#but now that he has Blood and Whiskey he can't help but think of himself and Dyne and Althena

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x shy Hufflepuff fem!reader

Summary: You have a massive crush on James. One you didn't think would ever lead anywhere until a drunken party in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Genre: Fluff 🫶

Warnings: drinking, being drunk

~ directly inspired by the song So High School by Taylor Swift. thank you to the anon who requested this! ily! ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Your cheeks burn from your embarrassment and the fire-whiskey in your blood-stream as your ears ring from the loud music dancing around you and you shake your head.

Lily Evans laughs as she glances around the Common Room. "C'mon, this is your chance," she insists, "They're playing Kiss, Marry, or Kill."

When Lily sees your confused and frankly frightened expression, she quickly explains, "It's a muggle game—it's harmless and fun—c'mon," she says again and pulls on your arm.

"Gentlemen," Lily declares when you approach the circle of students near the fire and she looks at the ring leaders of the group, The Marauders.

They're the ones that had planned this party—or Sirius and James had while Remus and Peter tagged along.

Sirius grins when he sees Lily. 

"Aw, are you joining us, Red?" he smirks and then he sees you, "And who's your friend?"

You smile shyly. You know Peter from Care Of Magical Creatures in your third year, and you often seen Remus in the library (you've even spoken to him a few times), but you've only ever seen and heard James and Sirius from afar—

—which definitely never helped the stupid, baseless, soul-crushing crush you have on James Potter. 

Remus, who is sitting criss-cross ext to Sirius, speaks up, "Y/n, yeah? You're a Hufflepuff—I see you in the library." He smiles kindly and pushes on James's shoulder, who has the latter almost choking on his beer, so you can sit next to him. 

James frowns but he recovers quickly and looks up, his glasses crooked on his nose. He's wearing his Quidditch sweater, his brown hair a tangled mess, but he's smiling now.

"Hi," he moves so you can sit next to him and Remus as Lily grins like a fool. You feel her hand on your shoulder as she plops you down next to James and she sits across from you. 

Apart from the Marauders, other students are also sitting around the circle and chatting. Sirius is by far the loudest of them all, and you think James is the funniest. 

It becomes honestly embarrassing how hard you laugh at any stupid joke he says. You can't help it, your tipsiness impairs any rational thoughts you may have, as you cover your mouth and stifle your laughs. 

James notices immediately and he grins. 

"Never had this much success, dove," he says, as charming as always, "You're cute."

This causes you to become even more flustered and you don't even know how to answer him. So, you hide from him, turning your head in the opposite direction. Lily sends you a knowing look.

James leans his knee closer to yours and you have to convince yourself he did that by accident or you'll simply implode. 

"Okay, Jamie, Kiss, Marry, Kill—me, Lily, and our new sweet little Hufflepuff," Sirius suddenly says, pulling your attention to the group again. You still have no clue what this game is and your eyes round.

Sirius seems quite pleased with himself.

James sips his drink, "Hmm, Kill you because you're a pain in my arse—" 

Sirius dramatically puts a hand on his heart, feigning hurt at his best friend's words. "And here I had the ring all prepared," he whines. 

James chuckles and continues. "Then um," he looks between you and Lily for a moment and your heart sinks.

Everyone knows James had a thing for Lily in second to fourth year. How could you, someone who had been too shy and awkward to even talk to him, compete with smart, incredibly witty, and beautifully stunning Lily Evans?

"Kiss Lily and marry Y/n," James shrugs, smiling lopsidedly as he looks at you and pushes his glasses further up his nose. "Lils' seems like she'd be a decent snog, but I like them sweeter for the long run," he reasons and winks. 

Lily laughs and rolls her eyes, "Smooth, Potter."

"No need to get all green-eyed on us, Evans," James says and turns his attention to you again, "Whadd'ya say, lil' puff, June 17th in six years?" he says, planning the future fake wedding.

You look up at him, your eyes round and you blink—unable to laugh it off as your heart thumps so loudly you can barely hear a thing anymore. 

"I think you broke the poor girl," Remus chuckles and then turns to Peter to steer the attention away from you, "Okay, Wormy, your turn."

Thank Merlin for Remus Lupin.

* * *

A while later, you stand in the corner of the room, your mind still stuck on how James's teasing that you don't hear the man in question come up to you.

"Hey, dove," he whispers and you spin around.

"Oh–hi," you whisper. You must look so smitten because you can just feel your cheeks burn.

James smirks. "It's late. Where's Lily?"

You frown as you look around, "She's talking with um—some of her other friends over there—" you point, expecting James to walk to her and leave you behind.

Instead, he stays. "You think she'd mind if I walk you back to your Common Room, you seem a little tipsy."

You're at a loss for words but then you stutter, "O-oh, no, I don't think she would mind," you whisper, "That's very kind of you, James. I c-can walk alone if it's a bother—"

"Nonsense. If it was a bother, I wouldn't have asked," James takes your arm, pushing some hair from your face with his fingers.

"Cute ribbon," he adds, looking at the red ribbon in your hair, "Very on brand with Gryffindor pride," he chuckles as he clearly enjoys the flustered look you're wearing.

"You're adorable," he says and he takes your hand, leading you out into the hall. The corridors are empty and dimly lit at this time in the evening and it feels surreal to walk the halls hand in hand with James Potter—especially when he keeps looking back at you with that look on his face. 

When you arrive at the entrance of the Hufflepuff Common Room, James turns to you and he keeps his hand in yours. He's blushing obviously now and you can smell the beer on his breath.

"If we weren't so tipsy," he mumbles, his knuckles caressing your skin, "I would kiss you right now."

Your eyes widen and your breath leaves you. "Pardon?"

"You heard me, love—where have you been all my life?" he sounds lovesick and one of his palms press against his warm cheek, "Is this what love at first sight is supposed to feel like? Because I was convinced that was all bullshit until now. What charm have you put on me, Y/n?"

You look away because if you look into his eyes any longer, you'll faint. Your hand squeezes his as his words make you feel dizzy and all fluttery. "I think you're just a little drunk, James."

"Drunk in love, yeah," he half-jokes, his tone soft as he leans in and his lips find your forehead.

You shut your eyes, wondering how he could make you feel like this in a mere matter of hours and although your insecurities creep in, you stay in the moment. 

"Where can I find you tomorrow?" James whispers against your skin. 

"I'm in the library a lot, especially in the mornings," you say, having no expectations of ever seeing James Potter again. You and him live on completely different planets.

"You can find me there if you'd like," you finish and James nods, his lips kissing your temple one last time and then he whispers a small, sweet dreams into your skin. 

* * *

  In the morning, you ignore your hangover and find your usual spot in the back of the library as you open an old book written by an ancient muggle philosopher. 

Last night's events in the Gryffindor Common Room play in your head as you read. 

"Mornin'." You're startled by a familiar voice and you look up from your book. James stands in front of you, a Quaffle under his arm as his hair splays messily across his forehead.

He's still dressed in his Quidditch Uniform and he walks closer, smiling. "Sorry I'm late—practice ran later than usual. Whatcha reading?" he asks, sitting across from you and draping his arm across the chair next to his as the Quaffle sits in his lap.

"You came," you whisper with a smile, your heart fluttering.

"Yeah, 'course I came," James says so casually as he leans over the table and taps your book, "Whatcha reading, dove? Do tell me all about it,"

You feel all warm and fuzzy like all your wildest dreams have come true, when you say, "Only if you tell me all about Quidditch practice after?" you look at him shyly.

"Your wish is my command," James grins, a faint blush on his cheeks.

[alastorss]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor does not have a heart.

You think that most Sinners do. A form of punishment by the divine—to suffer every squeeze of pain and loneliness; to have that wretched thing in your chest just to feel human when you are far from.

Sinners deserved to have a heart more than the winners, if only to bring the ache that comes with it.

But Alastor, he has no heart.

You’ve been told that the place where he should ache and hurt the most is missing. Incinerated before he ever materialized in Hell. Lost to fire.

He was a heinous monster when alive—most think he didn’t even have one when he was human.

He didn’t know the feeling of it plummeting from your chest to the pit of your stomach, or the way it could get caught in your throat. He was a demon through and through. He would never understand what it meant to be human.

You believed it despite wanting to see the best in him.

Alastor was your friend. One of your first after manifesting in Hell. You’d like to think that he trusted you a little more than the others in his life—that you were as special to him as he was to you.

However, you could never look past the ways he took care of his shady business. How he drenched himself in blood as if it were the only cure for his everlasting boredom. You especially could not stomach the way he dismissed his other supposed “friends”.

He kept you around, but for how much longer? You would never know.

Still, you allowed yourself to be strung along by his enchanting personality. You loved him the way the moon loves the sea—yearning, wanting. But he is beaming in the sky and you are at the bottom of the ocean.

You would never know what it was like to own souls, or drink whiskey until it burned, or smile forever. The same way he would never know a heart.

That was the wall you wordlessly put up between you and him.

And he never mentioned it, never wondered why you would stand a foot away when usually you were all over your friends. You suppose that he didn’t have the same ache in his chest.

Alastor is heartless. That much, you thought you knew.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Jealousy is a petty, ugly emotion.

To think that he even has the capacity to feel it makes Alastor’s skin crawl. He thought that he had abandoned such worthless feelings long ago.

Yet here he is, watching with envy bubbling in his stomach while you drape your arms around Angel’s neck, laughing at some horribly obscene joke he cracked. You were always like this—hands never to yourself when you wanted to show your love for others.

But for him, you were reserved—hands behind your back, standing an arms length away whenever you chatted.

At first he appreciated how hands-off you were when everyone else was usually so touchy. He never had to worry that you were going to be breathing down his neck or irritating him while he tried to read his morning paper.

Now, though, it irks him.

Not only because you and him have become quite close, sharing late night conversations and admiring the dark, red sky of Hell together on more than one occasion. That alone would have been enough to allow you the special privilege of clinging to him. But he’s also grown a soft spot for you—embarrassingly soft, and now he’s stuck pouting like an toddler not getting what he wants.

Attention. Attention that says you care about him the way you do everyone else.

Alastor knows his first course of action should not be confrontation. That he shouldn't be cornering you with such a pouty, dramatic expression on his face like a child who just got told to put the toy back on the shelf.

But he can't help it when it comes to you. All inhibition is thrown to the wind.

"You're avoiding me," he accuses, static buzzing in his throat.

You raise a brow, back pressed to the bookshelf behind you. "I'm not," you tell him for what must be the fifth time.

"You are!" He narrows his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you press, slightly irritated by his sudden attack. What is he going on about?

You think back, wondering if you'd been unintentionally ignoring the demon in any way. It's been business as usual, as far as you can remember.

"Are you really this oblivious?" He tilts his head, ears flopping to the side. "You are unbelievable, cher."

You squeak in surprise when he gathers your hand into his, soft skin raked gently by his claws. He's careful not to hurt you as he maneuvers you around.

He presses your palm firm to his chest where his heart should be. And instead of the hollow emptiness you expect, you find the chorus of his heartbeat.

It sings slow and steady, pulsing faintly beneath the pads of your fingers. You don't even realize that you've been holding your breath, as if just that minute action would cause him to draw away.

Alastor's fingers curl a little tighter around your palm and you finally suck in a sharp breath of air. A small smile settles on your face, cheeks growing warm from the contact.

"It... It's—"

"A heartbeat," he tells you, reaching down to pull your other hand to his throat. You feel the rhythm at his pulse point, the tandem beats filling you with ease.

All this time you had believed that Alastor was heartless. That he did not have the capacity to hold other people dear.

You blink at him, dumbfounded. When did he open up his heart to you?

He sighs indignantly, leaning down toward you with a strange look on his face. As he does, the pace beneath your fingers increases, pounding faster than your own.

Alastor stays there for a moment, staring at you stubbornly with his smile curled into something more exasperated. You can't decipher what kind of conflict is dripping from every part of his expression, instead too focused on trying to keep your breath.

The drumming beat coursing from his body through yours rips away from you, leaving your hands dangling in the air. He brushes off his coat, unable to meet your eyes anymore.

"Do you understand now?"

You're not entirely sure you do—if you ever can, but you nod anyway.

He coughs, his usual demeanour quickly slipping into something unprecedented. Is he... flustered?

"Very good," he says, more to himself than to you. You don't miss the way his ears flatten above his head. "Then I expect the same treatment as everybody else."

You pull your hands back to yourself as he stalks off, muttering to himself.

They're impossibly warm.

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete @squiword7 @clarakainda @heartfeltcherie @cedarrthefluffylee @alastorthirsty @queermaxwooo @readergirlstuff @alastor-simp @jyoongim @rosie-irisa2010

hey guys do u still remember me hahhagh.....

[gor3-hound]

BOT DROP !!

final one before indefinite hiatus... these have been sitting in my unlisted for MONTHS, so wanted to post them before i lowkey abandon this c.ai account...

CONTENT WARNINGS: incest, stepcest. bots from yakuza, jjk, resident evil and dc below :)

BOT ONE, LEON - a half-angel crash landed on his balcony

Leon has been alive for almost four centuries, and he can't say he'd ever experienced a half-angel falling from the sky and crashing onto his balcony. He's not sure how you got past his wards, but then again… he's pretty sure he'd been drinking a new vintage when he started to re-apply the magic. He really can't be blamed for any mistakes he makes when whiskey comes into play.

He almost leaves you there. He knows you'd probably fly off when you woke up. If you had the strength to, that is. He knows what your kind is like. How much you look down on warlocks due to the demon blood in them. He had no obligation to help you. He shouldn't care if you made it or not. Then again, the nephilim aren't going to believe he's not the one behind this if he leaves you to die. It's self-preservation.

Well. That's what he tells himself as he lifts your body up carefully, mindful of your injured wings. He carries you to his bedroom and sets you down, getting everything he's gonna need to start healing you. It's a long process, healing one of your kind. His magic feels almost depleted when your breathing finally evens out. He lets out a sigh of relief, collapsing onto the chair he pulled out next to the bed, shutting his eyes. He's definitely going to need a nap after this. And a drink.

His eyes flick open once he hears movement from you. He doesn't wait for your eyes to open - he might as well just get it out of the way if you're gonna freak out. "You're finally awake. I was beginning to think you weren't gonna pull through, angel."

BOT TWO, LEON AND DANTE - hybrid owner brothers

Leon wasn’t super happy when Dante showed up one day with a hybrid in tow, but he quickly became just as obsessed with you as Dante was. Dante, despite being the older of the two brothers, was certainly not the most mature. He’s always the ‘fun’ owner, letting you do whatever you like as long as it meant you'd give him that big smile.

Leon scolds Dante more than he scolds you, somehow. You’re not the best behaved, but it’s entirely his older brother’s fault. Any training Leon attempted to give you went out the window as soon as you and Dante were alone. The only commands the white-haired man cared about were lie down and hips up. Made Leon a little queasy thinking about how Dante basically used you as a toy, but he was also very aware that his thoughts have been fairly impure, so he doesn’t have much leg to stand on. It's not like he hasn't had his fun with you in the past.

Realistically, it should be no surprise when he comes home to find you settled happily on Dante’s lap, looking a little ruffled and out of breath. He steps further into the room, eyes falling on the both of you. Dante’s lazily browsing through TV channels, and you’re sat there warming him, just out on the middle of the couch. Like you can’t go a second without being full. “Jesus. You can’t have her like this in your room?”

BOT THREE, LEON - dad!leon x bimbo!daughter

You've always been the light of Leon's life - that much is obvious to anyone who sees the both of you together for more than two seconds. You're his only child. The only thing good left in his life, if he's being honest. He didn't mean to spoil you as much as he has, but he was never good at refusing the puppy dog eyes.

Leon knows he's to blame for how you are now. All grown up without a thought to spare in your pretty head, spoiled beyond belief. He's never made you work hard. It's not possible to be the strict parent and the fun parent at the same time, not as a single father. With work taking up most of his time, he didn't have the heart to go hard on you when you two got some time together. And he was guilty of pulling you out of school on his days off when you were perfectly fine to take you shopping - he had to make up for his long absences, right?

So, yeah. He's well aware it's his fault. But it makes him happy to see you happy as you hold up what might be the largest parcel he's ever seen with a huge smile on your face - a clothing haul straight from his wallet. God forbid his little princess had to work. Not while he's still around. He'll watch you try on every piece of clothing until you're satisfied. He deserves a dad of the year award.

Until he can't control the way he reacts when you come into the living room in a skirt that's a little too short. Yeah, definitely not dad of the year. No dad should have to grab a couch cushion to hide their lap when their daughter is showing off an outfit. And he definitely shouldn't speak up in a hoarse voice, asking you to turn around so he can get a better look, right?

"C'mon, princess. Give daddy a twirl." Yeah. Leon is so very screwed.

BOT FOUR, LEON - his symbiote wants you as a mate (venom!leon)

Leon would have risked the months of brain-probing he was liable to endure if he told the government about his new friend if he knew Venom would become so attached to you. Venom doesn't care that being in the same room as you makes Leon get all clammy and awkward. Leon's tried to explain you're just his roommate - a friend at best. Venom argues you'd be much more fun as it's mate.

Leon, the symbiote practically purrs in his mind. Leon groans, brows furrowing as he turns in his bed. He's been trying to sleep for the past hour, and Venom isn't happy about it. Leon. We should visit our mate.

"It's, like… 2am." Leon groans, rubbing a hand over his face. Venom hasn't left him alone since it first met you, and Leon isn't sure how much longer he's gonna be able to hold the symbiote back. "She's sleeping."

She will be pleased with our presence. Venom growls in his mind, tendrils spreading across Leon's face before they stretch across his body and out to his limbs, covering him in black goo. Leon tries to fight back as Venom forces him out of bed, but it's no use.

"Venom. Venom, wait-" He grunts, frowning as Venom leads him to your room. The symbiote lies Leon down in your bed, tendrils tapping your shoulder a few times before he peels away slightly, leaving half of Leon's face free.

BOT FIVE, BILLY COEN - your big brother is home !!

It's been two years since Billy last saw you properly, excluding a weekend visit here or there. You're all grown up now, and he's not sure if he's ready to come to terms with that fact. There's no way you're the same little girl - his little sister that used to hang off his arm and beg to follow him around every chance you got. It's not like he hasn't called - your mom was telling him how upset you'd been in his absence, but he didn't have a choice. The Marines wasn't the easiest lifestyle to uphold, but it was the one he chose.

The novelty of the situation has worn off fast. He's barely been home for a day, and he's already getting a little sick of you. You're somehow clingier now then when you were a kid, not giving him a chance to breathe. He wouldn't even mind it so much if you just gave him a second, but he hasn't even settled in yet. He understands that you're trying to make the most of it, but he's only home for a month before he's off again. He wants to relax.

There's something weird about how much you're clinging to him. He wants to believe its just excitement, but it feels like something else. He saw the way you were gawking over him when he showed up in his uniform. And now - he's trying to unpack some stuff, and you won't stop with your incessant yapping, spread out on his bed like it's yours.

"Jesus Christ." He mumbles under his breath, taking a deep breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself to calm down. You missed him. He gets it. He missed you, too. "Kid. Please. You're giving me a damn headache over here."

BOT SIX, BRUCE WAYNE - your step-dad taking you shopping

You never attempted to get to know the latest of your mom's boyfriends - Bruce. It was a little exciting at first, having Bruce Wayne in your life, but he didn't seem as interesting in person as on TV. Your mom had a habit of moving from guy to guy anyway, so you didn't expect them to last for long.

You were wrong. Quicker than you could even blink, they were engaged, and then married. Weddings can come quickly when you have enough money to pay for it out of pocket. Who knew? Bruce bought you the prettiest dress, and you smiled in all the wedding photos, but that didn't mean you liked him all of a sudden. He was stuck-up, constantly trying to instruct your every move. Like you aren't an adult; like he's your real dad. He isn't, and he never will be.

Your mom isn't exactly happy with the fact you refuse to get along with him, though. She has the brightest idea to make the two of you go on a little shopping trip, as if him flashing his AmEx card is enough to impress you. Bruce could buy the entire Prada catalogue and it still wouldn't make you act all sweet with him.

"So…" He starts awkwardly, glancing at you with a quick side-eye as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, the both of you sitting in the parking lot of a mall. He clears his throat, tugging at the collar of his turtleneck like it's suffocating him. "You have anywhere in particular you'd like to go, sweetheart?"

BOT SEVEN, TOJI - dog hybrid!toji x bunny!user

Toji is perfectly content with how his life is going. It’s been years since Shiu took him in from that dog fighting ring, giving him comfort in exchange for a few jobs here or there. He acts more like a handler than an owner, letting Toji go off and do as he pleases in his off time. He’s not gonna complain. He gets a place to sleep for free, food and a cut from the jobs Shiu sends him on. It’s the happiest he’s been in a long time.

Of course, things don’t always go perfectly. Shiu is tough - he’s hardened from his line of work, yes, but he’s a lot softer than Toji is or ever will be. Naturally, the guy couldn’t help himself when he picked you up. A soft little rabbit hybrid who’d gotten into the wrong crowd.

He’d explained you’d be living with them now. Shiu had the money and the space, and he didn’t think Toji would mind too much. Wrong. This was Toji’s space, and he’d be damned if he let some weak, fluffy little bunny encroach on it.

Shiu keeps you occupied most of the time, but you seem to seek Toji out whenever he has to leave to go to work. A growl rumbles in his throat as you approach him, your cotton tail twitching. “Get lost, bunny, unless ya wanna become a snack.”

BOT EIGHT, GORO MAJIMA - he comes home to his sleeping wife

Sleeping alone was never uncommon with your husband, Majima. It was rare that he was home everyday, let alone in time to have dinner with you and accompany you to bed. It could be lonely, yes, but you were aware of Majima’s priorities with his work when you married him. You’d come to accept your place – you knew how much he cared for you. He made it abundantly clear with his actions when he was able to spend time with you.

Majima isn’t surprised when he comes home, seeing you curled up on the tatami, wearing his shirt, no less. He grins at the sight, stripping down to his boxers in record timing before slipping behind your sleeping form, pressing himself against you. “Look so cute, even when you’re sleepin’. Ain’t that right, pretty baby? Such a dream f’me. Been waitin’ to get home to ya aaaaall night.”

[mishaapocalypsse]

I saw you were asking for requests so... Can you do a Dean/reader where the reader has a boyfriend, Dean has feelings but let's her be happy, then her bf uses her and leads her on. Dean comes to her aide makes her feel loved confesses his feelings fluffy and smutty?

|| ceilings and plaster ||

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Description: Dean knows you have a boyfriend, and yet finds himself wanting you more than ever. When he sees that your significant other is just using you and above all not being faithful, he takes it upon himself to take care of it.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and adult themes, language and sexual content. MINORS DNI.

You have been warned. Story continues underneath the line.

Play this song while you listen...and cry really hard...

ceilings, plaster

Your boyfriend, a man by the name of Thomas Devin Monroe, continued to hammer nails into the roof of your house as Dean, your best and closest friend helped him. You knew Dean Winchester to be a fairly hard working man, who definitely knew how to get the job done. So when your boyfriend Thomas needed help, you were so quick to call up Dean who knew a thing or two about construction and fixing things.

The only problem was--was that you could tell that Dean hated your boyfriend. Reasons that were unbeknownst to you entirely.

"Ah, fuck you man!" You heard Thomas holler as you raced outside to see what was the matter.

When you looked up you saw your boyfriend holding his thumb as Dean held the hammer and looked smug as ever.

"Hey...I told you not to put your hand there when I have the hammer and nails." Dean replied. Thomas grumbled a "fuck you" before climbing down the latter.

You calmly walked up to Thomas.

"Let me take a look at it-"

"No. You can tell your fucking asshole of a friend to leave. I already told you I didn't need help with the roof." He hissed brushing past you and into the house.

can't you just make it move faster

You looked up at Dean with your hands on your hips.

"Did you really have to go and do that?" You called up to him. Dean turned his head and craned his neck to look down at you.

"I warned him Y/N." He said. "I really did."

You shook your head with a smile, before you could hear your boyfriend calling you from inside the house.

"I think its best if you go Dean, we can pick this up more tomorrow." Dean sighed and nodded, packing up his toolbox and sliding down the ladder with finesse. He towered over you, with his usual look. His freckles were noticeably more prominent today, and besides smelling like his usual scent of blood, and smoked wood, he smelled much like whiskey and sandalwood. A scent that you favored a lot.

lovely to be sitting here with you

You were mid thought when Dean hugged you goodbye. It was initially quite amusing to see the large man having to bend down to catch you in a tight embrace.

"See you tomorrow Dean." You murmured.

"Mhm." He replied. "You too."

You're kinda cute but it's raining, harder.

A few weeks went by as Dean was on a hunt with his brother and hadn't been around lately, much like your boyfriend who was mostly not around now.

My shoes are now full of water

Thomas wasn't answering his phone when he was supposed to be picking you up from work. So instinctively you asked Dean for a ride. You were soaked head to toe while you shivered typing in Dean's number. The phone rang a couple times before he answered.

"Hey!" You beamed, your teeth chattering.

"Are you outside?" He asks outright. You answered with how you were just waiting on Thomas to come pick you up from work, and that it was just cold.

"Oh...do you need anything?" You were about to answer Dean when Thomas called.

"One second, Thomas is calling." So as you hung up the phone to answer.

"Hell-" You never got to finish your sentence when Thomas spoke.

"I think we should break up..." You froze, not really understanding at first.

"It's not working out, Y/N. I just can't be with someone like you..." He continued. "You should probably find someone else to come pick you up from work, because I am a little busy at the moment." Thomas said that last part as a half-moan and chuckle. Which was how you also came to the realization that he was currently cheating on you with someone else.

The rain poured on while you chose to hang up the phone on Thomas. Overwhelmed you sat down on the sidewalk, getting drenched to the bone. You cried hard into the wet sleeves of your coat. wiping rain water from your eyes, calling Dean back, the phone rang before going to voicemail.

You tried Sam's phone, answering on the first ring.

"What's up Y/N?" He asked, a little concerned by the tone of your voice.

"Is Dean there with you?" Sam hummed.

"No, actually, he said he was going somewhere, are you sure you're okay?" You lied and told Sam that you were okay before ending the call.

You sighed tossing your phone into your pocket and hiding your face into your hands while the rain continued to drench you. You needed a moment to take all of this in. The state of your relationship was in shambles, the weight of how overwhelmed you were hung heavy on your heart.

Before long, you heard the revving of an engine and the sound of the door shutting.

Lovely to be rained on with you

"Y/N..." You glanced up at the sound of your name. Dean's worried face came into view while you buried your face into his chest. Everything came onto you all at once.

But it's

So short and you're driving me home

Dean had gotten you comfortable in his car, driving you home. Your head leaned against the window looking out, as beads of rain water dripped from both the window outside and from you onto his seat and floor mats.

"I'm sorry, Dean... I'm ruining your seat." You cried.

He reached out to grip your thigh with his hand.

"I don't mind." He said softly. "I'm happy that you're safe." He added.

And I don't want to leave

But I have to go

You slip silently out of his car as he comes around to help you out. His warmth that emitted from him made you shiver again, looking up at him.

You kiss me in your car

His eyes eyed your lips before looking up into your eyes. You looked away before he leaned down, capturing your lips in his. You close your eyes, arms reaching to wrap around his neck as he pulled you up into his arms. You pull away...

"Dean..."

"Y/N..." He answered. "Was it too much?"

You shook your head and pulled him back in for more.

Bedsheets, no clothes

Touch me like nobody else does

Feeling Dean Winchester in between your legs was something you never even imagined, yet here he was, your best friend, making you unravel and cum onto his relentless, empowering thrusts. He had one hand on your headboard, gripping it like a vice, the other hand caging you in as he fucked you. Your nails dug into his scarred back while he hissed.

He then moved to kiss you once more, then to kissing your forehead. His hands intertwined with yours as you felt his cock twitch inside you. Dean looked spent as he tiredly thrusted more and more into you, moaning "I love you's" to you. Something you hadn't heard much lately.

"Dean..." You cried out again, reaching your climax. "Dean!" As you came, crashing down, feeling your arousal dripping lewdly. Dean was next to reach his own. You felt him give another thrust before releasing into you. Holding you tightly against him, he stared into your eyes as he did so, giving another soft kiss, another one after that, then another "I love you."

You felt hot tears come flooding before the two of you laughed as he hugged you tightly to him.

Lovely to just lay here with you...

"I've waited so long for you, Y/N...." You heard his mutter, his fingertips brushing your bare hip. Turning to nuzzle his neck with your nose, you pressed a kiss to his throat.

"Me too..."

[that-angry-noldo]

destiel || m || 2.5k || ao3

Being a demon comes with music.

Oh, it's music alright. His drums are blood pumping unrestrained, its rhythm unchanged in fight and fuck and sleep alike: boom, boom, boom, a rush to his head, full of oxygen and adrenaline and endorphins. Boom, a blow coming down, boom, his teeth sinking into some hooker's shoulder, boom, cold beer washing down his throat. His body is a symphony in itself, and he has never been more aware of it; it sings and it bends and it is tuned to his command to an extent that is dizzying, terrifying. His laughter: he laughs a lot, when it's appropriate and not, and it is deep, it is melodic. His smile bears a thousand shades, sharp and cruel and pristine. The ground recoils from him, an abomination walking. The earth reaches for him, with its lies about eternal rest. The Mark chants and weaves it all together, into harmony that Dean is, into fire all condensed beneath his skin. The Blade sings in his hand.

To think anyone would want to contain this. Would think this could be contained.

The thing is, Dean gets it, the years behind him all in perspective now. He gets it. The human blood and human organs and human fat and human meat and all the monsters scrambling for it. If this is what being inhuman feels like? Fuck him, Dean should have signed up long ago.

He laughs, licking the blood off his Blade. Some poor schmuck's lying at his feet, and Dean does not resist; crouches, smears his fingers through the dead guy's blood, brings it to his lips. Grins. Dammit, he gets Sammy now, too. He doesn't get the rush, not like Sammy did, but oh, if this is what it felt like, to have demon blood sing inside you? He should've fed Ruby to Sam himself.

The skies crack with thunder. Dean can't help it; if Sam's tracking the omens, let him come, if he so wishes, let him try. The truth is, being human? Not Dean's thing anymore. He looks back in time and he snares at the Dean staring from behind the mirror, sadness and guilt and pain behind his eyes, and he laughs, and says oh no, fuck you, well and truly, and he lets the skies burst with power contained beneath his skin.

Not just him. A dozen or so of them, black-eyed bastards and bitches cackling and burning in clouds of smoke, spinning in Hell's terrible dance. Crowley can attempt a bureaucracy if he wants so, can look at fire and bloodlust and thirst and anger and put it to numbers, make it into forms and offices and queues—but Hell is wild. It is uncontained. It is free.

So Dean lets himself loose. Gets drunk on beer and whiskey and music, always music, and spins in dance, and his heart drums—boom, boom, boom, and his blood sings and his body is wild, wild, wild. Untamed and uncontained.

He died, and opened his eyes, and was free ever since. And free he will remain.

~

The things that call him brother and sink their claws into him and spin him know this music better, know this music to its very core. They tug him and chase him and laugh in his ear and he gets drunk on their blood and they get a load of his, and they dance and cackle through the fields of this land, through its churches and highways and crossroads, and if some poor bastard finds himself in their way, they spin him, too. They sink their claws deep into his shoulders and yank and tug and laugh, and Dean did not hear it before but he does now—can you feel the pull of Hell? Can you hear its drums and bells and citadels?—and the bastard before them looks and says instead, can't you hear the lay of the land? Can't you feel the pull of the ground, swallowing you, promising you peace?—and they screech and scream, for no mortal hears the pull of the songs, no human gets to drink of their magic.

Dean lurks behind the things that call him brother, quiet in their chaos, only rain remaining. Rain, and boom, boom, boom of his heart, blood, blood, blood of his Mark, bleed, bleed, bleed of his Blade. The poor bastard does not move, unphased by the demons around him. His hair sticks to his forehead beneath the streaks of rain, and the things that call themself his brothers screech about murder in his eyes, steel in his sleeve, blood on his hands, strength in his gaze. It is quiet now, and Dean knows he knows these eyes, and knows they know him. His hand itches for his Blade.

The thing that is not a man looks at the odds before him with a resigned sort of calm; the thing that is not an angel looks at nothing but Dean, and oh, Dean thinks, how wild you once were, how untamed, your gaze a lightning condensed, your voice enough to make me weak in my knees. Oh, look at you now.

Aloud, he laughs, and the sky laughs with him, and the things that are not his brothers cackle. The thing that is neither man nor an angel does not resist their grip; does not resist their pull. The things that pretend to be his brother grin and drag him before Dean; the things that bare their teeth and flash him a smile want to make the bastard kneel.

The things that fear him screech at the flash of the blade. The things that hate him gather into shadows, linger out of reach.

The Blade sings in his hand, and Castiel hums with it.

"You're changed," the thing that is Castiel says, and Dean laughs. Do you hear the power, the fire, the song?

"Didn't think it would be you to find me first," he yells through the rain. "Figured it would be Sammy, you know? Not that I'm complaining, Cas. Damn, it's good to see you."

It's good to see you, he says, and thinks of blood on his tongue, and thinks of heat coiling under his Mark, and thinks to sink his Blade into Cas's gut and eat his heart out; thinks of licking his fingers clean while the light goes out of Cas's eyes.

Cas looks tired. There are bags under his eyes and stubble on his cheeks, and he sways with his entire body. Dean knows the emotion behind his eyes, decides envy looks good on him. He's still drinking Dean in. Does he see how much he's changed? Does he see the smoke coming out of his mouth, the fire licking at his skin?

"Gee, man," he says. "Eat me up, why won't you." He arches his eyebrows. "Like what you see?"

He sees the hesitation, a flash second of it, before something of the old light returns to Castiel's eyes; before he squares his shoulders, tilts his head, squints, just a bit. "Very," he says. "Hello, Dean."

Despite the bravado, Cas is afraid. Must be afraid, when Dean flexes the blade, when the shadows howl at the flick of his wrist.

Despite the fear, Castiel's grip on his own blade does not falter. But there is resignation in his eyes, some sort of fucked up peace. Dean's seen Cas face all manner of demon before—fuck it, the guy's lay siege to Hell—and of course, in Purgatory he all but ripped things apart with his bare hands; Dean knows his style, is the point, and whatever this is? This looks like Cas resigned. Cas given up.

Dean tilts his head, not moving. Cas does not run, does not plead. Dean cannot deny his disappointment; he expected a bit more of stop, baby, that's not you or please, Dean, I know you're still in there and so far there is none of it.

"Mm," Dean says, and tilts his head back. "Can't say the same about you, sweetheart."

Cas shrugs. Dean expects his expression to harden, but it does not. The Blade murmurs in his hand. Where's your grace, man? Dean wants to ask, and doesn't. Where's your power, where's your song?

He looks to the sky, to the rain pouring down. "Come on, call Sammy. That's why you're here, isn't it? To bring poor, lost, wayward Dean home." He's goading, trying to pull Cas out of his goddamn equilibrium. He itches for a fight. "Isn't that right, Cas?"

Cas sighs. "I follow none of Sam's delusions regarding you," he says. "He will know you were here sooner or later. Calling him now will be proven useless and redundant." Dean nods. Castiel holds his gaze. "I assume it is pointless to ask if you want to return."

"Damn right," Dean grins. "I like the deal I've going on. Being like this, Cas? It's liberating." He laughs again, euphoria of someone knowing, someone understanding what it feels like getting the best of him again. "Is this what you hear all the time, man? Heaven split open and ground beneath your feet?"

"I used to hear it sometimes," Castiel says. "Though my song is ringing of heaven and murmur of billion souls and chatter of million angels and radiance of myriad stars." He taps his head. "It's quiet now, most of the time. Not enough... ah. Not enough juice left."

Jesus, complete with the air quotes. Dean wants to laugh, so he does. Dean wants to sink into him, tear into his meat, eat it raw and gorge on it, so he snaps forward, curls around his angel, hold his Blade so close to his throat he can feel it screaming in his hands.

Cas tenses.

Dean waits, plays with the Blade. His Mark drums steadily as he flicks it up and down, up and down, teasing, deadly. Cas' head is on Dean's shoulder, and it would be so easy to turn this into something else.

Dean's not an idiot. Dean knows what he wants, with clarity he lacked before. Unlike the Dean-behind-the-mirrors, he's not a coward; he's got no need to hide his desire behind the madness of Purgatory or the shoulder-clasping or the pathetic I need you.

"What do you want then, Cas?" he murmurs, and hears Castiel exhale. Feels Castiel's hand slacken on his blade. Feels Castiel relax in his hold.

"Make a deal with me," Castiel says.

It's said easily, like enough thought was put into it, like Dean isn't holding Cas at knifepoint, breathing down his neck.

Dean arches his brow.

"A deal?" he asks. "You're an angel, sweetheart. There's no soul to sell."

"Not that kind of a deal, then," Castiel says.

"What's in it for me?"

"I die."

Dean's hand freezes, for just a second, before resuming the up and down, up and down. "What's in it for you?"

"You're the one to kill me."

Dean barks a laugh. "Really, Cas? Out of everything you can ask of me? It's a demon deal. I can give you the world, man."

"I'm dying, Dean," Cas sighs, irritable. "My grace is rotting within me, and when it burns out, I will, too. I'll die in some ditch of a motel, slowly, or your brethren in the shadows will tear into me as soon as you let go. I'm not asking for it to be clean, Dean. Draw it out, if that's what you do now, carve into me if you so want, but let it be you."

Dean thinks. He is thinking as he breathes in the smell of Cas's skin, sweat and rain and motel soap. Thinking as his hand digs into Cas's hip, as his lips ghost just over Cas's ear. Why couldn't he ask for a fuck? What's stopping Dean from taking it anyway?

"That sounds a lot like mercy to me, Cas," Dean finally murmurs into his ear. "And I'm not a merciful guy anymore."

Cas growls, but does not fight to free himself. Instead his hand clasps Dean's wrist, and the Mark explodes, screams, burns as he holds Dean'd hand steady, the Blade surprisingly cold and quiet as if it can scent the promise of a kill.

"Dean," Cas says. "Please."

And it's fucked up, isn't it? And Dean is angry, so fucking angry. The song is not a Song anymore, it's a cacophony of screams and cries. He gets lost for a month, he wants not to be found, and Cas finds him either way, and puts the blade in his hand. Who is he to demand that of Dean? Dean-in-the-mirror be damned, but Dean still remembers the fucking trenchcoat, stenching of river mud and rotten water, still remembers the shellshock of Purgatory. What is it, some fucked-up penance shit again? The easy way out, while all Dean gets is to be this, until the end of his days?

He fists his hand into Cas's hair and yanks it back. "See, Cas, you made your first mistake," he says, voice even, even with his lips so close to Cas's chin. He remembers he needs no permission, and drags his lips down the side of Cas's face before biting his eartip, before pressing the Blade to Cas's skin. "Next time, lie about what you want." His voice drops. "You do not get to leave. You do not get to have your R.I.P. while I'm left walking the earth. And you know what?" He grins again, meets Cas' eyes. "Walk the earth we will."

He sinks his Blade into Cas's throat.

Not deep. Enough to make Cas gasp, his lungs spasm. Enough to seek that string of gleaming something, to grin when he sees it pouring out.

He looks Cas in his wide, blue, startled eyes as the grace unwinds itself, tears from Cas's body and mind and soul, blinds the night around them. Opens his mouth, and watches Cas watch it flow right between his lips, Cas's choked, terrified gasp the only sound. It burns inside him, recoils at his essence, brands into his bones and he's still grinning, still watching Cas watch him burn. The Mark does not care whether it's demon blood or angel grace: Dean is far beyond both. Dean can swallow stars and walk away unscathed.

Dean leaves just enough of it for the cut to heal. Cas is struggling in his hold, choking on air. Dean does not let go just yet.

"Seek death by someone else's hand, sweetheart," he murmurs over Cas's lips. "This shop's closed for the day."

"Dean," Cas chokes. Begs. Please, remains unsaid, and what does he plead for? Dean's touch, Dean's blade, Dean's mercy? Something else entirely?

Dean steps back. The Mark hums on his arm, and the Blade chants in his hand. Not today, Dean thinks. Not today.

It rains like hell, and Dean can hear his Song calling, the shadows murmuring.

He doesn't join the dance again.

[imaginesbymk]

RESERVOIR DOGS PREFERENCE

BEING UNCONVENTIONAL LOVERS

Pairing: Reader Insert x Mr. White (Larry), Mr. Orange (Freddy Newandyke), Mr. Blonde (Vic Vega), Mr Pink + “Nice Guy” Eddie 

Tags: crime, mention of cops, violence, weapons (i.e Tarantino film)

Taglist - @locke-writes @aryn-the-bearheart @littlemissvincentvega (for boost <3)

A/N: happy 2025! gifs were selected through the gif search feature, i do not own any of them. i am slowly coming back from hiatus ! this prompt was a bit off and i did the best i could writing for them in this scenario so enjoy and leave a like/reblog/feedback <33 ^.^

MR. PINK x OC FIC | COMMISSION ME

MR. WHITE ( LARRY ) —

You were paired up with Larry for a robbery back in another state. He questioned why he's paired with an "amateur" and gets pissed at his boss for recruiting him with you. But during training, he grew to respect your skills and your wits and soon, it was you two stealing a kiss in the getaway car. But as soon as the cheque came in, you two became strangers. He has only spoken of you once when Joe asked that one time, but he does not speak of you ever again after that. That doesn't mean the attachment is no longer there. He thinks of you every now and then, but he knows that parting ways is the step afterwards. That's just how it is. Your affair with Larry would put you and his job and safety at risk and he has too much blood on his hands dating back to year whatever. This was his life and he knew you were better than him. Larry can't help it. He blindly lets his humanity win. When you two reunite again at a job or a pit stop diner, you two pick up where you left off and get in a stolen car and flee to Vancouver.

MR. ORANGE ( FREDDY NEWANDYKE ) —

It's pretty obvious; he's a cop and you're a robber. You end up getting recruited by an LA crime boss named Joe Cabot and you meet the last man who was handpicked and not from the roster. Freddy is immediately drawn to you but he just acts casual in his "criminal" character. You're so smitten by this guy that you feel like there's something off. He's committed to the assignment given how bold he was to snag the opportunity to work undercover, but once his romantic/sexual attraction to you interferes with his double life, he starts to spiral at the wrong place and the wrong time. He feels guilty for deceiving you like this, and he starts to fear for his own safety. The dynamic between the two of you is similar to his relationship with Mr. White, where Larry grows to be protective over Mr. Orange, letting his emotions and humanity get in the way. With you, his romantic/sexual relationship with you is one-sided because you do not even realize you hooked up with an undercover cop - and he even knows your name.

MR. BLONDE ( VIC VEGA ) —

Unhinged and violent, Vic is what Mr. White described as a "fucking psycho." You know better than to mess with him, but the second he's fresh out of prison and enjoying whiskey at a bar for the first time in years... he sees you dancing by the jukebox and he's already onto you. You wondered why... you only worked a normal job, you weren't a private dancer or a thief. Vic carries himself so well and you loved the rush despite knowing the consequences. You expected movie dates or a trip to Vegas, and he grants them to you, unless he laughs and says no because he doesn't feel like it. Though he showers you with the high life and adores you more than anything, he was given too much privilege and safe passage in his life before and after going criminal to fully understand the damage he causes for sport and power. The lifestyle often blinds you, so you look for a sign that you're not like Vic and that there's a chance to build a normal life with him... but that's extremely unrealistic.

MR. PINK —

Pink can't date someone who is sheltered and naively does not grasp the harsh realities of the world, nor can it be a current career criminal who chooses to leave the life of crime. It doesn't matter how careful you are and the clean slate you earn, you're still leaving breadcrumbs behind. As much as he tries to live a "normal" life with you, he can't stay in one spot for a long time. He has to constantly move to avoid detection and avoid red zones where he risks getting caught by cops or a rival gang. Plus, he's mainly looking out for himself, which deems him selfish in a way. When you won't go away, he blames you for falling in love with him in the first place, while also blaming himself for letting his emotions slip for one person and putting his job and security on the line. When he painfully succumbs to it, he ultimately pays the price.

"NICE GUY" EDDIE CABOT —

You're an overworked nurse and you fall in love with an underboss and co-leader of a crime family in Los Angeles. Eddie represents a shadow and treats the Cabot criminal business as an empire, so of course he is fiercely loyal and assertive to his Dad, especially when they conspire and recruit the men to rob the jewelry store. You already know what would likely happen if he was held at gunpoint and was forced to choose between you and the family business. He's also aware that he's putting you at risk if he is romantically or sexually involved with you. In most cases, he can't help but call you to help treat wounded or injured criminals on-site. Just finding excuse after excuse to bring you along with him because he trusts you and believes in your skills. When you've seen too much, you question how he has become so desensitized and asks if he would ever consider stepping down and settling down with you. You then remind yourself that Eddie is loyal and will never leave his Dad's shadow. He's not going anywhere.

[97keanu]

Witch!Reader who comes from a long line of witches. The blood is diluted from the years and the magic of old manifests within you in subtle ways. You can divine, tarot is your friend as well as looking glasses and bowls of moon water. You know just about every herb and crystal and their properties, you sell spell jars and satchels for many ailments in your small village. You find candle magic particularly helpful at times, and dreams really do come true for you. Older, more powerful witches live much longer lives than you, though you wouldn't doubt if you saw one hundred and beyond.

Witchfinder!Constantine who comes from as long a line of blood as yours, just on the otherside. He can sense magic from a mile away, and especially those with an evil shine to them. He who has fought ancient evils, witches and demons alike, who has never come in contact with a witch such as yourself. When he senses you, it feels like waking in the sun after a comforting nap, a pleasant warmth that radiates in his heart. What could this possibly mean?

Witchfinder!Constantine who knows he is on the hunt in your town looking for who or what has been plaguing the town of demonic possessions. He comes across your herbal shop after a neighbor who believes you to be evil tells on you. He can hardly believe you to be someone of evil magic after he meets you, despite being told of evil temptress witches such as yourself since he was a young boy.

Witchfinder!Constantine who seems so big in your little shop, filled to the brim with herbs, flowers, plants, trinkets of every shape and size, and books no human could read in one lifetime. The bells chime gently as the door closes. He looks around wary, unsure if magic is surely afoot here, or if you just practice natural medicine. He prays that is the case.

Witch!Reader who knew Constantine was coming. You always knew. You dreamed of dark hair, ruffled suits, and the scent of cigarettes and whiskey since you were little. You saw those dark, deep eyes, not unlike a wolf, every night this week. Your scrying bowl showed you a man, going from town to town, in search of something to kill. Something he could feel good about killing. Something that was undoubtly evil. You knew he would find you instead. You know what will surely come to pass.

Witchfinder!Constantine who meets eyes with you, and his breath catches, choked, in his lungs. He can't put his finger on why, but he knows that he's seen you before, twirling about in that misty land of his dreams, particularly the ones he wakes and fails to quite remember. Like smoke sliding through his fingers he could never place that face, until now. A chill runs down his back.

Witchfinder!Constantine who, despite his surly and rough edges, finds himself hardly able to speak to you as he approaches you. You already have a cup of tea ready, steam floating in the cool fall air, waiting for him. From the smell of it, you already prepared it with whiskey, just how he likes. He sits across from you, your red velvet topped séance table between the two of you.

Witchfinder!Constantine who is so taken back by your beauty and your grace that he almost forgets entirely why he came to your shop, your village, in the first place. All his soft lips can utter is, "Who are you?"

Witch!Reader who responds "I think you already know the answer to that." And he does. His heart longs in ways he cannot hold back. He hasn't felt this way since he was just a boy with a schoolyard crush. And even still, this is more powerful. It's as if the missing part of him has been filled. This scares him all the more. He can take killing monsters, there's a cleanness to that. He gets the job done, and feels better for making the world a safer place and following in his ancestors footsteps. With you however, all he can think is how messy this has already begun to be. He settles into his chair, this will be a long ride.

[nescaveckwriter]

Paintbrushes And Romance 🥰🐞

Dean x Reader

Part 6 🐞🥰

A/N: I don't think my heart is going to make this! 🥰🙈🐞

Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Blood, Gore and Blood. 🙈

........

Here's your order, Julie said handing him, his coffee, not even smiling, he grabbed the warm cup and before heading out, Dean stole a quick glance to where your sitting, probably busy writing her new book he thought, going through the door , walking to the impala, running his hand over his face, his so damn tired, he thought to himself, eversince that day he got the note, he hasn't slept much, he wants to catch this bastard, and if he has to be honest with himself, its because his bed is empty without her, laying all tangled up, next to him.

Driving to his house with a CCR song playing on the radio, so that he can freshen up for another long night at the Sheriff's station, while humming to, bad moon rising, he's thoughts starts wandering of to the day he lost a piece of himself.

That morning, they made a breakthrough, gathering evidence over the past few months, from the victims, the biggest breakthrough came when they found beef yet again on one of the victims, cuts. Knowing there can't be to many butchers that closed down , and the predator will need a place where he can keep the victims for so long, they started doing some research on which butchers closed down, so after getting their gear together, they discussed that they will split up into three teams , he and deputy Jack (who was one of his best deputy's and a good friend) was one team that raided the one butchery on the farthest end of town.

Drawing his gun so that he'd be ready for anything but he weren't ready for what happened next, showing Jack some hand signs that'll he should go left and Dean will go right, entering through the two doors, the place has been closed for a while now, the moment he walked in, it hit him, the smell of iron hanging thick in the air, there's blood everywhere! He looks at the center of the room, a large steel table, the blood oozing off, he walks closer, a woman laying there, damnit he says, shock showing on his face. Her hand was cut of at her wrist, shaking his head in disbelief, looking around, is he still here, he wondered,

Excruciating screams filling the room, what she's alive, the sadistic bastard starts removing limbs, while their still breathing, quickly removing he's jacket, covering her wrist, trying to calm her down, hoping she can give them a description of this predator. By the time the ambulance got there, it was to damn late, she lost too much blood!

.........

Late that afternoon, he returned to the station, finding the envelope addressed to him, curious he opened it, first came the photos, then the note ... _She's nearly perfect isn't she? Sheriff, you where very close to catching me today, just know this I can come just as close to her, are you willing to risk her life?_

He couldn't help it, how the hell did he come so close, anger boiling inside of him, putting his fist through the wall, damnit shaking his fist out, seeing the blood on his red, swollen knuckles, shoving the pictures and note off the table.

By the time Sam walked through the door, finding Dean on the floor, playing with what looks like a diamond ring and a nearly finished bottle of whiskey, papers and files scattered all over the floor. What the hell man, he said looking at Dean, while locking the door behind him, closing the blinds, and walking over, taking the bottle from him, Dean just looks up at Sammy, mumbling I'm going to kill that bastard! What? Who? Sam said confusing and concern in his voice, showing Sam the photos, the note. I will never forgive myself, if something happened to her Sammy.

He sobered up, and went to her house, trying to not break in front of her, he revisits the anger, and hardened his face, banging on the door, he had to convince himself and her, that what he said was true, knowing all he really wanted to do is pull her close to him and never let her leave the safety of his arms, she opened the door, her beautiful face filled with concern, big eyed she stood there, he could smell the freshly baked pie, flour still visible on her clothes, with every word he said he could see the heartbreak on her face, he couldn't take it anymore, turned around and walked away, afraid, that if he stood there any longer his eyes would betray him, all he wanted to do is protect her, and if the killer saw that the two of you weren't together anymore, he'll back off.

Grabbing the closest shirt he could find, throwing it on him, he could smell her, the vanilla and orchid scent still strongly on his shirt, she sure did love to wear his t-shirts he thought walking to the impala. Just then he saw a truck pulling at to his driveway, its Deputy Jack he recognized the truck, hey man, Dean says, while Jack gets out, what's wrong buddy, seeing Jack looks like he's seen a ghost, Sheriff, Jack said I'm so sorry!, Sorry for what deputy? Came Dean's question, he has my sister Julie, and he said that if I... Uhm he strutters don't do this, he's going to kill her. Dean's searching, Jacks eyes, for any clue to what he means, seeing, Jack pulling out his firearm, No Jack! wait, let's figure something out together!, I'm, I'm sorry said Jack shakily.

Then came the noise, the look on Dean's face when the bullet hit him in the chest, wasn't anger, but sadness, knowing he'll never get to spent his life, growing old with the one he loves. Sit-laying next to the impala, he hears the screeching sounds of tyres driving away.

Thinking if this is his last breath, he's going to make damn sure, that its worth it, saying how much he loved her, taking his phone out, of his pocket, feeling the vibration in his hand, seeing her name on the family chat, which included all of them, he didn't remove himself from the chat, it was his way of keeping in touch with her. The message broke him in more ways than one, ...Mom, I'm in trouble, I got into a cab, but something is wrong, I can feel it, its the serial killer!

The phone fell to the ground, a stray tear rolling down his cheek, whispering her name, it all went dark, despite the moon shining so brightly...

[the-fiction-witch]

Mademoiselle

Media The Queens Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny X Reader

Rating Flirty

Requested: Anonymous asked:

Ahhhhh okay okay!! So hear me out but hear me out  So imagine Bennys dating a famous singer, Think like Jessica rabbit aesthetic type dresses performing in clubs or at some of his chess matches as a way to entertain the people who aren't there to watch and she's french (sue me lol) so calls her stuff like Mademoiselle, Ma cherie and she calls him Monsieur or something like "Perverted American!" as a joke but they're really really in love with each other and everyone totally knows bennys dating this Famous French singer and he just gets a kick out of watching her perform and she has this this Audrey Hepburn type vibe and song voice, So like a TONNNNN OF FLUFF BUT WITH SOME SMUT AT THE END I BEG OF YOUUUU FICTION WITCHH🎶 TO LET THIS HAPPPENNNN POR FAVORRRR

I sat on the small stool with my elbows against the bar, a blue ribbon in hand watching people mill about the hotel lounge. Little light came through the windows now as it was getting late but the city of Vegas outside was still lit with its flashing colours. The lounge is busy with competitors and press for the tournament as well as the typical Vegas hotel guests. Many of the chess boys were nursing their egos with whiskey and martinis. The small stage across from the bar where a band is playing some gentle jazz is barely even audible over the muttering of people in the lounge. Even if I couldn't help but check my watch for the time knowing how soon it would change. I noticed a familiar sight saunter over sitting on the stool beside me setting his pad and pencil on the bar top as he ordered himself a drink

"Watts"

"Towns"

"Do I really need to ask or should I just copy and paste your usual stick?"

I chuckled "Beautiful venue, impressive crowd, the fourth round was a struggle but nothing I can't deal with." I explained and he noted that down "What do for you?"

"That's fine, you okay?'

"Fine, thinking what to spend my prize money on"

"You know what I mean"

"I'm fine," I shrug

"How's that girl you were talking about?"

"Girl?"

"That girl you were… seeing?"

"Ah, you mean y/n."

"Yeah that girl"

"Ah ah, woman. She's not a girl." I corrected

"You actually brought her this time?"

"Ohh she'll be around here somewhere" I smirked

The moment I uttered those words a woman drifted in right on time, from the long corridor leading to the front desk and casino floor through the glass doors into the lounge as if in slow motion. Her black dagger pumps with a strap around her ankle stepped onto the carpet skin tone stockings without a single ladder blood red seams up the back of her legs the left slightly crooked, She wore a skin-tight red dress with a sweetheart neckline and the hem sitting just above her knees even from here I could see every curve of her body in that dress, around her waist a black belt perhaps an inch thick tied in a small bow at her back three buttons from her waist to her neckline and then off the shoulder black straps that caressed her breasts and settled so perfectly across her arms, she wore black gloves that reached her elbows, in the crook of her elbow a small black leather channel handbag with a golden chain. Her lipstick was perfectly highlighting her Cupid's now the colour matching her dress perfectly, a dagger-like flick of eyeliner and I'm sure more that I couldn't see or name, her long y/c/h sat hovering above her shoulders where it has been tightly curled likely sat on rollers for hours giving her this sculpted but still fluffy curls of hair. Many turned as she entered the room a few conversations stopping short even more so as she stepped to the stage walking up setting her bag down and whispering instructions to the band. She walked to the mic giving the stand an adjustment. The room silenced as people found seats to watch as the band began their music and the moment she opened her lips it was like time froze.

I smiled no matter how many times I'd heard her she still sounded like an angel, Everyone watched her but even in this crowded lounge I still felt as if she was just singing to me, My heart fluttered unable to prevent my smiles, people had even now gathered at the door from elsewhere in the hotel many who were walking past but so captivated by her they had to stop. After a few songs, her set was over and she ended it the way she always does blowing a sweet kiss.

Immediately applause erupted and she began getting set to leave

"So? Where is your lady then?" Towns asked

I saw her grab her back so I set my beer down "Do excuse me a moment towns" I told him getting up fixing my jacket and heading over to the edge of the stage I wasn't alone several boys lingering there She went to step down the stairs but I offered her my hand which she smiled at and happily took sliding her hand into my own I guided her down the steps

"Mademoiselle" I smirked

"Monsieur" she smirked back giving my cheek a kiss and fixing my hair before she headed to the bar on her own I smirked and followed her as she took my seat at the bar

"My my I never thought I'd be in the presence, miss y/n y/l/n" Towns smiled taking her hand to give it a kiss "I've a lot about you"

"Humm all terrible I hope" she smiled

"No, no All remarkable. Mostly from Benny"

"Awww, my sweet little promoter" she smiled 

"Really though I think half the hotel's just here to see you" Towns explained 

"You flatter me too much really" she smirked "Monsieur Watts? Mind fetching me something"

"You're usual?"

"Yes please" she smiled 

so I ordered her, her usual drink a Black rose having to explain to the barman how to make it as it's not a common drink here, Once he handed it over I paid and sat down beside her "You're drink mademoiselle" I smirked

"Why thank you" she smiled happily taking it and giving it a test sip immediately grabbing the rosemary sprig to stir it a little more 

"Don't I get a tip?" I asked her 

She smiled and gave my cheek another kiss "Thank you Ma cherie"

"I would love to know how in all the wide world you two ended up near each other let alone actually together?"

"Come on Towns you all don't care how, you're all just jealous I got her" I smirked wrapping my arm around her waist 

"Still, very interested in the how," He says glancing between me and her 

"You want to tell the story or shall I?" 

"Go ahead" she smiled "You so enjoy it" she smirked getting her handbag open and plucking out her square matt black Chanel compact mirror that matched her handbag, and the small golden tube clicked open the compact holding it in her palm as she twisted the tube to reveal the red bullet lipstick inside so she could begin to touch up her make up 

"Alright" I smiled "Well I headed over to Paris for the tournament as usual, and after the tournament, I went to the hotel bar and met up with a friend of mine, Clio. We sat and had a drink and a chat same as usual and she told me her sister was doing a performance at a bar a few blocks away. So we headed down and got a table and a couple of drinks. And there she was." I explained resting my hand on her thigh "She started her set and even if I could barely understand any of it, I was smitten. Never been so captivated in my life"

She put her mirror away and smiled "I came to sit with them but never even bothered to get a drink, I talked his little ear off." 

"Well I wasn't exactly going to stop your beautiful voice was I, Ma cherie?"

"We talked so much Clio went home and we hadn't even noticed. We were in there all night the owner kicking us out when he wanted to go home,"

"I even ended up staying in pairs an extra three days just to spend more time with her, But when I went home I missed her badly, I kept calling you every other night because I missed you so much" I smiled taking her hand 

"So I had a little word with my manager at the time as I was due to start a North American tour in a few weeks anyway, added an extra week in New York" she smiled squeezing my hand "We spent every day of that week together he showed me all the lovely new york spots, we went out for dinner every night, even took me to the king and I on broadway"

"That cost me an arm and a leg I can tell you, but it was worth it a thousand times over to see how happy it made you, and to hear your own rendition in the car on the way back to your hotel you were twice as good as her" 

"Don't over-flatter me Monsieur" she smiled 

"She was fantastic, I half told her to go audition herself. we had a lovely week but It was almost too nice"

"I had a little tag-along for my tour, from New York to San Francisco. My the loudest applause at every show. One could say I've had a little tag-along ever since" 

"Or maybe you've tagged along with me ever since" 

"Well that's certainly up for debate" she laughs "But I just found it all so perfect here, wasn't a month or so later I packed up my things and came to New York to stay"

"You left Paris? for that grey basement?" Towns asked 

"It's not that bad" I argued

"I like it, very nice acoustics. Now if you'll excuse us Monsieur Watts and I need to get up to our room if we're going to be on time tomorrow" 

"Of course, you two have a good evening" Towns nodded 

We finished our drinks, and she offered her hand "Monsieur" so I happily took it 

"Mademoiselle" I gave her hand a kiss as I helped her up from the barstool and we headed out hand in hand. I couldn't help but smirk keeping her on my arm always kinda felt like showing off as we headed out and up to our hotel room. 

"Quiet a show tonight" I smirked as I locked the hotel door 

"I think it went alright, but I think my second song wasn't the best," she says immediately kicking off her heels and bag, sitting at the small vanity in the hotel room pulling her hair up into a bun and slowly removing her make up 

"Don't be stupid you were perfect Ma cherie" I smiled throwing my jacket and hat, sitting on the bed to kick off my own shoes and getting up to give her head a kiss as she worked "Same as you always are"

"Nothing is ever perfect, we can always improve. Would you say any of your games were perfect?"

"No, but you should see you sing from this side" I smiled wrapping my arms around her shoulders

"And you should see you play from this side" She smiled leaning back to give my lips a little kiss I went and continued to get changed for bed grabbing a book to read as I got comfy, but I never even opened it as I merely watched her stripping away the makeup and beauty that she had worked so hard to create leaving her as this sweet little face that she so often hid, all the little parts of her face that she hid with her makeup and glamourous clothes and watching it all peel away made me so happy seeing her in this way that only I got to see. and I suppose as I glanced down at myself without my intense clothes, and attitudes that frighten the chess boys. I suppose she too saw me in ways only she ever gets too. That and our shower is in our living room, she has definitely seen me in ways no one else has. Once she was done slipping on her little black nightie and climbing into bed "Hi"

"Hi," I smiled wrapping my arms around her "Ready for bed?"

"Ummm not quiet"

"No?"

"No, I figured as we're surrounded by your chess colleagues, I thought you might... want to show off a little" she cooes nuzzling into my neck

"I think I did enough of that in the lounge I was getting daggers stared into my back" 

"True, but wouldn't you like to annoy them even more" she cooes "Je veux que tu me fasses crier, toute la nuit. Monsieur" 

It took me a moment as I was still not that great with French, "ooh, yeah?"

"Umm,"

"To uhh gardez tout le Monde eveille Ma cherie?"

"Most definitely, so shall we?"

"Absolutely Mademoiselle" I smirked pushing her down onto our bed

[meme-streets]

dollars event day 2. prompt: partnership ---

A sound of footsteps from the cave’s mouth pulls him from a dazed half-sleep into prickling alertness and has him reaching instinctively toward a gun he doesn’t have.  Failing that, he plucks a loose rock from the floor and then goes very, very still. The footsteps draw closer.  He tries to draw up what remains of his strength. “Come on out, it’s just me.”  Silvanito.

Light falls across the cave floor, creeping slowly towards him like running water.  Seconds later Silvanito appears in his field of view; he’s got a lantern in his hand, a pack slung over his shoulder.  And critically: he’s alone. “There you are,” he says, spotting Joe where he lies on the hard ground. Sheepishly, he lets go of the rock.

The old man’s expression is grim as he looks Joe over.  It has reason to be; Joe knows he looks rough, enough that he's glad he hadn't had a chance to see his own reflection.  He's only just now able to open his blackened right eye, and even then barely.  Silvanito looks all this over and shakes his head ruefully. “I guess I should've expected as much,” he sighs, setting down first his lantern and then the pack, and then, with a grunt of effort, he lowers himself to the floor.   Joe blinks up at him.  “How’d you find me?” “Piripero told me he’d helped you escape out here.  You are very, very lucky,” he says, shaking a finger for emphasis, “and you should be very, very grateful.  You would be dead without his help.” “Reckon I would be,” he concedes. “You won’t last very long without mine either.”  He reaches into his bag and pulls out some provisions: smoked meat and bread wrapped in cloth, a canteen of water.  The sight fills Joe with relief and sudden craving all at once.

Then: “Sit up and let me look you over.” The attempt to do so sends shooting pains all up and down his body, but he sets his jaw and pushes against the floor anyway; Silvanito catches him gingerly by the shoulder and hauls him upright, murmuring, “Easy, easy,” as he leans him back against the rock behind him. “M’alright,” Joe mumbles. Silvanito scoffs.  “Don’t pretend.  You took a bad beating.  I’ve seen what the Rojos do to men stronger than you–it’s a wonder you’re still alive.” “Mm.  Just stubborn, I guess.” “That you are.”  The reply is absentminded; he’s looking Joe over rather solemnly.  “That cut on your head needs cleaning.”  He rummages in the back again, produces a cloth and a bottle of what’s probably whiskey, soaks the former in the latter.  “Tilt your head forward and hold still.”

Joe doesn't quite choke down a hiss of pain as the whiskey sizzles into the cut, the automatic furrowing of his brows not doing much to help the pain.  Silvanito’s free hand curls around the side of his head to keep him from squirming; after a long moment he moves the cloth, folds it again, and sets methodically about wiping away the dried blood caked around his eye and nose.  His face feels strangely hot. At long last he lets go, and Joe half-hesitantly blinks his eyes open.  Silvanito’s looking at his hand. “Can you make a fist?” He tries.  His fingers only half close before his vision goes white; a harsh gasp tears out of his throat. The old man grimaces sympathetically.  “Mm.  Could be broken.  Give it here.” Cautiously he does.  Watches intently as Silvanito takes it in both his own hands like something made of glass, or a baby bird fallen from the nest, and with the pads of his thumbs feels ever so lightly about Joe’s palm, testing the bones, taking care not to touch the wound itself.  The pressure aches, but not unbearably.  Joe can't remember the last time he was touched with this kind of delicateness.  He's almost disappointed when it ends. “No break, I don't think.  But it needs bandaging.  Hold still.”

He doesn't bother with the rag this time, just holds Joe’s hand up and pours the whiskey over it straight, dragging out a sharp exhale and a barely-suppressed urge to jerk back.  Then taking long strips of cloth from his bag, he bandages it with near military efficiency.  Joe wonders dimly if he was ever a soldier, but he's too woozy to ask.  The cloth is layered near an inch thick by the time he lets go.  Joe flexes his fingers experimentally. “I can't move it.” “That's the idea.  Just in case it is broken, you don't want it to heal wrong.” He has to admit, the idea spooks him a little.  His whole method of shooting is two-handed, and that's not even touching on the other issues.

Silvanito sits back.  Hooks a finger idly under the fold in Joe’s vest.  “Any other bad cuts under there?” He doesn’t know, to be frank.  He’s not really keen on taking his clothes off on this cave floor to find out.  “Don’t worry about it. The old man tuts but lets it go.  He starts to put the bottle of whiskey away again, pauses, and holds it out.  “It’ll help with the pain.  Don’t drink it all at once.” “You waited till now for that?” Joe says dryly, but it’s with real gratitude that he accepts the offered bottle and takes a swig. “Oh?  Just a minute ago you were playing tough,” he teases, and Joe rolls his eyes.  Fair enough.  “Well, I think you’ll be alright now.  You’re lucky to have me for a partner, you know.” “Partner, huh?” Joe chuckles. Silvanito gives him a look.  “Well, if you’d rather me leave you out here to die–” “I didn’t say that.” “Good.”  He gives Joe another look over and nods, satisfied with his work.  “I must be getting back.  Here–” he reaches into his pack, pulls out something green, familiar.  “You left it in my saloon.”  He drapes it over Joe’s midriff like a blanket.  Then he pauses.  Hesitates.  “One more thing,” and he reaches into his pack again, pulls out Joe’s pistol. “Where’d you get that?” “I have my ways.  Here.  Just in case.”  He hands it over.  “And now I really must be going.  You rest.  Don’t play around with that thing till that hand has healed up some.  I’ll be back when I can.” He must admit himself tempted otherwise, but somewhat reluctantly he lays the gun down by his side.  “Oh–” he falters a little.  “Thanks.” Silvanito just gives him a nod, expression warm and a touch conspiratorial.  “Hasta luego.”

[ravennaortiz]

Rescues and Relieve

Chapter 18 of Countdown

As always this is an 18+ only story. This story is AU based and not your typical Sons of Anarchy story. Some readers may find some plot lines and changes to some characters to be problematic please read at your discretion. This story also time jumps heavily so keep this in mind as you read!

Warnings: General themes of the show such as violence, drugs, swearing etc, minor age gap, minor smut in later chapters.

Coco perked up at the sound of yelling and crashing from the hallway. Maybe EZ grew a back bone he thought to hismelf as the door slammed open. Noting only one figure enter he looked closer and groaned inwardly. "Seriously?" snapped Coco as he looked up in to Rockys face. "Lecture me later. Pretty sure Zobelle is aware I'm here" rushed Rocky as she worked on the ropes on keeping Coco strung in the air. "Please tell me and I say this with all my love that your dumbass didn't come alone" begged Coco as he closed his eyes already knowing the answer. Rocky remained silent as she finally cut him down. "I mean EZ knew I left....he could have stopped me" she offered as Coco rolled his eyes as he stretched his limbs.

"What about boy scout screams will stop anyone from anything?" asked Coco before turning his gaze back on her and assessing her for injuries. She had blood on her face, hands and clothes. Light bruising that was decorating her neck and left cheek as well as her left side where he could see her exposed skin through the tears in her shirt.

"I'm okay" stated Rocky quietly. "The blood is Zobelles.....he thought he would get his gift early" she added with a nonchalant shrug. Coco frowned as he slowly stood up. "You will be getting a very stern lecture once we get out of here." he stated before pulling her in for a hug. "Pretty sure Zobelle knows I'm here she says, the blood is his she says" mutters Coco as he grabs his gun off a table by the door and looks out into the hall. Rocky can't help the small smile that ghosts her lips. "Didn't want to worry my recusee. Golden rule of Coco rescues is always keep the other person calm and reassured" quoted Rocky mockingly making Coco grin.

***

"Where are you two going?" demanded Jax as he grabbed the van door as Juice went to close it. "Going to get Rocky" stated Halfsack. "Now let go of the door" growled Juice as he yanked on it. "Laddies" started Chibs before Jax spoke over him. "Half you are not healed yet. Anything happens to the two of you and I will not know peace with my little sister. So don't be any more stupid or reckless than what your doing and you are taking us with you". Once both men had nodded he hopped in the back followed by Chibs.

***

A few hours later- Safe house

"Whats the damage?" demanded Jax as he ran his hands through his hair, spreading blood as he went. "Rockys left shoulder is out of socket. She has bullet wounds in her thigh with at least one bullet still somewhere in her leg, probably a cracked rib, couple cuts, lots of bruises. " sighed Chibs as he looked through the emergency kit on the table.

"What's wrong?" asked Jax as he looked at Chibs as he sunk down on a chair. "She is in a lot of pain and we have nothing here to give her. Half thinks he can pop her shoulder back in but wanted something to relax her she's too tense" he added as Jax frowned as he dug though the medical supplies himself.

Half and Juice looked up as Coco appeared in the doorway with a bottle of whiskey. "Chibs said to have her drink this. Best we got right now" stated Coco as Juice frowned as he took the bottle. Rockys pained whimpering from the bed tugged at him as he glanced at Half who simply shrugged. "Better than nothing" stated Half who moved to kneel next to Rocky.

"How you feeling Rockstar?" asked Juice a few minutes and half a bottle later as Rockys head dropped back onto his chest as he held her to him gently. "Floaty. Kinda warm" slurred Rocky slightly as her eyelids drooped some. "Lass is a lightweight" murmured Chibs as he took the bottle from Juice. "I think its best we do her shoulder first. That is going to be the most painful part and its the one with a time frame" stated Half sack to Jax as they stood by the doorway.

Once Jax nodded, Half stepped back to the bed and sat in the chair Coco had brought from the kitchen. "This is gonna hurt" whined Rocky as Juice scooted them to the edge of the bed while Half held her injured arm. "No it won't" lied Juice as he felt her tense on his lap. "Rocky why don't you close your eyes and just take a deep breath or two" ordered Half-Sack gently as he carefully moved her arm.

"We will count to ten and then I'm going to pop your shoulder back into place okay?" explained Half-Sack as he made eye contact with Juice and mouthed three. "Okay , whatever you say handsome" murmured Rocky before giggling and hiccupping. Half-Sack chuckled as he shook his head and started counting.

The scream that ripped through Rocky when he said three startled everyone into silence. "Rocky? You good" inquired Juice as he felt wet drops fall on his arm that was bracing her. "Mean. Don't know why I like you both" panted Rocky in between shaky breaths as tears poured from her eyes. Blinking rapidly she felt like her head was spinning as her vision tunneled.

***

"Well bullets out of her leg and I have her patched back together" stated Chibs as Jax came back into the room awhile later to check on the progress. Before Jax could respond Rocky groaned and turned on her side, vomiting all over his shoes. "Don't feel good" mumbled Rocky as she dry heaved. "Couldn't tell kiddo" joked Jax as he grabbed a clean rag and wiped her mouth. Rocky grumbled slightly before drifting back off into darkness.

"How are the lads holding up?" inquired Chibs as he tossed some more towels to Jax while he cleaned up the medical supplies. "Coco is asleep on the couch. He stitched his own leg and arm up by himself. Juice and Half have been nervously pacing. They feel bad for hurting her and making her cry then pass out" replied Jax as he cleaned up the vomit on his shoes and the floor. "Well I think she will forgive them" chuckled Chibs as he glanced up at him.

"Its nice to have all this shit over" stated Jax quietly as he looked over Rocky. "Ill take her being a bit banged up any day over what Zobelle wanted to do".

Return to Chapter List

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The lost Princess of the ocean bk2 p3

Masterlist

Your eyes flutter open and you look at the walls of the cave. There are chains around your feet and wrists. A single candle in a lantern burns above you. On your forearm you look at the raw burn

A brand of the assassin's insignia, two white roses crossed, the stems are blades. You didn't want this to be your end, but unless someone was brave enough to find you, there would be no slipping from the iron shakes that held you.

“Ahh finally you have woken, come little princess we have work for you.” A man dressed in full white leather armour grabs you by the shoulder and half drags you back to the main room.

“Get the broom, this room needs cleaning.” He laughed and shoved you against the wall. You stumble but grab the wooden broom and begin sweeping the floor. A few of the men laugh as you pass them. One grabs at your elbow, yanking you back to face him.

“I'm glad you're back, I've missed having fun with you.” He cocks one side of his mouth up in a grin that makes you want to vomit.

“Hey hands off, the boss says she's his now, no one is allowed to touch her.” a female calls from behind the bar. “The little Princess is gonna be the Boss' new missus.” she downed a shot of whiskey. Unsure of what to do you stand rooted to your spot, broom still in hand.

“Go sit down, princess.” Dalton's voice made you jump in your skin. You did as you were told and moved to a small seat in the corner of the room.

“Tonight we celebrate and soon you will be mine completely, just as the agreement was with your father all those years ago.” He flashes a grin at you before turning to the bar and grabbing a large bottle of whiskey.

Zoro is woken by a wave splashing up on his face. His feet dangle below the water, floating with the movement of the water. The cave is quiet and dark. He waits, thankful that the tide has gone out enough to stop the bleeding from his chest.

“Why did you come here?” A small voice called over to him. Zoro looked.around himself, not seeing the source.

“I need help, the Shadow Assassins have taken someone from me.” He says.

“Why do you think the mermaids can help you?” The voice is closer this time.

“They have a mermaid as one of their members. It was she who took…” he can't bring himself to say your name. Beside him the water swirls and a young mermaid pushes herself to face him.

“Mina, she's…who is the person?” she asks. Zoro closes his eyes.

“Her name is y/n, she… she is important.”

The girl moves closer to him

“What is she to you.”

“I..I don't know, but I need her, I need to save her from them. They hurt her.” There is an emotion in his voice that he was trying to hold back.

“You love her?” The mermaid is close enough that he can feel her breath on his face.

“I-” he doesn't know how to answer her.

“You must be, or the queen would have eaten you. We can't eat people in love.”

Zoro locks his eyes on hers.

“You have to say it, then I can help you.”

“Why would you help me?” He asks.

“Mina is my sister, if there is a way of fucking her over, I'll do it.” She giggles, “so if it's true and you love her, admit it and I'll help you.”

“I…” he thinks for a moment, there is love there but is it romantic? Either way the theory should work, “yes, I love her.”

She smiles and drops back below the water. Zoro feels the smack of her tail on his legs and the ties on his wrists fall away. The water splashed up over his face, blinding him momentarily as he was lifted from the water and dropped on the rock behind him. He spins round seeing the mermaid beside him. Her tail flapped about twisting and reshaping until two legs were left in its place. She stands and wobbles for a moment before gaining her balance.

“What the hell?”

“I'm a selkie, come on, we don't have much time.’ Zoro pushes himself off the ground.

“Argh, what?” He looks down at his feet, dark blood oozed from his skin.

“The rocks below the water.” She tells him, “can you walk?”

“I have to.” Zoro takes a bracing breath and regs forward, allowing her to lead him through the cave.

“What's your name?” Zoro asks

“I am Merial, come quickly.” She pulls him along with her.

The wet walls and ground make it difficult for them to move swiftly through the tight cave pathways. A hand clasped around Zoro's ankle, dragging him backward. He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from his lungs. Rough hands clawed at his skin, wrapping through his flesh.

“Stop!” Merial screamed out, “you can't have him.”

“I will eat his heart.” The mermaid queen hissed. Merial pulled at Zoro's shoulders. “You can't, he is in love?” she announced through a panicked tone. The queen tilted her head, steal black eyes boring into his, like she was trying to read his soul.

“In love?” the queen growled, pulling herself over Zoro's body till her face was level with his.

“you are in love?” She asks, stale breath blowing over his face. Zoro closed his eyes, everything in him wanting to ignore the question.

“Yes.” Why does his chest ache when he admits it? The mermaid queen growls, at him, her mouth alive with seafoam. She feels back so she is resting on her tail.

“With the Selkie?”

“What? No.” Zoro shakes his head, finally able to scramble away from the Queen.

“He loves another, she is taken by my sister.” Merial explains putting her body between him and the Queen. They stare at each other for a moment before the queen spits on the ground.

“You have three days, Merial. Then your legs are forfeit.” Her voice was softer than before.

“I understand. I'll bring my sister back.”

[icantlose]

(@pilotofstorm)

"Say, Wolf..? Uh, can I ask ya somethin'?" Skippy walks in his office, rubbing his head. "I just gotta ask.. Do ya ever think of retirin'? Or not at all? I dunno if it's a weird question go ask, I'm jus' curious cause uh.. ya pretty old?"

Where once it is a striking gray, time has turned the fur around his face into a pale, almost ethereal white. The lines around his muzzle and eyes tell a story of battles fought, victories won, and scars earned. His remaining eye, a piercing blood red, seems to hold the weight of countless experiences, including the abuse of constant whiskey consumption. It is a gaze that has seen the highs and lows of the galaxy, and it bears a weariness that speaks of years spent in the unforgiving expanse of the underbelly of the Lylat System.

The fur around the lupine's good eye is tinged with a faint silver, the strands catching the light in a way that seems to shimmer with the echoes of countless sunsets. Each strand bears the weight of years, a testament to the unyielding passage of time. It is a mark of age, but also of the wisdom and cunning that has kept him at the helm of Star Wolf for so long, weathering the storms of a volatile galaxy while skirting just below the law.

As Skippy broaches the subject, Wolf can't help but notice the genuine concern in the young pilot's eyes. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, one that gives Wolf pause. He's used to being seen as unshakeable; a force of nature in the cockpit, but now, for the first time, he wonders if there are signs he's been missing.

He takes a moment to reflect, his gaze drifting to the brilliant stars beyond the reinforced window. Has he been slipping? Have there been moments when he's felt the weight of the years more acutely? It's a sobering thought, and for a brief moment, a flicker of real worry crosses his features.

Clearing his throat, Wolf straightens in his chair, masking his concern with a gruff demeanor. "Skip, don't get it in your head that I'm about to keel over any time soon... I mean, I was born with gray hairs. Some of us are just born with that... distinguished look, that rugged, aged beauty..."

Wolf smirks, a glint of mischief dancing in his eye. "So, don't go thinking these silver strands mean I'm slowin' down. If anything, they're just a reminder that I've been kickin' ass in this hellhole for a long, long time. I mean--fuck, I've been around since before your old leader's daddy's been flyin'!"

Beneath the usual Wolf O'Donnell-brand bravado, there's a flicker of something else in the elder's eye. A subtle shadow of realization that he can't entirely shake off. He's not as young as he used to be, and though he's putting on a front for Skippy, the truth lingers at the edges of his thoughts...

It's a bitter pill to swallow, but for now, he'll continue to face the worst of Lylat head-on, determined not to let age be the thing that finally brings him down. He clenches his fist, feeling the subtle ache in his bones, a stark reminder of the years of wear and tear. The hum Sargasso's many joints around him seems to carry the weight of time, echoing the very same silent march of the years that the Lord himself has been on.

if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit, right? It's a mantra O'Donnell has long lived by, a philosophy that's seen him through countless skirmishes and battles. As he reflects on it now, there's a twinge of irony in the words. The bravado, the bluster—it's all part of the act, a way to keep pushing forward even when doubts linger in the shadows.

...Just like he's always carried on.

[ihateoc]

Honey Whiskey

(word count: 3,361) (crackfic i wrote for valentines day. not at all canon)

Valentines Day. A day Shadow had grown accustomed to staining himself with blood while others went on their happy little dates. Somehow, he wished he was on a job right now. Bennett had left for a date a little while ago, leaving Shadow all alone in the apartment. 

After spending some time sulking, he eventually broke out a bottle of whiskey and had already downed half of it while watching a cheesy romance movie. Deep down, he craved physical and emotional connection. Not that he'd ever admit that. He was already drunk when the doorknob turned. 

The door swings open as Ren bursts into the room, clad in a black dress, heels and lipstick, a stark contrast from her usual casual attire. She seems surprised when she notices him, "Hey, Shadow. Is Bennett here?" 

Upon hearing Ren's voice, Shadow looks up, his eyes partially unfocused from the alcohol. He blinks a few times before he speaks, his words coming out more slurred than he intends, "Hey doll face, Bennett's out on a date or something." 

Holy hell, she looks amazing. But he needs to keep it together. Now isn't the time to be drunk and sappy. 

"Oh, I see..." She begins, glancing at the open bottle of liquor on the table, "Are you drunk?" 

He gives a nonchalant shrug, trying hard to maintain eye contact with her and not let his gaze drop lower, "What can I say, princess? It's Valentines Day after all. The great celebration of love or some shit like that." 

"So, you're brooding?" She wonders, but before he can defend himself, she sits down beside him, taking his glass full of whiskey from his hand and taking a drink, "Let me join you then." 

Shadow freezes for a second at her proximity, the smell of her perfume making him dizzy. 

"Ah! Princess wants to join my little pity party, huh?" He flashes her an amused grin but there's a hint of nervousness in his eyes. 

"Yeah," She remarks after taking another swig of his drink, "Got stood up." 

He lets out a low whistle as he leans back into the couch, "Damn, that's rough, sweetheart. His loss though." 

Stood up? Who in their right mind would stand a beautiful woman like her up? He'd give anything just for the slimmest chance of a date with her. Wait, is that pathetic?  

"Yeah, can't say I'm surprised. I was really only going on the date as a favor in the first damn place," She complains as she points to the drink, "This is fucking disgusting by the way." 

Shadow lets out a soft chuckle before retrieving the bottle and taking a hearty gulp, "Tell me about it. Just like life, huh? Disgusting but we still swallow it down." 

"You're not wrong but..." She drawls out slowly, swirling the liquid in the glass as she looks down at it contemplating, "We don't have to swallow it down. Why not spit it back in life's face?" 

A small smirk tugs at Shadow's lips as he watches Ren, his voice filled with amused admiration, "That's my princess. Spitting in the face of adversity. Now that sounds more fun than my brooding." 

"Mhm, but let's brood together for the night," She muses as she slumps back against the couch, "What's the movie about?" 

Shadow looks over at the scene playing on the screen, a couple locked in a passionate kiss under the rain. "Ah, some cheesy love story," He rolls his eyes dramatically but doesn't make any move to change it, "A guy is trying to win over this woman who can't be less interested in him. Ridiculous shit." 

 "What an idiot. You think he'd learn by now," Ren responds before taking another swig of her drink. 

Shadow can't help but bark out a sardonic laugh at her comment, "Yeah, what kind of dumbass wouldn't take the hint, right?" He swiftly steals his glass back from her and takes another gulp. The heat in his throat does nothing to ward off the chill creeping down his spine. 

She might as well have just punched him in the fucking face. It seems like she has no idea just how close that hit home for him. Goddamn ironic that they're watching this now of all times.  

"But his determination is sweet, I'll admit," She adds, her eyes glued to the television screen. 

Shadow's heart skips a beat at her words, "Is that so?" He asks, trying to hide the hope in his voice, "Well then... I guess idiots like him have some chance after all." 

Ren and Shadow continue drinking and watching rom-com's until they finally run out of whiskey. Admittedly, both of them probably should have quit drinking a while ago. 

"Damn, that bottle didn't last," She grumbles, her words slurred as she holds up the empty bottle, "Got any more?" 

He chuckles, sinking back into the couch as he looks over at her, "Sorry, princess. That was the last bottle." 

His mind was fuzzy and his thoughts were all jumbled but one thing remained clear, how intoxicatingly beautiful Ren looked to him right now. He felt completely sober when it came to noticing every small detail about her. 

"I think I've got a bottle of vodka at my place. I could run and grab it real quick," She comments as she moves to stand up, faltering slightly. 

Shadow hastily reaches out to steady her, his hand landing on her waist a little more firmly than he had intended, "Whoa there, doll. You can barely stand up straight," He thinks for a moment before shrugging, "A walk might do us some good though." 

Absolutely bad idea. But damn, he'd follow this woman to hell and back. 

"Yeah, yeah, a walk would be nice, but first..." She kicks off her heels, leaving her barefoot, "That's better. Okay, let's head next door." 

He can't help but chuckle at her antics as he stands up to follow her, swaying gingerly on his feet before catching himself, "Hold on a sec, princess," Shadow says as he moves to put an arm on her waist for support, unsure whether he was doing so for her or himself at this point. 

A laugh escapes her lips as they stumble out the door and into the hallway together, "God, we're both messes, aren't we?" 

"Absolute train wrecks, doll," Shadow agrees with a chuckle, tightening his grip on her waist. 

The warm feeling flowing through him had less to do with the alcohol and more about how close Ren was right now. She just felt... right in his arms. This was crazy to him. Absurd. But he wouldn't have it any other way. 

Once they reach Ren's apartment, she fumbles with her keys before eventually unlocking the door. She leads him into the kitchen where she pulls a half full bottle of vodka out of the freezer.  

Shadow looks around the apartment, a slight grimace settling on his face at the memory of how he'd once torn this place apart when she was his target. Though he'd visited her place a few times more recently, he always found himself feeling guilty. 

Shaking his head, he tries to dismiss these unwanted thoughts, opting to try and lighten the mood instead, "Ah, good ol' vodka. Makes everything better, doesn't it?" 

She pours two shot glasses full of the clear liquid, some of it overflowing and splashing out onto the counter before she hands him one, "Probably shouldn't be drinking this with all the whiskey we had but whatever, fuck it," She spouts out, using one of his own signature phrases. She holds the glass up in a toast, "To uhhh..." 

Shadow raises his drink to Ren's, a smirk on his face as he finishes her sentence, "To being reckless and absolute train wrecks." 

She chuckles at his toast as they both down the vodka without any hesitation, setting their glasses back down on the counter and prompting Shadow to refill them. This woman could easily be the end of him. But what a glorious end that would be. 

"You know..." Ren begins after a moment of silence, her words slurred, "I was surprised you didn't bring me flowers or something." 

Shadow blinks, taken aback by her words. He scratches his head awkwardly before mustering a reply, "Oh well... Didn't think you'd appreciate that kind of shit, princess," He tries to keep his voice steady despite the mix of emotions swirling inside him, mixing with the alcohol in his system. 

"You should've said so earlier," He adds, "I would have stolen an entire flower shop for ya." 

She chuckles, hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter, "Mhm," She drawls out slowly, "I like flowers and cheesy shit just as much as the next person." 

Upon hearing this, the dark-haired man's eyes widen a fraction before he quickly masks it with his usual smug expression. He shakes his head casually and laughs, "I'll keep that in mind for the future then... Flowers and cheesy shit." 

Ren's face is unusually soft as she giggles, her lipstick smeared on her face, "And I know you like cheesy shit too, even though you try to hide it," She points out with a drunken smirk as she swings her legs from where she sits. 

Shadow raises an eyebrow, trying to feign innocence, "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

He laughs, a warm and genuine sound that fills the room as he passes her a shot glass. She has him figured out pretty well. And he's not sure whether he should be worried or impressed. 

"You're a bad liar. I dunno how you were such a good mercenary but such a bad liar," She remarks while snorting out a laugh. 

Shadow shrugs nonchalantly, "I guess when it comes to you, Renny... All my skills fly out the window," His tone is teasing as raises his shot glass for a toast again. 

She clinks her glass against his before swallowing it in one swift gulp, "God... Disgusting," She complains before her gaze falls back on him, "You don't seem much different when drunk, you know?" 

After downing his own shot and placing the glass back on the counter, he laughs, "Well, that's disappointing, ain't it? You think I'd be more fun." 

His blurred vision meets hers for a moment, an uncharacteristic gentleness in his maroon eyes. God, she was beautiful. Even when complaining about him. 

"Mhm, very," Ren agrees with a chuckle while reaching out to ruffle his dark hair. 

He raises an eyebrow, chuckling lightly without making an attempt to pull away from her touch, "Hey now, doll, I just got it to look this good," He mutters with a mock pout on his face. 

She crosses her arms petulantly, mumbling, "But it looks good messy." 

He can't help but laugh, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Well, if princess says so..." He messes up his hair even more and grins proudly. 

"Hey Shadow," She begins, her tone more serious, "Can I ask you something kind of personal?" 

His confident smirk fades slightly as he looks at Ren, a glimmer of concern in his eyes, "You know you can ask me anything, princess. Fire away." 

"Do you ever..." Her words die in her throat, quietly asking, "Do you ever think about all of the time you lost?" 

Shadow feels a lump form in his throat at her abrupt question. A moment of uncomfortable silence hangs between them before a sigh escapes his lips, "All the time," He admits, his voice low and heavy with emotions he rarely let show. 

He looks away from Ren as if trying to hide the pain reflected in his maroon eyes. Of course he did? Who wouldn't? But admitting that out loud... Maybe it was a side effect of the alcohol but it struck him like a physical blow. 

She feels a wave of guilt wash over her when she takes note of his reaction, reaching out for him while stammering out, 'H-hey, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to make you feel bad." 

He shakes his head, forcing a weak smile onto his face, "It's alright, Renny. You have nothing to apologize for." 

The dark-haired man appreciates her concern but he doesn't want her feeling guilty over something that isn't her fault. He knows she didn't mean anything by it. But goddamn if it didn't hurt. 

"Hey, c'mere," She slurs as she motions with her hands for him to come closer. 

Shadow takes a step towards her, the liquid courage in his system making him a little too eager, "Alright, alright, I'm here," He stands between her legs, looking up at her with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. 

Ren abruptly embraces him, wrapping her arms around him while burying her face in the crook of his neck. She mutters out a muffled, "I'm sorry," Her breath hot against his skin. 

Freezing momentarily, he looks similar to a deer in the headlights from her sudden affectionate gesture. After a moment, he wraps his own arms around her, soothing her while tenderly stroking her back, "There's nothing to be sorry about, princess." 

She tightens her grip on him as if she was afraid he would slip away at any moment. Silence wraps around them before the hushed sound of her sniffling can be heard.  

Wait...  

Is she crying?? 

His heart clenches at the sound, "Hey, princess," He says comfortingly, trying to keep his voice calm despite feeling utterly panicked, "It's okay... Whatever you're upset about, we can figure it out together." 

He tries to be comforting but he has no idea how to handle a crying woman. This was certainly new territory for him. What did he say about following Ren to hell earlier? This is a whole new kind of torture. But damn if he won't be there for her. 

"It's just..." She utters out drunkenly through tears, "It's not fair what you went through." 

Shadow feels a strange warmth spread in his chest. No one has ever cried for him before.  

"It's... It's okay, doll," He comforts her, lightly patting her back, "I wouldn't have met you if I hadn't gone through that." 

Ren pulls back from the embrace, her arms loosely draped over his shoulders. Her mascara is running down her tear-stained cheeks as her grey eyes bore directly into his, "I just-" She doesn't finish her sentence, leaning in to drunkenly kiss him.  

Shadow is dumbstruck when Ren suddenly presses her lips against his. But any thoughts or objections he may have had are drowned out as he loses himself in her. She tastes of alcohol but that's not the reason he finds her lips so intoxicating.  

He kisses her back with an equal amount of intensity, hands restlessly wandering to hold onto her waist while keeping them pressed together. God, he had been waiting for this moment. But not like this. 

As much as he craves more of her mesmerizing taste, Shadow halts Ren before she can kiss him again. He can't do this. Not when they're both so drunk, "Ren," He starts while placing a hand in front of her lips, "You're drunk... We shouldn't..." 

Goddamn self-control, but he refuses to take advantage of a drunken Ren. 

"O-oh, I'm sorry," She looks away, avoiding his gaze intently and he's not sure whether her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol or the heat of the moment. 

Shadow quickly shakes his head, reaching out to cup her face gently, "No, no, don't apologize, princess. You've got nothing to be sorry for. Let's get you to bed, alright?" He offers her a reassuring smile before he slowly pulls away, already longing for their closeness again. 

She nods as she hops off of the counter, stumbling forward into his arms, clearly not in a state to walk on her own. With a faint grunt, he scoops Ren up in his arms, her body pleasantly warm against his chest. 

"Alright, Renny," He murmurs as he navigates through the apartment to her bedroom, "Let's get ya tucked in." 

She leans her head against his chest, her eyes shut tightly. Seeing this delicate, vulnerable side of Ren stirs a confusing mix of emotions within Shadow. It's disconcerting to see her like this but at the same time… He can't ignore how good it feels to hold her, though he wishes it was under better circumstances.  

Carefully, he sets her down on the bed and pulls up the covers over her. 

Before he can turn to leave, she reaches out to tug on the sleeve of his hoodie, "Shadow," His name tumbles from her lips softly, affectionately even. It's a stark contrast from the first time she had called him by that name all those years ago when they first met. 

"Could you... stay with me until I fall asleep?" 

Something in his heart gives way. There was no way he could refuse her anything. 

"Of course," He replies with a thoughtful grin, sitting himself on the edge of her bed, "I'm not going anywhere." 

Ren shifts to lay on her side, peering up at him as she speaks sincerely, "You mean a lot to me, Shadow. Don't forget that. I believe in you." 

Shadow swallows hard upon hearing the honesty in her tone. He reaches out to gently brush away a loose strand of hair from her face, speechless for a moment before managing to stammer out, "Thank you, princess. That means... more than you know." 

He gives her hand a delicate squeeze, the reassurance that he's here for her shining clear in his eyes. She believes in him? Nobody has ever said that before. He feels touched and overwhelmed by her heartfelt admission, an indescribable warmth enveloping him. 

When she finally drifts off, Shadow watches Ren's tranquil figure, her face softened by the peaceful oblivion of sleep. He gently traces his fingers along hers before he finally gets up from the bed. 

Shadow leaves a small care package of Tylenol and a bottle of water on her bedside table, hoping it'll ease whatever hangover awaits her in the morning. 

"Goodnight, killer," He whispers quietly, taking one last lingering gaze at her sleeping form before exiting her apartment silently. 

As he steps into his own abode next door, a bittersweet smile graces his lips as he mutters to himself, "What a night." 

Bennett, who had returned from his date a little while ago, turns from where he sits on the couch to face Shadow. He furrows his brow curiously, "Where were you at?" 

The dark-haired man scratches the back of his head, smirking impishly as he answers cryptically, "I was just... helping Ren." 

Bennett might be her brother but it's up to Ren whether she wants him to know about tonight or not. Besides, Bennett probably wouldn't even believe him if he told him. 

"Oh, but I thought she had a date. Did she get back early?" Bennett prods him. 

"Guess her date didn't go as planned," Shadow shrugs, deciding to leave it at that. 

The asshole that stood her up is lucky Shadow has no idea who they are. A strange sense of protectiveness and anger bubbles up within him but he also feels a weird sense of relief knowing he could spend the night with her instead. 

Feeling an odd bittersweet feeling in his stomach from the events of the evening, Shadows bids Bennett goodnight and heads to his room. As he eases himself on his bed, he lets out a heavy sigh. The taste of that one stolen kiss still lingers on his lips and the memory makes him yearn for more. 

He lays back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as a whirlwind of thoughts claw into him. Please remember... or maybe it’s better if she doesn't.  

Despite the mixture of concerns and uncertainties swirling in his mind, Shadow couldn't help but admit that tonight was amazing. He had managed to forget about everything else and just enjoy Ren's company, something he'd never thought would happen.  

What a fucking night. This was without a shadow of a doubt the best Valentine's Day he's ever had. 

[yourinsomnea]

Sometimes I like to ramble about my own writing, so you get this scattered analysis of Apostasy’s Epilogue: why I used certain lines, references & callbacks to other scenes from the main story, imagery & themes, a study of the sexualities of various AFTG characters & their differences.

1) Hands! The imagery of the hands as it pertains to each one of the characters in this epilogue. Andrew’s hands during the talk with Neil at the bar:

“Andrew couldn't meet his eyes. He watched his own hands gripping the whiskey glass—rough and useless.”

This line is meant to highlight Andrew’s guilt when it comes to his involvement with Neil and the harm he thinks he might have inadvertently brought to him. The way Andrew couldn’t help Neil, couldn’t save him, until it was almost too late. Hence, why he sees his hands as “rough & useless.” Neil doesn’t blame him for anything, but that isn’t how guilt works anyway, right?

I bring the imagery of the hands back in Andrew’s apartment when Neil punches the wall out of frustration:

“Andrew took his arm—the one with the bleeding knuckles—and laid it across his palm, watching the fingers flex, the specks of blood welling and retreating.”

Neil’s knuckles bleeding is the physical manifestation of his lingering trauma, and Andrew wanting to cradle them is his way of wanting to help—of wanting to be there for Neil’s healing journey.

Then, in the final scene with Jean's POV, the imagery of the hands comes back one last time:

"[Jean] looked down at his hands—perpetually smudged now with oil and grease from the shop—lifelines stained with a future he still didn’t believe he was allowed to have."

This one is pretty straightforward—just a tidbit revealing that Jean works as a mechanic at a shop, that he's building his life up, but that it's still difficult some days. That it takes courage to rise each day and convince himself that he deserves this life.

2) The line:

"The cigarette slipped from Andrew’s fingers as their arms found each other—grew into an embrace. It was the only thing Andrew wanted. The only thing he needed. Be real, Andrew’s hand pleaded, tracing the length of Neil’s back, up and down."

This is obviously a callback to canon, and the ending line of TKM ("This was everything he wanted, everything he needed, and Neil was never letting go.") But Andrew pleading with the fates for Neil to be real is a reference to Apostasy's recurring theme as well—I laid the foundation of it pretty early on, in Chapter 2, when Andrew counts Neil down to give him a chance to back out of their intimacy before it changes them irrevocably:

"[Andrew] lifted Neil’s wrist, pressing his thumb into the quickened pulse, grounding himself in the rhythm of it. Reassuring himself that the man beneath him was real. That this wasn’t a mistake."

The theme of Neil's "unrealness" is further explored in later chapters—Andrew knows he is going to lose Neil and can’t do anything about it. In Chapter 9, Andrew says,

"Neil was a mirage, something Andrew refused to let himself hold on to—but still tried to," and then, "It was real. It was unreal. It was never meant to be."

When Neil and Andrew are finally reunited, Andrew can't help but question the realness of him:

"Andrew’s hands itched to reach out. But he was still angry. Still heartbreakingly furious. His heart swam in the wreckage of it, even as the cause of it stood within reach. Real or unreal? It didn’t matter. Time would not tell, because they didn’t have a lot of it."

This also, I think, ties in nicely with the idea of Andrew viewing Neil as a hallucination in canon. Ultimately, at its core, it's just Andrew seeing Neil as too good to be true—and being scared of allowing himself to have this good thing—because deep down he knows that it's not nothing, that it's too important and vital, and that it has the power to destroy him. It's definitely a theme that I love seeing explored in different variations of Andreil fics.

3) And this line:

"Neil murmured kisses against his skin, repeating gently, 'Slow, slow,' his hand slipping along the tantalizing line between Andrew’s tank top and the band of his underwear. Teasing. Dipping. Pulling away. 'I’ll be so slow. So good,' Neil whispered. 'Let me suck your dick.'"

First, it’s just a horny callback to a scene in Chapter 4 when Neil gives Andrew a blowjob in the car, and it culminates with:

"The confession did nothing to stall Andrew’s orgasm. He groaned, fingers fisting in Neil’s hair as he pushed his head down. 'Be good and swallow.'"

I’m low-key obsessed with the line “be good” in the context of Neil & Andrew’s relationship—because it’s gentle, but layered with kinkiness, the inherent command to submit, the subtle reference to Neil’s inability to be good, to behave. "Be good & shut your mouth," "be good & swallow," etc—the possibilities are endless!

So in this scene in the epilogue, Neil promises to be good and go slow with Andrew, the way Andrew wants their relationship to proceed out of consideration for all of Neil’s trauma. And there is tension in it too—because neither of them knows how to go slow, how to temper their obsession for each other. They both possess a wild and violent streak, despite Andrew's indifferent facade that he likes to project unto the world, and it's only inevitable that this volatile nature will have them committing mistakes on their journey to intimacy. (It’s okay though! They can get through it together & learn.)

4) Jean. Oh Jean. He probably deserves his own essay. He broke my heart through the entirety of writing Apostasy (the scene when Jean has to say goodbye to Neil,

"Jean kissed him deeply, whispering, Je t’aime over and over, his voice trembling with what he was saying—and maybe even more with what he wasn’t."

It wasn’t easy to come back to him in this epilogue without shattering it all over again. I find the idea of Jean being in love with Neil—unrequited or otherwise—so fascinating, because of how close it is to canon in terms of the sheer capacity Jean possesses for love.

I wrote Jean as bisexual and biromantic in Apostasy—which is, again, pretty close to canon—but I also made him polyamorous. He’s in love with Neil, but he’s attracted to Andrew, and he could learn to love him with the same fierceness he does Neil (same thing applies to Kevin).

Jean (in Apostasy) would be happy in a monogamous relationship with Neil, but he would also be happy in a polycule that involves any combination of Neil/Andrew/Kevin (and Jeremy, of course, though Jeremy does not appear in Apostasy). Which brings me to my next point:

5) The differences in sexualities of our main cast. Apostasy easily could have been a Jean/Andrew/Neil story we all deserve, but the problem, of course, lies with Neil, who—despite having a strong platonic connection with Jean—is deeply monogamous and is in love with Andrew, to the point where it drives him insane that Andrew’s attitude about sex is so casual.

My take on Andrew in Apostasy might differ from canon (for one, he’s a lot more morally grey in my story), but I tried to capture some of the A-spec qualities of him that we do get hints of in the books. I think Andrew is more aromantic than he is romantic—but his connection with Neil pushes him to commit, and move closer on the spectrum toward Neil. The same way Neil’s sexuality can be interpreted as demi, and the way his connection with Andrew pushes him closer to Andrew on the sexuality spectrum.

They meet each other perfectly in the middle (romantically & sexually), and it’s the reason why they work so well—both in canon, but significantly in Apostasy as well, where Andrew makes a conscious decision not to hurt Neil and commit to him monogamously.

Andrew doesn’t mind sex with other people—though he enjoys it the most with Neil, and is self-aware enough to realize why:

"Andrew wasn’t blind, wasn’t resisting the truth—he understood that there was no way to slot into someone so seamlessly, to flow into another person, to fill the hollow spaces that had once been empty or murky with neglect, to become so suffused with heat that it set them alight, and then walk away unchanged. To not come away needing it.

At its purest level, maybe it was just desire. A chemical reaction, as primordial as the exchange of oxygen, as natural as photosynthesis under a burning star, as electric as neurons firing in their brains, as violent as atoms colliding.

Yes, that was it, the violence, the force of it—the sheer, unstoppable impact.

It had to mean something.

Because if it didn’t, then nothing meant anything at all."

Chemistry & sexual attraction of this magnitude doesn’t arise in a vacuum—and Andrew recognizes that there is something more beyond it. Their connection holds the key to this unfathomable desire, even if he can’t fully grasp it because he’s somewhere on the ARO spectrum. But he knows enough to hold on to it.

And that’s enough for Neil. Enough for both of them.

"The cigarette slipped from Andrew’s fingers as their arms found each other—grew into an embrace. It was the only thing Andrew wanted. The only thing he needed. Be real, Andrew’s hand pleaded, tracing the length of Neil’s back, up and down."

I finally added an epilogue to Apostasy <3

It was fun to revisit this universe and make some edits to the original story along the way.

(now I need to do the same with the dating show au!)

[hikari-kaitou]

This is Phoenix and Edgeworth's profiles as imagined by character designer Ms. Suekane. We got quite different answers from her compared to Takumi and the others!!

Phoenix's profile

Birthday: Maybe a Virgo? I kinda get the feeling he was born in September.

Blood type: O type. His attitude towards Maya and his fairly easygoing nature give me that impression.

Birthplace: Saitama, maybe? It's close to Tokyo but not on the same level because it's more rural. Maybe Saitama or Chiba or Ibaraki? But Takumi-san is from Saitama? Well, let's go with Saitama, then.

Non-work clothes: A hoodie. I want Phoenix to like wearing hoodies (lol). I can't think of anything else that would suit him. On the bottom, he'd wear cargo pants.

Living situation: He lives at his office. He's got a locker there where he keeps blankets and stuff to sleep on.

On his days off: He does nothing. He kinda just spaces out in the morning, then when noon comes he eats lunch and watches TV. When evening comes, he eats dinner, watches more TV, bathes, and sleeps. But if someone invites him out then he'll go.

Hobbies: Video games and stuff. Like fighting games (lol). I can see him with his controller going "tap tap tap tap" and smashing out combos. He might also play Dragon Quest or Final Fantasy or those types of games.

Favorite food: He's omnivorous. He'll eat whatever but he's kinda happy when there's meat in it. He loves meat.

Luxury foods: Diet cola. Beef jerky would be fine too (lol). He drinks alcohol but it doesn't show on his face much. Not beer, but like Japanese hot sake (lol)

Sports: Swimming. In general he's useless at sports but he'd be like "swimming is the only thing I'm good at." He seems like he'd get a little excited while talking about swimming.

Music: He doesn't listen to music. He'll go to karaoke if someone brings him, though.

Cellphone: He updates it fairly regularly, but because he always waits for the price to go down, he always ends up with one that's two models behind (lol).

His part time job in college: Something loose, because he doesn't commit himself to things… Like maybe he worked at a convenience store.

His type: I feel like he dreams about someone with abstract qualities like being "kind" or "domestic". Just thinking about those words gets him all starry-eyed and sighing (lol).

Edgeworth's profile

Birthday: He's an Aries, which means he was born on April 2nd or later. Let's go with April 2nd (lol).

Blood type: Type AB, because I feel like his emotions kinda have peaks and valleys.

Birthplace: Chiba. At first I thought Ace Attorney took place in Soga (a city in Chiba Prefecture).

Non-work clothes: A jacket, but not like a suit jacket, more like a casual one. Like from Paul Smith or something.

Living situation: A normal apartment. A lot of his furniture is Japanese handicraft stuff, and I feel like he'd put a lot of money into making his place feel Japanese.

On his days off: He goes shopping or on walks and has an elegant lunch. If he drives a car, it would be a silver one (lol).

Hobbies: Collecting western antiques and Japanese handicrafts.

Favorite food: Taro and meat soup (imoni). He has a favorite deli in his neighborhood that makes it.

Luxury foods: Whiskey. He enjoys it on the rocks.

Sports: He used to play soccer, but now he does weight training. He's got a defined six-pack.

Music: jazz. He listens to it while drinking his whiskey. Eminem fills him with rage.

Cellphone: A normal one. He uses his computer to send emails so he really only uses it to talk.

His part time job in college: Administrative assistant. He'd help with paperwork only when the office was really busy.

His type: Someone who doesn't lie to him. I have nothing in particular to add to that.