the waitress?” She sighed, and glanced towards the neon “Open” sign, which was still flickering. She briefly activated her power, and traced her finger along the tube that was flickering, until it returned to a strong, stable glow, though in doing so she drained herself of the last of her plasma, making her powerless until she could restock. She quietly smiled to herself.

A woman wearing a disheveled uniform walked out from the back of the diner. “Well I am so sorry,” the woman, whose name tag read Debbie, apologized. “We didn't hear your car pull up. How long have you been sitting out here?”

Rey peaked past her into the kitchen and saw another woman with a pocket mirror cleaning up her noticeably smeared lipstick. “Just a couple minutes. Did I interrupt something?”

“Hm?” While Debbie merely feigned ignorance, the woman in the kitchen scowled at Rey. “Would you like something to drink?” Debbie asked, forcing the conversation forward.

“A Sprite’ll be fine.”

Debbie turned to the other woman, and motioned her towards the soda fountain.

The other woman grumbled and stopped fixing her make-up, and then went to pour a glass of Sprite.

“Would ya like anything to eat?” Debbie asked Rey.

“A burger will be fine. Just cheese, I like them plain.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Debbie went back into the kitchen to start making the burger, and the other woman walked up to the booth with Rey’s Sprite. Her nametag read Felicia. “I was gonna get laid tonight,” she whispered. “I hope you’re happy.”

Rey pulled out her wallet and counted out a $10 advance tip in ones. Felicia raised an eyebrow. Rey counted out $10 more. Felicia subtly nodded. Rey handed over the wad of ones and took her Sprite in return. She had also slipped in a scrap of paper with her name and phone number on it, one of many she kept in her wallet so she could hand them out like business cards.

When Felicia double checked how much she had been tipped, she scoffed at the forwardness of the gesture.

“Just, keep it in mind,” Rey explained. Felicia shook her head and walked back into the kitchen. Rey’s phone started ringing, and she answered.

“Great, you're still alive,” Hilda said.

“Did you expect me to have died walking home?”

“Honestly, I never know with you, Rey. You're always pushing yourself harder and harder and I always gotta be there to carry your unconscious ass home. Anyway, Aradia said she's going to be holding a press conference in Danesville right after the new year ticks over there, which, need I remind you, is in like ten minutes.”

“Shit, really? I'm definitely not going to make it back by then.”

“Ya don't say. Where are you, Aradia is just gonna cast a portal and pick you up.”

“I don't know, somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania, just off of Interstate 80, called Baby's Diner.”

“Alright, she's casting the spell, she'll be right there.”

Rey glanced out the window, and saw the glowing sigils indicating an incoming portal appear in the air in the middle of the parking lot. They were shortly followed by the portal itself, a circular rip in space outlined by a dark violet glow. Aradia stepped through it as soon as it opened, and it closed as soon as she did, only having been open for a second total.

She walked up to the diner and silently pushed open the door, and smiled warmly at the old-fashioned stylings of the place. “So,” she said to Rey, “You ran out of plasma, didn’t you?”

“I used the last of it to make the open sign stop flickering,” Rey told her, indicating said sign.

Aradia took her seat in the booth with Rey. “How kind of you. How far does a ‘full charge’, for lack of a better term, get you?”

“I don’t know, actually. I’ve never been able to reach ‘full charge’. I don’t know about you, but it’s pretty hard for me to get my hands on large quantities of high-quality ionized plasma. Cheap stuff, sure. I got a supplier that just just ships me tanks of gases that I can pump through electrodes and ionize myself, but it’s real low-quality.”

“Well, that’s where I think I can be of great use to you. Because, in fact, I do have a source of high energy plasma. The Archangel is a divine craftswoman of the highest order, and she has built for me fusion reactors that consume no fuel and are small enough that they can be carried in a backpack. If you were to have such a device, I believe your capacity would become effectively infinite.”

“I want to say such a thing is impossible,” Rey started, “But that’s a dumb thing to say in this day and age, so I’m not gonna. But I will ask: What’s the catch?”

“All that I ask of you is that you keep in close contact with me. Keep me updated with the goings on of the street-level crime, and keep fighting it.”

Rey considered the offer for a moment, and then held out her hand to shake on it. “Alright. Let’s make this happen.”

Aradia shook Rey’s hand, and at the same time Felicia walked out from the back with Rey’s burger.

“Oh, my, god,” Felicia exclaimed. “Deb, get out here, Aradia Furst is in our diner!”

“What?” Debbie replied. She poked her head out of the kitchen and likewise exclaimed “Oh, my god.”

“Would you either of you like a photo?” Aradia asked. “Or an autograph perhaps? Both, even.”

“Yes!” Felicia said. “Could you sign my phone? I know it’s not the latest model, but you make them so reliable I haven’t needed a replacement in like 7 years.”

Aradia, summoning a gold sharpie from seemingly nowhere, replied “Never a finer endorsement than one from somebody who hasn’t needed to buy everything I sell. What's your name?”

“Felicia Kyle.”

Aradia took Felicia’s phone and signed it with one of the most ornate and complicated signatures Rey had ever seen. “Now, don’t worry about it wiping off, this ink is specially formulated to bond perfectly with the material of the phone. The only way it’s coming off is by belt-sanding the entire back of the phone off.”

Debbie then stepped in with her own (non-FursTech manufactured) phone, and took a quick selfie with herself, Felicia, and Aradia, with Rey in the background.

“Now, I believe Rey and I have a press conference to attend,” Aradia said.

While Aradia started casting another portal, Rey dug in her wallet to pay for the burger, pulling out $7 and slapping it down in Debbie’s hand, and then taking the burger from Felicia and slamming the rest of the Sprite.

“You two,” Rey told Debbie and Felicia, “Keep an eye on the news.” Aradia finished casting, and a portal into a dark room appeared. Aradia stepped through it, and beckoned Rey in after her.

Rey stepped through, and the portal shut. Rey heard only a low rumbling, and then Aradia snapped her fingers. Holograms started appearing across dozens of workstations, showing gauges and binary status lights, and then a spotlight illuminated a metallic orb bristling with copper pipes, sitting on a pedestal.

“This,” Aradia explained, “Is a recreation of the first Holy Device the Archangel ever built. She called it The Heart. Unfortunately, I cannot give this to you, because it is too delicate in its ancient state to function. However...”

Aradia turned to a human-sized flat disk of gold embedded in the wall. With her finger she traced upon it a wide circle with a pentagram inside it, and inside the pentagram traced the Kabbalah Tree of Life. The disc on the wall split into seven fragments that irised into the surrounding wall. Within this vault was shelf upon shelf of stacks upon stacks of large golden coins, and in the middle of the room was another pedestal with another orb on it, except this one was a plain sphere glowing from within with a powerful white light.

“This Heart is sturdy enough to be worn, even by a superspeedster.”

Aradia then used her metallokinesis to draw from the golden coins, and constructed a backpack around the Heart, and a coil of flexible metal pipe.

“Go ahead, put it on.”

Rey hesitantly walked into the vault, and up to the backpack, and slowly slid it on. Aradia walked up behind her, and slid the pipe under her collar and down her right sleeve, coming out just below her palm.

“Do you feel the plasma, writhing within its containment?”

Rey shut her eyes, and focused, and felt the dense mass of energy on her back. She tried to draw from it, and she felt it snaking its way through the pipe, until she felt the bare heat of it in her palm. She opened her eyes and saw the bright white sphere of plasma, and then absorbed it into her veins.

She had never felt so energized in her life, and struggled to keep her superspeed from activating on it’s own, her fingers twitching and the rest of her body vibrating slightly. She clenched her fist, and stilled herself, halting the overcharge from overtaking her.

“I think I found my practical full charge level,” Rey confided. “It’s not a hard limit, and I’m sure it will go up as I gain mastery, but I think that’s it for now.”

Aradia summoned a small hologram of a clock, which indicated that it was a handful of seconds from passing midnight in Danesville. When the New Year ticked over, Aradia quietly said “Happy New Year yet again, Neon. Now, we must be getting to that press conference.”

Aradia cast yet another portal, and the pair stepped into the front lobby of one of the four FursTech buildings across America. But Rey noticed that they weren’t in the Danesville FursTech building.

“Why are we in New York again? I thought you said the press conference was in Danesville?” Rey looked back at Aradia, who had silently cast one last portal and stepped through it.

Aradia turned to Rey, and said “I did indeed. I’ll be introducing you in about five minutes. I hope to see you there!” Before Rey could snap out of her bewilderment, Aradia gave a small wave goodbye, and closed the portal.

Rey, half seething and half laughing, shook her head. “Well, let’s see what a full charge of top-quality plasma does for me.” Rey activated her superspeed and bolted through the city, feeling a rush of speed that she hadn’t felt since she first started experimenting with her power.

#Astraverse #superhero literature #superhero #writing #short story

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stephenmccull · 5 years

Text

Five Years Later, HIV-Hit Town Rebounds. But The Nation Is Slow To Heed Lessons.

AUSTIN, Ind. — Ethan Howard cradled his prized Martin-brand guitar, strumming gently as he sang of happiness he thought he’d never find.