#anyway time to rest my arm acting as if blogging is my fuckin job or smth LMAO XD

[dan-crimes]

(In regard to my tags on my previous post) So you see the way I go about scrolling thu Tumblr is I fucking like every single fuckin post I scroll past (after making sure it is suitable for my ❤️s) and this has been my habit forever on all social media platforms BUT I REALIZE NOW that when I go to a SPECIFIC PERSON they might not enjoy their notifications being flooded so I gotta TRY and hold back and I have to actively think about NOT liking a post every time I scroll past it ACTIVELY like I have to actively think abt it every single time I scroll past a post and then I have to measure if I like the post MORE than usual, enough to break past not interacting with posts in order to like the post and or reblog the post and even then it usually ends up being more posts than I originally expected

[shortythescreen]

come over

Warning(s): NSFT/18+, friends with benefits, sex with feelings lol. 

Relationship(s): Octane/Female Reader.  

Author’s Notes: this was my first post on ao3 and i’m trying to actually start using this blog so. here’s the post, lmao! my spanish sucks but i understand everything, hence the ref to a meme in spanish. :) 

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3.

come over?

That’s what lights up your phone screen at damn near three in the morning. You roll over, squinting at the bright screen as you grab it from your bedside table. It’s one of the lamest texts you’ve ever gotten. It’s barely a step up from the even more basic ‘u up?’ and you’re half tempted to leave him on read. Octavio can do better than that.

Yet, you scroll through your compilation of gifs and send him one of a woman rolling her eyes. Sure, it’s disdainful but he now knows that you are, in fact, awake.

About three months ago, you were offered a job by Apex, the corporation running the well renowned Apex Games. The offered pay was astronomical in comparison to what you made at your humble little gig as a thorn in a journalist’s side. Room and lodging would be included in the miniature city built just for Champions and the people who made the games happen.

All you had to do was do what you do best. Take pictures.

Every advertisement, webpage, and piece of merchandise is covered with your pictures of the Legends. Those that you take in the studio given to you and those that you take off the clock. Every picture on your camera belongs to Apex, even with your signature scratched at the bottom of all of them.

Because of this, it had taken a select few Legends time to warm up to you. Others, not so much.

Octavio, better known as Octane, might as well have sat in your lap when you walked in with a camera hanging around your neck.

Though you’re a lot quieter than ‘The Adrenaline Junkie’, you have about as much impulse control as he does. So one night when he’d visited you in your studio a little past business hours, brandishing a bottle of Hennessey Black the size of your head, one thing lead to another and, well.

The events of that night lead to you getting texts from Octavio at damn near three in the fucking morning asking you to come over.

i have a box of wings and a bottle of Smirnoff with ur name on it.

You bite the tip of your tongue. The offer’s tempting.

and other things, if you can keep up. ;)

That, even more so.

Against your better judgment, you text him back with words instead of a gif. You’ll be over in ten minutes.  If he drinks all the liquor before you get there, you’re leaving. You imagine him cackling at his screen because if you know him at all, and you do, he’s probably polished off at least a quarter of the bottle on his own.

Octavio’s apartment is a five minute walk from yours but you gave yourself an extra five to brush your teeth and find your shoes. The penthouse suites offered to all the Legends is right across the street from your simple one bedroom.

When you first moved in, you thought maybe Apex Corp wanted you to take paparazzi sort of shots of their competitors. They’ve never asked you to and you haven’t bothered to try, so you guess they just gave you what was available.

Whatever. You don’t mind living in earshot of some of the deadliest people in the Outlands. Especially now that you’re fucking one of them.

God, you never thought you’d be in this position. Sure, you’re not fucking blind, most of the Legends are attractive. Bangalore has a smirk that drops panties and a voice that’s a little more gravelly than the average woman. Wraith’s got the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, powers or otherwise, and her skin is flawless. Gibraltar could probably defeat half of his opponents by throwing them.

Even those that you can’t see the faces of have appeal – Bloodhound’s shroud of mystery has gained them quite the following online and what Octavio doesn’t show of his face is made up for by his stupid little crop top.

You just… Didn’t anticipate any of them finding you attractive too. Least of all the speedster with a penchant for picking up bad habits. Like fucking the photographer. You run your hand down your face as you exit your house, locking it behind you before jogging across the street to the penthouse suites.

Even if you had toyed with the possibility of warming one of their beds, you certainly didn’t think you’d wind up in Octavio’s. Maybe Elliot, who’s got a reputation for getting around, or Ajay, who’s could crush you with her thighs. Octavio, whose accent and stupid selfies had caught the attention of many Apex fans, was the last legend you expected to end up making your heart do the jitterbug-

It’s not, you’re not, you vehemently remind yourself as you enter the elevator of the Legends’ suites. Absolutely not. No way. You walk down the hallway to Octavio’s door, reminding yourself over and over again you’re most certainly not catching feelings and whatever dance your heart is doing has something to do with the lack of sleep.

Even though that makes no sense, it’s what you tell yourself, because there’s no fucking way you’re into Octavio like that. Not into someone you’re just hooking up with. Not into someone who’s only interested in hooking up.

You knock once on his door and you barely have a chance to step back before Octavio’s tearing it open. His mask is gone and even though you’ve seen his face a million times by now, you still take a moment to breathe him in. He’s got the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen, glassy with alcohol, and you notice that he’s in need of a shave, his cheeks tinted dark by pinpricks of facial hair.

“It’s three am,” you tell him.

“Yet here you are, amiga,” he smirks.

“For the booze,” you reply and he snickers, shoving out a plastic cup you hadn’t noticed he was holding. The stench of Smirnoff envelops you and you sigh, snatching it away and shouldering your way into his apartment.

“What are you doing up, anyway?” You ask, flopping on the couch and taking a large enough gulp of your cup to make your nose burn. You squeeze your eyes briefly closed, letting out a little ‘ahh’ as Octavio’s weight sinks the opposite side of the couch.

“Couldn’t stop watching The Flash. But Barry got kinda boring, so I texted you,” he says and you snort, opening one eye to glance at him. You hadn’t even noticed the title glaring at you from the flat screen only a few feet away, the only light in the apartment aside from the stove.

God, he’s so unfairly pretty. He’s resting his tousled head of green hair, the same green as his eyes, in his hand, propped up on the back of the couch. His PLUS ULTRA tattoo peeks out from the three quarter sleeved shirt he’s wearing and you go for your drink, hoping you can excuse the warmth in your chest as Smirnoff.

“Of course you were. You’re so fuckin’ basic.”

“I’m on brand.”

“You’re at home. Alone.”

“Not anymore.”

You snort, finally beginning to feel that warmth in your chest drip down into your stomach. The easy, fuzziness that comes with being here, with drinking and banter and the promise of something so much sweeter.

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say, “now where are those wings?”

As promised, Octavio brings you a takeout box with about thirty wings. With liquor brewing in your stomach, you probably could demolish them, but you’re barely buzzed and still willing to be polite.

It’s the wee hours of the morning, so you’re grateful that each of the Legends have soundproof walls. You and Octavio put on old telenovelas, even though your Spanish is slim to none, and he makes you laugh by describing the scenes to you.

“Oho man, she’s such a bitch. The mother basically just told the son’s lover acompáñame a ver esta triste historia.”

“I don’t speak Spanish, Oc,” you remind him around a mouthful of a wing coated in ranch.

“Remember how the girl’s parents died when she was six?” He asks and you nod your head, vaguely remembering the shitty graphics acting as flashbacks. “The son’s mother heard that and might as well have said ‘that’s cute’.”

You were right to assume Octavio had already had a hefty serving of alcohol before he’d texted you, as he brings out the bottle when your glass gets low, a little less than half of it gone. He’s got a higher alcohol tolerance than you and it’s obvious the more you two delve into the Smirnoff.

He smirks at you when you whine about the wings getting low, polishing off what must be your twelfth. You’ve officially had enough alcohol to stop being polite and Octavio loops an arm around your shoulder. When had he gotten so close to you on the couch?

“There, there,” he murmurs into your hair, “there will be wings tomorrow, mami.”

“But I want them now,” you complain, only to completely forget your train of thought as you bury your nose in the collar of Octavio’s shirt. “Fuck, you smell good. Do you always smell this good?”

“I smell like liquor,” he snickers, kissing the top of your head and you shudder as he slides his fingers through the small hairs at the base of your neck.

“And soap. What soap do you use? I bet you use Old Spice. Old Spice is so basic but it smells so fucking good,” you ramble, tilting your head just enough so that your lips brush against his collarbone.

“Gracias,” he hums, tilting his head back a smidge. You take this as an invitation and begin placing careful, open mouthed kisses up the length of his neck.

Octavio sighs through his nose, arm around your shoulders sliding down your side to pull you half into his lap. Your teeth scrape his pulse and his grip on you tightens.

“You didn’t say yes or no,” you absently mumble as he grabs a handful of your ass. He squeezes before you pull back just enough to meet those pretty green eyes of his, dark with want.

“Yeah, it’s Old Spice,” he says, then leans in to devour your mouth with his.

Octavio kisses like he moves. Quick, eager, his tongue pushes into your mouth and makes you groan. You haphazardly drape one leg over his, twisting so your chest is flush against his. He bites your lower lip and you whimper, half grinding against his prosthetic legs, cool against your heat.

His free hand sneaks down to grab your other ass cheek, pulling you up to straddle him. His lips leave yours with a pop and he bites his lower lip as you shudder against his dick jumping under your hips.

“We haven’t even started yet,” you say, allowing him to slip his hands beneath your shirt, gripping your breasts and rolling the peaks under his thumbs. You sigh, continuing, “how are you so hard?”

“How are you so sexy?” He snarks, releasing your tits in favor of grabbing the hem of your top. He pulls it off eagerly, eyes hot.  

“You too,” you half beg and he obliges, tugging that snug fitting shirt over his head. You hum, hot with liquor, and with lust, and with the look he’s burning into your chest. He leans back into the couch, drinking in your disheveled state before reaching up to cruelly pinch your nipples.

You gasp, trying to lean into the sensation and alleviate the pain. Octavio only pulls harder, biting his lower lip when you’re almost chest to chest.

“Asshole,” you hiss and he grins, giving you a flash of his tongue piercing.

“You like it,” he says as you relent, going still in his lap. Octavio finally releases his almost too tight grip on one nipple in favor of looping an arm around your waist. He’s torturous to the other, squeezing, rolling, tugging. As a reward for the way you buckled, he slurps the free one into his mouth. You moan, his mouth all wet warmth and cool metal. His thumb flickers teasingly across your other pebbled nipple and you arch your back.

“Oc, please,” you pant and he pulls off of you with a pop, cupping the tit he still has a handle on to flick his tongue across it.

“Por favor? Por favor que?” He half laughs only to break off in a needy groan when you grind against him. “Fuck fuck fuck, okay, stand up for a sec.”

You roll yourself along his dick for a moment longer, relishing in the way his hips instinctually jerk against yours. He squirms beneath you, opting to tightly grab your hips.

“Shit, mami,” Octavio pants, sharply thrusting up before trying to push you off. “C’mon, c’mon, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

You finally climb off him and he follows you forward, sharply pulling down your sweats. A long, sticky trail connects you briefly to them and he outright groans at how filthy that is.

“You’re so wet,” he all but whines, fascinatedly rubbing a finger between your lips. Your breath hitches as he pointedly drags his knuckle across your clit, teasing you with the not quite enough touch.

“Shorts off,” you growl, and he hurriedly obeys. His cock springs free as his shorts hit the carpet and your mouth waters. The tip is swollen and pink, leaking with excitement. You’re half tempted to get on your knees, swipe the pre up with your tongue and put him at your mercy.

“Oh, mami, yes, you can do that for me later,” he babbles, making you realize you’d said that aloud. You try to climb back into his lap, only to have him grab you by the shoulders. You yelp as he tosses you onto your back on the opposite side of the couch, maneuvering himself between your thighs.

You two have been doing this long enough to have done away with condoms and you’re so fucking grateful for that as he pushes himself between your lips. Your slick helps him along as he glides the tip against your aching, swollen clit.

“Oc,” you impatiently murmur and he smirks. Octavio is a bastard at the worst times and not even the bedroom is exempt, because he grabs his shaft and taps the leaking tip of his cock against your clit.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He asks and if you weren’t so overwhelmed, you’d roll your eyes. You settle for propping yourself up on your elbows and thrusting your hips up. His cock catches on your hole and his breath hitches in his throat.

“That bad, huh?” Octavio breathlessly whispers and you glare at him through the fog of your lust.

“Aren’t you supposed to be quick?”

“You want it to be over? Aw, okay, guess I’ll-“

Before he can pull away, you wrap your legs around his waist and yank him against you. Octavio slips, caught off guard, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, letting out a strangled groan as the tip of his dick breeches your swollen cunt.

“Fuck,” he grits out, suddenly unconcerned with teasing. He drives himself the rest of the way inside and you sigh, relieved to be so wonderfully full.

“I’m trying,” you gleefully counter and he sharply thrusts into you with a laugh that’s half moan.

You reach around, clawing at his lower back as he fucks into you. His elbow lands on the space next to your neck and you find his hand cupping the crown of your head, simply resting there as he fucks you like he’s trying to win a race.

Octavio moans and curses and whines just as much as you do, his green eyes squeezed shut. You rake your nails up the length of his spine and he groans, giving you an especially brutal thrust. Your mouth falls open and he takes the opportunity to sloppily kiss you, tongue pushing past your lips to twist with yours and he doesn’t taste so much like liquor anymore.

You sob into the kiss as he angles his hips down a little, hitting right there. He gets the picture quickly and he aims just so, abusing that place that makes you see stars. His hips snap into yours and you grab his shoulders for purchase. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

It’s him, pulling away from your kiss to watch you with amazed green eyes. It’s him, grabbing your hips and yanking you onto his dick. It’s him, passing a thumb over your clit, making your eyes roll back. It’s him, hissing your name as his hips begin to stutter and shake. It’s him.

“C’mon, mami, c’mon, I won’t last,” he gasps, fondling your clit desperately and your jaw drops at the sensation. “C’mon, baby, need it, need to feel that tight pussy squeeze my dick, you can do it, do it for me, please, baby, please-“

You say his name as your orgasm hits you, shaking legs tightening so harshly around his waist you can feel every tremor of his hips. He fucks you through it, relentlessly rubbing your clit and you whimper, reaching down to try and shove his hand away. It doesn’t seem to stop him and finally with two, three more thrusts, he’s coming.

Octavio buries his face in your neck, saying something so low and garbled that you barely pick up that it was in Spanish. You don’t care to ask what he said just yet, too busy catching your breath as you clutch his back.

“Shit…” He breathes, turning his head to rest his nose against your still racing pulse. Now, though, it’s not just with need, but you don’t tell him that.

“How’s that for keeping up?” You ask and he snickers, slowly pulling out of you. Octavio reaches down, grabbing his shorts and tucking them beneath your hips to catch the spunk dripping out of you.

“I’ll go get a wash cloth,” he says as you paw at the coffee table for the TV remote. You groan at the time it shows you.

“It’s almost seven, you ass! I have to be to work in two hours!”

“Guess I kept you up all night. At least you weren’t bored.”

“I hate you,” you groan, scrubbing your hands over your eyes. Octavio snickers, making his way towards the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, wait,” you say, propping your head up. He stops short, meeting your gaze. “What did you say? I was kinda preoccupied and didn’t hear.”

“Kinda? You wound me,” Octavio says, placing a hand over his heart. You unceremoniously flip him off. “You think I remember what I said while I was nutting, chica?!”

Octavio grins roguishly. You roll your eyes, throwing one of the couch cushions at him. It doesn’t get anywhere close to hitting him and Octavio snickers, bending down to toss it back onto the couch. “Who knows?”

Octavio turns back to the bathroom and his playful expression slackens. His brow scrunches up as he flicks the light on, closing the restroom door behind him and staring disbelievingly into the mirror.

Te amo, he’d gasped into your neck when he was overwhelmed with the smell of you, the feeling of you, the taste of you.

[sunlightdances]

Blooming in the Shadows (5/6)

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader Rating: Overall PG-13 because of canon-typical violence. Also swearing. Words: 2,730 (this part) Warnings: Angst! Dean and the Reader swearing like sailors! Mutual pining with a dash of bed sharing and a slow burn romance added in for extra fluffy goodness. Summary: You and Dean Winchester are barely friends. His sudden reappearance from Hell brings you together, and you find yourself right back in the life you ran away from when you were a teenager. (Canon AU that takes place during season 4, specifically starting at 4.01 - for reference, Dean is 29) This chapter: This is the first chapter I wrote that originally was intended to be a oneshot. There’s a particular line of dialogue in here that inspired this entire fic. One more chapter after this one, folks. Thanks for sticking with me.

Links aren’t working - find the full master list for this plus the link to this story on AO3 on my blog!

You take a deep breath, the sound of it rattling through your rib cage on its way out. It’s silent in the old barn. Almost too quiet.

Your mind keeps flashing back to the way Dean was looking at you outside, the way he keeps half confessing things to you… you’re at your wit’s end.

You know deep down inside you that Dean Winchester doesn’t hate you. Just the same, you’ve never hated him, even after he basically stomped on your heart.

It’s time to put it in the past. There are bigger things to worry about, and you can’t lie - you’re terrified.

Pamela is out of the ICU now, according to Bobby, but blind, obviously. You’ve never seen anything like that. You think the sound of her screams will stay with you for the rest of your life, as will the crazed look in Dean’s own eyes during the attack as he held onto you and Sam for dear life.

And now you’re summoning whatever did it. Truly, probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever been a part of as a hunter. Sam’s fidgeting and Dean is pacing. The ritual has been done. The summoning is over. Now… you just wait. You’re still struck by the absolute silence.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re not alone.

Suddenly, the doors to the barn begin to shake. The lights flicker, and sam and Dean both ready their rifles filled with rock salt. You do the same, the sawed-off comfortable in your hands despite the way your hands are trembling. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, though you can’t get rid of the feeling that tells you you’re in way over your head.

A clap of thunder, and then there’s a man standing there. Piercing blue eyes, almost blank expression on his face, but somehow still an intense look in his eyes. The look he’s giving you all makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

He takes a step forward, right through the devil’s trap, and your heart starts to race. “What the fuck…” you breathe, feeling Sam and Dean come closer on either side.

Almost as if on cue, the three of you begin firing, your rock salt doing nothing to slow down the man striding towards you like he’s on a mission. Your heart stutters again when he gets close enough to touch.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asks, and you want to smack him for being so flippant.

The man’s voice is deeper than you expected and seems to echo around the barn. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition."

A beat, and then Dean’s smirking, the idiot. “Thanks,” he says snidely before lunging forward, the demon knife in his hand, and stabs the man in the chest, almost to the hilt.

It does nothing.

“Shit,” you say, and take a step forward, Sam heading up the rear. Before you can do anything, the man is turning to face Sam, two fingers on his forehead, and then Sam slumps to the ground.

Dean curses, and your eyes widen when he turns his attention on you, but the man is already there in between the two of you, pressing his fingers to your face before you can defend yourself.

Everything goes black.

.

.

.

“Wake up, kid. Come on,” is the first thing you hear, Dean’s voice low and worried. “She’s not waking up.”

“Give her a minute. It took me a second too,” Sam replies.

You groan in response, and can almost feel the relief palpable in the room.

“What happened?”

“A fuckin’ angel of the Lord. That’s what happened.” Dean says, and underneath his posturing, you can hear the fear there.

You sit up, with his help. “He’s-- what the hell did he want?”

Dean almost smiles, probably at your choice of words. “Said he was the one who got me out of hell. He said he did it--” Dean swallows, face turning serious. “Said he did it on God’s order. That I had a job to do.”

“Dean, what the fuck.”

He pulls you to your feet, and Sam steadies you on your other side as you get your bearings.

“I-- I’m not really sure where to go from here.” Dean admits, and it shocks you, really, to see him being vulnerable like this.

“We have to find somewhere to sleep.” Sam says, always the level head. “Let’s get a room and we’ll call Bobby. We should probably head back to his place next, anyway.”

“Two rooms,” you tell Sam on the way to the Impala. He gives you a look, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You know he wishes you and Dean would just hash things out once and for all, and there’s no way he’s missed how differently Dean is acting now.

You just can’t quite face it. After everything that happened today… the prospect of finding out whatever Dean was trying to tell you earlier today… it scares the hell out of you and you’re not sure how to deal with it.

Call it fight or flight, but it is what it is. You need a break.

The neon lights of a motel are like a beacon, and Dean practically speeds into the parking lot. He’s rattled and it makes you nervous.

Sam goes into the motel office while you hang out by the car with Dean. He’s fidgeting and you find that you want to put a hand on his arm, or his shoulder… find some way to comfort him. You haven’t had that feeling in a really long time.

“You coming with us to Bobby’s?” He asks, breaking the silence. It feels like a loaded question.

You dig the tip of your boot into the dirt, creating a pattern. “Not sure yet. Need to get my car eventually.”

He nods. “Is that the only reason you’d go back there?”

It’s not the question you think he’s going to ask, and you have no idea how to answer him.

Saved by the bell, the ringing above the door signals Sam’s exit from the building, and you heave a sigh of relief when he hands one key to you, and keeps another in his fist.

“I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You say, grabbing your bag out of the backseat and slinging it over your shoulder.

You take two steps before there’s a hand gripping your elbow. Your heart practically stops when you turn around to meet Dean’s eyes. He lets go almost immediately, a blush coloring his cheeks. “Just-- don’t leave without saying something.”

You can’t place the look in his eyes and you’re not sure you want to. You’re not sure you want to deal with any of this, but somehow you should have known you were always going to get dragged back into life with the Winchesters one way or another.

You nod and tug your arm out of his grasp, smiling weakly at Sam over your shoulder as you find your room and push your way inside, the weight of the last few days obvious as your shoulders slump.

A shower is in order, and then you plan on sleeping for about fifteen hours. You know you should eat something, too, but you’re too exhausted, too freaked out, too off your game to do anything other than collapse in your bed.

A knock on your door startles you awake after what feels like hours, but only turns out to have been about fifteen minutes. You stumble to the door, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, immediately on edge.

“What?” You ask when you pull open the door, revealing the eldest Winchester on the other side, a sheepish look on his face and his fist still raised to knock one more time.

“You were asleep.”

You shrug. “Not for long. What’s going on?”

He swallows. “Nothing. I mean, nothing bad. I just-- can I come in for a second?”

The nerves start up again. You feel anxious and feel like you want to leap out of your skin and sink beneath the earth. The dread coiling in your veins is only matched by what feels like anticipation.

You shut the door behind you, and watch as Dean rubs his jaw, pacing in front of the bed.

“Are you okay?” You echo your same question from earlier, because it really looks like he’s lost it this time.

“I have to-- I need to explain something to you.”

You say nothing. You’re caught completely off guard, with nothing to go on here but the desperate look in his eyes. He takes your silence as permission to keep going.

“When we were growing up, you… you showed up one day and completely flipped our world upside down. It’s always been just me and Sam. We never knew how to handle someone else being there, but then there was you.”

You find your voice. “Is that why you were so awful to me?” It comes out harsh, more than you intended.

“I deserve that.” He looks down at his feet. “I deserve that and I deserve everything you’ve ever said about me or thought about me since that night.”

You immediately know he’s talking about when you left. You just can’t figure out why he’s doing this now, why he’s trying to explain this now. It was all so simple for you. There’s nothing to talk about, as far as you’re concerned.

“I pushed you away when we were teens because you made me feel things that I was nowhere near prepared to feel. I thought it would be easier…” He stops for a second, laughs bitterly, “thought you would be safer if you were as far away from me as you could get.”

“Dean--”

“Wait,” he says gently, “I have to get this out or I’ll never do it.” He takes a small step closer to you, meeting your eyes now. “I also thought I was protecting myself. Killing two birds with one stone, you know?”

“Protecting yourself from what? From me?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks on the last word.

He smiles, but it’s sad. “You scare me.” Dean’s voice is raw, honest. It makes your heart rate speed up.

“Why?” Your reply is barely a whisper.

His voice cracks, “Because you could break my heart in half and walk away without a scratch.”

You have no idea what to say. You’re frozen, rooted to the spot. It’s all at once everything you’ve ever wanted to hear from Dean, and the last thing you ever expected.

“You’re so strong. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before. You came into my life, this spitfire full of loud opinions and the hardest left hook I’ve ever seen, and I knew… I knew that if I let myself feel these things for you, I’d never recover. You would. Because you’ve always been the strongest of the three of us. But me? I’d be ruined.”

A tear splashes off the end of your nose and startles you, because you didn’t even realize you were crying. You want to scream, want to tell him he’s so stupid for not just talking to you. This entire time, all these years… wasted. Because you both were so stupid for each other you couldn’t see the other’s feelings right in front of your face.

“So I put you down and I was cold to you and I pushed you away… and you want to know the dumbest thing of all?”

He takes a step even closer so he can reach out and use his thumb to wipe away a tear slowly tracking its way down your cheek. He’s close enough you can feel the heat radiating off him and can feel the way he’s shaking ever so slightly as he touches you.

“What’s the dumbest thing?” You ask, and his shoulders seem to curl in as he finally tells you whatever it is he’s been trying to say this entire time.

“It didn’t even work.” He whispers. “You left, and I moved on, and so did you, and you show up again… and it’s like I was punched right in the chest by all the feelings I thought I got rid of,” he says, grabbing your hand and placing it on his chest so you can feel the way his heart is pounding.

“Dean,” his name is a choked breath, the things you’ve never said to him stuck inside your throat. You swallow a sob that’s threatening to burst out and he steps up even closer, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

“You’ve hated me for years and I deserved it. But trust me, sweetheart. You could never hate me as much as I do for what I did to you. You never deserved to feel like you didn’t have a home there. I even blamed you for leaving. The things I said…” He shakes his head.

“Can I say something now?” You ask shakily, a burst of confidence coming over you as you watch Dean practically bare his soul to you.

“You don’t need to--”

“Yes I do.” Your hand covers his, both of you locked there in a strange but wonderful embrace. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear something like this from you. I-- Dean, I fell in love with you when I was sixteen years old.”

Dean’s eyes slide shut, a pained noise escaping his throat. You feel the exact same way - all this time wasted, all the time you both felt the same way but were too scared to say or do anything.

“If you think that I could walk away from you without a scratch… well, you don’t know me very well, Dean Winchester.” You say quietly, his fingers gripping yours almost painfully.

“We don’t, do we, though.” He says, “We don’t really know each other anymore.” He pulls back and his eyes rove over your face. “Or, at least I thought I didn’t know you. I thought you didn’t know me either. But you’ve still got that necklace. And you’re still able to look right through me, just like you always were.”

Something’s still eating at you. “Dean… why now?”

His eyes are so fucking green as he stares at you. “We went up against an angel today. I thought-- at any point, that could have gone so far South. You could have died today.” His eyes are pained. “I went to hell and came back. And still the thing that scared me today was losing you before I had a chance to make things right. I didn’t-- it made all my reasons seem pointless.”

You’re both quiet for a few minutes. “What do we do now?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

You pull away and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I need to sleep. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Dean nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll let you get some rest. I just-- I needed to say that to you.” He takes a few steps backwards towards the door. “There’s no pressure here, okay? This whole thing--” he gestures between the two of you, “it’s on me. It always has been. I just had to get it off my chest.”

He frowns. “Dumping all that on you wasn’t fair.”

“Dean.” You stand, coming closer to him. “That’s enough self blame for one day, okay? I just-- I need to think. I’m not going to disappear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A small smile is on his face, one you’re beginning to think is reserved just for you. “Okay.” He grips the doorknob with one hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When you shut and lock the door behind him, you finally let yourself cry all the tears you tried to hold back earlier, slumping down to the floor, the weight of everything that’s happened between you and Dean crashing down on you all at once.

A hell of a day.

What an understatement.

[kenzieam]

You and Me and the Devil Makes Three - Chapter 1 (Eric and Fox)

Rating: M (Language, Violence, Lots of Smut)

Genre: Drama/Angst/Humour

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85  @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt  @treeleaf  @beltz2016  @girlwith100names @gaia25 @readsalot73 @slayer0507 @stone-met @lostinthebeans @lauraaan182 @girlslovestorys  @lacy-love @fuckthatfeeling  @sparklemichele @vitaevandal  @micolegg @jaihardy  @bookgirlthings @queenara4  @bluelassbird @mom2reesie @pathybo @letmagichappen @shaunarcanine @equalstrashflavoredtrash @itschibi @elaacreditava @lilu46 @tonyt1995 @jojogoo65 @littlesouthernrebel @sterek-foreverandever @kirstenisntkirsty @frecklefaceb

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I know there is a story floating around with a similar premise that I remember reading months ago: Eric and Tris being banished to a Dauntless getaway cabin to learn to get along, but if you’ve been following me you’ll know I posted an ask a few days ago to track that story down. I wasn’t able to find the particular story I was looking for to make sure my story wasn’t too similar in basic idea, so I am going ahead with mine. I have in no way intentionally duplicated anyone else’s story, but if you disagree, please private message me and we can talk.

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“You are such an asshole!”

“And you’re a bitch!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too!”

“Hey!” Max bellowed, slamming his fist onto his desk. “You!” He roared, pointing with his finger. “Stop provoking him!”

Fox rolled her eyes and looked away.

“And you!” Max’s finger now pointed at the other. “Stop rising to the bait! How fucking old are you two anyway?!”

Eric grunted and crossed his arms.

Max gave them both the stink eye for a long moment before taking a deep breath and leaning back in his chair, folding his arms over his stomach.

“What was it this time?”

Both started yelling, trying to talk over each other and Max hammered on the desk again. “Shut the fuck up!” He roared. Fox made one last face at Eric and he sneered back; Max grabbed his pen and threw it, pinging it off of Eric’s forehead, making him yelp in surprise and Fox snort.

An actual growl rumbled in Eric’s chest and now it was Max’s turn to roll his eyes. ’Fuckin’ children,’ he muttered under his breath. Both combatants huffed in tandem and sagged back in their chairs, crossing their arms over their chests and looking away. Max prayed for strength.

“Okay, Fox… what happened this time?”

Eric opened his mouth to retort and Max stopped him with a glare of death. Only after he was sure Eric would stay quiet did he look back at Fox.

Fox glanced over at Eric before answering. “Lurch over there is just pissed because everyone knows he’s a big pussy now.”

The growl sounded again and Max raised an eyebrow. “And why would they think that?”

Fox shrugged, not quite able to hide the mischievous glint in her eyes. “Because he found a spider on his lunch tray and screamed like a girl.”

Max bit down hard on the impulse to laugh, about the only thing Eric was afraid of was spiders; he was usually able to hide it, but he must have been surprised this time.

“It was as big as a goddamn tarantula and you put it there!” Eric snarled back at Fox, who shrugged in faux-innocence.  

“Maybe it wouldn’t have been there if someone hadn’t duct-taped saran-wrap across my door-frame so I nearly broke my neck that morning trying to leave my damn apartment.”

A wolfish smile graced Eric’s face for a moment before he adopted a look of pure boredom. “Don’t know nothing about it, just like you don’t know anything about that pink dye that ended up in my hair gel!”

Fox whirled, eyes blazing, redhead temper fully stoked. “Just like you don’t know anything about how my favourite muscle shirt ended up with holes cut out over my tits!”

“That was you?” Max asked Eric, half-stunned and half-amused. That had been an epic day, he’d thought he was going to need to throw Fox in the Clink for a few hours to cool down. It matched his fear of the previous day, when Eric had been a tornado of rage in the Pit, his hair a strange, streaky peppermint colour. He’d raised hell in the barber shop for awhile and Max had wondered if he needed to send the hulking leader for a time-out.

Eric snickered and covered his mouth with his hand.

“You said you didn’t do it!” Fox screeched.

“I didn’t!” Eric bellowed back. “But it’s fuckin’ funny!”

“You did too!” Fox roared and, before Max could stop her, launched herself out of her chair towards Eric.

“Oh fuck-” Max groaned as their bodies connected in a hellish mix of growls and snarls. Eric hadn’t risen from his chair and they tipped over sideways, hitting the ground with a crash.

It didn’t happen often, but Eric was able to use Fox’s momentum against her and rolled with her, pinning her hard to the floor. She sounded like a creature from Hell as she struggled underneath Eric’s body, and Max could see that Eric was being forced to use his full weight to stop his fellow leader. Her hands clawed near Eric’s face and her spine arched as she squirmed underneath him.

“Enough!!” Max roared when it became obvious that Fox was in this for the long haul, and wasn’t about to calm down on her own anytime soon.

Fox stopped struggling and panted harshly, glaring daggers at both men.

“Are you going to play nice, little kitty?” Eric teased and Max sighed, that would only start Fox up again.

“Fuck you Eric!” She hissed, resuming her struggle. Eric threw back his head and laughed and Max shook his head, turned and reached behind him.

The jug of ice-cold water splashed over both struggling Dauntless and they gave near identical yells of shock, exploding backwards away from each other as if they were both ticking.

“Shut up, or so help me God I will send you both to the detention wing.”

Both soaked leaders grumbled under their breath, but the cold water had done it’s job and cooled their tempers. Without looking at each other they climbed back into their chairs and, much more compliant, crossed their arms and waited for Max to continue. Max snickered under his breath, they looked like petulant toddlers.

Max rested his hands on his desk and twined his hands together. “Okay, now that that bullshit is settled, I can tell you what I originally called you in for. I’m pulling you both from your regular duties and putting you on two-weeks paid leave, starting now.”

“What?” Eric barked.

“What for?” Fox demanded.

“Because you two act like a pair of goddamn children around each other! You are Dauntless leaders and you fight like cats and dogs! It’s a fucking embarrassment that I can’t put my two most capable leaders in the same room together without it turning into some ‘Lord of the Flies’ bullshit!”

“You’re Piggy,” Fox muttered, side-eyeing Eric.

“Shut up.” Eric grumbled back. “I am not.”

“Both of you shut up.” Max snapped and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. Raising his head he sighed and continued. “I’m sending you out to The Hole.”

Fox eyes widened in shock, “Max no!”

“What the hell is The Hole?” Eric demanded.

Max gestured for Fox to field this one. She sighed and turned to look at Eric. “You would know it better as Amity Mediation Cottage # 4.”

Eric stared dumbly at Fox for a heartbeat before turning back to Max. The Hole, or Amity Mediation Cottage #4 was a secluded cabin out at the edge of Amity land. Rustic and isolated, it was where Faction leaders were sent to hash out tough inter-faction deals without distraction, or, as a punishment to force peace upon warring faction members. Eric had heard of it, by it’s official name, but Fox was born in Amity and knew the slang term. Max had threatened to send Eric there before, but had never followed through on it until now. “No fucking way.”

Max nodded and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “You don’t go and I put you on a month’s unpaid leave instead.”

For once, Eric and Fox were united in a common goal. They both started yelling at Max variations of the same ‘fuck no I’m not going’ theme, interspersed with liberal 'fuck yous’  and the odd ‘go to hell Max!’. Max waited with the patience born of experience as leader of the most wild and uncontrollable faction until they had tired themselves out and fell back in their chairs with near identical scowls.

“Yes you are, and you’re leaving tomorrow morning; so go home and get packed.”

Fox opened her mouth for another retort and Max cut her off with a death glare, another thing born of experience wrangling Dauntless savages. She fell silent with a grumble and Max made an irritable shooing motion.

“Get out of here, don’t come back until you can get along.”

Cutting savage glares at each other Eric and Fox stood, and after a few seconds of irritated gesturing for the other to go first Fox finally sighed and stormed ahead. She threw over her shoulder as she left, “I’m driving myself, get your own truck Coulter.”

“Oh no!” Max barked. “I’ve authorized one personnel truck only, you have to get out there together!”

Fox’s look of anger was beaten only by Eric’s look of horror but they both knew better than to argue anymore. Max had made up his mind this time. Grumbling under their collective breath they stormed out of his office and in opposite directions, leaving chaos in their wake like miniature tornadoes.

Zeke wandered out of another office and leaned against Max’s doorway. “Think it’ll work?”

“They’ll either come back dead or engaged.” Max replied dryly. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fox grumbled under her breath as she shuffled into the garage. She considered taking her sunglasses off then stopped, shaking her head slowly to not disrupt the rusty machinery screaming in her brain. In order to stomach today and the next two weeks Fox had gone out last night with her friends, then staggered home off-her-ass drunk sometime later. If she hadn’t made her friend Mali promise to wake her this morning she would still be passed out in her bed, drooling into her pillow. As it was Fox was hungover and feeling meaner than a striped snake. A quick, wary glance around revealed the garage to be empty and Fox sighed in relief; she wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, let along Eric Coulter right now.

She made her way towards the assigned personnel truck, lucky number 13, weaving only slightly, and had almost reached it when a dark chuckle sounded from the shadows to her right.

“You’re hungover.”

“How perceptive of you,” Fox grumbled, muttering ‘shit, shit, shit! in her head. Goddammit, of course Eric would be here already, lurking around to ambush her. He swaggered out of the shadows, fresh as a motherfucking daisy and grinned widely at Fox. Irritably she straightened, schooling her features into an impassive mask. He leaned forward and stared at her for a long moment, then reached up to pull off her sunglasses. Fox slapped angrily at his hand, knocking it away and sending the rusty gears in her head into a fresh round of screeching. Something flickered through Eric’s eyes but Fox was too hungover to decipher it before his face smoothed back out to it’s usual flat expression.

“Little touchy this morning, princess?”

“Fuck off Coulter.”

To Fox’s surprise, he didn’t have a witty retort and instead turned away, striding back to where he’d been hiding. Grabbing his duffel he walked over to the truck and, opening the passenger side, threw the bag in the back seat; he turned back towards Fox and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, get in doll.”

“You’re not driving.” Fox growled, more to argue than anything else.

“You certainly can’t right now.”

He was right, and it pained Fox to admit it, but that didn’t mean she had to go easily. “Fuckin’ Nose,” she muttered, turning and walking purposefully to the back of the truck. She’d just dropped the tailgate when Eric reached her side.

“What are you doing?” He demanded.

“I’m not riding in the front with you, I’ll stay back here.”

Eric stared incredulously at her for a moment. It was at least an hour’s drive to the cabin, and not all that warm outside. “C’mon, Fox-”

“Just drive Eric, the last thing I can stomach this morning is riding in close quarters with you.” Fox winced internally, that was rude, even from her. She threw her duffel in the back harder than she meant to and clamoured up, feeling Eric’s hand briefly touch her elbow to help. Plopping down on the truck box bed Fox kicked moodily at the large footlockers taking up most of the space in the back, full of food for their stay. She eyed Eric a moment before making the same irritated shooing motion Max had done yesterday. Eric stared at her for another second then sighed, slamming the tailgate closed and walking to the front. He paused as he passed Fox and she held her breath, wondering if he was going to say something, but he didn’t and kept walking. He slammed the truck door shut. The water in the large jugs stacked against the rear of the cab jiggled. The well water at the cabin was fine for showering, bathing and boiling, but they had to bring in drinking water.

The rear window rolled down and Fox could see Eric looking over his shoulder at her. “Fox, quit it. Come up here.”

“Just drive Coulter, the faster we get there, the faster we can leave.”

“Do you want a blanket at least?”

Fox didn’t answer, just leaned into the window and grabbed her own, pulling it back out through the window.

“Fine!” Eric suddenly snapped. The window began to roll up again. “BITCH!” He roared just before it closed.

Fox rolled her eyes behind her shades and leaned her back against the side. Bending her legs she rested her forearms on her knees and dropped her head back. The truck started and jolted hard forwards and Fox restrained herself from reacting, kept her head tipped back and her eyes closed.

It was cold out, and although Fox started to regret insisting she ride back here, she’d rather rip her tongue out by the roots than ask Eric to stop so she could climb in beside him. Besides, Eric may have started the morning in good humour, but Fox’s attitude had soured his and Fox would swear he was going out of his way to hit every goddamn bump on the road. Finally, Fox just pulled her duffel closer and lay down, using the bag as a pillow.

Eric glanced in the rear-view mirror. He’d been keeping an eye on Fox the entire time, and dammit, he’d stop the truck and drag her in the cab kicking and screaming if she got any bluer. He jumped slightly when he couldn’t see her back there anymore and his eyes dropped to the road behind them, had she fallen out? Fuck, she deserved it if she did, being such a bitch this morning, but Eric didn’t fancy the dressing down Max would give him for it. He lifted his head and managed to catch sight of a boot, okay, she’d just lain down in the box, not fallen out. Goddammit, was he that bad to be around? Did she have to be so fucking irritating? Fox was the only person that riled Eric up like this, and the compulsion to throttle her was an itch Eric was dying to scratch.

“Whatever, get this over with.” Eric fixed his attention to the road, they should be able to avoid each other out at this cabin, and when they got back to Dauntless they’d just keep fighting and pushing each other’s buttons, Max was just going to have to get used to it.

Finally, the rustic cottage came into view, surrounded by tall, towering trees. It seemed plain enough, nothing special or particularly memorable about it. There was a wide verandah across the front, with a pair of rocking chairs and a stack of firewood piled against the side, but other than that, it was pretty sparse, no lawn bowling competitions or horseshoe games anyway.

Eric heard thumping and scrabbling in the back then a muffled thud as Fox jumped out, landing easily in her combat boots. Slinging her duffel over her shoulder she marched past the cab and towards the cottage. Eric watched her for a moment before taking a deep breath and exiting the cab. He pulled his phone out and tapped the screen.

“You better not use that very much.” Fox called over from the deck, she’d already found the rocking chairs and was testing one out.

“Why not?” Eric snapped.

Fox gestured exaggeratedly around. “Do you see us connected to the Grid? There’s no electricity out here, no power. There isn’t even running water! This is an Amity cabin, not an Erudite Suite! How’re you going to charge said phone, oh great and wise leader?”

Fuck, it was going to be a long two weeks.