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amoebaforce · 1 year

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Cat/Mouse

Part 2 of 4 (Part 1) (Part 3)

After a string of bold thefts rocks the Edenite art scene, veteran hunter Nadine picks up the bounty of a lifetime. Fifty thousand credits, just to capture the elusive thief and bring her in alive. It should be an easy job... but one look at her mark tells Nadine she might have bitten off more than she can chew. On a space station full of secret dealings, dirty money, and luxurious lies, it seems even the simplest contracts are prone to complication. tags: questionable morality, some in-universe prejudice, brief description of bodily harm

In a cheap motel room, Nadine snarled at her error-ridden computer screen. Her aggravated growl pierced the early morning as she slumped back onto the stiff mattress. The hunter was on her fifth hour of decryption, and things weren’t going well. The files she’d copied from Ulu’zah’s data-chip were locked behind an asymmetric algorithm — an elliptic curve, no less — and Nadine’s little ten-year-old processor was having a hell of a time solving for the key. Without it, she couldn’t open a single file out of the hundreds she’d copied. In fact, the only thing unencrypted about this data was the name of the folder it came in:

twig_root

Nadine stared at that title for a long time, trying to decide what it meant. Even now, as she stared at a blank white ceiling instead, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was probably just a generated placeholder… But then again, it could be a covert naming system, or a cryptic clue about the folder’s contents. Maybe the piece to be forged was tree-themed. Maybe it was another code, a silly phrase no one would understand except–

Ulu’zah.

The name echoed in Nadine’s ears. Memories thrummed and danced across her mind, all hazy and soft and purple. She dragged a hand down her face, but she couldn’t ignore the way her guts knotted at the thought. Even hours later, Nadine couldn’t explain why she’d acted like that. Kissing that thief was bad enough, but returning the chip? Issuing a poorly veiled challenge to her bosses and then letting her go?

Inexplicable.

She’d done plenty of stupid things in her time, but this definitely took the cake. And to make things worse, she was already losing the race. Nadine hadn’t even started to sift through these damn files, while Ulu’zah was probably close to the end. With that kind of head start, she was already well on her way to snatching another priceless artifact and disappearing into the ether.

Nadine couldn’t let that happen. She snatched her data-cuff from the nightstand and made a call. The line buzzed twice, then clicked as if answered, but no one spoke. Nadine rolled her eyes. Of course.

“Xerxes,” she said sharply. “I need to call in a favor.”

A beat of silence. Then, a low chuckle rattled through the speaker.

“Obviously,” a deep voice drawled. “Why else would you call at such a scandalous hour? Certainly not to ask what I’m wearing.”

“Oh, can it, would ya? I’m in deep shit.”

“Mm. That Diralith girl gave you the runaround, didn’t she?”

Nadine could practically hear the smug look on the bounty broker’s face. It wormed through his honey-sweet tone and right under Nadine’s skin. Xerxes always had a way of bristling her. Even the first time they met, his overblown confidence and cologne-clouded office gave Nadine a migraine. Fifteen years later, the smell of vetiver still made her woozy.

“No,” Nadine snapped. “Just– Just help me decrypt this damn data packet, would you?”

“Oh-ho,” Xerxes replied mockingly. “I should have known. Nothing but a technological conundrum could sink you so low as to call upon me for aid.”

“Shut up and help!”

With a few button-mashes, Nadine linked her cuff to her computer and gave Xerxes admin access. He could see her screen through his own now, and his giggles were muffled as he scrolled through her lines of code.

“Where did you get this thing?” he asked.

“From the thief.”

A moment of surprised silence.

“Is she in custody? I don’t recall getting a–”

“She slipped away,” Nadine interrupted. “Long story. Doesn’t matter. The point is, whatever’s in this packet is gonna help me net her. Maybe even the whole crew.”

She bit her lip. That wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth, either. And it certainly didn’t explain how she got her hands on this chip. Nadine prayed he wouldn’t press her for details; she wasn’t willing to part with the real ones. Fortunately, her moment of worry was broken by another quiet laugh.

“My, you sound so sure,” Xerxes replied, tone dangerously saccharine. He paused his scrolling, then deleted a few numbers and went back to skimming.

“I am sure,” Nadine insisted.

“Whatever you say, hot-shot. It’s all the same to me, so long as the credits transfer at the end of the day. Tell me, what do you know about Diralith culture?”

The hunter’s brow furrowed. “Oh, now it’s a pop quiz?”

“Humor me, won’t you? I am doing you a favor, after all.”

As if to prove his point, Xerxes zeroed in on another error in her coding. Nadine sighed heavily.

“Fine,” she relented. “Diralith are… creative. At least, all of the Diralith I’ve ever met. Singers, dancers, artists… even a contortionist, if you’d believe that.”

“I do.” Xerxes rewrote a command before he continued. “Would you say Ulu’zah fits within that generalization?”

You don’t wanna know, Nadine wanted to say, but there was no way he’d let that one fly.

“Yeah,” she told him instead. “I guess so. I mean, even if she’s only copying another artist’s work, her forgeries are convincing enough to pass visual inspections. That takes some skill.”

“True,” Xerxes said thoughtfully. “Are you aware of the planet Dira’s status with the Federation?”

“They’re allied, but not members. Something about their government being too unstructured to join.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes. In more precise terms, Dira is too egalitarian to meet the entrance standards. The Diralith uphold no hierarchies, subscribe to no doctrine but equity. Hell, they don’t even have a standard currency. They prefer to trade in goods or services. Kind of admirable, really — but completely incompatible with the Feds. And not just financially or politically, but philosophically, too.”

“Can you please get to the point?” Nadine said, patience wearing thin.

“My point is,” Xerxes emphasized, “no born-and-bred Diralith would leave that little utopia without a damn good reason. There’s a saying I learned in the Security Force. ‘An off-world Diralith is one of three things: a celebrity, an exile, or a criminal.’”

Nadine felt her mouth twitch into a frown. This was another of her gripes with Xerxes: his tendency to paint the universe in broad, careless strokes. He liked to think himself a great judge of character, but in truth, he was nothing of the sort. Xerxes’ tenure as a cop had merely fossilized his worldview into a rigid set of boxes, and he had accepted them as truth. He took great pains to sort people — cataloging, categorizing, and organizing them like trinkets — and his solution for ill-fitting confines was always to add another box. Never to knock down the walls.

“How do you know she’s born-and-bred?” Nadine countered. “Maybe she was born on a station, like I was.”

“Her name is Ulu’zah,” Xerxes argued. “That’s about as traditional as a Diralith name gets. It’s almost laughably old-fashioned — like naming a Terran baby ‘Maria’ or ‘John.’ Her parents were probably homeworld conservatives.”

“Okay, now you’re just making stuff up,” Nadine said flatly. “Ulu’zah might not even be her real name.”

He sighed. “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll just have to find out after you reel her in.”

Nadine felt her face twist. Xerxes’ words settled like stones in her gut. Reel her in, like a fish on a hook. Baited. Doomed.

Was that really what she was doing?

Sure, Nadine had pulled her fair share of dirty tricks to catch a criminal — bribing underpaid staff, hacking security cameras, impersonating a mark’s clientele — but none of them had ever felt so heavy. So wrong. Why did it bother her so much, this game she had initiated? Ulu’zah was a thief, but one of scores Nadine had hunted through her career. She wasn’t even the first art thief. Absolutely nothing about this job was unique.

Nothing but her.

Nadine shivered. Shook the thought from her mind.

“Alrighty,” Xerxes chirped. “Should be fixed now.”

Nadine’s eyes sliced to the screen, where her boss was typing the final characters of an execution command. She held her breath, but miraculously, the code began to run, complete with a newly added progress bar.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Xerxes said, sounding sickeningly proud of himself. “Not an error message in sight.”

“Yes, yes, real impressive,” Nadine sighed. “Thanks a bunch. Now get lost.”

The broker uttered an exaggerating gasp.

“All that hard work to open these files, and you think I’m going to leave before I get to see what’s in them? Not on your life, Nadine.”

She gave a weary groan, weighing her options. She could hang up on him and revoke his admin privileges, but knowing Xerxes, he’d just call back until she gave in and answered. Or worse: hack his way straight back in. And it would be such a hassle to update her firewalls. Nadine pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“Whatever,” she told him. “Just don’t start back-seat driving, okay?”

“I would never.”

Nadine fought the urge to scoff. The program ran and ran, until the bar was full and a wholly decrypted spread of files unfolded before her eyes. Not that the process actually helped much — every thumbnail image was blank, each title a random collection of numbers and letters. No two files seemed to be the same size, and there was no rhyme or reason to their organization. There were photos, videos, text files, digital information in formats Nadine had never even heard of, all strewn together as if they’d been selected at random.

Another snarl fell from Nadine’s lips. She’d just have to open them all individually.

“How exciting,” Xerxes remarked. “I do love a good scavenger hunt.”

And so it went. Nadine combed through a desert of data, sorting by type before scouring each pile systematically. Nearly half the files were entirely, utterly random: furniture instruction manuals, scanned storybook illustrations, dozens of travel brochures, pictures of strange landscapes and monuments, and years-old news articles that seemed to be about everything except crime. Another large chunk was simply empty — blank text documents, mostly, with the occasional image of a blank void.

She pressed on, sequestering every nonsensical clump of ones and zeroes she found, until the simulated sun dawned over Eden and washed the sterile white walls with gold and pink. Then, on the three hundred sixty-first file, Nadine stumbled upon her smoking gun.

Upon first glance, it was just another “vacation” style photo. A pristine courtyard made of metal, surrounded by sleek white structures. A tall, multi-tiered fountain stood in center frame, while the edges of the shot were full of plants and bustling people. Entirely normal. But as she made to file it away, two separate realizations sent alarm bells ringing in Nadine’s sleep-deprived mind.

First: she recognized the destination in the photo. She’d walked past that fountain every day in university; she’d know it anywhere. This was Honore Square, in the center of Eden’s East Lawn. The arts district.

Second: for the first time in any photo she’d scrolled through, there was someone looking at the camera.

The figure was small and slightly out of focus, but there it was, right beside the base of the water feature. A Terran male clad in black, identity obscured by a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses. A half-moon smile peaked over his tall collar. His left hand was shoved into a pocket, but his right hovered in the air beside him, flashing a two-fingered peace sign right into the lens.

“Holy shit,” Nadine whispered.

“What?” Xerxes asked suddenly. Nadine’s heart skipped a beat — the broker had been silent for so long, she’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Look,” she told him, fingers fumbling to zoom in. “This picture was taken on Eden! And wouldn’t you say that’s a weird outfit for sight-seeing?”

Xerxes hummed as he studied the male. “Unless he is allergic to the sun… I suppose it is, yes.”

“This has to mean something.”

“Perhaps. But what?”

“Maybe it’s another drop,” Nadine guessed. She swallowed hard. “Or a meeting.”

“Hm… Arranging a drop via touristic photography… It’s plausible, I admit. Though it doesn’t account for the peace sign. Unless he wants her to come unarmed.”

Xerxes giggled at his own quip, but Nadine’s mind was racing too fast to appreciate the humor.

“It’s the time,” she concluded aloud. “Two — probably two in the morning. That’s the only thing that makes sense. He’s giving her a time and place.”

“It’s past five now,” Xerxes said. “We’ve missed it.”

Nadine shook her head, as if he could see it.

“He means tomorrow. It was just after one in the morning when I copied this packet from the chip. There’s no way Ulu could have seen this message and made it to the fountain in less than an hour.”

Xerxes paused. “…Ulu?”

Fuck!

Nadine cringed at herself, covering her screwed-up eyes with one palm. “It’s how she introduced herself,” she admitted, having nothing better-sounding to say.

Xerxes laughed hard enough to clip the audio on their voice call.

“Oh, shit,” he wheezed through his glee. “Say no more. Save it all for the in-person report I’m gonna make you give me.”

Nadine swore under her breath, suddenly regretting her “long story” comment from earlier. But this was a bridge for later crossing — right now, she had to focus on these damned files.

Ignoring the snickering male, Nadine copied the photo to her hard drive and kept looking. Five more documents joined it in quick succession, and after another long hour of study and tense conversation, Nadine had everything she needed.

“Well, Xerxes,” she said firmly, “it’s been real. I owe you one.”

“I look forward to calling that in,” Xerxes chuckled back. “You’d better get some sleep, though. You’ve an appointment to keep.”

Long after the death of the day, Nadine slipped into a narrow maintenance corridor and come to rest in a deep column of shadow. Honore Square stretched out before her, vast and eerily still, save for the bubble of the fountain and the gentle sway of leaves. She didn’t see a single soul on the way here. The East Lawn’s art galleries and theaters were long since shut, and the sky overhead was too ominous to invite late-night walks. Viscous gray clouds swirled as if stirred in a cauldron, perfuming the air with the thick scent of incoming rain.

It was almost too quiet. A breeze rose goosebumps on Nadine’s neck as she pulled her jacket tighter.

The calm before the storm, she thought dryly.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock proclaimed the three-quarter hour, its resonant toll rolling softly across the plaza. Nadine’s skin pebbled with anticipation. Fifteen more minutes, and she’d find out if her meeting theory was correct. What if she was wrong? What if she misinterpreted those files? Focused on the wrong details?

Nadine pushed her thoughts away like buzzing gnats.

Concentrate!

She inhaled. Exhaled. Tucked herself against the wall, letting darkness cocoon her from view. A few long minutes passed. Then, the sound of far-off footsteps rang out through the night, shattering the moment like a mirror.

Nadine froze. Small feet. Stiletto heels. Coming closer, closer, until a sudden movement drew the hunter’s eye to the other side of the square. A pair of golden pumps strode out of the gloom, followed by a pair of lilac legs and a tight ivory dress. Ulu’zah’s face was last to catch the low white light of the street lamp. When it did, she took a long glance up and down the courtyard, and her lips glistened dragonfruit-pink.

Ten minutes early, Nadine noted. Casing the place?

Ulu’zah stalked toward the fountain with determined grace. Unlike before, she carried a bag — a cloth tote slung over her shoulder, full and heavy-looking. A spike of panic prickled up Nadine’s spine. That couldn’t be the forgery, could it? It had only been a day — even the highest-end matter replicators couldn’t work that fast. Not on something like this…

The thief took a seat at the base of the fountain and plunged her hands into her bag. Nadine inched forward, slow as a snail, angling her head to get a better look. Instead of a priceless-looking artifact, though, Ulu’zah produced a thick spiral-bound notebook and a thin rectangular box. She flipped to a middle page and set it on her lap, then snapped open the case. Inside were… pens? Pencils? Something like that. There must have been dozens, all arranged by color from light to dark.

Nadine’s fear morphed to curiosity. She watched, hardly blinking, as Ulu’zah plucked out a deep gray and began to etch a few languid lines into the page on her lap. From this distance, in this darkness, it was impossible for Nadine to see her work — but she didn’t have to. The sound of graphite on paper scratched its way to the hunter’s ears, and she knew. Ulu’zah was composing a sketch.

Maybe the sketch.

Ulu’zah was still drawing when the clock tolled two, and the first clang seemed to jolt her from a trance. She slammed her notebook closed and shoved her pencil back in its box. Her head swiveled, casting her gaze toward the back corner of the square. Nadine followed suit. At first, there was nothing. A sea of black. Then, at the edge of the light, a dark-clothed Terran male materialized like a specter.

It was the same person from the photo. Same hat, same coat, even the same glasses, despite the hour. Nadine’s hairs rose on end. Though he wasn’t there for her, she couldn’t help but dread the sight of him. And it wasn’t just his looks, but his calculated moves. The way he prowled to the fountain, tight and panther-like. The way he circled Ulu’zah once, twice, before settling into place before her. All of it was unsettling. Under the weight of his gaze, the thief stiffened.

The male spoke first. No words reached Nadine’s ears, but she could see his thin lips part. Ulu’zah replied with a furrowed brow, then crossed her arms when he shook his head. The thief snapped. She launched into a rant, and the back-and-forth barbs grew louder and louder, until the gargle of noise sharpened into syllables and words.

“–ridiculous!” Ulu’zah hissed.

“Pipe down,” the male commanded, jutting a thick finger at the space between her eyes.

Nadine bristled. Who the fuck did he think he was, talking to her like that? He certainly wasn’t in charge — unless Ulu’zah’s big scary boss did his own errands. Nadine doubted it. No, this sorry punk was a lackey, through and through. He just liked pushing females around when no one was looking.

But someone was looking. The hunter bared her teeth at the male. Committed his side profile to memory.

His conversation with the thief continued, quieter and tauter than before. Another angry finger point, and Ulu’zah stood, fisting the handles of her bag as if it were a weapon. Maybe with all her art supplies inside, it was — like a brick in a sock.

“Get a grip,” Ulu’zah told him, loud and clear.

It was the same stern tone she’d used on that oaf at the club. All rejection and disgust. She turned to leave, but the male grabbed her by the wrist and tugged. Ulu’zah let out a quiet yelp as her body wrenched backward. Her hand flexed open on instinct, and her bag tumbled from her grip, vomiting its contents across the ground with a loud clatter.

Anger seared through Nadine’s veins. Her every muscle coiled with baleful ferocity. Plan be damned; she wasn’t about to sit there and watch this happen. But before she could leave her hiding place, Nadine watched Ulu’zah’s face twist into something sharper, and the hunter stopped dead in her tracks. Eyes thrown wide, lips curled to snarl, nostrils flaring. Not the passive acceptance of a condemned lamb, but the wild rage of a cornered wolf.

In one quick motion, Ulu’zah clamped her free hand around the male’s thumb and wrenched it backward, breaking his grip with an audible crack. Nadine winced. He barked with pain and anger alike, curses bouncing through the square.

“You bitch!” he seethed, hand cradled to his chest.

“I told you I would,” Ulu’zah spat back.

“Rock’s gonna tan your hide for this!”

Ulu’zah offered a condescending coo. “Aw, gonna run home to Daddy? Gonna tell him I was mean to you? Get real!”

The male gave an indignant snort. He muttered a threat under his breath, too low for Nadine to hear, and turned. His gaze dropped, teeth grinding, to the sketchbook by his feet. The females might as well have read his mind.

Ulu’zah sucked in a hissing breath. “Web, I swear to–”

But her oath was cut short by the crunch of plastic under rubber. The male called Web cracked the cover with his heel, then kicked it away. Papers flew like confetti from the broken spine. Ulu’zah cried out, lifting her palms to the sky.

“One week,” Web said over his shoulder. “That’s final.”

He stormed away, disappearing into the night. Quiet fell once more. For a long moment, all was still, as if the whole universe was holding its breath. Then, Ulu’zah’s shoulders began to quiver. She swayed. Fell to her knees. Small, half-swallowed sobs trickled like water into Nadine’s ears. The hunter’s heart clenched in her chest. As if released from a spell, her motionless body shivered back to life. Nadine stepped out of the alley, divorcing herself from the shadows.

Her feather-soft footfall made Ulu’zah start, head snapping upward. When their eyes met, a thousand emotions danced across the Diralith’s face. Surprise, confusion, realization. Then fear, then anger. The impulse to run. Nadine held up her hands and turned them wordlessly, showing Ulu’zah their emptiness. Above them, a bolt of lightning raced cloud-to-cloud, and under its flash, Ulu’zah’s tears glistened like mercury.

“I should have known,” Ulu’zah said finally. “You were never gonna let it go.”

Nadine tucked her chin, looking at the pages scattered around her feet. Stunningly realistic sketches, the lot. Faces, flowers, buildings, household objects, anatomy studies, color experiments. All composed of thin, elegant lines, shaded with precise crosshatches. It was the kind of work Nadine had seen in frames, selling for thousands of credits. Millions.

“Sorry, baby,” Nadine replied.

They were the truest words she’d said in days. Ulu’zah wiped her face and sat back on her heels, looking even smaller than usual.

“If it makes you feel better,” Nadine offered, “you definitely broke that fella’s thumb.”

Ulu’zah emitted a shocked laugh, but her brows knitted. “Yeah, well… He’s had it coming for a while.”

“I can tell.” Thunder rumbled through the sky. “What d’ya owe them?”

After a few offended blinks, the thief huffed and crossed her arms. “How did you know?” she demanded.

Nadine shrugged. “Young lady like you — beautiful, talented, full of potential — sticking your neck out, doing business with shady scumbags… Call it an educated guess.”

“Point taken,” Ulu’zah huffed. “But why do you care?”

“I just think it’s a shame.”

“I don’t care what you think.”

“That’s fine. You don’t gotta. But when shit hits the fan, and your luck runs out on the job, it’s not gonna be your boss who takes the fall. And someone like you wouldn’t do well in Federation prison.”

“Stop it,” Ulu’zah said. “Stop acting like you know me. You might’ve read a file, looked at some pictures, but you don’t know the first thing about where I come from, what I’ve done.”

“I know that you don’t deserve this,” Nadine countered, gesturing to the carnage around them. She snatched a random page off the ground. “To be belittled and disrespected. Your work exploited.”

“And what would you have me do? Hm? Tell him the deal’s off, after he just moved up the deadline? I only have a week. I’m supposed to have two!”

Her voice cracked, and tears welled fresh in her eyes. Nadine felt something deep in her soul twinge. Another crash of lightning and swell of thunder, and the simulated clouds opened up. The scattered pages began to speckle with drops of rain.

“Shit!” Ulu’zah swore, scrambling to save her work.

Nadine sprang into action. She snagged the broken bindings and gathered handfuls of paper, then joined Ulu’zah and sprinted under a nearby awning as the sprinkle turned to a downpour. They exchanged a glance, then another. Ulu’zah cleared her throat, eyeing the slightly haphazard stack in Nadine’s calloused fingers.

“I need that back,” she said pointedly.

Nadine offered it up. “Let me help you.”

“Help me?” Ulu’zah scoffed, still stuffing everything back in her bag. “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t you want to leave?”

“You don’t get it. It doesn’t matter what I want. These are scary, fucked-up people, Nadine.”

The sound of her own name felt like a splash of cold water. “What would it take?” she pressed, taking a step closer. “How much? Humor me, Ulu.”

Ulu’zah’s mouth twitched into a grimace. She scanned Nadine’s face a half-dozen times.

“I’m half a million deep,” she confessed quickly. “And even if you could pay it, he’d probably kill you before he let me go.”

Nadine’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Half a million? What the hell kind of trouble had this Diralith gotten herself into? And more importantly, who the hell was rich enough to lend her that kind of money? As Nadine’s mind raced, Ulu’zah finished packing her things.

“I have to go,” the thief muttered, eyes to the floor.

She took a slinking step back, but Nadine reached out for her to wait.

“Just think about it, okay?” the hunter begged.

Ulu’zah bit her lip. Turned on her heel. “No promises,” she whispered.

Then, she vanished around the corner, footsteps dissolving into the sound of the driving rain. Once more, Nadine was abandoned to the wee hours of morning. The hunter sighed long and slow. A dull impulse carried her forward, out from the refuge of the eves and into the storm. She lifted her head to the sky, eyes closed, accepting each cool, heavy raindrop that broke across her face. It was foolish to hope the water would cleanse her, as if it might seep into her very soul and scrub away the ache that lingered in its fibers. But still, Nadine hoped.

#alien lover #exophilia #monster girlfriend #alien girlfriend #terato #monster fucker #monster lover #crime story #art thief #bounty hunter #sci fi bounty hunter #my writing #cat/mouse #science fiction #sci fi #sfw monster #alien oc #alien girl

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silenthillmutual · 1 year

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For Frost: stillness, arms, & texture

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

Frost can stand eerily still... but they don't like to. They only will if really freaked out - probably the first time they saw an inhuman beast - or stressed. Which I guess sort of go hand-in-hand! They tend to purposefully rock from side to side as a self-soothing technique (I started writing a bit of them doing this earlier today, actually!) when seated. They'll also close up on themself to try and feel the same sort of pressure we would experience with a weighted blanket.

They also have body-focused repetitive behaviors: running their hands through their hair and picking at their skin and nails and chewing on the skin around their nails. So they appreciate that most of the hunter outfits they find include gloves, making this a lot easier to avoid (though it doesn't stop them from tugging at their ponytail...).

While still - really, truly still - they are a suit of armor. They feel inflexible, everything locked in place. While at rest, he slouches, and leans, and hums to himself. But he never really gets much rest, and doesn't tend to let his guard down.

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

He likes Ludwig's Holy Blade, he was trained in using a sword but prefers not to wield any weapon that draws questions about where he came from. Although later on he does like using Logarius' Wheel, as it feels like a perverse choice for him. That, and it's just kind of a fun weapon to have around. When not fighting the Holy Blade goes on his back, but the Wheel he just sets down and leans on.

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

He likes smooth fabrics the best. Anything rough or patterned just feels bad to him. I imagine some amount of fancy nonsense on the clothes he arrives to Yharnam in, but he's torn off some of the lace to it because he couldn't stand the feeling of it against his skin. He really enjoyed the capelet, but had to give up the outfit entirely so as not to be easily picked out of a crowd. He's fine with the coat, though he wishes it were heavier. He'd really benefit from a weighted blanket. The anonymity of the mask also starts to grow on him, though it unfortunately tends to fog up his glasses.

#harker answers #ic's ocs #thank you :]#go-go-devil #oc: detlef (frost)

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prey-4-me · 2 years

Text

Strange Preferences - Pt VIII

Prey Predator x fem!reader, smut included

Tenahpu and you prepare for a hunt

Amishta - name, meaning fearless, limitless

Tenahpu - Comanche/nʉmʉ tekwapʉ word for man

Kiande Amedha - Yautja word for xenomorphs (hard meat)

A/N - this chapter is (!)NSFW(!). If you prefer to skip it, there will be a summary of this chapter included with the next part.

***

He watched over Amishta as she bathed in the stream at the back of the house. Their indoor plumbing vexed her, so she preferred to clean herself how she was used to. Initially worried the current would be too strong for her, he hand hovered. She had driven him away by throwing a few well aimed rocks.

So he leaned against a tree a bit down the path, Amishta still in full view. Sarii begged for some of the dried meat he was eating. Furtively, he passed her a big piece to go chew on. Amishta sang softly to herself. She probably thought the sound of the water would drown it out, but his kind had excellent hearing compared to humans. Her voice was pleasant, though the song sounded sad. Like a dirge.

***

You finished drying off and looked down the path. Tenahpu stood watch. You wished you could convey you were a strong swimmer. Besides, this stream was very gentle. He was overreacting. Sarii ran past with a piece of food in her mouth. You smiled. He always thought he was sneaking.

Skin cool from the water, you sat on a rock in the sun to warm up before you redressed. You laid back, closing your eyes and putting your forearm over your eyes to block the strange suns. After a few quiet moments, you heard inquisitive clicking. “Come out from your hiding spot,” you cracked open your eyes and moved your arm. Tenahpu’s head popped out of the foliage. He chirruped at you.

Ever since he had learned he had killed Taabe, he had done everything possible to win your forgiveness and favor. It was hard to believe that his gentleness was counterbalanced by such violent tendencies. You didn’t want to be, but you were of two minds. An inner voice constantly screamed at you to avenge your brother’s murder. But something you had buried deep was saying… You bit your lip until it was painful. No, you would not entertain that. There was only one path forward.

Tenahpu clicked at you, pleased. He sat down next to you. Growling softly, he started to tell you something. You laid back again, and focused on his vocalizations, trying to recognize something more than your name. He clicked and rumbled, gesturing.

Suddenly you sat up, heart pounding. “Did you just say something about traveling?” You thought you heard the click and growl you interpreted as “go.”

Tenahpu turned towards you. He repeated himself. You narrowed your eyes, trying to understand. Finally, he rumbled hoarsely, “We go… hunt.”

***

Tenahpu hoped his lessons were paying off. He knew he was testing Grandmother’s patience with it, but he persisted. He had to learn enough to have a basic grasp of her language.

Her mouth opened and shut silently. Then she managed, “Hunt what?”

“Kiande Amedha,” he enunciated his clicks for her.

She tilted her head, confused. “Very much hunter,” he tried. “Great beast.”

She processed. Finally she questioned softly, “The People?”

“No,” he rumbled emphatically. He would never hunt her kind again. “Far lannnd,” he gestured.

She tilted her head. “Great beast?”

He nodded, pleased with the conversation. He had no way to explain that he was hoping to be Blooded during this hunt. The escapade on her home world had been in preparation for this. He clicked thoughtfully.

He had been reckless, blood thirsty even. Maybe if he hadn’t been so hyped up he would’ve realized she and her party clearly had to know each other, maybe even be close blood. In the moment he had only been focused on training for this future hunt. Amishta said something. He looked at her, chirping. She repeated herself, “Sarii go hunt?”

“Your…. Choose.” He hoped the grammar made sense. She nodded. He relaxed. That had gone surprisingly well. He clicked his mandibles together happily.

***

Tenahpu seemed up beat. He stuck his feet in the water, lightly kicking them. He seemed very human in the current moment. Your fondness for him reared its head. You leaned your naked body against his arm. Resting your head on his shoulder, you sighed. You felt Tenahpu turn his head slightly to look at you.

You ignored him, opting to close your eyes instead. He rumbled at you softly. You had grown to enjoy the comforting sound. Sarii ran past behind you, entertaining herself. You opened your eyes to watch her play in the grey sand. The stream flowed past gently. You watched it for a quiet moment, content to lean against Tenahpu.

Silently, you wrapped your arms around his upper arm. Tenahpu clicked very softly, maybe a whisper in his language. He ran his large hand over and down the side of your head. With a finger, he lightly traced your cheekbone, then let it fall away. Clicking again, he very gently leaned back into you.

Was it going to happen again? You felt like you were walking on the edge of a knife. You thought about it. You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t, but you couldn’t help yourself.

His large hand appeared again, this time to grab one of yours. He held it, brushing his thumb against the palm of your hand. A strange bird called. The suns seemed stalled in the noontime sky. The forest was oddly still. Everything felt slow, dreamlike.

Tenahpu pulled you into his lap. He held you very loosely so that you could leave with little effort. You sat there. Running a hand through his thick hair, you found the texture slightly rough, just like his skin. You leaned into him, pressing the side of your face into where his cheek would be. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled your head back. The two of you waited for the other to make a move, looking into each other’s eyes.

Sarii barked, breaking the spell. You scrambled out of Tenahpu’s lap. Grabbing your clothing, you dressed quickly. When you were put back together, you turned towards Tenahpu. He had been watching you. He stood and nodded towards the lodge. “Let’s go,” you called Sarii and the three of you made your way back.

***

You curled up, turning in for the night. Tenahpu was already asleep, snoring and clicking periodically. He was sprawled out, looking vulnerable. Sarii jumped up near your feet and settled. You laid there, waiting for sleep to come, like it came for the other two. You began to become irritated. Why couldn’t you sleep?

You knew why. You couldn’t stop thinking about the stream. Rolling over, you put a hand on his chest. It heaved up and down regularly. He remained asleep.

You readjusted, snuggling into his armpit. You settled again, returning your hand to his broad chest. Still, you couldn’t sleep. Time passed. Impulsively, you lightly tickled Tenahpu’s right mandibles. He jerked awake, grumbling in his language. When his eyes focused on you, he calmed. Laying back down, he rumbled, “No sleep?”

“No.” You returned your hand to his chest. He looked from it to you. He clicked questioningly. You slid your hand down to his side so that your arm was across his body. Gripping his hip, you tugged slightly.

***

Shock flowed through his body. He felt vaguely tingly. Was she…? He felt another tug, more insistent. Cautiously, he rolled over on his side. Amishta scooted down so that her hips lined up with his. Her hand played with his clothing. Gulping, he ran a hand down the side of her body, appreciating her softness.

Pressing herself against his body, she pulled at him again. Confused, he rolled over onto his stomach, on top of her. He used his elbows to hold his weight. She spread her legs under him. He felt himself getting hard. Her invitation was no longer in question.

She said something, a strange tone to her voice. She sounded insistent. Grunting, he bit her shoulder lightly. Her skin was mostly bare. It wasn’t good enough. He pulled her pants off, tossing them over his shoulder. Then he pulled her top off. She laid naked under him. He looked down at her, growling softly. He grabbed one knee with each hand and pulled them up. Sliding both hands down the insides of her thighs, he grumbled soft words to her. When they met in the middle, he found her wet and ready. She groaned, bucking her hips once. He ripped his clothing off.

Leaning forward, he again used his elbows to hold most of his weight as he laid down on top of her. Coming into contact with her hot pussy, his cock jumped as he slid the tip in. She threw her head back, cooing at him. He stopped, breathing hard. He was impatient to fuck.

Slowly, he continued to slide inside of her. She spread her thighs wider, calling out her name for him in a hushed tone. Driven almost crazy by lust, he pulled out so as to not hurt her. She complained. He grunted, reentering her more roughly than he intended.

Groaning, she cooed, ”Yes.”

He looked down at her naked form. Running a powerful hand over her chest, he leaned down even closer to her. He felt his cock throbbing in her wetness. She repeated herself, eyes hooded. Unable to exercise reason anymore, he rutted into her with the same force he had before. The soft walls of her pussy pulled at him. He grunted, leaning down to bite her again.

***

Tenahpu fucked into you with such force you were being pounded into the soft bedding. His cock was huge inside of you. The stretch was incredible, his shaft creating delicious friction as he jerked his hips into you. He suddenly leaned down and bit your shoulder and neck. You shivered and wrapped your arms around him. Pulling him to you, you rocked your hips in time with his hard thrusting.

Growling loudly, he held himself back. His strokes were becoming sloppier. He was close. You though about his hot cum and moaned. He continued to fuck you hard, making you squirm under him. Finally reaching a fever pitch, you called his name out as your pussy pulsed around his cock. Your body tensed as you rode your high, tingling all over and legs shaking. He jerked forward once more, then stilled, his hot cum filling then seeping out of you. He growled as he felt your pussy flutter around him again.

After a moment, he rolled off of you onto his back. Turning his head, he watched you as your breathing returned to normal. You turned to him when you’d recovered.

“Good?” His voice was husky, inhuman.

“Yes,” you said softly, biting your lower lip.

He ran a finger down the side of your face, then readjusted and pulled you into an embrace. “Sleep now,” he murmured. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you.

taggies: @coolninjavoid @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer

#yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #yautja x you #predator x reader #feral predator x reader #predator fanfiction #yautja x reader

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the-stage-manager · 2 years

Text

Another short story inspired by @paperback-rascal. I started writing this months ago, but only just finished recently.

[Here] is the artwork that inspired this story.

The View From Halfway Down

Drug-use, anxiety, unreliable narrator

Crosshair hadn't done spice in a long, long time. The rest of Batch would be furious if they knew how badly his fingers itched for it after the Empire had- not that it mattered. The others would never find out. He wouldn't let them know how fucked up his head had become.

The vendor was selling spice. Tied to one of the beams, in a very specific knot, was a shoelace; that was how Crosshair knew. Spice was an illicit substance, a hard drug—dealers couldn't exactly buy a billboard to advertise the stuff; this was the only way to indicate to potential buyers that the drug was available for purchase.

Crosshair narrowed his eyes and reached for the shoelace with lithe fingers. He was intimately familiar with the knot; shortly after leaving Kamino, he’d wrestled with an increasingly crippling addiction to spice for months. The Batch, upon discovering his dirty little secret, had been disappointed but not surprised. Crosshair was, after all, the biggest fuck-up ever produced by the long necks, and everybody knew it. It didn’t matter how high he scored on written exams, or how far away he could KO a target, he was the kid who stole flasks from trainers, and nicked stims and sedatives from the medical facilities, who usually spent two days a week locked in solitary to sweat whatever he'd taken out of his system.

His whole identity was effectively boiled down to five lousy words: the kid who got high.

He hadn’t gotten high in a long time. He smoked cigarettes for a while—just after getting clean from spice—to help with the anger and anxiety, but the smell of tobacco made Hunter nauseated, so he kicked that habit too. Toothpicks became an easy go-to whenever his fingers itched for a smoke or a needle and, even though they didn’t do much to curb the anger, he couldn’t deny: it was nice to have something to chew on.

“Would you like to buy something?” the vendor, a spritely, young togruta woman asked, gestured to the potted orchids on the shelf behind her.

She must’ve spotted Crosshair absentmindedly toying with the shoelace. She had to be discrete about her wares. Thus, the plants: Crosshair had enough experience with dealers to know that she had probably taped the packets of spice to the bottoms of the pots, should a customer show interest in the more lucrative side of her business.

Hence, why they remained on the shelf behind her, practically under lock and key.

“No, thank you,” Crosshair said, his lips pressing into a thin line. His hand snatched away from the shoelace and drifted up towards the half-healed incision where his inhibitor chip had been removed only a few weeks prior. Dirty fingernails dug into the scab until it bled. If Echo saw him picking at it again, he was likely to get a lecture.

Luckily, Echo wasn't looking. At least, not at the moment.

Part of him thought he should warn her: spice would ruin her life. However, another part of him thought she looked happy, and didn’t want to ruin it for her. Life would fuck her over anyway, why not enjoy it while it lasted?

Once again, his fingers idly returned to the shoelace.

“You sure? It’s an easy plant to take care of. I’ll even throw in a free packet of fertilizer, just for you,” she said with a sly, carnivorous smile, gesturing to the shoelace. “You look like you could use a little help, after all,”

He OD’ed on spice once. He would’ve died if Tech hadn’t found him laying face-up on the floor of the ‘fresher, choking on his own vomit. For most people, hitting that kind of rock-bottom usually prompts a desire to change. Crosshair, however, took great pride in not being like other people. Even after nearly dying; even after Tech lectured him, and Hunter shouted at him, and Wrecker bawled, he continued to use. It was, after all, the only thing that made him feel normal.

He never earned his brothers’ trust back, even after he quit. It was understandable, he supposed. He had proven himself to be a liability on more than one occasion. Still, it was irritating when they’d hide alcohol from him, or he’d catch them poking around his room for illicit substances that weren’t there. Sometimes, Crosshair liked to think they monitored him because they felt guilty. Guilt was easier to accept than love. In a twisted sense, it made him feel wanted.

Crosshair was clever and introspective. He was aware of the fallacy, of course. It wasn’t love, or guilt, or concern that motivated their behavior; he’d simply proven himself to be too untrustworthy to be left alone. The word ‘liability’ came to mind once again.

“Free?” Crosshair sneered, incredulous to the point of irritation. “What’s the catch?”

“You and I both know what the catch is, sugar,” the togruta chirped. “When you get hooked, you’ll know where to come to get your fix,”

Anxiety and irritation flashed across the sniper’s chest, and his lips curled up into a snarl. He dipped his hand into his pocket to retrieve a toothpick and-

Right. No toothpicks. He hadn't had a chance to buy any.

How kriffing idiotic.

The worst part was the nagging little voice in the back of his head that reminded him that he hadn't been like this while under the influence of the chip. The itching under his skin, the cravings, they had all been eradicated. Part of him missed that influence; the chip had freed him from the burden of consciousness, if only for short bouts. It had served the same function of the spice, in a way. In those blackout moments of total obedience, there had been no anger, none of the constant, underlaying fear of failure that had plagued him his whole life.

After all, it wasn't as if the spice hadn't served a purpose. The high was a relief, a respite from the constant churning in his brain.

"Hey toothpick," the Togruta said sharply, and Crosshair scowled. "Do you want the plant or not?"

He shouldn't even have considered it. He didn't want to be like this anymore. He never wanted to be like this in the first place.

But it was the only thing that made him feel human-

And not like a malfunctioning droid.

"How much did you say it was?" he asked.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Sugar, you must need this bad. I told you already, it's free. Hell, I feel sorry for you. I'll throw in an extra packet of fertilizer, just for you, baby. You really seem like you need it," she had the audacity to look smug, and Crosshair had the audacity to look offended.

But she wasn't wrong. He did need it, he needed something to make him forget about-

Well, everything.

Absently, he scratched at the great, cavernous scar on the side of his head. Once again dirty fingernails dug in, but the burn scar “Free?” he asked, licking at his too-dry lip.

He knew he ought to refuse. He ought to say no. He hadn’t used in such a long time and if his brothers found out, they’d be so disappointed in him.

Not that his brothers weren't already disappointed in him. They’d left him behind. They’d replaced him with some girl-

Taught her to shoot-

Given her his com-

The togruta snorted. “Well, nothing in life is truly ever free,” she chided.

That touched a nerve. It shouldn't have, but-

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” he snarled, fists clenched at his sides hard enough that his fingers ached. He was free. His choices were his own. His thoughts were his own. No more chip. No more Empire. He was free.

The vendor recoiled. “Take it easy, pal,” she snarled right back. “You know the risks. You want it or not? And don't you dare raise your voice at me again, you here me? I bet you think you're real tough, all grouchy and scowling, but you don't scary me, buddy,"

It felt like being scolded by one of the fucking longnecks.

Except this time, Crosshair might have felt a twinge of guilt.

Crosshair’s heart was pounding in his ears. He twisted around and glanced at his squad.

The other batchers were crowding around some booth selling woven goods. Wrecker and the girl were wearing matching pink ponchos. They were laughing.

Hunter looked so fucking proud.

And Echo was looking at him. He looked concerned. Using modified, one-handed combat signs, he asked Crosshair if he was alright. He must've heard the yelling.

Crosshair flipped him off.

Echo glared and returned the gesture.

"Yeah. Fine, whatever. I'll take your plant. I only need one packet of fertilizer, do you hear me? This is a one time occurrence," Crosshair spat vehemently. They both knew it was never just a 'one time occurrence'.

The Togruta beamed. "Sure thing, sugar. One little flower, just for you," she winked as she handed him the plant.

To his surprise, he couldn't feel anything under the dirty pot.

But when he dug his fingers into the soil...

His stomach churned with guilt. There was his little packet of manufactured sunshine.

"I'll be seeing you soon baby," she winked, and Crosshair twisted away.

Just this once. That was a he needed. Just this once, to catch his breath.

#my fic #my fics #my writing #crosshair #tbb crosshair #the bad batch

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violence-as-a-love-language · 3 years

Text

lost in your current like a priceless wine

AO3

Guillermo takes a break on the roof of the house to just pretend, for one moment, that he's been turned. But a certain relentless vampire shoulders his way into his quiet time.

CW for implied assumption of suicidal intent. Otherwise this is just pure self indulgent fluff and pining.

____

Guillermo loved clear nights, especially in the summer time. Buffeted by the hot winds as he perched up on the tallest part of the roof, he could stare up at all the stars and pretend he was already a vampire. Strong. Powerful. Free.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the muggy air and rocking back slightly. He could imagine the smell of the humans around him. Mild but inviting, his powerful muscles ready to spring from the rooftop and chase down his prey. A true hunter.

Maybe those kinds of thoughts should disturb him. Who dreams of being a perfect hunter? But in the past decade, he’d seen too much death to count. And maybe he’d grown just a little too comfortable with it. It was one of the few constants in his life, after all.

…Okay maybe that was a little too disturbing. Even for him.

He breathed in again and opened his eyes, trying to focus in on the feeling of power he’d just had, and not the uncomfortable feeling of guilt that had started to creep in. He casually glanced towards the door leading back inside, digging his fingers further into the shingles on the ridge as he leaned back further-

-and almost toppled backwards entirely when his eyes met Nandor’s.

“Holy sh-“ He yanked himself upwards, his heels digging into the shingles below. He righted himself quickly, though couldn’t help the deep red his face turned as he saw amusement on Nandor’s face. He cleared his throat. “Master what- uh, what are you doing up here?”

“Thought I would go for a fly,” He said, nodding up to the night sky above. “Why are you up here, Guillermo? I believe a fall from this height would kill you, yes?”

Guillermo shrugged, looking away towards the street below. “I guess it would.”

“You… are not thinking of doing so, are you?”

Guillermo blinked and shook his head, giving Nandor a confused look. “What? No, of course not, Master.”

“Right. Of course. Very good.” He paused, gesturing vaguely at the air as if he was making some sort of point. He then strode forward, balancing perfectly on the ridge of the roof before dropping down to sit next to Guillermo. He kept several feet between them, but Guillermo felt jittery just the same.

“What do you do up here then? There is not anything up here of interest to you.”

“I- well,” He started, somehow turning even redder than before. As Nandor stared, he pulled at his shirt collar, trying to figure out something that wasn’t embarrassing to say. “I, uh, mostly come out here for the stars? Its a really clear night, which means you can see all of them.”

Nandor blinked. “I do not see the significance.”

“Its just- don’t you think the stars are beautiful?”

“I suppose…” Nandor glanced up, and Guillermo couldn’t for the life of him look up too. His eyes were drawn instead to the long dark hair falling back over his shoulder, his long slender neck meeting his bearded chin. He had the urge to reach out and stroke it. To feel the wirey hairs under his fingertips. He quickly looked away however, when the urge became uncomfortably strong. Nandor would never allow it, and would probably find it weird.

Instead, he busied himself with fidgeting the sleeves of his thin sweater, fixing the folded edges around his biceps to keep himself from getting too warm. He let out a slow breath, attempting to calm his heart.

“They are quite bright, yes,” Nandor concluded finally, looking back at Guillermo. “I still do not see the reason for you being out here, however. Do you just… observe the brightness? That must get rather boring.”

Guillermo shifted, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Well, maybe it should. But I like it. Its nice out here. Quiet.”

“Is your room not quiet as well?”

Guillermo snorted. “It’s right by the entrance hall. Its always loud in there.”

Nandor frowned. “I see. So you feel you must come out here to get some ‘peace and quiet.’” He made air quotes with his fingers. Guillermo pursed his lips together, trying not the laugh.

“Yes. Exactly, Master.”

Nandor nodded slowly. “Yes, yes. That makes sense. You know, Guillermo, back when I was an army commander, I would often have to take breaks to have some ‘peace and quiet.’ Warriors are a loud and rowdy bunch and, while I was no exception, eventually you get tired of all the loud talk of killing and pillaging.” He gestured outward, his cape fluttering back with the movement. “Sometimes, you wanted to hear your own thoughts! And yes, sometimes I would think of killing and pillaging still, but it would be in the quiet shade of a tree with John at my side. Quite a different experience.”

“I think I understand what you’re getting at, Master,” Guillermo hedged, watching Nandor’s face for any sign of him rushing to shoot him down with a correction. When he didn’t, however, Guillermo continued. “You wanted space to have your own thoughts, not just those you shared with others.”

“Yes! Exactly, Guillermo!” He smiled, and Guillermo smiled back, a warmth blooming in his stomach at seeing his Master pleased with him. “I wanted the chance to feel myself as I was, not the me I was surrounded by my fellow warriors.” He paused. “I often wish I could do this again with more ease. Nadja and Laszlo are fine, but I do wish I had a nearby hill to sit and think my own thoughts, absent of theirs.”

Guillermo blinked, searching Nandor’s forlorn face. His heart skipped as Nandor’s eyes met his again and he couldn’t help but blurt out, “What if you came up here sometimes?” When his look turned quizzical, Guillermo stumbled onwards, even as his brain told him to stop. “Its really quiet up here. And Nadja and Laszlo never really come up here. You’re actually the first person to come up here in a long while, so it should be very, uh, good for thinking. And if you want, I can just… find a new spot for-“

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would actually prefer if you… accompanied me, so to speak. I am used to doing my thinking with John and, well, he had not been around for a long time now so-“

“I’m- you are aware, I’m not your pet, right?” A hint of annoyance bit into his voice and Nandor shook his head.

“No, of course you are not. But I find you rather soothing to be around. A peaceful presence in a house full of chaos. Does this make sense?”

Guillermo looked down where Nandor’s hand rested lightly against the ridge of the roof. He bit his lip, pulling his own hands closer to his body as he kept his balance. This was, of course, a bad idea. He needed his space from all of them. That’s part of the reason he came up here, outside of the daydreams. Suggesting Nandor spend his time up here was like shooting himself in the foot. It would only make his attempts to keep his thoughts about Nandor at bay more… difficult to repress.

But Nandor was looking at him so hopefully. So tenderly. Guillermo wanted to see that look more, whatever that meant he had to do. And so, against his better judgment, he nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense, Master. I would- I’d be glad to join you.”

Nandor grinned, clapping his hands in excitement. “Good! I wish to do one of these right now, then.” Guillermo opened his mouth but Nandor held up a finger. “No speaking now. We must contemplate in silence.”

Guillermo snorted a laugh but shrugged and nodded again. Nandor, satisfied, closed his eyes, hands on his lap and still perfectly balanced. And so he closed his eyes as well, attempting to fall back into the same thoughts he’d had before.

But no matter what he did, Guillermo couldn’t stop himself from peaking open an eye to stare at him. Silhouetted by twinkling stars, Nandor was even more beautiful than the night sky above.

#wwdits #what we do in the shadows #nandermo #nandor/guillermo #i havent been on here in years so sorry if the formatting sucks #my fics

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years

Note

A/b/o + celebrities and/or coffee shop 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt, Julesy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! Part II should be up in the next few days, but hopefully this beginning 7k will satisfy for the time being 😘

Castiel is elbow-deep in suds when Jo plunks a medium to-go cup on the edge of the sink. “Thank you?” he says, bemused.

“It’s not for you, doofus,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. “There’s a customer out back,” she jerks her head towards the service exit that leads to the alley where they dump their trash and Ruby takes her furtive smoke breaks. “I need you to take this to him.”

“Out back?” Castiel repeats dubiously, craning his neck to catch sight of their on-site baker, Benny, who is busy kneading focaccia dough for tomorrow’s sandwiches. Benny, full of southern politeness, doesn’t give any indication he’s eavesdropping.

Jo gives Castiel a short nod, her alpha scent flaring with irritation. “I’d take it out there myself, but he always talks my ear off, and Kevin still can’t draw a latte art that doesn’t look like a dick, so…”

Castiel frowns but nods, and Jo’s expression eases once she doesn't hear a challenge to her request. Still, he has to ask, “But why doesn’t he order at the counter like a normal customer?”

Jo takes a step back towards the door. “You’ll see. Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

“A big deal of what?” Castiel calls to her, but she’s already disappeared out to the front of the cafe.

Castiel sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. He picks up the drink, sniffing curiously.

He nearly gags at the strong aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples all on top of espresso and milk. They definitely don’t serve that on the menu. Admittedly, Castiel hasn’t memorized the list of hot drinks they serve at Hunter’s Cafe, but this is an assault on anyone with a nose. He’s been their busboy and dishwasher for six months since his second year as a graduate student began, and Jo has only let him mind the counter three times, all as far from peak time as she could get.

But a job is a job. Holding the drink, he shoulders open the back door.

“Hey - oh, you’re not Jo,” a familiar voice says.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks because, despite the sunglasses, the baseball hat, and hunched shoulders, Dean Winchester is unmistakable.

Away from the limelight, Dean apparently favors soft-looking flannels over worn tee shirts and jeans. In one hand, he holds a half depleted sheaf of french fries. Stunned, Castiel doesn't immediately hand over the reason for his appearance.

“Whatever, is that mine?” Dean demands, zeroing in on Castiel’s cup.

Still beyond speech, Castiel dumbly hands the affront to coffee over.

After a muttered thanks, Dean takes a long drink. “Christ, this tastes even better than normal.”

Castiel inhales a surreptitious breath. It’s not every day one gets to catch the scent of Hollywood’s omega darling.

Not that anyone would know Dean's secondary gender just by looking at him. Dean stands a few inches taller than the average male omega - he has nearly an inch of height on Castiel, and Castiel is the dictionary definition of standard alpha physique.

While Castiel might not be Dean’s most knowledgeable fan, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past five years. It was all over the papers when Dean was cast in his first alpha role. Dean wasn’t the first omega actor to do so, but he was certainly the most prominent. Castiel’s sister, Anna, an actual fan, spent a memorable dinner ranting about how all the prejudiced reporters on the press tour. Apparently they only asked Dean about the diet and exercise routine that transform into a “real” alpha, while, in the next round, his alpha castmates fielded questions about their characters’ moral code and complex development.

But, in the alley behind Hunter’s Café, Castiel’s nose is completely overwhelmed by the fryers of the fast food restaurant next door, the set of dumpsters directly to his right, and the almost offensively apple coffee Dean is currently drinking like his life depends on it. Dean could smell like old gym socks for all Castiel can tell.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks once he resurfaces. He jams a few fries in his mouth. Before he's finished chewing, he sucks down some more latte in an unholy taste combination.

“Busy,” Castiel replies. “We have a new hire, and so far Kevin can only draw genitalia on lattes instead of flowers.”

Dean guffaws, nearly inhaling his drink. Swearing unrepentantly, he takes his sunglasses off and rubs at his temple with his free hand. “Christ, I’m too hungover to laugh like that.” He squints over at Castiek before sliding the sunglasses back on his face.

Castiel stares. “If you’re hungover, why are you here at -” he checks his watch “-seven in the morning?”

Dean slurps at his fruity latte before he answers. “Got a meeting at nine. This,” he says, brandishing his mostly empty cup, “and a large fries are the cure.” His hands occupied, Dean ducks his head to fish a single fry out and holds it like a cigarette between his lips.

“That sounds disgusting,” Castiel says, aghast.

Dean inches the rest of the fry into his mouth. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it,” he says with a wink.

Cas blushes.

“Hey,” Dean says, a new thought coming to him, “What’s your name?”

Taken aback by the question, he answers, “Castiel.”

Dean mouths his name once, his brow furrowing at the new syllables. With a small shrug of capitulation he says, “Well, Cas, thanks for the drink.” He toasts him one before tipping the cup all the way back, draining it.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean grins. “I couldn't tell if you recognized me or not.”

“I did,” Castiel says, clearly unnecessarily.

Amused, Dean throws him a long, considering look. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face.” He unceremoniously shovels the rest of the fries in his mouth and balls up the wrapper. He tosses it with practiced ease into the waiting dumpster.

“Thank you?” Cas says, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You’re the one who saved my hide.” He sidles forward and shoves a bill into Castiel’s slack hand. Without another word, he takes off out of the alley and onto the street.

Once he’s out of sight, Castiel unclenches his hand. Dean tipped him ten dollars.

* * *

“How is this even more pungent than last time?” Castiel demands, nose wrinkling as he sets a now clean muffin tin back on the shelf. It’s been a week since he met Dean Winchester, and hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of apple pie since then.

He is alone with Jo in the kitchen, since Benny’s early morning shift ends at eleven.

“I added a caramel drizzle,” Jo says, her scent rising with her self-satisfaction.

Castiel stares at her in horror. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“’Cause I’m trying to see what his limit is, and so far - nothing,” Jo says, shrugging. “Get to it. He’s real grouchy if you make him wait too long.”

“And why aren’t you taking it to him?” Castiel says, eyebrows rising. “Kevin’s moved onto multiple hearts now. Admittedly, his first one looked like a labia, but he’s gotten much better.”

“But Ruby didn’t show up, so we’re short staffed,” Jo says shortly. Outside, Kevin yells something indistinguishable though the kitchen door, and Jo winces.

Castiel takes the latte.

Just like last time, Dean is waiting, wearing a different flannel but the same jeans with the hole above the left knee. He abandoned the sunglasses, since the clouds overhead cast the whole alley in shade. They’re hanging from the vee of his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down a tempting extra inch.

Unfortunately, the fast food restaurant next door must have just taken out the trash last night, since the alley reeks of stale bread and rotting fish patties.

Castiel lets the door slam behind him, unable to hold back his corresponding smile as Dean lights up as he sees him.

“Thank god,” Dean says as he reaches for the latte. “I was starting to think Jo was gonna stiff me.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment,” Castiel says apologetically, “so you got me again.”

Dean eyes him over the lid of his cup. “Not a downside from where I’m standin’,” he drawls.

Castiel has no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Dean can’t mean it like Castiel thinks he does. He’s an actor, feeding people lines is the dictionary definition of his job. Instead Castiel asks, “No french fries this time?” because he’s not nearly ready to leave yet.

“Already ate ’em, while I was waiting,” Dean says dismissively.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Dean says with a little grin. “I got my caffeine fix eventually, and that’s what I really care about.”

“You look remarkably more put together than last time,” Castiel says as he leans against the doorway, watching Dean sip at his drink.

“Didn’t drink as much,” Dean says with a grin. He tips back his cup and takes a long pull. “Fries can only get you halfway there. Christ, that’s the stuff.”

Castiel can’t help but make a face. The latte smells horrendous; it can’t taste that much better.

“What?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

Castiel probably shouldn’t tell Dean what is exactly on his mind. Castiel has found very few people appreciate his default brand of honesty - Hunter’s Café customers, especially. But Dean isn’t technically his customer - he’s Jo’s - and Castiel has reached the point in his life where he doesn’t need to hang onto people who don’t like him and vice versa. Dean isn’t even providing extra publicity for the establishment, since he’s getting serviced in the alley behind the kitchen.

Technically, Castiel needs a celebrity acquaintance as much as he needs a free bag of cat food (he doesn’t have a cat).

But he does like having one.

A celebrity acquaintance, that is. Cats are inherently suspicious.

Reluctantly, Castiel says, “I can’t imagine that latte tastes very good.”

To his surprise, instead of demanding Jo bring him his coffee from now on, Dean laughs. “Not a fan of apple pie?”

“Not in my coffee.”

Dean takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. “I think it’s delicious.”

“I think your taste buds must be severely incapacitated.”

Dean waggles the near empty cup in front of Castiel’s face in what must be an enticing manner to someone with no sense of smell or taste. “Wanna try?”

Castiel valiantly holds back his recoil. “No, thank you.”

But Dean’s genial expression doesn’t waver. “‘M feeling pretty much human again, so it’s up for grabs.”

“I’d sooner lick the dumpster,” Castiel blurts before he can filter himself.

Dean whistles, rocking back on his heels. “Harsh.”

Castiel sighs. Honesty was a mistake. He mutters, embarrassed, “I’m just not a very big fan of sweets.”

“No?”

“I’ve been living with my cousin while in graduate school at Columbia,” he explains, his tone apologetic for his earlier comment, “and he has a horrendous sweet tooth. I don’t think he’s ever seen a carrot that wasn’t in a cake first.”

A wide grin splits Dean’s face. He laughs.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to scent Dean’s joy for himself. “He would probably love that latte,” Castiel continues wryly.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He taps his fingers against the sides of the cup as he asks, “So you’re in school? For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Castiel asks seriously. He’s had too many conversations with strangers and casual friends who have asked the exact same question and regretted asking it almost immediately.

Dean ducks his head. “I don’t know any graduate students, and I,” he breaks off, his cheeks going pink, “I never went to college, so I have no idea what it means.” He sucks on the dregs of his latte, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Castiel’s knees.

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling lighter. “In that case, I’m studying ethnomusicology.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you fucking with me? That doesn’t sound real.”

“It’s a legitimate area of study,” Castiel assures him. “I research music as it pertains to culture and diverse elements of social life. Ethnomusicology focuses not only on the music itself, but music as a social process, as a medium for humans to relate to each other. In short, it examines how music functions in a particular society.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t get the glazed-over look most people do when he explains his field of study. “So what kind of music are you talking about?”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to flush. His colleagues, while they respect his academic reputation, have nearly all looked down on his chosen object of study. “One of the main tenets of ethnomusicology is a global perspective on music-”

“What, like Tibetan throat-singing?” Dean interrupts. At Castiels’ stare, he explains quickly, “Sammy had a phase.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I do know a professor at Cornell who is studying just that. But my focus is much closer to home. I study,” he inhales a small breath, “tribute bands.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “What.”

“Tribute bands offer a fascinating definition of the nature of performance, the difference between authenticity and identity,” Castiel says, already on the defensive. He can already hear his voice trying to fall into his usual academic patterns, and tries to rein himself in, “and historical consciousness in popular music. Here -” He pulls out his phone.

Dean listens in complete silence to Yellow Dubmarine’s cover of I Want You.

“Anyway,” Castiel coughs, embarrassed he made Dean sit through all that, “I also teach Rock and Roll from the 1950s to 1980s. There is a great deal of crossover with my specialty since most tribute bands recreate acts from the 60s to the 80s.”

“Dude,” Dean says in a rush, “if you think that makes you less interesting, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Castiel blinks.

“What bands are we talkin’ about?” he asks eagerly. “More Beatles? The Stones? The Who?”

Castiel nods. “I’m hoping to go to a Lez Zeppelin concert next month.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Lez,” Castiel says, emphasizing the ‘z’, “an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band.”

Dean frowns. “They have a gimmick?”

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re completely sincere, I assure you.” He smiles wryly. “I interviewed Misstallica for a paper I’m writing on diverse, for lack of a better word, musicians in the tribute world, and they felt right at home with the long hair and tight pants. I’ve never met people who more adore the songs they perform.”

“Huh,” Dean says, rubbing his chin.

“Except maybe Air-O-Smith,” Castiel adds, “an American all-omega tribute band of Aerosmith.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“My favorite all-omega tribute band, though, is Omega You Eight One Two,” Castiel muses, “a Van Halen cover band.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says faintly.

“Their lead guitarist, as you can imagine, is phenomenal.”

Dean shakes his head, his expression going slack. “Wait, seriously? That’s a thing? All omega acts?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “That’s one of the most compelling aspects of tribute bands, when they flip the traditional male-alpha dynamic of the original, and how they translate that into their own act while keeping the whole performance authentic to the creators. It’s a fascinating process to watch and study.”

“I bet,” Dean says fervently. “Hey, d’you think-”

The back door opens before Dean can finish his sentence.

Jo pokes her head out, looking askance at the pair of them. “Are you still out here?” She glares at Dean. “Stop complaining about your diet, and let Castiel come back to work.”

Castiel’s mouth purses. “You’re on a diet?”

“Not on cheat day,” Dean tells him, lifting his empty cup. He turns to Jo. “And I wasn’t complaining at all. Cas was actually telling me about tribute bands.”

“Really?” Jo asks, her nose wrinkling.

Dean tosses his trash in the dumpsters. “They sound awesome.”

“I like them,” Castiel says lamely, off-footed now the conversation is clearly wrapping up.

Jo rolls her eyes, alpha irritation practically radiating off her. “Good for you.”

“Alright, well, I’ll let you deal with Joanna Beth on your own,” Dean says as he pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a folded bill. He gives a mocking salute as he takes a step back, “Good luck, dude.”

“Thank you?”

“Come on, fanboy,” Jo growls once Dean’s disappeared from view, “back to work.”

* * *

“Can’t you take it?” Castiel asks, his tone verging on pleading, as Jo follows him back into the kitchen. It’s too early in the morning for another meeting, closer to first time Castiel met Dean at seven am compared to their last meeting at a little before eleven.

This past weekend, Castiel went down a spiral of Dean Winchester content. He read up on all of Dean’s recent projects, scanned headlines about rumors of his next film - some action thriller that Castiel presumes is the reason for Dean’s diet, and watched interview after interview. Dean on Stephen Colbert. Dean on Good Morning America. Dean on some very confusing show where they forced him to eat spicy chicken wings, which just seemed like an exercise in pepper-based sadism.

Castiel didn’t really understand the Saturday Night Live skit where Dean played one half of a demon-hunting brother duo, but the live studio audience laughed uproariously at multiple points.

Jo all but slams Dean’s latte on the ledge above the sink. “You know the health inspector is here. I can’t let Ruby near the guy, and you know how Kevin gets around figures of authority.”

Castiel sets down his tub of dirty dishes. “He nearly peed himself when he had to tell you he dropped a tray of scones over the floor last week,” he says flatly.

“Exactly,” Jo says. “Benny is busy,” she says, tipping her head to where Benny is adding more flour to a huge bowl.

“Cheers, darlin’.”

She turns back to Castiel. “So, you’re it today, champ.”

“Great,” Castiel grumbles.

“What?” Jo asks, her hands on her hips. “You seemed to get along with Dean. I actually didn’t know you could talk that much before I sent you back there.”

Castiel carefully transfers the dirty plates to the sink. “Getting along with him isn’t the problem,” he says darkly.

“Getting along with him too well is the issue?” Jo asks, her eyebrows rising.

Castiel scowls at her observation. Her emotional intuition is what makes her an excellent café manager, so he can hardly fault her for that. He doesn’t respond to her question.

“Take it to him,” Jo says, her tone softening. “He likes you.”

Castiel raises his head to stare at her. “How do you know that?”

Jo pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it in his face. “We talk,” she says. “How do you think he orders every time? He’s not getting those lattes for free, not after I spent so much time getting them exactly right.”

Castiel can’t hold back his grimace. The latte still smells awful, like a vat of boiled candied apples.

“Look,” Jo says, lowering her voice, “Dean’s famous, sure, but he’s actually a very private person. He runs his mouth to anyone who’ll listen, but he never really says anything important. So he doesn’t really connect with a lot of people. If he says he likes you, I’m gonna say that’s a good thing - if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass - and make you his designated errand boy.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But I don’t -”

“Dude, don’t make me pull the boss card,” Jo says, just the barest hint of threat in her words.

“Fine.” Castiel snatches the latte off the counter. “But I want a raise.”

“You can get a free sandwich.”

Castiel glares daggers as he shoulders open the back door.

But the alley is empty.

Castiel breathes through his mouth as he steps out. The overflowing dumpsters carry the odor of moldering cheese and more rancid fish, and the fryers next door are still going strong. He doesn’t find Dean lurking behind the trash for some strange reason, and he’s about to head back in and dump Dean’s latte down the sink when a shout makes him turn around.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls, jogging in from the brightly lit street.

“Hello, Dean.” He hands over the latte.

“Thanks - sorry.” Dean rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “Some fans caught me sneaking in here, and wanted a selfie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say.

Dean tips back his cup, his expression falling into pure bliss. “Christ, that’s so much better when I’m not hungover.”

Castiel stares. “You’re drinking that with all your capacities intact?”

“Ain’t no better way to enjoy pie,” Dean says, grinning widely.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s not pie.”

“It’s as close as I’m gonna get at eight in the morning on a Thursday,” Dean says with a shrug.

Silence falls between them, and Castiel can’t help glancing over Dean’s shoulder, tentatively scanning for the people who caught his attention earlier. Plenty more would have approached Dean if he didn’t have Jo’s latte waiting for him; Castiel would bet his job on it.

Dean is a celebrity.

Castiel is a grad student who can’t even afford to support a guinea pig on his stipend and café salary.

After a long beat, Dean asks, a touch hesitantly, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Stalking you on the internet.

“Nothing,” Castiel lies. At the slight fall in Dean’s expression, he adds, “I cleaned my kitchen over the weekend.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

Hurt, Castiel takes a step back. Jo probably needs him for… something.

“Not in a bad way!” Dean says quickly. “Shit,” he swears under his breath, “please don’t stop giving me coffee.”

Castiel hesitates. “Why is it weird that I cleaned my kitchen?” He frowns. “I suppose you employ someone to do that for you.”

Dean seesaws his free hand back and forth as he sips at his latte. “Not always,” he lowers his voice, “I actually like cleaning - it helps me relax and shit. There’s nothing like blasting some tunes and scrubbing out that stain on the counter that’s been annoying you forever.”

Castiel lowers his voice too. “Is this a secret?”

Dean grimaces. “Not really. But, you know, it’s one of those omega things.”

Castiel doesn’t know. Well, he knows it is a stereotypical omega trait to like housework, but he has no idea why Dean would whisper it in a back alley like he’s confessing to defrauding an elderly relative. “And that is bad because…?”

Dean takes a long pull from his cup. “I don’t want to hammer the omega thing home too hard, alright?”

“But you are an omega,” Castiel says, feeling a little stupid for saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “but if I lean into it, I’ll stop getting alpha roles.”

“You only want to play alphas?” Castiel asks curiously.

Dean’s mouth twists. “They’re the better parts. Omegas are always the damsels in distress or get killed off first for the plot.”

“I’m sure not all films are like that,” Castiel says. God knows, Anna made him sit through enough films with an omega protagonist that did not fit the typical romantic comedy restrictions.

“Most.”

“The last movie I saw,” Castiel says, hesitant because Dean must know more about this than him, “my sister recommended it, it had an omega lead who led a team of paranormal investigators. A sort of horror-comedy.”

Dean’s face loses some of its hostility. Almost intrigued, he asks gruffly, “D’you know who wrote it?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Castiel pulls out his phone to look it up. He reads aloud, “Ghostfacers, directed by Ed Zeddmore, written by Harry Spangler. Starred Maggie Zeddmore and Alan Corbett.” He pauses, trying to remember the details. “I think they both were omegas. I’m sure there are more films like Ghostfacers out there for you to make.”

Dean sips at his latte. “A few. None with big enough names attached to really get on my radar.”

“Well, if you signed on, wouldn’t there be a big name attached?”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a tone that clearly conveys he’s thought of this possibility before. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just - what if I take one of these roles, and it gets all this attention just ’cause I’m in it, and it flops?”

Castiel tilts his head. “That would hardly be your fault. Most failed films are hardly the work of one person. Usually, it’s a combination of a bad story, bad production, and bad acting.” He levels Dean an appraising look. “Right off the bat, you control two of those elements - pick a good script and act as well as you always have.”

Dean blinks. “You’ve seen my stuff?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I thought I already said I knew who you were?”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, his voice petering off with embarrassment, “that didn’t mean you liked my movies.”

“The majority of America liked your last movie, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “Either that, or you have a very hardworking and wealthy mother who poured a hundred million dollars into ticket sales.”

“I mean, Mom’s a fan, but not that big of a fan,” Dean says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’d rather get a twenty-minute call from yours truly than sit through a two-hour flick with my name on the poster.”

Castiel hands over his phone. “Here,” he says, tilting it so Dean can see the summary of Ghostfacers.

Dean brightens as he reads through it. “The Alpha dies first?”

“He thought he could deal with the ghost on his own.”

“Typical alpha macho,” Dean snorts. His head snaps up as he gives the phone back. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Castiel says easily. “With my lifestyle, posturing is a waste of time. I’ve long ago resigned myself to not being the primary breadwinner in any future household.”

“Really?”

Castiel throws him a look. “I’m in academia, Dean. Tenure is hardly a guarantee. Even so, there isn’t a wealth of money out there for ethnomusicology grants.”

Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “It’s awful big of you.”

“Just logical,” Castiel says evenly. “It shrinks my dating pool considerably, but I’d rather do what I love than compromise that much for any potential partner.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable. “I get that.”

“If it means I can’t afford to mate a house-omega, I’ll just have to keep cleaning my kitchen myself,” Castiel finishes with a shrug.

Dean grins. “I mean, if you spot me a six pack and don’t tell my trainer about it, I’ll clean your kitchen.”

Castiel turns bright red. He can’t bring himself to respond to that offer, so he changes the subject.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to protest as Jo barges into the kitchen, the telltale scent of sugary apples wafting around her like a palpable shield. Castiel already set himself for heartbreak where Dean Winchester is concerned. He might as well take advantage of every interaction he has left.

He went to sleep late last night, watching one of Dean’s earlier movies. He was slimmer and younger, but he still shone with his signature charisma and talent. For the first time since Castiel started the morning shift at Hunter’s Café, he snoozed his alarm.

Hurrying through his morning routine, Castiel couldn’t help resenting Dean just a little. If only Dean hadn’t chosen a profession where his literal job is to be whatever his audience wants him to be.

As Castiel pushes open the door, Dean is waiting outside. Dark sunglasses shield his green eyes, and a violet bruise blooms over his left eyebrow. As the door slams shut behind Castiel, Dean winces. His left hand holds a half-empty paper container of french fries.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “You don’t look good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says darkly. “Gimme.”

Castiel pauses. “Did your hangover eliminate your manners?”

Dean flushes bright red. “No,” he mutters. “Sorry, Cas. I just feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Castiel says frankly as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” Deans says, his voice sour as old lemons. “I told Charlie tequila shots before Monopoly was a bad idea, but did anyone listen to me?” He gestures to his face. “Next thing I know, Jo’s throwing Charlie’s bag of DnD dice at my head.”

“You got that playing Monopoly? Wait, Jo did this to you?” he demands, gesturing to the cafe behind him. “Jo Harvelle?”

Dean just glares over the rim of his coffee cup. “Yeah, Katniss got me good.”

“God, why?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts in a distinctly smug smirk. “’Cause she was going bankrupt, and she had to sell her last property to me.”

“So this was because of Monopoly,” Castiel says dubiously. In his experience, a board game has never led to actual violence.

Dean shrugs. “Game nights get intense. Why do you think I’m always bangin’ down your door the morning after?”

Castiel can’t believe it. “You’ve been getting this drunk at a game night? Every time?”

“So what?” Dean shoves four french fries in his mouth. “Whaddya think I was doin’?”

“Partying?” he suggests.

Dean snorts. “Maybe six years ago when I was doing B-level flicks and trying to meet as many people as I could. Now I have a back-to-back shooting schedule and hangovers if I don’t pace myself.”

Castiel watches Dean polish off his fries at a truly impressive and horrifying speed. He can’t help asking, “Why was Jo at your game night?”

“’Cause she’s a menace who knows how to pick locks?” Dean heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. She and her mom - who started Hunter’s Café - were my neighbors.”

“I had no idea.”

Dean gestures to the alley with a wry hand. “Jo likes to keep it under wraps.”

“I see why Jo keeps making those drinks for you,” Castiel says, nodding at the half-finished latte in Dean’s hand.

“You didn’t make it?” Dean says, and does he sound almost disappointed?

Castiel shakes his head. “Jo is keeping the recipe close to the chest.”

“Probably worried everyone’ll want one if they get the taste.” Dean tips the cup back.

Castiel can’t help his noise of disgust. At Dean’s sharp look, he says aloud, “She’s probably worried everyone will never come back if they try it.”

Dean’s laugh cuts off with a wince. He raises a hand to his head. “Christ, last night was a mistake.”

Castiel surreptitiously scents the air for a better gauge of how discomfited Dean really is, but, as always, all he gets is trash and fryer oil. “How are you doing? Apart from the injury, headache, and general hangover-related malaise.”

“Oh, apart from that?” Dean echoes mockingly, but his words lack any heat. He crams a few fries into his mouth. “I asked my agent to send me a few more scripts with omega roles,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles. “That’s great.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hopefully, she’ll pick out a decent one, and I can get something set up for after Two for the Show wraps.”

“Is Two for the Show the reason for your diet?”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I have a bunch of shirtless scenes, so that means three months with the diet coach from hell.”

Castiel makes a noise of sympathy. After a moment, he asks, “Is it worth it?”

Dean chews a fry, scowling between bites. “Not really,” he says in a low voice. “Sammy’s the farmers market maniac in the family.” Wistfully, he continues, “Give me a good cheeseburger deluxe every day for the rest of my life with a side of pie, and I’ll die a happy man.”

“I didn’t think apple pie came as a side.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Dean says with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his latte.

Castiel doesn’t bother holding back his smile.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s just like, I don’t look like a traditional omega, so I figured I might as well try for the alpha roles.” He swallows. “’S a win-win situation. I look the part and the characters are better - what’s the downside?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Other than your restricted diet and inadvisable levels of drinking?”

A humorless smile pulls at Dean's mouth. “Not pullin’ the punches this morning, huh?”

Castiel colors, his face heating with shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” An inadequate excuse, but it’s not like he can tell Dean the real reason for his more uncharitable thoughts.

Castiel has never been one to lean into his alpha instincts. Possessiveness, aggression, arrogance - Castiel has had his (mostly regrettable) moments, but they hardly define his character. But over these past few weeks, he’s had to repeatedly tell himself that he can’t solve Dean’s problems. Dean is a wildly successful adult with millions of fans, while Castiel can’t even handle Hunter Cafe's front counter during the morning rush.

Dean would hardly welcome a nobody little alpha telling him to just… do what he wants and damn the consequences because he deserves to be happy with his life and his work.

Dean plucks out the rest of his fries and balls the wrapper against his hip. He lobs it in the dumpster. “No, I get it. I’m complaining about things that most people would kill to have.” He glances towards the mouth of the alley, his mouth set in a thin line.

But before Dean can leave, Castiel says quickly, “That’s not the way I see it. Your specific frustrations aren’t universal, but hardly anyone’s are. Society is inherently unfair, and it’s understandable to be angry about it.”

God knows Castiel railed enough about the unfairness of Dean Winchester to Gabriel enough over the past few weeks.

Even now, hungover and bruised, Dean is beautiful.

Castiel steels himself. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think not looking like a typical omega is a bad thing.”

Dean turns to him in surprise, and Castiel would give up that free sandwich Jo offered him to be able to scent what exactly Dean is feeling. But, after a second that stretches into an eternity, all Dean gives him is a quiet, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nods, chastised by Dean’s reaction. “I should get back to work,” he says awkwardly.

Dean mutters something that might be a swear underneath his breath. Raising his voice, he says, his tone apologetic, “’Course. Sorry for keeping you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s alright. I,” he pauses, “always enjoy talking to you.”

Dean’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and it’s like the sun rising through the early morning fog. “You too, man.”

* * *

After his next shift, Castiel asks Jo to show him how to make Dean’s apple pie latte.

Castiel’s first attempt is a disaster. He burns the espresso and adds too much nutmeg. Jo makes him try it anyway, as a non-monetary payment for her time. As Castiel gags, a smirking Jo dumps the bitter, weirdly savory mess down the sink.

“Passable,” Jo declares at Castiel’s second try. “You need more of the apple concentrate, though.”

“It’ll be too strong,” Castiel protests even as he shakes more powder in and gives it a stir. He hands it back to Jo for evaluation.

“You could barely taste it!” Jo says. She raises it to her lips. “Mm, that’s the stuff.”

“It is?” Castiel asks hopefully.

Jo nods and pushes the cup towards him. “That’s what it’s supposed to taste like.”

Castiel frowns as the overly sweet apples hit his tongue. He can barely taste the coffee underneath all the other layers.

“Trust me,” Jo says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she sets Castiel up for a third cup. “Your scent’s getting in the way, but it tastes exactly like an apple pie.”

“My scent?” Castiel echoes, baffled.

Jo throws him a look as she pushes a clean coffee cup into his hands. “Yeah, you already smell, I dunno, crisp but sweet? A little like apples. Makes you think the latte dials it up to eleven when it’s more like a nine for everyone else.”

Castiel hadn’t thought to put those pieces together, but it makes an astonishing amount of sense.

He brings his last apple pie latte home to Gabriel, and his cousin makes him write down, step by step, how to make it. In between actual licks into the cup to get the dregs, Gabriel swears to visit him at Hunter’s Café more often.

When Jo next ducks her head into the kitchen to tell Castiel that Dean will swing by in fifteen minutes, Castiel gets to work. He awkwardly sidles behind the front counter and maneuvers around Ruby and Kevin, nearly knocking Kevin’s elbow as Kevin attempts some elaborate leaf pattern.

Castiel draws a rudimentary apple on top of Dean’s latte, and if it looks more like a misshapen mango, nobody will see it but Dean.

For the first time, Castiel heads out to wait for Dean at the mouth of the alley.

Dean doesn’t keep him in suspense for long. He makes his way down the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed. Gaze fixed on the dirty sidewalk, Dean doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he turns the corner.

Dean isn’t even wearing sunglasses or a hat to hide his face, but everyone walks straight past him.

It’s the most riveting performance Castiel has ever seen.

A few steps away, Dean catches sight of him, and it’s like some magic switch is flipped on, and he is Dean Winchester again.

Smiling brightly, he jogs the rest of the distance and follows Castiel as he slinks further back into the alley. Dean wrinkles his nose as they get closer to the dumpsters and the smell of an entire rancid fast food menu hits him. “Hey, Cas,” he says as he takes his latte. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, tipping his head.

Dean stares down oddly at the demented pear and takes a sip. Face going slack with a bliss Castiel doesn’t even need to smell, Dean groans.

Castiel freezes and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the apron covering his lower half over his pants. “It’s good?” he tries futilely because Dean is clearly beyond speech.

Dean just gives him a thumbs up as he lowers the cup. He licks his lips, chasing the taste, and Castiel has seen pornography less graphic.

“I might have to tip Jo this time too,” Dean says, staring at the latte in his hand in wonder.

Castiel coughs. “I - I made this one, actually.”

Dean chokes on his next mouthful. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods because if he opens his mouth he’s not sure what exactly will come out. Probably something highly embarrassing.

“This is the best one I’ve ever had,” Dean swears.

Castiel’s whole body heats with the force of his blush. “Thank you. I asked Jo how to make it, since it seems like I’ve taken over your delivery duties.”

Dean grins. “You’re a lot more fun than Jo,” he says lightly, “so I’m not complainin’.”

Castiel didn’t think he could get any redder, but here he is.

After an awkward beat, Dean says, “I think I found my next movie.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugs, but his eyes glimmer with anticipation. “It’s a World War II biopic about an omega who sneaks into the army, disguises himself as an alpha, and rescues a unit trapped behind enemy lines.” He taps his fingers against the side of his half-empty cup. “A little on the nose, but the script is good.”

“It sounds very promising,” Castiel agrees.

“Their biggest problem was the budget - historical pics aren’t cheap. But they think if I sign on early, they can leverage my name with the studio.” He smiles shyly. “Get the movie done right.”

“That’s fantastic,” Castiel says, a delightful warmth filling his chest - still a pale reflection of Dean’s excitement.

“Thanks to you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Dean throws him a funny look. “Yeah, you. You told me to get my head outta my ass and movies I actually like doing-”

“Not in so many words-” Castiel interjects, alarmed.

“’Cause the whole point of doing these stupid macho alpha flicks was so I could get the clout and money to do the stuff I actually liked,” Dean continues. “And I kept thinking, can’t do it yet, not there yet, until some rando tells me, fuck yeah you can.”

“I definitely didn’t say that-”

“It was implied,” Dean says blithely, waving off his protests. “So I figured, if this dude who doesn’t know me from Adam-”

“I’ve seen several of your films.”

“- tells me to go for it - it being something I’d thought of doing for years - is there any real reason why I shouldn’t?”

Castiel just stares at him, stunned.

Dean beams. “I’ve got a meeting with the director next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s partially thanks to you,” Dean says, tipping his latte in Castiel’s direction. “I also want to talk about romantic B-plot since I think it’s stupid.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “True mates, bullshit.”

“You think true mates are bullshit?”

As far as Castiel saw online, Dean’s never spoken on the record about true mates or any mates at all. Entertainment news sources reported rumors about him and a one-named alpha singer, Amara, early in his career, which he denounced thoroughly. A few months later, someone published revealing photos of him and an older alpha actor, Fergus Crowley. When asked about it, Dean refused to give details.

Dean makes a face. After a pause, he says, “My parents said they were true mates, but it wasn’t… pretty. No Hollywood romance between them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S fine,” Dean says in a tone that clearly says it isn’t. “Whenever Dad took off for a few days, I’d get to watch as many movies as I wanted, and - well, the rest is history.”

“I don’t know anyone who’s found their true mate,” Castiel says. His parents had a cold, distant marriage. A few times over the years, he wasn’t sure his mother even liked his father’s scent. Anna happily mated another omega last year, and Gabriel avoids all romantic entanglements like the black plague.

Castiel’s dating history can best be described as dismal. During his last visit to his pediatrician, his doctor called him a “late bloomer” which Castiel eventually realized just meant socially awkward. In the decade since, Castiel’s slept with a grand total of three people. And, to his supreme regret, none of them managed to bring his rusty people skills up to par.

But, in college, Castiel found music and his calling. And all his faults didn’t matter nearly as much.

In the crowd of a concert, people are so far outside the ordinary conditions of life, and so conscious of the fact, that they free themselves from individual concerns and devote themselves wholly to the collective. All their fury, their joy, their hunger for what they can’t have, is sublimated into the music.

Castiel has never felt more connected to humanity than in the middle of a crowd.

Truthfully, none of his past relationships ever measured up. None of his past partners ever managed to get Castiel out of his own head - not like the music.

Castiel shakes his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a true mate even if I had one.”

“Have a lot of super sappy sex with the lights on?” Dean offers, laughing.

Castiel frowns. “I wasn’t aware that kind of intercourse was restricted to true mates. I’ve done that in the past since I've always shared an emotional connection with the people I've slept with.”

“Oh,” Dean says, reddening. “Were you mated? Jo didn’t say.”

Inordinately pleased that Dean had asked Jo about him, Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been mated.”

Dean drains his latte. Swallowing, he says, “Me neither.” He throws the cup in the open dumpster and turns back to Castiel. “I haven’t dated in a while, actually,” he says in a low voice. “Couldn’t risk being seen with an alpha and remind everyone of what I’m not.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Surely people can’t be that close-minded.”

“’Course they can. Most are,” Dean says, his voice full of assurance.

Castiel’s mouth twists. “That sounds like a negativity bias to me.”

“Huh?”

“Negative information sticks with us longer and more strongly than any positive counterpart,” Castiel says with a shrug. “It’s something I always keep in mind when reading my course reviews after the semester is over.”

“So," Dean says, eyes dancing, "you can take the nerd out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the nerd, huh?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Dean laughs. “Look,” he starts, his expression turning a fraction more serious. “I might be fucking up a good thing here, but do you want to go to a Lez Zeppelin show next week?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open as Dean reaches out and pulls out his phone to show him a ticket confirmation email.

“It’s no big if you don’t want to,” Dean says awkwardly into the silence.

“I - I do,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words. “You do?”

“Uh,” Dean throws him a bemused look, “Yeah? I bought the tickets, dude.”

“I’m just surprised,” Castiel says honestly.

Dean stares at him. “This is seriously comin’ out of nowhere for you?”

“A little,” Castiel says defensively.

“Seriously?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You’re … you. You’re famous. Why would you ask me?”

“Because I like you?” Dean says, nonplussed. “You’re nice in a way a lot of the alphas I know aren’t, and,” he breaks off, reddening, “you said you didn’t mind that I didn’t fit in with other omegas, looks-wise-”

“I don’t,” Castiel interrupts. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gapes. “Did you seriously -” he breaks off, apparently unable to voice the rest of his thought. His face turns an impressive shade of crimson.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have said that?” he asks, brow furrowing. This can’t be the first time Dean has been complimented on his looks. As Castiel understands, good looks are one of the main precursors to acceptance in Hollywood.

“No - I mean, maybe - never mind,” Dean fumbles, more out of sorts than Castiel has ever seen him. “It’s that nobody just out and says that, even to me.”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. “You should look in the mirror sometime, though.” He winks, and Castiel’s brain nearly fritzes out. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel nods, an all-encompassing warmth filling his chest and exploding out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.”

Read Part II here!

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #profoundnet #rae writes fic #alpha castiel #omega dean winchester #alpha beta omega dynamics #celebrity dean winchester #barista castiel #professor castiel #the original apple pie latte

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icefire149 · 3 years

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Fluff prompts. 51 + destiel :)

Heyyyy there <3 I'm so sorry how long this took to write. Between my own life throwing hurdles, THIS FIC.....this fic just kept throwing me in the trunk and taking control of the car. I'm so sorry it sprung a million miles away from fluff immediately. I don't know why when I mediated on the prompt my mind went this way and didn't stop. I hope you still enjoy what ended up happening anyways <333

#51 “I will love you forever and when ‘forever’ ends, I’ll love you some more.”

Dean’s heart stopped the moment they fell through the portal rift. His body hit the bunker floor with a loud thump, but so did Castiel’s. It wasn’t until a moment later when Cas wiggled to sit up, slamming the palm of his hand onto the floor as he gasped for air, that Sam felt his stomach drop.

“Dean?” Sam shouted, dropping to his knees at his brother’s side. He shook Dean’s shoulder with increasing roughness.

With wide eyes, Cas pushed forward searching Dean’s face for any sign of life. “He was…..Sam, he was just-”

“He’s not breathing.” Sam muttered in shock before surging forward to start pressing on his brother’s chest. “What did he do, Cas! A deal?”

“No!” His whole body started trembling. What he wanted was to lay his hands on Dean’s head and wake him up, but there was nothing he could do now. His fingers lightly grazed across the bandage Dean quickly taped on his neck. There wasn’t an ounce of grace left.

Squeezing his hands into fists, Cas glanced around the room. Besides the three of them and the bowl the brothers must have used for the spell, the room was bare. “Where’s Jack?”

Sam kept his eyes glued to his brother’s face. His jaw tightened. “A lot’s happened since you died. Jack’s God now so he left.”

“He’s what?” Furious, Cas pushed Sam’s hands aside and took over compressions. He slammed a single fist into Dean’s chest, rocking the man’s whole body from the impact. Still, Dean didn’t wake.

Cas leaned close, listening and feeling for breath against his skin. His mouth quivered as he sat up feeling for a pulse. “No,” his voice commanded.

He started compressions, pressing harder than Sam dared. Dean’s limbs convulsed. “You failed, to mention, that you let, our son, become God,” he growled in between beats, letting his eyes trail up to Dean’s face. “You promised, me, forever! You promised. You promised.”

“You’re….breaking his rib cage,” Sam’s voice broke. His eyes were wide with horror as he watched his brother’s chest concave more than he thought possible. “Cas?” Sam’s voice shook. He rested a shaky hand on the angel’s shoulder.

“You don’t, get to die,” Cas mumbled, ignoring Sam’s presence. His hands paused for a moment as he took a deep breath. The sound of his own heart racing was like a loud boom, pounding on his eardrums. “Jack Kline, you will come home right now.”

Cas resumed compressions. Again, and again. He blinked the beading tears away, but they quickly filled his eyes. His hands, the bunker, Dean….they all blurred away as he kept beating to the rhythm of his nightmare.

The tears ran hot down his cheeks while he blinked. He needed to keep Dean in his sight. Dean was his beacon home. Sniffling, Cas couldn’t stop.

Sam withdrew his hand. “Cas?” his voice was so small and afraid like several decades were suddenly torn away.

Then as Cas pressed, he finally turned to glance at Sam. His voice cracked, "We're gonna need an ambulance."

At that, Sam flew to his feet, feeling for his phone before spotting it on the nearby table. He was unlocking it when a blinding light filled the room.

"Castiel?"

“Fix him.” Cas didn’t look up. He kept pounding on Dean’s chest. His compressions had only lessened a fraction in strength.

But Jack didn’t move from where he stood on the other side of Dean. His gaze moved over to Sam, and the fear circling there twisted the hunter’s gut into knots. “But I…..” Slowly, he dropped down to a knee, and then the other. “Cas,” his voice cracked. “There’s a bigger picture that I’m apart of now. I promised to protect it. I promised not to interfere.”

“And I, promised, to protect you,” Cas answered, halting compressions. He remained hunched over Dean with his hands still pressed over his heart. The angel’s eyes squished shut as quiet sob tore through him.

New tears slid down his already soaked face, hugging his jaw. “I can’t do that without saving him one more time. He promised me forever.” His gaze slid up to meet his son’s with fiery determination. “Jack, it’s too soon to be his time.”

“Okay.” Jack laid his hands next to his father’s. He closed his eyes, and breathed.

Dean gasped awake with three sets of eyes staring at him from above. The angels withdrew their hands.

Sam fell back into the chair at his side. His whole body sagged with exhaustion. “Thank you.”

“What happened?” Dean’s stare bounced back and forth between everyone. He slowly sat up, and Jack collided into him first.

Pressing his chin into Dean’s shoulder, Jack collapsed into him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A few coughs tore through Dean’s body, but he kept a hand on the center of Jack’s back the whole time. When his breathing settled, Dean hugged him back. Also with his free hand, he laid a hand on Cas’ knee.

“I felt it….when I healed you. Everything,” Jack confessed quietly. “Your heart gave out.”

Dean snorted at that. “That’s not much of a surprise, kid.” His eyes met his brother’s. “Sammy’s been telling me for years the bacon was gonna get me.”

“No.” Jack hung on tighter. “It was grief. The loss of Cas…….me. It weakened your heart, but I knitted it all back together again.”

“Oh.” Dean’s grip on Cas’ leg tightened.

“I didn’t know you would miss me.” The words came out quiet enough that Dean wasn’t sure if Jack meant to speak them out loud. And then Jack started to let go, but Dean held on tighter.

“I’m an expert at messing up….heh, well, everything in my life, but yeah, of course Jack. Of course, I missed you.”

The rest of the day felt almost too good to be true. They all climbed into the impala -Dean drove much to Sam’s dismay- and they went out to their favorite diner closest to the bunker.

Over their favorite meals, Jack began going over his progress and plans for all of creation. There were several parts where his excitement was palpable, but he clearly was trying to be mature about the situation under Cas’ scrutinizing eye. Sam followed after, explaining in detail the spell work him and Rowena poured over crafting the past several months. Intermittently, Dean cut in to proudly point out where his research came in handy and how him and Eileen went about gathering the ingredients.

Afterwards, Jack looked up from his dessert with chocolate syrup smeared at the corner of his mouth. His eyes narrowed as he studied Dean closely. “Now that Castiel is free, what are you planning on doing now?”

Surprised, Dean leaned back in the booth. “That’s not my call.” He wrapped an arm around Cas’ shoulders. “Any ideas?”

“No more dying,” Cas answered firm, taking a long drink from his beer. His steely gaze slowly moved to each person at the table. “That goes for all of you.”

“And you too,” Jack pressed.

“Of course.” Cas shivered involuntarily. “I’m not planning on returning to the Empty any time soon.”

“You shouldn’t, ever,” Sam answered. “That was the push behind removing your grace. Without it the Empty shouldn’t have any claim over you.”

“Thank you,” Cas answered, picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“You’ll never go back.” The tone in Jack’s voice lifted Cas’ gaze to his. “When the time comes, you’ll have a place at my side. Forever.”

Smiling softly, the tension drained away from Cas’ body. “Thank you, Jack. That’s an honor.”

“You’ll all have an important place,” Jack continued happily. “Mary too. And my mother.”

That night had a difficult start. Jack reluctantly left for Heaven. He promised to return for the following weekend to discuss his duties further with Cas. And Cas, he held onto his son for so long that Jack in between his laughter had to appeal to Sam and Dean for help getting free.

It wasn’t long later that Sam got up from the library chairs they were all located at and rested a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re back. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight Sam,” Cas answered. He watched Sam cross over to Dean and punch his shoulder teasingly.

Once Sam was out of sight, Dean’s gaze landed on Cas. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Today, uh, didn’t exactly go as planned, but….I’m glad it happened.”

Cas’ stare hardened. “Dean, you died.”

“And I got better.”

Sighing, Cas’ gaze fell to his lap. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “I can’t do that again.”

“Well, I can’t watch you die for….what? The fourth? The fifth time?”

Wincing, Cas nodded. “You asked me earlier….or rather, Jack asked you, what we’re planning on doing next and-” He sat up straighter in his chair and held Dean’s stare. “I want us to retire from hunting.”

Gobsmacked, Dean blinked. “Retire?”

“Doing research. Providing assistance on the phones….that’s all still acceptable and I’m willing to compromise on that.”

Dean chuckled, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Cas repeated, not quite believing what he was hearing.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded with a grin. “I’ve been bugging Sam for a couple years now about retiring…..especially if Jack could make things better...like the future that you saw.”

“Oh.” Cas tilted his head a bit. “I didn’t realize that you took that to heart.”

“I didn’t at first,” he admitted. “You died, and I figured that it was all one huge manipulation. Gabriel’s illusions. Lucifer’s lies.” Cas nodded, and Dean continued. “But then, you came home and….it became hard not to see so much of...you in him.”

“He’s a good boy, but I’m afraid that you’re placing too much….credit? On my shoulders.”

Dean’s grin widened. “Jack’s good, because he has the best father to emulate. There’s nobody else that fights….and sacrifices...to do the right thing like you.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth curved. “And they’re probably better off for it….”

“Cas, come on.” Dean sighed. “Okay, you did your big speech about how you see me….well suck it up, because you need to learn to see yourself the way everyone else sees you.”

Cas rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Dean pressed. “Like yeah, things don’t always go as we planned. I sure as hell know Chuck didn’t plan on being fired and left in the dirt, but….the point is that, you’re probably the best guy in existence.”

That knocked the air out of Cas’ lungs and slapped a goofy smile on his face. “You’re biased.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong, and I’m not.”

Cas shook his head, but that smile was still firmly there. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Come on,” Dean said standing up. He reached a hand out towards the angel. “It’s time for bed.”

Without hesitation, Cas took his hand but he didn’t rise from his chair. He stared at the marvel that was Dean’s skin pressed against his. It was callused in a few places, but still softer than Castiel imagined.

His gaze lifted up to meet Dean’s and a pang of anxiety wrapped around his chest. The joy slipped from his face.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s grip tightened.

“What if I don’t wake up? Statistically, there’s a chance I’m still asleep in the Empty.”

Dean tugged Cas’ arm, and the angel let himself be pulled forward and engulfed in Dean’s arms. They clung onto each other tightly.

“You’re here,” Dean pressed. “This is real. I’ll remind you every day if I have to. I meant what I said when you woke up.”

“And then you almost didn’t get to fulfill that promise.”

“I would’ve,” Dean said, in a matter of fact. Pulling back, his eyes trailed over every inch of Cas’ face. He brought a hand up to cup the angel’s cheek, and then Dean leaned forward to press a kiss to Cas’ forehead. “Where ever my soul would've ended up, nothing was gonna change. I’d still love you.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “So you’re promising, forever-forever?”

Chuckling, Dean dropped his head so his forehead was on Cas’ shoulder. “Yeah,” he breathed, laughing still. “When forever ends, I’ll just love you some more.”

Other fics from this round of prompts

Previous round of prompts

#spn #my writing #despite this taking me a million different directions i'm really happy with how this story came out #i'm incredibly fond #i'm sorry for the initial pain. it gets sweet!

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aceinspace691 · 3 years

Text

Giant Dream is Scared of Humans Sapnap and George

Hey! This is a little story thing based on this post by @giant-tiny-squid!

I thought that it was a super interesting concept and I wrote a little more than I probably should have haha! Anyway here it is!

Warnings for: fear and swearing (I think that this is it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word count ~1700 words

When Sapnap and George had set out to visit the Badlands on the other side of the forest, it had been a nice and sunny day. They’d been laughing and cutting up with each other, banter passing easily as they walked along the forest. Sunlight danced through the leaves and provided a pleasant atmosphere as they travelled. But about a fourth of the way through the forest, they could see dark storm clouds gathering in the sky at an alarming pace. They decided to pick up their own pace as well, hoping they would make it through the forest or that the rain would simply pass them so they could make it through the forest safely. Like most things regarding these two, it didn’t go their way. “Holy shit!” George let out a startled exclamation as boom reverberated to the forest, loud and quick to follow the flash that preceded it. Sapnap let out a sharp laugh, nudging George’s shoulder. The armor they wore made a clinking sound as it connected. “Awwww, is Georgie scared of a little thunder?” “Shut up,” George’s cheeks turned a bit red as he shouldered Sapnap back, “let’s just keep moving and try to find some shelter.” A few moments later, it started to pour down heavy rain, and they were soaked. The both of them room out their weapons as mobs began to spawn, George with a sword and Sapnap with an axe. It wasn’t long before they spotted a cave ahead and made their way to it, trying to shake off the water that dripped from them. “That was crazy! That came out of nowhere, like, holy muffins.” “You’re starting to sound like Bad.” Sapnap chuckled, playfully rolling his eyes. “And seriously? You wanna talk about the weather of all things?” “What else would we even talk about? This dark cave?” George retorted. “Well, if you want to talk about the weather, I guess I could just make fun of you for your fear of thunder.” “What? No, it just caught me off guard.” “Sure,” Sapnap dragged it out with a smirk, not noticing how George went stiff. “I mean, seriously—“ “Sapnap, I—“ “No George, seriously, thunder? I mean I get if it was—“ “Sap—“ “Why do you keep trying to interrupt me? You know—“ “SAPNAP!” His voice echoed around the cave and Sapnap fell silent, finally following George’s gaze further into the cave. Right where they could see the silhouette of a giant. They couldn’t see much, just barely able to make out that it was likely male. Their attention was taken up by what little of him they could make out. But even then, they couldn’t see much other than a white smiling mask that covered a good bit of his face. There was a beat where no one moved, simply staring at each other, everyone in the cave tense. Anxiety pooled in the humans’ guts, intimidated by the being that could easily overpower the two hunters. And then lightning flashed, and oh. Oh. He was massive. And he was moving. As soon as there was any sign of movement from the giant, the humans let out a startled shout, Sapnap moved protectively in front of George, raising his axe defensively. But to their shock, the giant had moved further away from them. Not that there was much further he could go anyway from them; the cave itself wasn’t insanely large to begin with. The humans were stock-still, feeling confused as hell. Wasn’t the giant upset that they were in his cave, or whatever? Instead, as they examined the massive being not too far across the cave from them, George was first to notice how wide the green eye, which was just barely visible to them behind that smiling mask, was. The giant was... scared? But why, he was so much bigger and could easily defeat anything, so why...? Another flash of lightning was followed by a crash of thunder, which was then followed by a whine from the giant. George’s eyes softened. He must be scared of thunder. “Hey it’s okay, big guy.” He ignored the warning that Sapnap hissed under his breath as he stepped closer to the giant. His heart ached as the giant pressed himself further against the wall. “Thunder can be a bit scary sometimes. I know.” Sapnap, while George had though that the giant was scared of thunder, had connected the dots a bit better. He’d seen the way the giant eyed them and their weapons. And now that the giant was shying away from George of all people only further solidified that for him. Sapnap took a hesitant step forward to test his theory, the giant’s eyes snapping over to him at the movement. “Are you...” he licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “Are you scared of us?” He was met with a whimper from the giant, and Sapnap shifted his grip on the axe as the giant moved slightly. “Don’t hurt me.” The giant pleaded, green eye wide and watery with fear. Fear of the humans. “Please leave.” Now, both humans were utterly confused, especially George. However, their thought processes were a bit different on the situation. George wanted to immediately reassure the giant that they weren’t going to hurt him and was hoping he could convince him to let them stay. He himself was wary of being there with the giant, but it didn’t seem like he meant them any harm. Besides, there wasn’t really anywhere they could go. With the storm and mobs outside, it wouldn’t be a smart move to leave the cave. Sapnap, on the other hand, was thinking about how they could use the giant’s fear to their advantage. They could have a guard for the night, maybe longer. And that would mean that George would be safe. Unfortunately for the giant, Sapnap spoke first. “We won’t.” He told the giant, watching closely as the being seemed to relax a bit. “If,” and just like that he was tense again “you let us stay here tonight and keep us safe. And take off the mask.” “I—uh. Yeah, for sure, uh, deal, deal.” The giant was quick to agree, licking his lips as the slipped the mask off of his face. This, he hesitated with quite a bit, but he seemed to accept defeat as he removed it, revealing a lightly freckled face with a few scars. “Sapnap,” George hiss under his breath, “what are you doing?” “Just trust me.” He returned with a small smirk, looking back up to the giant and clearing his throat. His voice was louder as he addressed the giant again. “Tell us about yourself.” “I, uh, of course!” And just like that, desperate words began to spill out of his mouth. “I’m Dream. There’s not much to say about me, really. I just live out here. Well, not here here, but, uh I got caught out in the storm. That’s about it.” Dream was met with silence and chewed on his lip anxiously. He continued to ramble on, breathing picking up a bit as one of the humans shifted closer. The one with the sword, his mind helpfully informed him. “A-and I’m alone now and I won’t bother you if you leave or just let me leave and-and I haven’t hurt anyone, I swear, and so you don’t need to kill me. Or tell anyone about me. Or-or send anyone to hunt me down, just please.” This eyes were wide, and earnest, and damn his face was just so expressive. It made guilt worm it’s way into the humans’ hearts. “Woah, hey, nobody’s hurting or killing anyone.” Dream’s eyes snapped to the one with the sword. The one with the accent. “Why would you think that? Is that why you’re...afraid of us?” George looked up at the giant with big eyes, following the giants a panicked gaze to his sword and then to Sapnap’s axe. Realization finally clicked and he tucked it away, urging Sapnap to do the same. “Wha—George!” He whined. “Sapnap,” George warned. “But, I really think that—“ “Sappitus. Nappitus.” He was met with a groan before the other finally out his axe away, raising his hands and walking a bit further away to sit on a rock, murmuring under his breath. “Don’t worry about him,” George offered a small smile up at the giant, heart warming a bit at the tentative smile he got in return. “He’s just really protective of his friends. But you’re not going to hurt us. Are you?” Dream quickly shook his head. “No, and, uh, if you let me leave—“ “No.” George backtracked at the look on the giant’s face, and he shivered as a gust of wind blew into the cave and chilled his still-soaked body. “No, no, I just mean that we should all stay. You were here first, but me and Sap wont be safe if we leave either. Maybe we can work something out? I’m George, by the way.” He ignored the way his heart hammered as Dream hesitantly leaned closer, or tried to anyway. He still took an instinctive step back, and he could see something akin to recognition flashed in those big green eyes. “You’re scared of me too.” Dream breathed, the warmth washing over George. It took everything in him not to back away from the giant more as the breath gently ruffled his hair. He gave a slow nod, waiting for the giant’s reaction.

Would he realize that he could simply get rid of them? But... no, Dream just offered a small smile to the human and a soft, considering hum. “Uh, obviously.” Sapnap had stood up from where he was sitting, watching the scene carefully. “You’re kind of huge, dude. That’s why I didn’t want to put my axe away.” The three of them dissolved into a conversation, hesitantly at first and then getting a bit more comfortable as they worked out the details of their time in the cave. They came to the decision that they’d all stay for the night and then part ways, and they’d light a fire to warm up the drenched humans. “Wait, wait,” Dream was saying, choking back laughter as he shifted a bit closer to the humans by the fire. They were comfortable enough around each other now, but he still moved slowly, cautiously. “You guys were bashing me for being afraid of humans, who could kill me if they tried, but Georgie here is scared of thunder?” “Exactly!” Sapnap’s grin was wide as he laughed. “And he wonders why I teased him for it.” “Shut up!” George groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not scared of thunder. And even if I was, like, it’s loud and lightning can hit you.” The three bickered for a bit before they fell asleep. And if the humans came back after the storm had cleared? Well, no one needed to know that, did they?

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

And there it is! let me know what y’all thought, and feel free to send my asks if you want! my box is open :D

#giant!dream #tiny!george #tiny!sapnap #mcyt gt #ace writes #sapnap and george are tiny but terrifying #to dream at least lol #its 4am why am I awake

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ranhaitanisgf · 3 years

Text

;; 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖙

otherwise read as: bennett has a crush

❧ masterlist

The side of your face was smushed on the table, a bored look on your face as you watched Sara serve customers at the Good Hunter.

"Ugh...I'm so tired..." You closed your eyes, thinking of things you might be able to do, but ultimately coming up with nothing.

"Hey! Watch out!" Not a moment later after the words were yelled, a searing liquid spilled on your shoulders, making you sit straight up as you squirmed, trying to get your shirt to separate from your back.

" Hot hot hot hot!!" You whispered, looking around to see what had happened. Looking up, you saw Sara staring at you with a surprised and slightly horrified look, an empty soup bowl in her hands. It looked as if she was about to say something, but before she could, something cold spilled onto your back, splashing onto your hair and the rest of your clothes.

"What the..."

"Sorry! Um..." You turned around in your seat and saw Eury behind you, standing there with a now empty glass pointed in your direction.

"Oh my Archons, I'm so sorry (Y/N)! Are you alright!?" Sara said in a panicked voice, trying to vigorously wipe off your shoulders with a rag. Wincing, you waved her off, a pained smile on your face from the towel rubbing against the tender skin.

"Ah, it's fine Sara, really, no worries!" You gave her a thumbs-up, although it did nothing to ease the panic off her face.

"I-I'll give you a meal, on the house! Two free meals! Come by whenever, just please don't tell anyone about this!" She begged, almost about to get on her knees and beg.

"It's fine, I'm not gonna go talking to all of Teyvat about it, it's no biggie. I'm gonna go change my clothes though..." You stood up from your seat, waving at her before heading to the Adventurer's Guild, sighing as you looked at your clothes.

Man, and I really liked these too...hopefully it doesn't stain with Cream Stew for eternity...

Bad luck has always followed you wherever you've gone, whether it was slipping on a rock or having an entire camp of Fatui Skirmishers attack you while you were asleep. It was non-stop, so you weren't exactly shocked that something had happened in the short amount of time you had been sitting at the Good Hunter.

There was only one solution to your luck; cancel it out.

"Hey (Y/N), is that you?" An enthusiastic voice called out. A small smile appeared on your face as you waved to the figure running towards you from the direction of the Guild.

"Yeah, hey Bennett." Waving at him, he ran up to you looking like he was about to say something, but then he noticed the mess on your shoulders.

"What happened to your shirt?" You laughed nervously, looking to the side.

"Oh, Sara accidentally spilled some Cream Stew, y'know? That's all!" He looked at you curiously and swiped from some of the soup that was still on your shirt with his finger, tasting it. A slight flush filled your cheeks, as you stared at him in disbelief.

"H-Huh!? Bennett, what're you doing!?" He just gave a big goofy smile and grabbed your hand to start pulling you towards the Guild.

"Well, now that I'm here, nothing else will happen! Also, that stew is still pretty good!" You didn't say anything, attempting to keep calm as you tried to keep up with his fast pace.

The boy looked over towards a nearby windmill, seeing Captain Kaeya salute him with two fingers before striding off towards the Knights of Favonius HQ. His hand slightly tightened it's grip around yours, sudden nervousness making him almost hesitate.

C'mon Bennett, you got this! No hesitating!

Before you knew it, he had dragged you to a patch of grass behind the Guild, where a picnic table had been set up with an array of sweets and snacks.

"Surprise! Fischl told me the other day the adventure you guys went on didn't go exactly as planned because I was gone, so I decided to make it up to you! I, uh, hope you like it!" He said, his hand resting on the nape of his neck.

You didn't even know what to say. Nobody had ever done such a grand gesture towards you before, so it felt surreal, especially since it was coming from Bennett.

"I-! Um, thank you! You really didn't have to though!" You noticed that he was still holding onto your hand with a tight grip, though you weren't sure if it was intentional or not. Your opposite hand rested on your cheek, trying to hold yourself together and not completely fangirl right in front of him.

The two of you sat down, and you inwardly groaned when he let go of your hand, a mumbled apology coming out his mouth accompanied by awkward coughing. A few moments went by before he spoke.

"Well, dig in (Y/N)! It's all yours y'know!" You didn't even know where to start with everything. It seemed that he had put out all of your favorite desserts, and it looked like Razor helped him too by the look of the hashbrowns.

"Ah, okay!" You decided to start off with the Almond Tofu, because who doesn't love it? As soon as you put it in your mouth, the taste was like nothing you had ever had before, and you immediately turned to Bennett.

"This! This is so good! How did you make it!?"

"Oh, is it really that good? I had the Traveler help me with it, and I'll tell you, he is a master cook! I would never have expected it! Here, wait, try this!" You figured that he was just going to point out what to eat, but instead, he grabbed a forkful of cake and held it out to you.

While he might have looked calm and cheery, he was inwardly freaking out.

What if she thinks I'm weird!? If this plan backfires on me I'm moving to Sumeru and I will never step foot in Mondstadt again.

His heart was pounding as he saw a confused look on your face. The realization probably dawned on you after that, especially when one could plainly see the flushed look on your face as you realized.

Hesitantly, you opened your mouth and ate the cake on the fork that he held out, chewing thoughtfully before your eyes widened at him.

"BENNETT!!"

"Uh, yeah...?"

"THIS IS SO GOOD!" The tips of his ears were burning red from the adorable look on your face, and he had to cover the bottom half of his face with his hand as he could feel the red get more and more intense.

"(Y/N)!" You looked up from the cake that you were pigging out on, a look on your face like you had been caught doing something you shouldn't have.

"Uhhhhhh...yeah?" You slowly started moving your forkful of cake towards your mouth as you waited for his answer.

"Listen! I-! I really, really like you! A-And it's fine if you don't feel the same, I just wanted to tell you because I don't like keeping secrets from my friends and I think I made it awkward now so I'm just gonna-mmph!?" Instead, you shoved the forkful of cake into his mouth, looking away with a furious blush on your face.

"Just shut up okay! Of course, I like you too, why wouldn't I!? So, um!" He looked at you with an incredulous look in his eyes as he chewed the cake, but you just so happened to notice that there was some frosting on his lip.

Yolo it bruh, don't be a coward.

Leaning closer, you swiped your thumb across his lip, collecting the frosting and tasting it as your heart pounded.

"Hmm...still tastes good!" Bennett didn't say anything, he just stared at you, and you started to get nervous and were about to apologize for your actions.

Suddenly, his hand slipped behind your head, pulling you close, but he paused right before his lips could touch yours.

"Um, can I kiss you?" (consent asking king, this is canon, he asks for consent)

"Y-Yeah!!" Not a moment later, he touched his lips to yours. It was a warm kiss, almost as if you were in front of a fireplace, and the way you gently moved his lips in sync with yours felt like you were home.

When the two of you pulled away, you hesitantly leaned your head on his chest, and hearing his accelerated heartbeat made you giggle a little bit.

"H-Hey, what's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing Bennett...just very happy."

#bennett #bennett x reader #bennettxreader #x reader #xreader #reader #readerinsert #genshin #genshinimpact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #fanfic #oneshot #genshinoneshot #genshinimpactoneshot #genshin impact oneshot #;; hana writes genshin

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herstarburststories · 4 years

Text

you and me and the devil makes three.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x reader, Demon!Dean Winchester x reader, past Lisa x Dean

Summary: Dean is a demon, he will take whatever he wants.

A/N: This got darker than I expected. I wanna make it clear I don't condone or engage with Dean's acts on this. This is my submission for @jawritter 's Make Me Cry Challenge. Congrats, honey! Hope you like it. Dividers by talesmanic and gif credit here

Prompt: I guess I should have been more like her.

Warnings: non consensual kissing, language, UNHEALTHY BEHAVIOR, non con (kissing and touching but no sex), dirty talk

Dean Winchester was a dreamer.

In the rawest way of the word, the meaning in the dust-collecting dictionaries and not the idealistic form. His eyelids shut close and, just like magic, Dean’s head was as haunted as the home he swore he’d never come back to in Kansas. The ghosts of the past, not ever so very friendly, coming to greet him at least three times per week. Sometimes they were happy films he could never starre in real life, his mom singing or a picnic with a lover saying that they needed to hurry up to get their kid at the baseball. The nightmares were sleepy visions of flesh and blood, mostly about his time underneath, Sam hurting, or his father spilling out his worst fears at his face.

Maybe it was how the eldest Winchester’s brain compensated for the lack of bedtime tales and docile affairs growing up. The own way that his brittle soul discovered and molded not to let him collapse, or to always keep him on red alert.

Good and bad deals are mostly a matter of which side you are betting your money on, really.

Because yeah, Dean did wake up feeling like he had shut his forest eyes briefly for twenty minutes instead of hours when he dreamed, but he also had never spent so long trapped in a better place. The green eyed hunter didn’t know which one was worse: the good dreams or the horrific ones. After all, he had went through all the atrocity and made it out alive, but the engulfed craving for light-hearted scenarios was suffocating. The hunter could never have it all. Trust him, he tried. Then, which is more agonizing: to have everything you ever wanted for a couple hours and have every scrap of it taken from you, or to undergo the calamity that accompanied your breaking point?

Dean didn’t know, he didn’t even know what to tell Sam when he wondered what his brother had dreamt about to wake up sweating and screaming, all the light and stupid apple pie desires and the sharp brutality crawling out of the back of his mind. He made a joke, Megan Fox really liked knives, man. He kept it in, shoved down a good amount of alcohol, and mocked the worry of doing the lawn. Ready for another day.

But now he was a demon, and apparently whatever he was made of - sulfur, cruelty, and black eyes under garden ones - wasn't worthy quiet reliefs in the middle of the night, or even frightening figments of memory. He became his worst dreams and all the dreams slipped beyond his reaches because of that. Demons, those unholy creatures, didn’t get the human peculiarities. You know what? Fine by him.

Who needed dreams when you don't need sleep, anyway? Even better: who needed dreams when you don't care about what you gotta do to put your greedy hands on the prize you had been eyeing for years?

Dean Winchester was finally free. Free for the first time since he was a four years little boy who watched his mother burning with a terrorized expression, ironically mimicking the one Mary wore on the ceiling. His dad’s shouting for him to grab Sammy and run, take your little brother and run, echoing through years and years. There was never time for Dean, for his grief or his questions or whatever the child frozen in time under his rib cage could come up with. They said, stupid psychologists with their fancy degrees and malicious bartenders with a unfriendly grun under the counter who learned a little too much, everybody said that when someone was so traumatized as a kid, that person would tend to get frozen at that age. Therefore, how tremendously alleviating was to kill any reminiscing emotion of the whiny child he used to be.

The kind of freedom that no traveler longed for; when one’s ruined and damaged enough not to care, and just take and take and take like hunger itself. Dean was an evil thing now, what else could he do but act on the figments of the worst intentions?

And feel so fucking good when doing that.

‘’Where do you think he's going?’’ Your eyes raked over the street, darting between the asphalt under Baby’s wheels and Sam’s weary features.

‘’I don't know.’’ He sighed, attempting to organize his thoughts. Even as a demon, his brother wouldn’t just run miles and miles away by himself for no apparent reason. There had to be something you and Sam were missing out, some unseen clue or a hidden meaning. ‘’What the localizator says?’’

At least you had managed to put a tracker in his boots during your last encounter. Whatever Dean was thinking of starting there, you and Sam wouldn’t let him.

‘’Still Cicero, Indiana.’’ You sighed. Sammy furrowed his eyebrows, a long forgotten memory rising. ‘’What?’’

‘’We had a case there once years ago.’’ He explained, opting not to elaborate. Your and Dean’s relationship was troubled enough with his new self. Sam didn’t want to blow it up completely. His brother would need you once he came back to himself. The look on your face, though, reported how you weren’t buying his cheap excuses. The long haired hunter sighed. ‘’Did Dean ever tell you about that?’’

‘’No.’’

He stepped on the accelerator.

To find the woman was excruciatingly easy. The freckled demon couldn't believe he opened his computer many times and gave up before today. He glanced through the glass window and there she was, standing in all her glory with a body that seemed to forget how to grow old. Her tan skin still glowing, as appetizing as ever. Brown eyes shining so bright, tiny hands that always seemed to know where he wanted to be touched. She was laughing like there was no tomorrow, holding a glass of wine with one hand and her cellphone with the other, while her dark hair was falling so perfectly over her shoulder, like waves against the rocks in the sea.

Dean can’t wait to smell her again, to taste her, to prove her. His fingers were tingling, begging to touch what was his as he hopped off the car, walking towards the porch. He had been gone for a long time, but now he was back.

He will destroy that quintessential, sequin woman so good.

The Winchester buckled in front of the white door, graced with the sound of the female giggle. Thin walls, he thought, those will be useful to make sure the neighbors know who’s back home. Her steps on the wood floor growing closer and closer as he heard a goodbye, probably aimed at whoever she was on the phone with. It was almost like the caramel skinned woman knew that whoever was on her doorstep wasn’t gonna be a hustled visitor. Or so the demon’s arranged mind said.

‘’Hey, Lis.’’ Dean’s voice lacked any cherishment as she opened the door, who would know that the absence of a soul wouldn't be gelid, just dry? As for her, Lisa’s face was drained of love. For all she was aware of, he was a stranger who knew her name. The male let out a chuckle empty of joy. She really didn’t remember, huh? ‘’Whoa. Cass really fucked up your head, huh? At least he did one thing right.’’

‘’Excuse me?’’ The man with dirty blonde hair and perfect teeth smelled like alcohol. She wasn’t having any of this tonight. ‘’Listen, I don’t know who you are and--’’

‘’Don’t worry.’’ He tranquilized her, although the lopsided grin on his lips held anything but good intentions. ‘’I’ll make you remember. I have a spell. You won’t believe how much you missed me.’’

The mocking laugh that left her lips utterly aggravated him. ‘’I don’t know you. Please leave or I’ll call the police.’’

Dean didn’t need a crowd for that part, a bratty woman in need of a firm hand should get a particular lesson.

‘’You always liked a little cat and mouse.’’

Speaking of, the demon pushed the door wide open without any effort. Lisa jumped at the sudden move, every instinct inside her deciding that man was a threat and not some harmless wasted guy. Her body was quickly erect, thinking about ways to run and get help, but Dean swiftly pushed her to him and kicked the door closed-- her small figure collided to his chest.

Human savagery was cut in urban ways, molded to civilize the animalistic instincts. Imagine meat. A dead animal on a silver plate, and we couldn’t wait to chew every inch of it. We couldn’t wait to eat it, put that dead thing inside us and hope it’ll be enough to control the predatory hungry. Humans will always be animals, but so will be their rests that constructed the demons.

Dean may not be a hunter anymore, but he’s still a predator who can't wait to taste his prey. He could small it, the fear in Lisa’s sweat making his mouth water. How much she tried to fight against him and scream other names when his was the only one he wanted her to need tonight. The resistance of a poor human barely made the monster shiver.

He closed his hands around her arms, throwing her against the wall like someone tossed an old toy away. There was no space for delicaly. In that moment, Dean Winchester was a tiger, a lion, the big bad wolf attacking the omega. Lis winced, her back hurting as her fibers. She couldn’t believe this was happening, that man was about to do something so terrible and disgusting to her in her own house, the place she was supposed to feel warm and safe. Why did he seem to know her? Why did he say she was gonna remember? Was he crazy, hallucinating, or drugged? Why was he so satisfied with how frightened her tiny body looked? How could she use all that information to somehow push him away?

‘’Let me go!’’ She demanded, her legs kicking the demon with ferocity. ‘’What’s wrong with you? LET ME GO NOW!’’

The brunette’s skilled body moved itself desperately, and the act of resistance only brought a hysterical laugh out of Dean. The wrong kind of goosebumps washed her skin, she had to run away for her life. This man was mad.

‘’FIRE! FIRE!’’ Lisa started to scream. Well-aware that people were most likely to come around and help a woman screaming if she said fire. ‘’THERE’S A FIRE. SOMEONE HELP ME!’’

One of his hands went to her neck, wrapping his fingers around it to shut her up. That was rubbing him off the wrong way. Lisa Braeden used to beg for his touch, how dared her not to want him anymore? Now that he was better, stronger, and thicker.

The brown eyed girl went quiet, probably scared by his brutal behavior. Dean smiled, a blood stained grin that carried mischief and pervertment. He licked the tears savoring the salty horror coming from her. Just like the day he was a vampire who almost gave in to drinking every drop of her luptuos blood. She may not remember but he did and he couldn't wait to get inside her, those tight walls squeezing his hard cock.

‘’You’re gonna do as I say, Lis. And I won't hurt you… Much.’’ He risped, crooked nose stroking her wet cheek. She whined. ‘’Don’t worry, honey. You loved it. Bet you’ll scream so much once I fuck you good.’’

‘’Please, don’t do it.’’ She begged as he coaxed his body against his. That man was stronger than her, she had no other choice but to plead to his human side. If only she knew.

‘’Begging already?’’ Dean lifted his head, smirking at her. Lisa just wanted to cry and close her eyes until everything was done. How could someone do that? ‘’I told you, don’t worry. I’m gonna make a lil’ spell that will give your memories back and you’ll remember everything. And then we’re gonna have so much fun, Lis.’’

His last murmur was finished with a kiss. A harsh, ruthless kiss. Actually, she wasn’t even sure if she could call it a kiss; teeth against each other, his vicious mouth pressed to her weakened lips, his tongue invading her like a robber and showing an unrequited dominance.

‘’Dean!’’ Your voice resonated stridently, louder than the door Sam had stormed open. You couldn’t believe what your eyes witnessed. ‘’Stop it!’’

Dean groaned, as if you and Sam were stepping on his territory. He simply turned his head to you two, not pulling away from Lisa. You couldn’t see her face, your boyfriend’s large shoulder and tall body covering her up. His eyes were still green, which set the scene in an even more atrocious light.

Your thoughts were racing. How could he come to her, crave her so badly that he drove away miles and miles as a demon? He was supposed not to feel a thing. You prepared yourself for a cold man, not an obsessive one. Apparently, a heart hidden under the black smoke. Choose if it's a gift or Pandora's box. Sam told you their history. Of course he would want that and not you. Dean never left Lisa because he fell out of love for her, he was ripped out from her life. You were so pissed at yourself; how could you picture playing the woman in his veins? How stupid were you? He may be a demon guided by wants and not emotions, but what was love but an amount of outrageous desires laced up with some pretty words and flavored with dependency?

‘’Y/N and Sammy--’’

Love was the wrong word here. Anyway. Go head and unwrap it.

‘’Please help me!’’ Lisa’s voice came to life once more through her quiet cry. Dean hardened the hold around her throat, making her cough a little.

Suddenly, your body is frozen. That, whatever that is, whatever he’s doing to Lisa. It wasn’t love. She didn’t want it. When his frame moved to face you and Sam, you caught a glimpse of her face. She was petrified, her delicate features contorted in wrath and fear and beg for help.

‘’Quiet.’’ Dean howled, glancing at her rapidly before his eyes fell on you and Sam again. ‘’You two are such killjoys. I told you to let me go.’’

You couldn’t believe what you were witnessing. You wanted to puke your guts out.

‘’And what? Kill your ex? Or do something even worse to her?’’ You elicited with disgust.

‘’She’ll come around eventually. Just playing hard to get. You know how frisky women are.’’ The corner of his lips curved into a barbaric grim, one of his hands touching Lisa’s cheek. The victim winced at the touch. ‘’Besides, I’m not just gonna take her. I’ll make her remember and she’ll want me.’’ He shrugged, unbothered by the horrified looks of everyone in the room. ‘’Are you really worried about Lis, Y/N? Or are you just jealous that I didn’t go for you?’’

‘’Enough, Dean.’’ Sam groaned, holding the gun up. It felt oily. ‘’Let her go. And come with us.’’

The demon tossed the brunette away with a simple sleight of hand, pulling his sleeves up with a marred beam. His eyes switched from starry green to black, showing his true facette. It was a peculiar relief. It wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t Dean.

Yet, Dean’s gruff voice said in a twisted playful tone:

‘’Come get me, Sammy.’’

Dean Winchester was cured. For most people, to heal is to let go or to learn with things. In the doctor’s case, healing is leaving a bruise to cover up a wound. Everyone believed the war started and ended, and that was it. But when something so ravaging is gone, you gotta deal with the trauma.

He was a trauma. Cured from a sickness, drowning in sorrow and waves of woe. All the worst things Dean ever did, he knew now, weren’t to himself or to the monster he so proudly killed. His unspoken acts were against the people he cared about.

The hunter never thought his hands, his bruised and tough hands could ever hurt Lis. The woman who was his lifeline when Sam died, who allowed him to be a father and live in his dreamland of suburban life. All she ever did was to love him, and what did she get for it?

He was disgusted with himself. What almost did to her was enough to hunt him and make him sure he was going back to hell, very deserving this time. Threating to do that to a woman, and enjoy it… Dean couldn’t bear driving into memories. He was selfishly glad he didn’t remember about that, only Sam’s explanation was enough: he went to Lisa, he kissed her without her consent, and Sam and you stopped him going any further. Would his unscrupulous, demon self go ahead? He was too scared to wonder, even though his brother said that he apparently had a spell to make Lis remember and wasn’t planning on just taking her. A forced kiss was disgusting enough. He just wished Sam had put a bullet in his black eyes right there.

You walked in the bathroom that you once shared with the eldest Winchester

She was everything he ever wanted, all the suburban dreams and acceptance of hunter reality without being in it. Lisa loved him completely and you could only love him sideways-- you never wanted to be a mom, or to have a family or live in a suburb. Those were valid goals, just not yours. You thought you and Dean were on the same page about it, but this other side, not only the pervert demon but the domestic man, hadn’t been shown to you until a couple days ago. Sam had cured his brother, his dirty nature washed away with holy water, but you couldn’t help the bruises that came from the dog days. Lisa had her memory erased by Cass again, you didn’t have the same unfair luxury.

‘’Dean.’’ You said, making him look up at you. Bags under his eyes and wrinkles more evident than ever. ‘’We need to talk.’’

He sighed and wiped his face. ‘’Y/N, I don’t want to talk right now.’’

‘’You never do.’’ You scoffed, gaining an incredulous glance from him. ‘’I know that what happened was disgusting and sick and the worst thing you could ever do, but we need to talk.’’

He took a deep breath. ‘’What do you wanna talk about?’’

‘’You went to her.’’ You stated as a lawyer in front of a jury. Dean furrowed.

‘’What?’’

‘’Lisa. You went to her.’’ When the arrow hit someone so damaged, it was like an animal with his teeth there that wouldn't let go. Yeah, his human soul wasn't the same brittle glass as before but it lingered in his demon self in the shape of delusion, and it was distorted by whatever he was made of, violence and darkness, and turned into something disgusting. ‘’You love her.’’

‘’Love?’’ The word burned his tongue, Dean didn’t think he had the right to ever use it again. ‘’I was a demon, Y/N. I didn’t love or feel anything. What I did--’’

‘’You didn’t do anything.’’ You interrupted, loyal as a soldier.

‘’I forced a kiss on her and wanted to bring her memories back to have sex with her. That’s disgusting and I did half of that.’’ He pointed out aggitadly, plump lips moving fast and voice deeper. ‘’It wasn’t love. Leaving her years back was love.’’

You didn’t miss how Dean didn’t even dare to say her name. ‘’So you don’t think about her? Not even once?’’

He scoffed humourless. ‘’Are you kidding me?’’

‘’I guess I should have been more like her.’’ You hugged yourself, glancing at the wall. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again, not for another woman. That wasn’t even your cicatrix to ache.

‘’Y/N, what the fuck are you talking about?’’ The fully green eyed man raised to his feet, glancing at you with disbelief. He couldn’t face how messed up it was. ‘’I can’t believe you are jealous of what happened. I thought I was the broken one here.’’

‘’I’m not her.’’ You two shared it, the glance that only two women who were hurt by the same man could. You both understood that when he got inside you, it was like the syringe in an eutanasia. Once you were happy because you loved him, now you were scared and not so sure this was what you wanted. ‘’I’m not her and you knew it. When you became just instincts and selfish and did whatever you wanted, you didn’t come to me. You came to her.’’

‘’I hurt her.’’

The next words fly out of your mouth, as weak and totaled as you felt: ‘’Why didn’t you hurt me?’’

‘’This is the most unhealthy shit we ever went through.’’ Dean’s right. You have her expression mesmerized on your brain. Dean was the man on top of her, teaching her how to hate. How to fear. You can’t trust yourself. ‘’I can’t believe you.’’

‘’Neither can I.’’ You were so sick. How ravaged and annihilated one had to be to wish to be a demon's object of obsession? To get jealous that another woman almost died in the arms of a beast that cried his blood out once he came back to being a man and saw what he had done? ‘’I hate it. I hate feeling like this. I was there and I saw how scared of you she was, how all she wanted was to push you away and run because she was so disgusted--’’

‘’Stop.’’ He groaned, but it came out more like a whine than anything. ‘’It wasn’t me. I would never hurt Lis. I would never force her to do anything! I--’’

You gave him a sad smile. ‘’You love her.’’

‘’I love you.’’ Dean approached you, fumbling in despair to fix yet another thing his hands destroyed. If Rome was built in ruins, he was a kingdom. You pulled away before his tough hands landed on you.

‘’But you love her too.’’ The hunter stopped on his spot, unable to answer. ‘’I ruined myself for you, Dean. I can’t-- I won’t do that again. You are right. This is unhealthy. The fact that you’ve been pining for her for so long, pushing down those feelings to the point they are twisted into something so cruel and disgusting. You need help.’’ What kind of ugly you have to have inside you for a monster to love you? And, even worse, what kind of sickness you have trapped, written in your blood to want it to be spilled out in his name? ‘’You really are venom. If this is how you love, it’s scary as fuck.’’ When you loved a broken man, you were never sure if his shattered pieces would glisten or cut your hand once the light came in. Here’s your answer. His parts crawled inside you through pulled up scars, scraping your insides to make into ruins, but you never liked Rome much. You had to be better than that. ‘’Goodbye, Dean.’’

He couldn’t bring himself to go after your steps.

Once again, it’s the kind of freedom no traveler wants. When you lost it all and didn't have any person or place to cling to, when you had to leave because you were becoming the girl you swore you’d never leave, when you walked away willingly without a map.

Still, it was all you had. You’d make a good use of it. You’d be okay. No more ugly emotions or sentiments that made you unrecognizable. No more knives that cut both ways, or situations so complicated you weren’t sure where your morals could rely on.

You’d be okay, healthy, and happy.

You’d be okay.

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

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wyverian-lady525 · 3 years

Note

Heyy! Glad I got the place right lol. I'd suggest for Cheval again but I feel like I should change it around a bit, so maybe Reverto? maybe they're not dating or anything (yet) and y/n has a crush on him? do with that what you will :D

I'll do my best! (And don't be shy to suggest for Cheval, I love writing him :D)

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Blasted Mushrooms

You hesitantly tag along with Reverto to the Rotten Vale in hopes of finding some “exotic” mushrooms. You find something else instead.

The Rotten Vale was one of the only places on the planet that disturbed you greatly. I mean, as a rider, a huge monster burial ground makes you kind of uneasy. However, when Reverto asked you to accompany him on a "mushroom hunting" quest, you couldn't say no.

Even though you thought gathering mushrooms in that dreaded place was ridiculous, with Reverto it would be bearable. There was something about that lazy hunter that drew you in. Was it his personality? Muscles? Calm and collected attitude? The fact that's he's helped you several times?

You didn't know. All you did know is that he drove you crazy (in a good way).

"Apparently Devil's Blight grows deep in the Vale. It's also rather rare." Reverto stated while glancing down at a map. You and him had just arrived to the Rotten Vale's base camp. You stood not far behind him, your loyal monstie by your side. An airship took you guys to the Vale. Reverto didn't want to overwork your monstie because he says he's probably a much bigger guy than most riders.

Yes, he flexed when he said that.

"Devil's Blight? Isn't that highly explosive?" You asked.

"Boy I hope so!" Reverto said with his fists pumped, like a little kid.

You giggled and asked, "Are you gonna use them to make some extra-powerful bombs for hunting?"

"Nope!" He said with a smile.

"Then what?" You asked with a curious tilt of your head. As far as you know, they didn't have much of an other use.

"Cooking!" He stated with a happy grin. You blinked at him with a blank stare. You definitely weren't a mushroom expert, but you were certain that heating up Devil's Blight would cause a massive explosion.

"Isn't that...dangerous?" You asked the hunter who was happily preparing his gear. He shook his head with a smile.

"For beginners? Sure. However, if you work with these guys properly, you can make quite a kick-startin' meal!" The mushroom expert said with a wide grin. You decided to trust him (figuring the fanatic knew more than you), and grabbed your own gear.

"Now, keep your guard up around here. Many monsters are highly aggressive, and will attack anything that moves." Reverto explained while beginning to descend to a lower part of the Vale.

"Can't let anything bad happen to you." The hunter stated with a wink before his head disappeared behind the rock. You blushed and your monstie nudged you back to reality. Following your partner, you descended into the Vale.

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

"The smell of bones and rot could be better." You said with a laugh while covering your nose. Reverto laughed, while using a cloth to cover his own face.

"Yeah, the effluvium down here will slowly kill you." He said with a chuckle.

The air was thick and many monsters were too busy chewing on carrion to pay any attention to you. Suddenly, Reverto grabbed your hand and pulled you to a small alcove. You guys were pressed so close together. You were certain he could feel the heat coursing through your whole body. Reverto gave you a 'quiet' motion, and subdtly pointed towards the rocky corridor. A large red wyvern was stalking up through the thick gas. It had a large chunk of meat in its mouth, strange sounds and smoke emitted from its mouth from time to time.

"An odogaron. Nasty beasts. Horribly tempered." Reverto explained quietly. You nodded, and glanced back at the monster. It was still slowly ascending to the top of the Vale.

"Let's not mess with this guy. Over here." The hunter slowly tugged your arm. You grabbed onto him in order to not get lost. He jumped off a large cliff into a large opening filled with strange plantlife. You followed, however, you landed off-balance. Reverto caught you at the last minute. You looked into his eyes, blushed, and quickly regained your footing while whispering a quiet "thanks."

"Anytime." The hunter said while sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced left and right.

"We seem to be even deeper. That means closer to the mushrooms." He stated with a smile. You nodded shyly, amd began to follow him.

However, a bizarre sound caught you off guard.

"What's that...?" You couldn't finish your sentence as Reverto knocked you to the ground. A large swishing sound whipped close above your head, causing some wind to blow your h/c hair. The position you two were in would've caused you to blush red, but you were more concerned at the current situation. Reverto quickly got back to his feet while lifting you up by one arm.

"Look at what we've got Y/N." Reverto said with a slight smirk while grabbing his great sword. Your eyes followed his to see a glavenus standing not to far from you. However, it was not your average glavenus. This one had a much more advanced tail, and much darker in color.

"Y/N, meet the acidic glavenus. The deadlier cousin to that fire-breathing monster. Watch the tail!" The hunter shouted while diving down. You joined him, and then quickly whistled for your monstie. M/N appeared quickly, roaring mad and ready to fight. You grabbed your own weapon and joined the fight.

The acidic glavenus sharpened its tail (which was extra spikey) and slammed it between you two. The fight was a lot more drastic than you both originally thought. The guild didn't have a lot of information on this subspecies, so it was rather unpredictable.

"We need to retreat!" Reverto shouted while sheathing his weapon and running towards the Vale's entrance. You on your m/s, followed close behind.

Soon, you both reached base. Exhausted, you dismounted M/S.

"That monster was crazy..." You told Reverto as you gave M/N a potion. The hunter nodded while plopping by the campfire.

"All we wanted were some blasted mushrooms..." You said with a small shake of your head.

"Well..." Reverto said with a nervous and sly grin. Then he pulled some dark red mushrooms from his pack: "I wouldn't say that."

Your jaw dropped when you saw the rare explosive mushrooms.

"How?! When?!" You asked in shock. He laughed while setting the pack over his back.

"I have my ways." The hunters said with a sly grin. You shook your head in disbelief and said, "You never cease to amaze me, Reverto."

"I hope not. Need you to stick around." He stated with a wink. You blushed at his comment, but still smiled. This quest was indeed a success.

And we got home, Reverto made you some killer mushroom stew. You were still very hesitant to eat it.

#mhst2 #monster hunter stories 2 #mhst #monster hunter stories #reverto #monster hunter stories reverto #reverto x reader #mhst2 reverto

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what-the-witch-stuff · 3 years

Text

Landings Through the Grapevine

Chapter 1: Introduction

Masterpost: here

Go to: Ch.1 | Ch.2 |

Pairing: Elliott x OC

_________________________

It was a quiet morning in Stardew Valley. Birds were singing faintly in the distance and a hazy mist hung in the air, transforming everything not directly close into blue-ish hues and indistinct shapes. The sun had just risen over the horizon, chasing after the last traces of pink in the otherwise clear, blue sky. Not one cloud was in sight.

This was indeed a pleasant surprise. The villagers had feared for the constant downpour, that has persisted for the last couple of days, to delay the annual spring festivities. But now, only the wet squelching sound under the farmer's boots disrupted the idyllic scenery, as she made her way around the forest clearing, where the annual Flower Dance would be taking place. Undeterred by the early hour, the preparations were going just as planned, though they were far from finished. Riley herself had only a few decorations left to hang up, but they were still waiting on a cart to bring a few chairs and parts of the sound equipment.

A loud continuous thumping echoed over the meadow as Robin was still busy with setting up Pierre's booth. The noise was shortly interrupted, as Robin readjusted the planks she was working on, before spotting the farmer.

“Good morning Riley! Oh, you cleaned up nicely.”, Robin greeted her cheerfully and looked her over. Though Robin had apologized for ever doubting Riley's ability to take over her grandfather's farm, it were comments like these that made conversing with the carpenter a bit difficult. As Riley still didn't know Robin too well, the double meaning of the statement was not lost on her. But today, the farmer wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, hoping that Robin was just a little aloof sometimes.

'Don't rock the boat now. Think about the barn upgrade' .

So, she forced herself to just smile and wave before turning back around and the noise of the hammer picked up again. For the occasion, Riley had indeed ditched her usual overall and stained-shirt combo, in favour of one of her nicer outfits she used to wear back in Zuzu City. The only thing left from her usual farming attire was her sword which, clearly visible on her left hip, marked her as a member of the Adventurer's Guild.

While she had been quite pleased with her decision at first, something about the outfit had triggered a weird feeling. It had taken some time for her to remember, that she had not worn these clothes since the fatal day, that she had quit her job at Joja Corporation. However, by the time Riley had come to that realization, it had been far too late to change into something else. The whole morning, she had tried to push the thought away, as today was supposed to be a good day, after all. The farmer was usually not the person to care much about traditions. Nevertheless, after walking around in clammy work clothes for the past week, even Riley was looking forward to the Flower Dance. It had been a little awkward during her first year, as she had been completely new to the community. And while most villagers had been rather welcoming towards her, it were customs such as the dance that still made her feel like an outsider.

'Well, what do I expect?' , Riley asked herself, while carefully climbing a ladder, to hang a couple of pastel-coloured, flower garlands into the lower branches of a tree. “This is my second year after all. Shane came to live with Marnie and Jas three years ago. Leah and Elliott moved here, roughly around the same time. They might be part of the town now, but otherwise, all of them are kind of outsiders too.” Even so, and the thought made her pause mid task with a snort, that was probably also due to their very individual personalities.

“Well, at least someone is having a good morning.”, remarked a deep voice from below. Speaking of the devil. Shane was looking up to her, an unreadable expression on his face and dressed in the traditional sky-blue uniform, all attending Bachelors would be wearing to the dance. In his hands was a bowl of pepper-poppers from which he ate one ever so often, while watching her work.

“Oh wow Shane, I would say you cleaned up nicely too but I might be lying”, Riley replied with a grin, to which Shane just rolled his eyes and kept chewing completely unfazed .

“Fuck you. I know I look just fine, so you can suck it!”, he grouchily mumbled, though it sounded more like he tried to convince himself rather than her. “You sure do, buddy”. Finally happy with her work, Riley descended the ladder to greet her friend properly. “And you would look even better, if you stopped stuffing your face like a pig!”.

“They're my favorite”, he protested childishly and provocatively grabbed another pepper.

“And I spend a lot of time making them all by myself.”

“I helped too”

“No, you flaked to play soccer with Jas and Vincent!”

Shane's expression bore a cheeky grin, probably anticipating to say something rude. But the pair was interrupted by Pierre, calling out for their help to unload the cart that had finally arrived….

Since Marnie was still in a not-so-secret- relationship with Mayor Lewis, she insisted on taking part in the preparations of any official festivity. Many of the dishes, decked onto a couple of large folding tables, had been prepared the previous day at Marnie's farm, with Riley chipping in her labour and even part of her harvest.

“What happened to breakfast, you greedy gremlin?”, asked Riley, saving the half empty bowl from Shane's grasp, to return it to the buffet. The gremlin in question trailed behind, pretending like he was not sulking over the loss of the food:

“As you like to remind me, microwaved pizza is no proper breakfast”. At that Riley raised both eyebrows in mock-astonishment:

“Oh, so now the good sir suddenly cares about what I have to say ?”

“So Riley, you're not dancing?”, Marlon asked in between sips of punch.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, and the cool morning had turned into a bright midday. Everything was set up and ready. Soft music played over lively conversation, as bit by bit all villagers arrived. Riley didn't really know what to do with herself, when she could no longer hide behind tasks and actually had to socialize. Seeing Marlon standing in a far corner of the meadow, one hand calmly resting on the hilt of his sword while overseeing the scenery, presented a great excuse to escape dreadful smalltalk. They were well acquainted by now and she had not seen him in a while, other than when she visited the Guild directly. It wasn't too weird, if she made use of that affiliation, right?

If Marlon felt disturbed through her presence he didn't let it show. He just nodded in acknowledgement and together they watched the Spring Maidens enter the clearing, garbed in white from head to toe, with lacy floral decorations sewn onto their dresses and flowers in their hair.

“I think, such ' spirits ' might have other things to worry about right now”.

Unfortunately for her, even Marlon seemed talkative today and Riley answered him reluctantly: “No. As far as I am concerned, the couples dancing stay mostly the same. Wouldn't want to disrupt that order, y'a know”, That was not entirely true, though. The other reason was that a certain someone would most likely turn her down if she'd ever asked him. And Riley was not willing to open THAT can of worms anytime soon. Marlon hummed in understanding: “I see. I just thought, since you're a farmer, you might want to participate.”

“What does being a farmer have to do with that?”

Marlon looked at her, the brow above his remaining eye slightly raised in surprise: ”The flower dance is an ancient fertility ceremony. Back when the village still believed in the spirits of this land, the dance was held to gain their favour for the upcoming harvest. Surely you wouldn't want the spirits that make things grow on your bad side, ey?”.

Riley was not sure what to make of this new piece of information, so the farmer and the monster hunter fell back into silence. Looking around, the meadow didn't really look like an old or magical place to her. It most definitely didn't feel like one either. Compared to the eerie solitude of the Community Center and the claustrophobic depths of the mines, the clearing seemed so very ordinary. On the other hand, it wouldn't be the first time that the Valley proved to be full of surprises. One year ago, Riley was some disillusioned worker's bee in a corporate nightmare. Now, she belonged to a world where magic was real, wizards lived in secluded towers, monsters hid in the depths of the wild and animals could talk. Or rather, Riley could suddenly talk to them (?). Overall, the land was full of entities and forces, Riley didn't plan to meddle with, let alone offend. For a moment she got worried enough, that she almost asked Marlon directly, if he thought the Junimos would truly be cross with her, for not attending the dance. But she decided against it, as someone might end up overhearing their conversation. Surely, Marlon was one of the few people in Pelican Town, who knew about the otherworldliness of the valley. He had probably seen more than Riley would ever experience in her lifetime. But this wasn't the time and place to talk about such things openly.

“And they better have their priorities straight. If they ever dare giving me shit, for not doing that stupid dance, I'm out. Have fun rebuilding the Community Center without me !”,

was what she did not say. “Besides, wouldn't it look silly to be wearing a sword with such a dress?”, she jokingly gestured in the direction of the Bachelorettes, but to no one in particular. Marlon, again, shortly averted his eyes from the crowd to look at her, in what one might consider to be amusement: “Silly? Kid, that sword is a badge of honour. Of course we wear it to any occasion, men and women alike. Back in the days, Old Linda wouldn't be caught dead not wearing her sword. Also made the lads keep their hands to themselves, if you know what I mean.”, at this he cackled quietly to himself and took another sip.

“What happened to them? Linda and the other women in the guild?”, Riley asked curiously since Marlon rarely was so chatty. “What do you think? This was way before your time. They're probably dead or very old. Some got married, moved to the city and forgot all about their old lives here. ….Your grandma was one of the last”.

Marlon's eyes were back on the gathering, but there was something harsh crossing his features. Riley didn't know what to say. So she just kept watching him in hopes he would elaborate on that. But he remained shrouded in silence. She knew that their conversation was over for good. And knowing Marlon, he wouldn't want to talk about it anytime soon either. So, she tried pushing her questions into the back of her mind and rather focused on the gathering at hand, where the female villagers were now the centre of attention.

The first Bachelorette she saw was the blue haired bar-maid who was hard not to overlook, thanks to her outgoing personality. Emily's dress was full of ruffles and detailed embroidery and made her look even more whimsical. Like a fairy, she was all smiles and joy, half-dancing half skipping over the grass barefoot, as her skirts flowed and billowed along her every movement. If Clint was trying not to stare at her directly, he unfortunately wasn't very good at it. And with concern, Riley noticed the disdain in his eyes when she hugged Shane and started chatting excitedly. Abigail was the polar opposite, in the way she acted all nonchalantly and kept her posture extremely casual. She smirked and rolled her eyes at anyone complimenting her dress, but soon settled into her usual group of friends and as far away from her parents, as physically possible. Haley posed a little to better show off her new dress and happily chatted with Jody and Caroline about the cut and some issues she had with shipping.

It was then that Riley caught a glimpse of auburn in the crowd and her heart skipped a beat, when she saw Elliott and Leah chatting with Marnie and Harvey. He looked handsome (but then Riley always thought he was) with his blue overcoat complimenting his fair skin tone, while contrasting his coppery hair. Leah, who didn't seem too interested in the conversation at hand, ended up catching her gaze and gave a small wave. Riley felt like she missed a step on a staircase and could hardly control the nervous flutter in her chest, when Elliott turned his head in her direction too. His noble features turned from confused to an amused smile as he spotted her. And just like the gentleman he was, he gave her a courteous nod. Riley could not help, but smile back warmly with butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

It was silly.

But a crush was a crush.

Ever since Elliott had invited her for drinks during a chance meeting at the saloon, Riley had been head over heels for the cocky and slightly eccentric writer. He was charming in his good old fashioned way. Not only did he look like the figurative embodiment of a Jane Austen character. He also played the part: always most polite and private in an outside setting and so very concerned about the impression he made on others. But once rather tipsy, Elliott had been much more forthcoming in what was actually going on in his mind. Riley fondly remembered how she couldn't stop laughing after unexpectedly hearing Elliott say ' shit ' for the first time.

It was nice. …

Just a shame, that his interest in her had not survived the night. While they had parted in good spirits, the next day, their interaction was back to pleasant conversation and occasional discussions on his drafts. Riley respected that. Of course she did. But that didn't stop her from developing quite a passion for fishing, in hopes to see him standing at the docks when battling his usual writer's block. For a moment Elliott looked as if he tried to excuse himself from his current company. He kept looking back at her with, what almost seemed like, impatience as he waited for Harvey to finish talking. But then, Mayor Lewis announced for the dance to begin and Elliot took Leah's hand, to gracefully lead her to the middle of the clearing, along with the other couples.

#stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott #stardew valley #elliott stardew valley #elliott x reader #sdv elliott #original female character #sdv fanfic #stardew valley farmer #sdv farmer #elliott sdv #stardew fanfic

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